Heightened: The Federation Series (2 page)

“You know the protocol,” Max says. “The decontamination team will meet us, as soon as we get back.”

Smith moans, “None of us even came close enough to get anything from the urchins.”

“It’s better to be over cautious than being responsible for an epidemic,” I say. “Someone had to be there to blast the wall, right?”

“Well, I’m not sure about that,” Smith says. “It’s different than anything I’ve ever seen before. It is possible that it was an off-site blast.”

“We’re going to have to change our protocol,” Max says. “We aren’t prepared for an offensive beyond the dead zone and forest.”

“Old school,” I say, “We had the weapons once; we just haven’t needed to use them in a while.”

Max brings the shuttle down. I look out the window and see the decontamination team waiting for us. I hate being decontaminated. I was ten years old the first time I had to go through it. My parents were Defense too, and they brought something back with them. But it wasn’t the pain, or the nauseating medications; it was the waiting for them to return. They never did; they contracted the virus that was what the Federation told me. They were sent out beyond the dead zone, into the wastelands.

I enter the first shower; the water is freezing. My entire body violently trembles. My teeth are clattering. I focus on keeping my tongue tight to the roof of my mouth, so I don’t bite it. I hear a low beep; I check my visual display. I have a message, “
access text.”

COMMAND: unclench fists.

I ease my hands open, allowing my fingers to stretch. It’s another full minute before the alarm sounds, and the water turns off. I face the door. It opens, and I enter the scorching shower. By the time I am done, my skin is bright red, and pulsing with pain. The last shower consists of an anti-microbial wash, and it stings my raw skin. I enter the drying chamber, and then the small room, where I will receive a series of five shots and three pills.

After my decontamination, I head straight for my quarters. The medicine always makes me nauseous. I take a few bites of an apple, and then lie down. My head is already spinning. I cover my face with my pillow and concentrate on not throwing up because the last thing I want to do is take another round of pills.

I can’t sleep. My mind won’t depart with the guilt I feel about killing the nine rebels. Why do they allow their kids to enter the dead zone? We call it that for a reason; everyone caught within a 1000 yards of the wall is killed, no exceptions. The blast negated any leniency allowed in the past.

The Federation has slacked on some of their laws and punishments over the years. We’ve been at peace for so long, and the system seems to be working to its fullest potential. But in the last few months intrusions into the dead zone have increased, and there have been crimes within the Federation. At first we attributed the crimes to flaws in the Federation program, but Technology ruled out any flaws. The Federation Council is holding a special session in five days to determine the necessary protocol to ensure the continued success of the Federation. A week ago, Defense was issued an order to neutralize, without discrimination, any life force within the thousand-yard dead zone. I anticipate the council will expand that distance further into the wastelands. But if Smith is correct, and the rebels have developed an off-site weapon, it might not be enough to protect the wall.

I check the connection of my receptor to the post’s wireless access and then close my eyes. The pain blocker kicks in, and I fall into a deep sleep. The medication and my program will monitor and repair my skin, by morning I will be as good, as new.

I wake to Smith shaking me. I swat at him and mumble a few choice words under my breath. He lands a hard kick to the edge of my bed. I sit up ready to level him.

“What the Hell,” I shout.

“Whoa,” he steps back, “Dude, didn’t you hear the alarm?’

I shake my head. The emergency alarm is blaring, and my visual display is beeping in my ear.

“The wall post is under attack,” he’s out of breath.

I throw on my clothes and grab my gear. We’re on a shuttle in less than ten minutes. It takes us thirty minutes to get to the wall post. By the time we arrive, they have destroyed everything. We scan for life force, but no one survived.

I jolt out of bed and stumble, catching a foot on the braided rug beside my bed and nearly falling into my desk chair. I stand with my head resting on the door frame. My visual display usually emits a low beep, but because I have ignored turning off my alarm, it is now a higher intensity beep that hurts my ears. A shiver rushes from my bare toes to my head, causing an uncontrollable tremor.

“
Access text, terminate alarm.”

“Get in the shower,” my sister calls from under her covers, “I don’t want to be late! Emma go!”

I grumble at her as I walk down the hall to the bathroom. After I take my shower, I stand in our tiny bathroom and look around. The light green walls and the wooden floors seem brighter than they did just yesterday. The sun is starting to filter through the window, and it touches my toes. I wiggle them and smile. I look around, taking in every sight, sound, smell, right down to the crack in the tile where I dropped a heart shaped rock when I was five years old. The bathroom is my favorite place inside the house. It is one of the only places that I can be myself. I can smile and laugh, cry and be angry. When I was younger, I had an active imagination, which caused me a lot of troubles. I learned to suppress it when I started losing education points. When I decided that I didn’t want to be in agriculture, like my family. When I decided, I wanted to get away, to learn and explore. Education is one of only four occupations that allowed you to travel outside of our territory: Politics, Transportation, and Defense were the other three. I am not cut out for Politics, Transportation seems terribly boring and Defense would never be an option for me; I am too weak and afraid of what is outside our borders.

BANG

I jump, bringing my hand to my mouth to cover my screech.

“Are you done?” Pam’s voice is shrill and annoying, as usual.

“In a minute,” I snap back at her.

I look in the mirror. I look the same, but today I will become a new me. My mind wanders to my nightmare, which is what I’ve decided to call it because accepting the notion that it could be anything more is terrifying. I can still see his eyes, but his face has faded. I feel a twitch in my heart, and I can feel a slow, warmth spread across my face.

“If only you were real,” I say to myself. It’s always the same after I have the nightmare; I ache for him. He is a part of me. It is an angry, cruel, twist of fate that I long for someone that is merely a wisp of a person.

I lean close to the mirror. “It feels so real.” I can remember him from the nightmare, and from dreams of places I have never been, or seen. I have moments when I feel like he will turn the corner, but it’s the heartache of opening my eyes and expecting him to be lying next to me in the morning. I’ll reach for him in my sleep, and wake terrified. I’ve walked the house searching for him before I realize he was just a dream.

I finish getting ready and open the door to Pam: arms crossed; foot tapping and a scowl focused directly towards me. I hear my parents’ downstairs getting breakfast ready. I don’t want to argue with Pam.

“I’m sorry,” my voice is quiet and steady, “I was reminiscing…daydreaming.”

“I keep forgetting,” she says. She tugs at her hair, twisting it around her forefinger. “Who will I fight with…now that you’re leaving?”

I think for a minute how my leaving will affect her and my brothers. I’m 18 and the oldest, so no one in our family has had to say goodbye to a child. Well, I guess I’m not a child, anymore. I’m an adult and for the next year I will be experiencing our territory, meeting new people and beginning my life.

“It won’t be that bad,” I say.

“You can say that because your life is perfect,” she scowls, “soon to be Mrs. Adam Benson.”

“I’m far from perfect and I don’t think an arranged marriage is romantic at all. Besides I might score incompatible with Adam.” My voice is too loud, and I can see she’s upset, but I don’t care. I’m still aching for the man in my nightmare. “Wouldn’t it be nice to fall in love?”

“You are insane.” She uncrosses her arms and points her bony little finger at me. “You shouldn’t say things like that out loud, or someone will think you’re conspiring with the rebels.”

“There are no rebels, just unorganized bands of crazy, disease banished people.” I’m starting to go from annoyed to angry. I don’t want the last moments with my sister to be bad moments. I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry; let’s not fight.”

“It’s okay; you just frustrate me. You’re so naïve,” she smiles. “You, need to remember who you are and keep true to you.”

I take a moment to take in what she just said to me. It was an odd thing, for a 16 year old, to say, but it was her tone that surprised me. Was she warning me? I brush the thought aside.

“You can bother one of the boys,” I say with a forced smile. I usually like our arguments, but this conversation is beginning to bring down my mood. She is my only sister, and we share a bond greater than I do with my brothers, but I have so much happening in my life right now.

“They’re no fun.” I see tears swell up in her eyes, but they disappear as soon as they form. Her program takes over and calms her emotions. She walks past me, heads into the bathroom and closes the door. I feel sorry because she will have a mark on her daily report and will lose an education point, all because I angered her.

I walk downstairs and sit at the table with my parents. Again I find myself looking around at all the things that I won’t get to see anymore. The family picture over the mantle, the rocking chair by the fireplace, my life, my family. I wait for the twinge of remorse or sadness, but I am numb. All I feel is anticipation for the Heightening and my new life. The thought of being able to say what I want, do what I want is too powerful; even if it’s just for one day.

“Are you complacent?” My father asks. He’s fidgeting with his tablet, flipping through the news and weather, no doubt. He is a member of the agricultural council and the weather this season has been a source of stress and worry. He has tried to manage his emotions, but his program has had to dull him on several occasions, and he’s received marks on his daily report.

              “I am,” I lie because that is the answer he is expecting. My father is not like me, but I can tell he’s feeling something emotional about my departure. “I look forward to becoming a productive citizen.”

              “You’ll do fine,” he said, still not looking, still fidgeting.

              “If you get Agricultural first, we’ll get to see you every day.” My mother is always the optimistic in the family, even when things seem dire; she still manages to find the positive.

              “You’ve raised me well,” I say. My mother smiles at me; I can sense her enthusiasm and confidence. If she’s upset or worried; she manages it well. I don’t think she’s ever received a mark on her daily report.

              I look past my father, out the window. The sun is up and touching all our fields. We are a fifth generation, farm family. My ancestors owned our land before the Federation of Territories was formed; when it was still The United States of America and before the second civil war. Civilization had reached a point of no return; disease and crime ruled the land. The government was corrupt, and the people were angry. At first the citizens were unorganized, but over time they joined and fought. But in the end they did not win, the government initiated the first receptor program. They forced citizens to comply or face imprisonment. It took less than a year for the government to gain complete control of the population, and the Federation was formed. And now we live in peace, and prosperity. I can’t imagine what the world would have turned into if the rebels had won. We are very lucky to be citizens of the Federation. We are safe.

“May I be excused,” I ask? “I’d like to take a walk down to the orchard, one last time.”

“Yes,” says my father. “Be mindful of the time. You don’t want to be late today.”

I grab my coat and walk out the back door and down the path to the orchard. Growing up, I spent many days daydreaming and resting under my favorite apple tree. I look out over the fields, and I can feel the tears dance at the corners of my eyes. I sit with my back leaning against the trunk of my tree. I know in my heart that this will be the last time that I will ever sit in this spot, and I ache. There are so many thoughts mangled in my mind, and I try to focus on just one, but a sharp pain seizes my head, right behind my eyes. I grab my face, putting pressure on my temples. I barely have to time to react, as a gut wrenching wave of fierce pain makes me convulse. I turn my head and vomit, just missing my shoes.

I try to catch my breath, but another course of regurgitation sends me to my knees. I heave and moan. The pain is white and piercing, but it ends, and I fall onto my side. I look up through the branches. The morning sky is crisp and clear.

I can see him in my mind, and not just his eyes; his face as well. I sit up and look around. I half expect him to be standing near, spying on me. I can’t shake the feeling that he is close, but I don’t see him, or anyone. I’m in the middle of the orchard; in the middle of the farm, and the closest place is an outpost for Defense. An unsettling idea comes to me; what if he was here with me? I look towards the woods. I see a tall oak. I run over to it; there’s a path. I can picture him standing there, smiling his crooked smile at me, kissing my lips and walking away. It’s so real that I can remember his warmth, the taste of his mouth, and the smell of his skin. I touch my lips and warmth spreads across my face. My heart responds with a tangle of pain and despair.

“Why did you leave,” I ask myself? And then it occurs to me, “you’re real.”

The path leads to an old dirt road. My siblings and I use to play in the woods, but we never crossed the road. About a mile beyond the road was the boundary to the Defense post, and we were not allowed to trespass. There were kids at school who lived there, but they were not permitted to talk about the post.

I take a few steps down the path. I stop and look over my shoulder. I can see my tree, but I am confident that I am concealed enough that no one would be able to see me from the orchard. Someone could have been watching me, and I wouldn’t have noticed them.

“Access map: display life force.”

I am alone in the woods.  My program allows for me to detect anyone within a fifty-yard radius of my current location. I decide to walk further down the path. I stop at the edge of the woods. The road is only a few feet in front of me. I take another step, but my visual display alarm announces a warning.

COMMAND: terminate currently projected course, Federation dead zone warning.

I stand still.

COMMAND: terminate current projected course, Federation dead zone warning, twenty, nineteen, eighteen, seventeen…

I take a step back. My visual display clears, and the warning stops. I turn and run up the path, towards the farm.

Beep, beep, beep - beep, beep, beep

I jump. My alarm sounds and my display shows the time. I run to the house. I close the door softly and lean against the wall. I take a moment to catch my breath before I head into the kitchen. My parents are sitting at the table. I join them.

“Everything okay,” my mother asks. “You look flushed.”

“I’m fine,” I say. “It’s chilly outside and I lost track of the time and ran back to the house.”

              I hear Pam and my brothers’ stomp down the stairs. Pam stares at me and then quickly looks away. Chatter and commotion fill the room. I think of how quiet it will be when I finally get an occupation. I look forward to the quiet. I feel a twinge in my stomach and push my breakfast aside. After my vomiting in the orchard and stepping into a dead zone, I don’t feel like eating. I can’t stop thinking about him, and about the dead zone. And then I remember waking up last night, and Pam asking me if I had heard a sound. She said it was like an explosion. What happened?

              I push my feelings aside. I take a deep breath and imagine I am sitting under my tree. It is summer, and a warm, sweet breeze flows around me, embracing me, and comforting me. As long as I can keep myself calm, and think about happy, peaceful memories, I can maintain my composure. I can appear to be normal. I pick up my dishes and place them in the sink. I start for the door, but my father’s voice stops me.

              “I think we all need to acknowledge Emma and her new adventure.” He stands up and walks towards me. I stiffen as he puts his arms around me, hugging me tight. It takes a second for my mind to register what he’s doing. My entire body starts to shake, and I make a feeble attempt to push away, but he’s too strong. My sister and brothers look at us in shock. We aren’t allowed to hug or show any physical, emotional gestures. A pat on the back is acceptable but barely. My father just broke the law.

The Federation has many laws about social interactions. But some of the most important pertain to physical contact. Citizens are not allowed to touch one another: no hugs, no kisses, no skin to skin contact and no unlawful intercourse. Married couples can touch, but the exchanging of bodily fluids is still limited. Before the second civil war, the country was tainted with disease: sexually and contact transmitted. The laws have eliminated many of these diseases. The laws also restrict entertainment. It is unlawful to act in a manner that will induce a state of arousal, even though our programs dull pleasure.