Daughter of Nothing: The Scion Chronicles, #1

By Eric Kent Edstrom

They call it the Scion School...

Jacey calls it prison.

She has no parents. None of the students on this remote Caribbean island do.

The world beyond? Destroyed by an asteroid impact long ago.

So what happens after graduation? The last class walked into the medical ward and were never seen again.

They've all been told lies. Lies and more lies!

Jacey hates herself for believing them for so long.

They've trained her body and mind to peak condition...for some purpose. But what?

Do they expect her to walk meekly into...whatever happens in the medical ward?

No. She will take it by storm. Full of fury. And she will rip the the Scion School apart to save herself and her friends.

To discover who she is.

And what she is.

Eric Kent Edstrom's compelling and genuine heroine, Jacey, will win your heart. Join this cast on an adventure full of action and twists you'll never see coming. Often compared to The Island and Never Let Me Go, this beloved series has YA dystopian fans raving for more.

This completed four book series is your next binge!

Start reading today.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Undermountain Books LLC
• Release date: Sep 10, 2013
• ISBN: 9781540158130

Eric Kent Edstrom

Eric is the author of over a dozen novels and numerous short stories.

Book preview

1

Find Out What's Next

Seven-six-two-nine-three-one-seven-six —

Jacey lay on the top bunk, watching the rattan blades of the ceiling fan spin in lazy circles. It turned just fast enough to circulate the humid Caribbean air through Girls’ Hall.

Normally, sea breezes cut through the dormitory, cooling the girls who lounged on the bunks lining both walls. But with the shutters and doors locked shut, the ceiling fan was all they had.

Six-seven-five-two-three-eight—

A low rumble, a vibration more than a sound, registered in the wood frame of her bunk. Jacey noted it, then continued.

Four-six-seven-four-eight-one-eight—

Footsteps. Whispering. A young voice, probably Rachel.

Four-six-seven—

Sarah’s older voice came from the bottom bunk. What is it, Rachel?

Six-six-nine-four-zero-five—

This didn’t happen last year. Rachel’s voice quavered.

One . . . three . . . two-zero-zero-zero—

Don’t worry about it. Lockdowns can happen anytime.

Has it happened on Birthday before?

Five-six . . .

Another rumble, followed by a susurration of whispers among the younger girls. It rose and fell like the surf on a far beach. Jacey tried to ignore it.

Five-six . . .

No, Rachel. We’ve never had one on Birthday, but as I said, they can happen anytime.

Thank you, Sarah. I’ll tell the others.

Five-six . . . Five, six . . . eight? Yes. Eight-one-two-seven—

The growl of a motor vehicle emerged from the rumbles.

It’s the Jeep, said another girl, a note of surprise in her voice.

One-four-five—

The sound of the Jeep grew louder. Jacey sat up.

A group of younger girls stampeded down the aisle between the bunks, their ponytails swinging and collar sigil pins flashing in the dim light. They raced toward the wooden entryway doors that stood a few meters from where Jacey lay.

It’s in the quad!

What’s Sensei doing?

Isn’t he in lockdown, too?

Of course not, you dummy. How could he unlock our doors if he was locked inside his villa?

Their voices reverberated from the dormitory hall’s stucco walls and cathedral ceiling.

The Jeep’s noise faded to the east. The only thing in that direction was Dr. Carlhagen’s hacienda. And that could only mean one thing.

Dr. Carlhagen, the headmaster, had returned to the Scion School.

Jacey slid from her top bunk and dropped next to Sarah’s bed. Jacey sat on the edge of the older girl’s bunk and frowned at the flock of students milling about the front doors. At eighteen, Sarah was a year older than Jacey. That meant she was in charge of half the girls in the dormitory.

Jacey touched her shoulder. How long are you going to let our Nine embarrass themselves?

Sarah lifted her arm and brushed away a strand of silky, black hair that had fallen across her face. She turned her large, dark eyes on Jacey. They looked unfocused, as if she hadn’t been paying attention to any of the excitement. What?

Jacey shifted her gaze to the congregation at the door. This is not the behavior one expects from Scions. Not in our Nine, anyway.

Sarah shook her head as if coming out of a stupor. You’re right. She stood and clapped her hands. Jacey, Wanda, Bethancy, Summer, Helen, Avanyla, Loreenla, Rachel!

A second later, Vin, also eighteen, piped in from across the room. As usual, she took her cue from Sarah. Belle, Leslie, Dajeet, Dansha, Grace, Suki, Chloe, Christina!

The flock by the door spun and flowed up the aisle, girls breaking off to take their assigned positions at the foot of their bunks. Jacey stepped to her spot and straightened her shoulders.

Sarah walked from girl to girl, inspecting their faces, hands, fingernails, and uniforms. Across the aisle, Vin did the same with her Nine.

Sarah stopped before Jacey. Your pin isn’t right.

Jacey’s left hand lifted to the Eagle pin on her collar and gauged its position. With her little finger aligned to the vertical edge of her mandarin collar, her ring finger should just touch the eagle’s beak.

It did.

An index finger pressed above the seam of collar should touch talon.

It didn’t.

Jacey removed the pin and handed it to Sarah. Scions who didn’t respect their pins weren’t allowed to wear them for a full day. Jacey swallowed but forced her face to remain passive. If she was to take over leadership of the Nine, she had to model the behavior she wanted from them.

Her stomach roiled.

How could I have been so careless? On Birthday, no less.

What would she do when it came time to exchange her Eagle pin for a Shark later that day? The embarrassment made her want to climb up to her bunk and hide under the covers.

Sarah hefted the weighty sigil, then with a sad smile pinned it onto Jacey’s collar. Not today.

Relief washed through Jacey, but her initial embarrassment didn’t fade. The excitement of Birthday had gotten to her. She wasn’t any better than the wide-eyed Dolphins and Pelicans.

Sarah called to her Nine. Gather.

They left their positions and formed a half circle with Sarah at the center. The Nine was composed of one girl from each age rank, each wearing the sigil pin of her age.

They stood silently, eyes focused on the First of their Nine. Sarah clasped her hands behind her back and smiled. I know you’re curious about what happens outside during lockdown. And I know some of you don’t believe me, but it’s nothing to be frightened about. Supplies are being delivered to the warehouse.

But who is doing it? And what is that rumbling?

Where do the supplies come from?

Why was the Jeep on the quad?

Sarah smacked her hands together so hard the crack made girls in the other Nine jump. Their leader, Vin, turned to give Sarah an irritated look.

Sarah glared at the younger Scions in her Nine. Return to your bunks and choose something from your studies to review. I expect absolute silence from you until Sensei unlocks the door.

With a chorus of Yes, Sarah, the girls disbanded.

Sarah returned to her own bunk and flopped onto it, as if chastising her Nine had taken the last milliliter of her energy.

Jacey returned to the edge of Sarah’s bunk. Thanks for not taking my pin.

Sarah smiled slightly, and Jacey noticed the tiniest quiver at the edge of the girl’s mouth. Their Nine leader had been distracted for the last few days, and the Nine had caught a whiff of her anxiety.

Jacey knew better than to draw direct attention to the display of nervousness. The best thing was to acknowledge the coming event, but in a tangential way.

I’ll miss discussing our studies, Jacey said quietly.

Sarah didn’t say anything right away. Instead, she stared into Jacey’s eyes as if trying to memorize her. She reached out and patted Jacey’s hand. I wish Dr. Carlhagen had allowed me to study more literature.

I know how you feel, Jacey said. She had always wanted to learn the advanced math that Sarah studied, but Dr. Carlhagen forbade it.

Sarah had taught Jacey some algebra in exchange for hearing plays and stories. Aside from the one year when Sarah had been at the Scion School while Jacey was still at Children’s Villa, they had never been apart.

Sarah looked toward the doors. Jacey knew what she was thinking.

You were right, Jacey. Dr. Carlhagen came. That had to be why the Jeep crossed the quad.

You didn’t think he’d miss the first Scion School graduation, did you?

They hadn’t seen the headmaster in four years, and the last time had been on Birthday as well. Each year, the question of whether or not he’d show up generated huge speculation.

You’ll finally find out what’s next, Jacey said.

Sarah’s eyebrows knit together. Her face paled as she dropped her efforts to conceal her fear. I’m so scared, Jacey.

Jacey glanced around to see if their conversation was drawing any notice. The girls in the next bunk appeared to be deep in their readers.

Across the aisle, Vin still lectured her Nine about poise and propriety and what it meant to be a Scion. It was wearisome, but at least she did it quietly.

Jacey leaned a bit closer to Sarah so she could keep her voice down. Aren’t you excited to leave the island, though?

No, Sarah said, eyes welling. What if I am assigned to the North American wastelands or to one of the European pestilence zones?

That’s not very likely, is it? Jacey said. What would be the point of training us only to send us off to certain death?

I hope you’re right. I want to get started rebuilding the world. I really do. I just worry that I am going to be thrown into something beyond my abilities.

Jacey squeezed Sarah’s shoulder. You’ll do well. You’ve done a great job leading our Nine. And I’ll miss you.

Sarah enfolded Jacey in her arms, squeezed her. Jacey returned the embrace, not caring who saw.

Let them call us Dolphins.

The rumblings outside went on, and eventually Jacey returned to her top bunk and focused her attention on the ceiling fan.

She’d lost her place. It was tedious to have to start at the very beginning, but she’d learned from long practice that shortcuts led to mistakes.

Dr. Carlhagen’s presence on the island reinvigorated her commitment to perfection, so she started over.

Pi.

Three-point-one-four-one . . .

° ° °

THE FRONT DOORS TO GIRLS’ HALL rattled just as Jacey finished her memorization review: pi to a thousand decimal places.

Sensei unlocked the doors, then continued around the outside of the dormitory, unlatching shutters and swinging them open. A welcome breeze brought in the scent of the sea and bougainvillea blossoms. By the time he’d finished and stepped inside, the Nines were standing in their roll-call positions.

Jacey didn’t know how old Sensei Mario Rosa was, though a hint of gray touched his temples. His rugged features and thick hands hinted at his great physical strength, and his presence was . . .

Not intimidating. That wasn’t the right word.

Potent.

An aura of buzzing energy always surrounded the martial arts master, as if the very air around him were about to explode. And yet his presence calmed Jacey, because one never doubted that Sensei was in absolute control.

His eyes scanned the room like a searchlight. Top of schedule.

Yes, Sensei, they replied in unison. That meant they’d begin the day as if there hadn’t been lockdown. Assuming the Arrival happened when it usually did, one of their activities would be cut short. Jacey hoped it wasn’t her dance recital.

Sensei spun and headed across the quad toward Boys’ Hall.

2

She Wasn't Good for Him

Upon arriving at the hacienda, Dr. Carlhagen tottered to his office. The long sea journey and bumpy Jeep ride had left him weary and battered. Next time he’d come by helicopter.

He opened his desk drawer and dug out his bottle of andleprixen, a painkiller he’d developed long ago. Like the rest of his inventions, it had never received regulatory approval. His hands trembled such that the bottle shook like a maraca. At nearly ninety-three, he had little to complain about. He had lived a long life, most of it vigorous, and had left a series of successes in his wake that would leave an indelible mark on human history.

Assuming he survived the next year.

He twisted off the cap and downed a slightly larger dose than necessary. No matter. His liver was healthy enough, and the pills were the only thing that helped the damned arthritis. Oh, how he longed for the careless ease of his youth.

Soon, soon, he reminded himself. A year. If he could just make it a year.

Mr. Justin, the butler, appeared in his doorway. He bowed low, flashing the crown of his hairless head. The Progenitors are all settled in the medical ward, sir. Nurse Smith has begun the tests you requested.

Good. He pulled his old timepiece from his vest pocket and glanced at the yellowed face. Plenty of time. I’ll call you if I need anything else.

Yes, sir. Mr. Justin bowed again and departed.

Dr. Carlhagen stroked his gnarled thumb across the face of the timepiece. The watch was an heirloom, handed down from eldest son to eldest son since 1913.

Two hundred years. If only his heart could tick as long as that miraculous device.

The thought brought an even broader smile to his face. His father had paid a watchsmith to replace the original action inside the watch. How proud the old man had been of the work. Look, son. You’d never know these weren’t original parts. The smith even matched the patina on the gears.

Dr. Carlhagen remembered feeling nothing but disdain. If one was going to go to all that effort, why not improve the device? Why not use modern materials? Why not polish it up to shine like new?

Some considered antiques more beautiful because of their age, an idea Dr. Carlhagen had never understood.

Youth was true beauty.

Enough philosophizing. He tucked the watch back into his pocket and turned his attention to what lay ahead.

Eighteen years of work had come to this day, the first graduating class. Finding Progenitors rich enough to afford a Scion had been relatively easy. The trick had been finding ones with enough urgency or inborn recklessness to go first. If they knew that Dr. Carlhagen himself had not been willing to take that risk, he doubted they would have agreed.

A pleasant flush of warmth filled Dr. Carlhagen’s veins as the andleprixen took effect. The pain in his joints eased, and his ever-present headache faded.

He had nothing to worry about. The Progenitors would all end up happy customers. The animal tests and the one human trial had proven the technology, and he’d made progress since then.

Once the first transfers were complete, he’d know for sure if all the effort and expense had been worth it. If so, he had a long life of extraordinary wealth and power to look forward to.

If not . . .

He gave the bottle of andleprixen a little shake before tucking it back into the drawer. There were plenty of pills left to make a quick end.

He put his hands on the surface of his bare desk, initiating a Michael session. The AI’s holographic image, fifteen centimeters high, resolved above Dr. Carlhagen’s desk.

Welcome back to St. Vitus, Doctor.

Anything I should know about, Michael?

I’d prefer if you call me Socrates.

I’ll call you whatever I wish.

Michael’s avatar wore a finely tailored suit. He always appeared to Dr. Carlhagen as a young man in his mid-thirties, hair cut short and neatly combed, exactly how Dr. Carlhagen’s business partner, Michael, had looked before uploading himself. He’d taken to calling himself Socrates when Dr. Carlhagen put him in charge of educating the Scions.

The students are doing well. I get the usual questions about graduation and the state of the world occasionally. Sensei Rosa has done a wonderful job curbing that. I never get questions from Crabs or older anymore.

Excellent. It’s been, what, four years?

Yes, sir.

I want to see the Eagles.

Michael nodded solemnly then transformed into the head and shoulders of a young man with dark eyes and short-cropped hair.

This is Vaughan, Michael said. Focus is on math, economics, and finance. Sensei considers him the strongest Scion on campus and the best fighter he’s ever seen.

Dr. Carlhagen leaned back. The boy’s resemblance to his Progenitor shouldn’t have startled him, but it did. It also irritated him. Show me Humphrey.

Vaughan’s face dissolved into a boy with a thinner face, bony cheeks and prominent Adam’s apple. He had a slightly sullen look, which made Dr. Carlhagen snort.

Next.

A pale, coldly beautiful girl took shape, thin lips pressed together, giving her a somewhat tense aspect. Is Belle still having issues?

Yes. A textbook case of depression. Shall I have Nurse Smith add an appropriate medicine to her daily?

No.

Dr. Carlhagen had argued with Michael about this several times before. The AI didn’t appreciate the risks of meddling with a Scion’s brain chemistry. The anti-depressives lingered for a long time. The risk to the Progenitor was too great.

She’ll have to make it through one more year. Watch her, though. If necessary, I can have Nurse Smith hold her in the medical ward.

Yes, sir.

Show me Jacey. Despite the andleprixen, Dr. Carlhagen’s heart picked up speed. One of the reasons he’d stayed away from St. Vitus so long was to avoid seeing her. She wasn’t good for him.

Belle’s face dissolved and reformed into one so familiar and so beautiful it stole his breath.

Michael said, She’s been on a memory and literature track for most of her time at the Scion School.

Dr. Carlhagen had to clear his throat in order to speak. How is Jacey doing?

Superbly. The most gifted memorization skills I’ve seen in a human.

The irony made Dr. Carlhagen laugh. Jacey’s Progenitor, an actress, had asked for memorization training as an afterthought.

Rule infractions? he asked.

Few. None intentional.

What were they?

Sensei Rosa reported three occasions Jacey spoke with a boy outside of allowed social periods. Sensei believed the transgressions to be incidental. He issued exercise punishments.

Which boy?

Vaughan.

Of course it was. Dr. Carlhagen forced his jaw to relax even as he reached for the drawer handle to get his bottle of pills. He stopped himself and instead took hold of his cane and stroked the handle, a silver boar’s head.

As he stared at the girl’s beautiful, familiar face, his mind started down a well-worn path. And just like the Jeep when its tire got stuck in a rut, he found it impossible to change the course of his thoughts. The hologram of Jacey’s face had long disappeared by the time Dr. Carlhagen’s mind came to a fork in the road.

But for all his thinking and musing, Dr. Carlhagen knew he’d made the decision about Jacey long ago.

Mr. Justin!

The butler stepped in and gave a slight bow.

Prepare to greet two guests in the hacienda. And bring the box in here.

Yes, sir.

Dr. Carlhagen summoned Michael again and gave him new instructions.

3

A Pattern of Impressions

Jacey held her breath as she watched the recording of herself on the wall-to-wall dance studio mirrors. Her big moment was coming.

The class’s ballet performance had played back uninterrupted for nearly five minutes, an unprecedented duration. Usually Madam LaFontaine, the AI dance mistress, stopped it every twenty seconds to point out a flaw in a dancer’s technique.

The music built toward a crescendo and Jacey watched herself spin and hit a preparatory pose. The other dancers tiptoed away, spinning with flourishes of arms and tutus. Madam LaFontaine had added a colorful backdrop behind the performers, one that didn’t exist in the bare-walled dance studio where they had actually performed.

The dance mistress had also added a spotlight, which pooled around Jacey’s image as she began a series of turns, building speed, then launched herself into the air. At the peak of her leap, the mirror paused and Madam LaFontaine’s AI image resolved into view among the frozen dancers.

Jacey studied her leap position. Her legs were extended in perfect front splits, toes pointed, arms overhead. She couldn’t see any problem, except one. She would never forgive herself if she was the reason Madam had paused the performance. She let her breath go when she saw the real cause.

Madam LaFontaine, who appeared only as a reflection in the mirror, stepped among the still girls, stopping behind Suki, an eleven-year-old in ballet shoes. She was frozen mid-fouetté.

Madam made a tsking noise. Suki, tell me what is wrong with this position.

Suki, one of three Crabs in the class, stepped forward and studied her reflection. My toe isn’t pointed, and I’m off balance.

Correct, Madam LaFontaine said. She motioned with her hand, and a blue line appeared on the mirror, indicating the axis of Suki’s turn, clearly showing the angle. She motioned again, and a green line appeared, showing the correct, vertical angle. "You cannot stay balanced if you are not straight. During your next free break, I expect you in here practicing your fouettés."

Suki curtsied to the mirror. Yes, madam.

The instructor walked among the other dancers in the reflection, offering comments on their positions. Conrad, excellent. Tytus, good, good.

She continued down the line and shook her head sadly at the image of Belle, whom Jacey thought looked quite stunning in a perfect arabesque pose.

How did you get the name ‘Belle?’ Madam LaFontaine asked. Look at your face.

Jacey hadn’t noticed Belle’s impassive face because the girl always looked like that. The only indication of Belle’s emotional state was in her eyes, subtle cues that Jacey couldn’t explain but sometimes recognized, having spent all seventeen years of her life with the girl.

Where is the passion? Madam LaFontaine asked, waving a hand in front of Belle’s frozen face.

The real Belle didn’t react.

If it is not in the face, it is not in the body, Madam LaFontaine said. If it is not in the body, it is not in the audience.

There is no audience, Belle said.

No audience? Madam threw her arms up in her usual dramatic fashion then pointed to the class. Look around you! Your fellow students.

They are the performers, Belle said.

And now they are standing still, watching their performance. The performer becomes the audience. You are the audience.

Yes, Madam LaFontaine. It was typical of Belle to concede a point she didn’t care to win. She learned skills, executed them flawlessly, but without any indication of interest, and certainly, as Madam LaFontaine had pointed out, without passion.

The instructor turned, cast an eye over the rest of the dancers and nodded in satisfaction. Jacey thought she was going to ignore her grand moment as the featured dancer, but then Madam turned to face her.

Jacey! she said, holding her arms out and then turning to the still image of Jacey in the mirror. "Excellent! La grande battement superbe. Then in a torrent of French, Madam LaFontaine waxed rhapsodic, pointing out the perfection of the lines. Suddenly she stopped and raised an eyebrow. Jacey, the mouth, the mouth, the mouth!" With every repetition, Madam LaFontaine flung an arm out to the side.

Jacey sighed. She’d never broken the habit of biting the corner of her lip during challenging moves. And there she was, frozen mid-air, biting her lip.

The youngest dancers—Dolphins and Pelicans—couldn’t suppress giggles, and for once Madam LaFontaine didn’t admonish them for it.

But perhaps it’s not an imperfection, Madam said. In the grand halls of Paris or St. Petersburg, perhaps this performance tic of yours would be considered a signature expression. Indeed, in the virtuoso, a slight imperfection is a grace note that makes the whole even more perfect.

Jacey’s face went hot under her instructor’s praise. She curtsied and Madam applauded, then encouraged the others to applaud.

Belle smacked her hands together four times and then resumed her still pose, patiently waiting for class to end.

Madam’s image disappeared, and the performance continued. Jacey landed, completed several more turns, and the dancers all came together in a final pose to end the performance.

The mirror faded to black and became just a mirror, showing all the Scions milling about on the dance floor.

A burst of chatter erupted, and several of the students hugged each other. The younger girls mostly, those who had not had the habit trained out of them yet. Several came up to Jacey and congratulated her. She accepted as graciously as she could, but couldn’t keep the heat from her cheeks.

She wanted the attention to last forever, but they had to get to class. The dancers headed out of the studio and into the changing room. Still feeling the pleasant glow of self-satisfaction, Jacey changed into her school uniform and stuffed her pointe shoes into her cubby.

Jacey waited at the entry for the rest of her Nine to line up behind her. All the girls in Jacey’s Nine were in dance, as were seven of Vin’s. It was a credit to both Dante and Ping that the five boys from their Nines formed up and headed off to their next activity.

Sarah stood to one side until everyone in her Nine was in position. Then, with solemn formality, she led them single-file down the wooden steps of the dojo complex and onto the quad.

The quadrangle was a grassy park at the center of the Scion School campus. Thick-boled trees grew here and there, offering shady spots where students gathered during class breaks to goof off or catch up on studies. A wooden platform stood in the middle, ready for the Birthday ceremony later that day.

The sun had broken over the eastern mountains, their rounded tops green and stark against the bluing sky. An easy, warm breeze blew from the east, heavy with the scent of salt water and the sweet blooms of island vegetation. Jacey breathed it in and savored it the way she might a cool drink after a long run.

The landscape sloped down toward the sea. And in the far distance, Turtle Island humped from the water like the back of a giant whale.

Sarah turned right and led the Nine into the girls’ classroom. It had the same floor plan as Girls’ Hall, but instead of bunks lining the walls, there were two rows of nine desks. Jacey fell out of line and took her spot at the last desk. Positions were assigned based on age, putting the youngest at the front. Sarah, as Nine leader, took one of the two desks that faced back toward the students. It allowed her to keep an eye on her Nine and assist if Socrates requested it. Vin and her Nine took the desks across the aisle.

The desks were meter-wide spans of glass upon metal frames. Dr. Carlhagen didn’t allow chairs, so the desk legs automatically adjusted to each student’s