Jenetta Penner
Configured
Book 1 in the Configured Trilogy
First published by Jenetta Penner in 2016.
Copyright © Jenetta Penner, 2016.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any others means without permission.
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Contents
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Dedication
To Ohana and Lynn. Without them this book would not exist.
And to Emma, who didn't get the chance to read nearly enough books.
1
My own mother is ranked beneath me. Incompatible.
Joy is the name she gave me seventeen years ago. Sometimes I imagine it as an invocation, a gift entrusted to guarantee a happy life, no matter what. But it's inappropriate to question a name I barely use—given by a mother I barely know. Avlyn, the name I go by now, suits me much better.
My final meeting with her is scheduled in a few days at our once-a-year meal on the other side of Elore in her meager Level One apartment. She'll prattle on about the weather and avoid the topic of Ben, my twin brother, or our bio father. Her chocolate-brown hair, the color we share, worn long and loose, makes her lower-level distinction obvious. When I leave, she'll remind me she's proud of my status and give me a tight hug I've little practice in returning. Thankfully, I wasn't raised by her.
Reassignment by Direction to a compatible family is an honor. Especially if it's an upgrade.
Lark is my compatible parents' last name, as well as mine now. The name is compelling, of a bird, supposedly with a cheerful song. I've never heard one. People are few, so are birds, and the meaning strikes me as ironic for a Level Two compatibility family. The higher your Intelligence Potential, the more you're required to stay focused, display less emotion.
Today is configuration day. It's my seventeenth birthday, and the last day of university. My career, which I have no choice in deciding, begins tomorrow.
"This should be your day, too, right Ben?" I mutter. He doesn't answer. When does someone who lives in your mind ever respond?
Butterflies fluttering through my stomach, I run my hand under the mattress of my bed and find it. A flat, hidden package wrapped in brown paper. Paper went out of general use years ago. I take it and rub the unfamiliar texture between my fingers—rough and old. A scrawl of childish letters adorns the surface.
I love you.
The backward y brings a smile to my lips, but then disappears with a gulp at the forbidden words.
A single piece of tired, opaque bonding material holds the fold of the paper together. I flick it open, and out drops a tiny pendant attached to a chain—a simple gold heart. Because outward appearance is considered irrelevant, people don't wear jewelry. And a heart shape? Shocking.
But also pretty.
I stroke the smooth metal, then shake my head. No… it's out of place, from a time long past and gone forever, and yet something about it being my birthday makes me slip the charm into my pocket. That, and it makes me feel close to Ben. It'd been a gift from him on our fourth birthday, likely stolen from our biological mother, Bess. He lived with her at the time. Of course I'd never wear it. If seen, Direction may pry into my personal life. If they ever found out I still thought of Ben, let alone talked to him, I'd be sent in for re-education. Probably demoted to a Level One. But safe in my pocket, no one will ever know.
I shove the paper back under the mattress, push up from the bed, and step toward the sliding bedroom door, turning back to look at my room. For a second, I close my eyes and take a deep breath, just like Father taught me, but the ache in my stomach I woke up with still bores inside me. I slip my hand over the sensor and move through the open doorway into the hall.
A faint auto light fades on to guide me through the vacant hall. My parents rise early, and I figure they're already waiting for me to talk of the career configuration meeting later today, or worse, something dumb like spouse pairings. I'm dreading being chained to another person for the rest of my life more than any aspect of my citizen configuration.
Passing through the living room, I shuffle toward the kitchen, expecting the familiar busy motion of Mother in the dining area. Instead, I'm met with a blinking memo on the personal message screen alongside her image. Darline Lark, always put together, with sandy-brown hair cut in a short, crisp bob, the same as mine, but fairer in color. Sometimes, for a fleeting moment, her face looks kind, even warm, but here she only displays her standard, composed demeanor.
I tap the screen and the image flicks to life.
"Avlyn, your father and I had to leave early this morning," her image says. "Remember your appointment at the medical station at university first thing. One last physical before the meeting. Lunch is on the counter."
Mother pinches her lips together and the vid pauses. With a tap, the screen goes black.
I roll my eyes. She still orders my lunch every day and puts it on the counter for me to take to training. Silly. I'm not five. And besides, I won't even need a lunch today. My position will start tomorrow, not primer school. I must have asked her twenty times to stop doing it, but every morning it sits on the counter. She doesn't trust that I'm capable to do it myself. She never has.
My stomach groans. I touch the screen on the food printer to order my favorite, a blueberry muffin, ignoring the flashing green alert signaling the printer will need to be refilled soon. No sooner than I hit send, it makes zipping and whirring noises, followed by a beep. I release the door and grab the plain, printed plate, holding the fluffy, blue-splotched muffin. A sugary aroma wafts from the opening, making my mouth water.
I've watched informational vids on fresh food and pictured myself picking the fresh fruits and vegetables shown in them. I pick out a blueberry and pop it into my mouth, tasting the sweet, tart juice.
Wonder if the food from the printer tastes the same?
Despite the sweetness, I only manage to choke down a few bites of muffin before tossing it and the plate into the recycler to be remade into food and plates again. I pack a satchel with my handheld Flexx and the lunch Mother put out, just in case.
In the living room, an alert flashes on the media viewer. An official Direction message addressed to AVLYN JOY LARK.
My heart stops. On configuration day, besides a designated career, citizens also obtain the contacts of suitable spouse pairs. I've never even been on a date—courting hasn't been allowed for over thirty years—but now strangers deemed perfect for me will come call
ing.
A shiver works its way up my spine at the thought. This day is already happening too fast, and it's barely started.
Most look forward to the opportunity to be paired, but instead, I ignore the message and hold my breath until I'm out the front door and into the corridor. Almost tripping, I sidestep a hefty package with a Nutra Enterprise logo stamped on its side, our weekly order of food printer refill.
I release the breath and take out my handheld to reach my friend, Kyra.
Flexx 682AB1-ALARK: Want to walk with me?
Kyra and I often meet up on the way to university, and since today is my last day, I really want to see her. Who knows how much interaction we'll have in the future? Probably none, since after the transition period communication with childhood friends is highly discouraged.
The vibration of her response comes quickly.
Flexx 35D52G-KLEWIS: I'm downstairs.
Today the elevator sounds too confining, and I need to work off this nervous energy. Each footfall echoes and booms as I take the seven flights of stairs down. For some reason, the noise is satisfying, turning up the corners of my lips. At the bottom, I spot Kyra through the sparkling glass of the foyer, vacantly staring at her Flexx. Her straight, blonde hair is pulled in a low ponytail, and her plain, light gray clothes are as utilitarian as the bleak khaki outfit I chose. Somehow she always looks amazing, with her naturally tanned skin and aquamarine eyes. In contrast, my pale complexion and hazel irises are common, but looks don't equal intelligence, so it's stupid to care.
Once at the entrance, the door drifts open to the street and lets in a rush of cool, fall air. A fluid, pearly Aerrx delivery drone floats through and hovers past me, metallic tentacles clutching a delivery for a resident in the building.
The gigantic media screen affixed high on the building directly in front of ours flickers, and up comes Brian Marshall, the morning newscaster, with salt-and-pepper hair and a stern expression.
"Level Two and Three births are at an all-time high, and outpace those at Level One by fifty percent. This extraordinary news has come in time to commemorate thirty-five years of Compatibility Pairing and Birth Reassignment," Brian reports.
He goes on to announce an interview tonight with an expert on disease, and why the vaccinations are necessary to ensure a worldwide pandemic like the Collapse never happens again. This evening, Director Manning will make an announcement regarding the newest inoculation roll out.
"Up next," Brian says, "we'll take you to the Elore Detention Center for an update on the latest rebel activity and arrests."
The Direction emblem, a world wrapped in a swooping arrow pointed north to remind Elore to focus on forward thought, spins onto the viewer, and then fades, revealing an overhead view of the city. Above the screen is the spectacular dance of the Aerrx and Guardian drones as they shoot across the sky. The display never fails to impress me. An air shuttle passes over too, making me shiver at the thought of flying. Not my thing.
Kyra breaks my concentration, saying, "Configuration day."
"Huh?" I ask.
She shakes her head and gestures for me to walk toward university while folding up the thin, transparent material of her Flexx and snapping it to her wrist.
"Oh, yes," I confirm in a low tone. "First the med checkup, then the meeting."
An uncharacteristic glimmer lights up her eyes. "Did you read your official message?"
The message? Nothing in that message would excite me today. All "configuration" means is that everything is changing. After our transition period, I won't even be allowed to see Kyra anymore. She's not much, but she's all I have.
I've known her since the age of ten, when I got overly emotional one time at school. At the end of the day, she waited out front and walked me home. Kyra, an overachiever, believes she can "fix" me. She's even told me so. She knows everything about me. I slipped up at twelve and told her that sometimes I talk to Ben, my dead twin. For some reason, Kyra never breathed a word.
"I forgot," I lie.
She stops and rests her hand on her hip. "You forgot? You're not even curious about your pairings? With a good pair, you could secure a fantastic apartment right next to a Level Three sector with a view of the whole city. Not to mention anyone worth pairing with is going to get snapped up immediately."
Not that any Direction pairs would be of interest to me anyway.
"What if I don't want a pairing?"
"Of course you want a pairing," she huffs. "Otherwise you'll end up alone and unable to fulfill your obligation of children to society." Kyra shakes her head. "You never think these things through."
But I have thought this through. Being on my own will be easier.
I keep my head straight and continue walking without answering her.
"Oh, come on," she insists. "You'll be fine."
We hike the remaining blocks, nearing university. The smooth sidewalk continues as we pass the front of Level Two residences and the companies where we receive configuration. In an hour, I could be assigned to any of them.
"Sorry," I whisper, drifting toward her. "I'm nervous. So much is changing."
She gives me an expression of understanding. Her turn is Monday.
"Do you still think you'll be placed into government?" I ask.
Kyra shrugs. "All my scores are pointing to that division, but I overheard my parents trying to pull some strings for the actual entry position."
"Can they do that? I thought everything was decided in the testing system?"
"Probably not, but they want their union to produce a superior Level Two citizen instead of offspring influenced by an 'overly emotional friend.' Their exact words."
I flush, well aware she means me. Kyra has been a good friend, but her tact could use some work.
Another building's giant media screen flickers into view.
"Elore is a thriving metropolis, largely due to the hard work and continued focus of its citizens." An unseen woman's smooth voice narrates as the scene shifts to people working. "Societal Configuration allows citizens to concentrate their efforts away from emotions for the benefit of all—"
Hurried citizens pass by. A woman shepherds a little girl to drop her off at pre-primer school. Others gaze at handhelds or move to the line for the driverless taxis.
As we stop on the corner of Seventy-eighth Street, a motion across the road catches my eye. A teenaged, sepia-skinned girl pulls her curly hair loose from a ponytail and drops the dark coat she wore to the ground, revealing bright red clothing and standing out from the sea of neutral like illumination on a dark night. Something about the fabric appears soft and comfortable, in contrast to mine, which is more or less functioning as a uniform. She races down the sidewalk, and the blur of color streams around her like a flag.
A rebel. I should have known.
Kyra stares, her mouth falling wide. Some citizens from the crowded street gawk while others continue on with their business, each with eyes glued to their Flexx devices.
The runner stops and pulls out a small, matte black weapon from a bag slung over her shoulders. My eyes grow wide. Not that I've seen many weapons this close before, but something is unusual about it. She slides the top of the gun back and it emits a high-pitched whine. Barely thinking, my arms shoot out and I force Kyra to the ground. Other people duck behind anything substantial, even if it's just the person in front of them, or sprint the other way.
The rebel points the weapon at the nearby building, causing me to crouch further down. The little girl I saw earlier screams and points at the rebel clad in red. The rebels will only destroy our way of life, and that child knows it. The mother tries to cover her child's mouth and assures her that the Guardian drones will take the bad lady away.
My heart pounds at the mother's words.
Don't take her away.
I quickly correct my thinking.
They must take her away, for the protection of all of us.
I cover my ears, expecting a loud blast, but it doesn't
come. Instead, it's more of a crackling. There's no damage to the building other than a set of words emblazoned across the surface. The hair on my arms stand at the sight.
PEOPLE OF ELORE, BREAK FREE
I look to the rebel girl again, now staring right at me. My heart nearly leaps from my chest. The corners of her mouth lift to form a tight smile, and she raises an eyebrow. Why would she smile at me?
She tosses the graffiti gun and bolts, but the red clothing makes it impossible for her to hide. A group of Guardian drones swarm the girl. As they do, I clench my fists and grit my teeth. She stops and immediately throws her hands into the air. The rebel just gave up. No fight, nothing. Because of it, my body feels drawn to help her, to help her fight off the drones and make a daring escape. I picture the whole daring scene in my mind.
My legs push up from underneath me and I feel a hand grab the back of my shirt. I whip around to find Kyra staring back at me, her eyes panicked.
"What are you doing?" she whispers.
I fall back into a crouch. This is ridiculous. I'd be throwing my future away on some crazy rebel I didn't even know.
I imagine her smile again. I take a deep breath as she crumbles to the ground, tranquilized. Her head hits the sidewalk with a sickening thwack. A Guardian drone's metal tentacles snake from its form and wrap around her. It lifts from the ground to take her away for judgment, maybe even re-education, but in my heart I know that that's not true.
Worker drones buzz in to remove any evidence of the words she wrote on the side of the building. Citizens return to their business, acting as if nothing out of the ordinary happened. The woman and child, the one who was screaming, rise and move along. Nothing witnessed made any impact. If she had wanted to make a sacrifice, it was wasted.
Configured: (Book #1 in the Configured Trilogy) Page 1