The Colony Book 1: Rebellion

By J. Tomas

Sixteen year old Aine lives in the Colony, and his whole life was decided before he was born. In two years he will marry the girl next door, Brin, who was assigned as his Other at birth. Then he will be given a position in the Colony's workforce that best suits his talents. Each night he takes four pills, like everyone else in the Colony, and he knows the pills keep them safe and their world in order.

Everything is fine. Perfect, in fact. Until Aine accidentally drops one of his pills.

Terrified, he tries to hide the mistake, but when he dreams for the first time in his life, he discovers all he's been missing. What scares him more than not taking the pill, though, is how alive his dreams make him feel. Because it isn't Brin he dreams of but his best friend Kyer.

Another boy.

Suddenly Aine's world turns upside down, and he doesn't know what to think or who to trust. All he knows for sure is he's falling in love with Kyer, which is forbidden by the Colony's Code, and he will do anything to protect their budding relationship.

Even if it means defying the Overseer and leaving the Colony behind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Queerteen Press
• Release date: Aug 18, 2013
• ISBN: 9781611529777

J. Tomas

J. Tomas is a pseudonym, I'll admit it up front, under which I publish gay YA fiction. I write gay erotic romance as J.M. Snyder and publish non-gay fiction, nonfiction, and poetry as J.T. Marie. You can email me at [e-mail] who am I? A writer, a reader, a poet. A video game nerd ~ I heart Final Fantasy, Tomb Raider, and Legend of Zelda. A cat owner. A movie goer, music lover, boyband groupie. A queer author who remembers all too well the pains of high school, first love, and how it felt to ride the school bus when all the "cool" kids had their own car. Who knows what it's like to be different in a school of clones, to feel different, look different, act different.Who wants to put those feelings down on paper so others know they aren't alone.More specifically, I live in Virginia with two very spoiled cats. I have a day job that's not too bad, and I've always wanted to be a writer, so I write.

Book preview

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Chapter 1

It started the way all rebellions do. With a dream.

Now I knew I wasn’t supposed to have dreams. We took a pill to prevent them—it was the blue one, as I found out the evening I accidentally dropped it. Every night after I brushed my teeth, I would find the same little paper cup waiting for me on my bedside table. There were four pills inside. One red, one green, one blue, one white. My mother put them there, in the same spot where she always put them.

I had been taking the pills for as long as I could remember. Every night, I swallowed them down with a swig of water. I could take them all at once—they’re small. Sometimes, just to be a little different, I would take them singly. Some nights it was red first, some nights white. Blue and green were my favorite colors, so when I took them separately, I always made sure I took one of those last. They all tasted the same, but still.

That night I wanted to get them over with, so I picked up the cup and meant to tip it back, swallowing all the pills at once. But at the last minute, I gave the cup a sort of jerk, just hard enough to fling the pills at my open mouth. Tossing them down. I’d try the same thing with the water but I knew I’d only end up splashing myself instead.

Three of the pills made it in. Red, white, green. They hit my tongue and started to dissolve. Reflexively I gulped them down, reaching for the cup of water. They did all taste the same, and it wasn’t a pleasant taste, either. As I washed them away, I heard a tiny ping! as the blue pill hit the ground somewhere behind me.

Great.

I turned, pivoting on bare feet so I wouldn’t step on it by mistake. The floor in my room was short white carpet, the same as it was everywhere inside—not just our house, but all the houses in the Colony, and the classrooms and office buildings, too. It matched the walls, the screens, the consoles, our clothes. Blending everything together seamlessly. Making us one.

The blue pill should’ve stood out like a bug amidst all that white, but I didn’t see it. I couldn’t see it. Where…?

I took a step and felt it crunch beneath my heel. There.

Fear clawed at the back of my throat. I’d never missed a pill before. We couldn’t miss them. Each month, a new supply was delivered to our home, a separate box for each member of the family. My pills were mine, and I had just enough to get me through to the next delivery. I couldn’t take one of my mother’s, or one of my father’s, and definitely not one of my little sister’s. These were for me and me alone. They were manufactured to my exact specifications.

I couldn’t miss one. What would happen if I did?

Cautiously, I raised my foot just enough to see the crushed blue powder. For a moment it rested above the carpet, but when I moved my foot, the pill rubbed in and disappeared.

I glanced up at the screen above my door. It was a blank, black face staring back.

Did anyone see? Did anyone know?

Without trying to make any sudden movements, I rubbed my foot into the carpet, grinding the powder in. Okay, so no blue pill tonight. What did that mean, exactly?

I didn’t know. We were told the pills helped us. They gave us quiet, peaceful lives, far from the horrors of the past, disease and depravity and desire, things we read about on the console or learned in class. The pills kept us healthy, and safe.

And I didn’t take my blue pill tonight.

Would I wake up dead in the morning?

I didn’t know.

We were told the pills help, but we weren’t told how. My heart hammered in my chest, so loud and fast I was sure the screen would pick up my distress and send a signal to the Health Center requesting assistance. It was the thought of seeing that blank screen come to life that forced me to calm myself down.

One pill. I could make it without one. I’ve taken them for sixteen years, I reasoned. Surely there was some sort of build-up in my system. Surely someone missed a pill here or there, and didn’t die from it. I’d be fine.

I’d be fine.

Taking deep breaths to steady myself, I finished the rest of my water and placed it on the bedside table beside the little paper pill cup. I rubbed my foot over the spot where the blue pill disappeared, to make sure it was good and gone, then pulled back the covers on my bed. The fresh, tight sheets felt cool against my fevered face. I lay down, stretching out so each foot reached into a pocket corner at the end of the bed, where the sheets met the mattress.

My breathing slowed. My heart stopped racing.

See? Not dead yet. The pills helped us live better lives, true, but no one ever said not taking them would kill you.

I’d be fine. I told myself this over and over again until I started to believe it.

I closed my eyes. A full minute or two later, when my muscles began to relax, the light in my room dimmed, then extinguished.

What difference could one little pill possibly make, anyway?

* * * *

Sleep usually came within ten minutes of lying down. Like a screen on standby, the mind would slow its normal functions, eliminating all sight and sound while the body recharged. In the morning, I’d wake after the prescribed eight hours of downtime, refreshed and ready for another day’s work.

Without the little blue pill, the cycle was interrupted.

I lay awake for what felt like hours. The first time I opened my eyes, the light in the room brightened slightly, in sync with my body. I shut my eyes quickly, and pressed them tight to keep from opening them again. If my light stayed on for too long, the screen would come to life and a concerned head would appear, someone from the Monitor Center to inquire after me. Was I ill? Unwell? Had I taken my pills?

No. Best to pretend, keep my eyes shut, the lights out. Fake it. I’m asleep, see? I’m asleep.

Eventually the thought became reality, and I felt myself spiraling down…where, exactly? I wasn’t sure. Sleep had always come at me in a rush before. By the time my head hit the pillow, I would already be gone. Turned off. Recharging.

But tonight I felt my consciousness slipping away. I lay on my back and felt as if my thoughts were pooling in the nape of my neck. My heart slowed to a steady rhythm that sounded like footsteps when I pressed my ear against my pillow. My mind whirled at first, anxious, nervous, but as my vitals evened out, everything behind my eyes emptied until I stared at a vast darkness, a black so complete, it made me feel miniscule to stare into it. I felt myself shrinking, disappearing, dissolving, until I was just a tiny speck against all that nothingness.

And then I winked out.

The next thing I knew, I was sitting on the edge of my bed beside someone. I couldn’t look up and see who, but I saw my legs in their familiar, loose, white linen pants, and I saw another set alongside. A hand lay on the other knee, a hand I could almost recognize. I tried to move and couldn’t. Tried to stand or scream or shout—nothing. I had no memory of getting out of bed, of sitting up, of even waking up, and then it hit me.

This was a dream. I was dreaming.

I could dream.

From the beginning of our lives, we were told dreams were bad. They made for lazy, unproductive people. They created distraction and desire, both of which were bad for the Colony. They tired the mind when it should be resting. The pills stopped dreams, and distraction, and desire. They kept us alive, made us function. Made us Whole.

But this dream wasn’t a distraction. It felt real. I saw my hands on my thighs, and could feel the linen beneath my palms. The person beside me was saying something I couldn’t quite hear, but I couldn’t lean closer or ask them to speak up. My mouth felt dry, but my hands were damp with sweat.

Who was it?

The other person’s hand rose off the knee and hovered a moment, indecisive, before crossing the distance between us to land on my knee instead.

A flush of heat spiked through me at the touch. It was the first time anyone outside of my family unit or my Other had placed a hand so casually on my body, and every nerve tingled at the sensation. Even through the thin pants I wore, I could feel the heat the other person’s hand gave off. Was it my Other? It would make sense, wouldn’t it, that my first dream be of Brin, who was conscribed to me at birth. But her hand was daintier, more feminine, her nails oval and not quite so blunt.

Aine, someone sighed.

Dream or no, I heard my name spoken out loud, and I felt the breath against my ear. I knew the voice. It wasn’t my Other beside me at all, and the hand steadily rising up my leg until it covered my own wasn’t Brin’s.

Warm fingers enveloped mine and finally, finally, I moved. I glanced over and saw who sat so close to me, who held me so tight, who made my blood burn and my heart race in strangely sensual ways, as they had never done before.

It wasn’t Brin at all. It was Kyer, my best friend.

Chapter 2

Every One had an Other. We were crafted together, birthed at the same time, two halves of one Whole. Everything I was not, she was. Everything she lacked, I had. Others assured we would never be alone. Since the first Colony, Others had worked together to create everything we held dear.

Including the pills, of course.

Brin was my Other. Each year, the Birthing Committee selected twenty-six embryos from stasis to be born. Thirteen boys, thirteen girls, twinned and tweaked to perfection. The entire Colony celebrated the births, and more couples applied to become parents than would be able to receive the children. The babies were born in the Birthing Center and nurtured there for three months by Birthers, workers whose sole purpose was to raise and feed and clothe the newborns. After this initial period, the babies were given new homes. Families could only receive a total of two children—one of each gender. This allowed everyone in the Colony the opportunity to become parents.

The year I turned eleven, my mother and father petitioned the Committee for another child. They received a daughter, my sister Evie, a year later. She would be the last child my parents were allowed to raise.

There was no such thing as natural birth in the Colony.

We learned about it in class, and why it had been such a dangerous practice. Too many children born too quickly, to parents unable or unwilling to care for them. Diseases spread through sexual interactions. Mothers dying in childbirth, children born with defects, a whole gamut of reasons our system was better.

In the Colony, women and men donated their genes to future generations. The best traits were passed on, and families created through blending the Whole. Everyone who wanted a child could petition to receive one, and those who would rather focus on other talents didn’t have to be burdened with parenthood. It was all coded in our genes. If someone wanted a child, then his or her Other would want to raise a family, as well. If someone was better suited for long hours working for the Whole, the Other was, too.

Everyone was happy in the Colony. They had to be.

We took pills for it.

* * * *

The morning after the incident with my blue pill, I woke on my own, feeling refreshed. Usually the screen above my door clicked on with a soft chime that sounded every few seconds, growing louder as the light in the room brightened, drawing me from sleep.

But I was up before the chime began, my eyes open a full minute before the light brightened in response. I snuggled in the sheets for a moment, remembering the feel of Kyer’s hand on my knee, my thigh. If I’d stayed asleep a little longer, where exactly would his hand have ended up?

A delicious shiver tickled through me at the thought. I couldn’t wait to tell him about the dream.

No, I couldn’t. No one could know. Then they would know I didn’t take the blue pill, and it’d get back to the Health Center, and I’d be detained.

The dream was my little secret.

I had another minute to myself before the screen clicked to life. Someone stared into my room, a woman older than me but not quite as old as my mother. A Monitor, someone whose job it was to watch over everyone through the consoles in the Monitor Center.

Good morning, A-4602, she said, her voice pleasant but neutral. It was just another morning at work for her. She tapped the headset holding back strawberry-colored curls and I heard the sound loudly through the speakers built into the wall. Did you sleep well?

She knows. I threw back the covers and draped my legs over the side of the bed, sitting up. My left foot covered the spot where I thought I had smashed the blue pill the night before.

Monitor, I’m fine, I assured her.

The look on her face suggested otherwise. If I were fine, I’d still be asleep, and the chimes would have to wake me up.

She typed on a keyboard just out of sight, then nodded. Please stand with your arms out so I can run a bioscan.

I did as she asked. Would a bioscan show I hadn’t taken all my pills? Would I be found out before I even had a chance to savor this new freedom? Would I be detained after all?

The bioscan was painless. A thin slit in the wall lit up with a red light that circled my bedroom, then a laser scanned me from head to toe. I kept my face blank and held my breath. Please, I thought, not sure exactly who I might be pleading with. The Monitor, maybe? The Colony itself?

The memory of Kyer’s hand on my leg seared into my mind. Please. Don’t notice. Let me keep this.

After a moment, the laser disappeared and the red light flicked off. When it was gone, I couldn’t even see the slit where it had been.

The Monitor nodded again. The bioscan is within normal range. Please report to the Health Center for further testing as soon as possible.

My heart stuttered. I have class this morning, I pointed out.

After class is over will be fine, she assured me.

The bioscan was normal, I argued.

She gave me an uncharacteristic grin. It’s a preliminary test, checking all your vitals. The Health Center will be a bit more thorough, that’s all. Nothing to worry about.

But I was worried. In fact, for the first time in my life, I was terrified.

* * * *

My given name was A-4602. The letter indicated the order of my birth and the numbers, the year. Within the Colony, I was known first as A-4602; every communication I received from any Colony department referenced me by that name. But my parents chose Aine from the list of pre-approved names issued the year I was born, and most people I knew called me that. Teachers, my family, my friends. My Other.

When Brin and I married, we would be known in the system as AB-4602. Two Halves becoming Whole. The beauty of the Colony’s philosophy at work.

I stayed in my room until I heard the soft chimes start down the hall, rousing my parents and sister. Then I ducked into the bathroom to freshen up. There was a cabinet inside the bathroom with four shelves in it, one for each member of the family. I showered quickly—my prescribed seven minutes, no more, no less—then dressed in a clean pair of linen pants and lightweight tunic that were a mirror image of the outfit I wore to bed. White—everything was white. I dried my hair with a towel and combed the dark, damp strands back from my face. I watched my reflection in the tempered glass, looking for anything out of place, anything different.

I looked the same to me. If I couldn’t see any outward signs I hadn’t taken the blue pill, maybe no one else would, either.

In the main living area, my mother had breakfast already on the table. Two slices of thin, buttered toast and a scrambled pile of protein. From what I had learned in class, the protein was made to resemble eggs, unfertilized genetic material of extinct birds. The darker bits were supposed to mimic sausage, meat