How far would you go? If human society was genuinely at risk, how cruel and heartless would our conscience allow us to be, in order to preserve humanity? If you thought the only means of preserving humanity was to capture, imprison and breed humans against their will - would you sanction it?
Ariet has been taken from her family, who are told she has died of an illness; when, in fact, she has been drugged and removed against her will to a secret underground location. Selected for a genetic breeding program by the Creators, the Monarchy of the New World, Ariet and her captor Mason, have to provide an offspring with a predetermined inherited genetic profile, or face termination. They find mutual empathy for one another when their unborn child does not carry the desirable gene. Unable to accept the scheduled termination of her pregnancy by the Creators and to save the life of her offspring, Mason helps her escape to an area outside of the Four Quadrants. Mason's childhood friend Thor, a Guardian in the Great Tower, flees with Ariet to protect her from the unknown, whilst leaving Mason behind to bring down the rulers of the New World. With the aid of refugees from the Old World, Ariet, together with her child and Thor risk everything to join Mason in his fight to destroy the Monarchy. This book is a horror story, a science fiction story and dark, thought experiment into the extreme application of genetic selection. It raises interesting ethical questions and poses the question - How far would you go?
Mondays are happy days for us, good family days. Most days are the same, mundane even, but Mondays add some variety to the week. Not only is it the first rest day for Superiors, but it is also the day we get our full medical, the results of which determine our supplies and rations for the week. Lying in bed, I can hear the birds chirping outside. They signal the start of spring, letting us know the sun is rising. Mother is up and shuffling in the kitchen, starting the preparations for today.
Food is abundant in Quadrant Four, provided your medical goes well. Some families have not been as lucky as us, but still they have more than they need. Our genetic viability has been solid for generations. Disease free, we obtain points each week which are uploaded onto our individual databases. Points can be used to obtain toiletries, clothing, anything at all really. Food rations are determined according to the cumulative number of points obtained by an entire family. Last week our points had been good, and provided a few rarities from Centre Market, which we used to spoil ourselves. The perusal of the market after the weekly medical makes the whole trip just that little bit less daunting. Beach Town has its own market, but Centre Market is more vibrant and has many things that we can’t get back home: honey and brown sugar for example, and lavender soap and such.
Every medical day, Mother and I wake early and prepare the last of the previous week’s rations for breakfast. Father and Alec get to rest in for a bit as we potter around. Men are not expected to work on medical days and have come to see it as a free day, a day where they do not have to report for duty in their various Sectors. Father is in the Agriculture Sector, having descended from a long line of botanists and growers. My brother Alec has reached the age where he is being taught the knowledge that has been passed down from generation to generation; expected to join the Sector full time.
I swing my legs off the bed, yawning slightly and stretching. The first rays of sun glint off a mirrored doorway leading to the lavatory area. I walk slowly over to the mirror and observe myself. Having reached twenty years of age I am fully developed, thanks to a combination of good genes from my familial line of descendants and a healthy and active lifestyle. Long auburn hair cascades down my back in soft curls. I am slender, but not to the point that I look starved. Medium height and medium build, the perfect average, or so I have been told during the weekly medicals. Holding out my arm I insert my wrist into a small opening in the mirror. A whirring mechanical sound indicates the implantation device in my wrist is being scanned.
Good morning, Ariet’.
“Good morning,” I reply, but it’s not as if the machine or the Creators can hear me. It’s more out of a silly habit which often makes me giggle to myself.