Deceived: Deceived, #1

By Stephanie Flint and Isaac Flint

Deceived by the government. Exposed by her powers.

The Community concocted a lie to conceal the truth about her—and students like her.

She's in their grasp.

But she's not going to sit back and let them hurt her or her friends.

Can she escape?

Or will she drown in the Community's deception?

Begin your dystopian journey into the Community's dark secret... read this thrilling novella today!

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Note: Deceived is the first part of Galina's Saga, but also serves as a good introduction to the Distant Horizon universe.

Suggested Reading Order:
 

1.Deceived (Galina's Saga #1)

2. Distant Horizon (Distant Horizon #1)
               -- 3. Whispers in the Code (The Glitch Saga #1)
               -- 4. Ghost of a Memory (The Glitch Saga #2)
               -- 5. Spirits of a Glitch (The Glitch Saga #3)

6. Fractured Skies (Distant Horizon #2)

Galina's Saga takes places two years before Distant Horizon, while The Glitch Saga takes place at the same time as Fractured Skies.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Infinitas Publishing
• Release date: Sep 22, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393009573

Stephanie Flint

Stephanie Flint (formerly Stephanie Bibb) graduated from the University of Central Missouri with a Bachelor of Science in photography and a minor in creative writing. She merged the two interests into book cover design and photographic illustration, but she particularly enjoys writing speculative fiction. Stephanie lives with her husband, Isaac. Together they plot stories in the form of tabletop role-play games, and they enjoy the occasional cosplay. Online, Stephanie often goes by the nickname of SBibb.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

I leap from the diving board, twisting gracefully in the moment of the fall, and then glide into the deep end of the pool. Warm water whooshes around me in a dizzying whoomph. These moments, where the momentum carries me to the bottom of pool, where I can run the tips of my fingers along the slick blue tiles, weightless, before using a single kick to carry me to the surface—

These are the best.

I resurface, laughing and shaking water droplets from my eyes.

No homework. No annoying grades. No daily pill.

Just me...

Hey, Galina!

My sister waves, beckoning to where she and her friend are staying near the shallow end. Pretty sure I’m going to get splashed if I do. She’s still trying to compensate for my far superior armstand dive I did when we first got here—though she’s getting better. I taught her that move, and I’m proud to say she checked twice to make sure no one was watching before taking the plunge.

It’s not exactly Community safe.

I smirk and dive underwater, taking my time to return. My sister is a decent swimmer, even without my natural knack, and her friend loves the water almost as much as I do. Almost, because she’ll have her nose in a book as soon as she gets home, whereas I’ll be trying to weasel my way into staying an extra hour tomorrow.

My sister performs an underwater backflip as I approach. When she pops back up, her blond hair sticks to her chin in soggy clumps, backlit by the late afternoon sun streaming through the small windows at the top of the pool’s concrete walls.

We have half an hour before we need to get back, her friend notes, prim as usual. I still need to finish algebra, and...

My sister shoots her a glare. "Oh come on, Jen. We could stay another forty-five minutes and still get you home on time."

I grin. Maybe she’s starting to take after me after all. Amateurs. If you took the back routes, you could bypass the guards and make it home right at dark.

Jen’s eyes bug out—the teacher’s pet plays everything by the book—but my sister sticks out her tongue. "Yeah, but at least we get A’s on our homework. What was your last score?"

Show-off. A well-aimed splash on my part and she’s spitting out pool water. That’ll teach her to be all uppity about her grades. I chuckle. I don’t need a perfect grade to get a job as a lifeguard, or to teach other people to swim.

You still need a decent grade, Jen mutters, guiding my sister toward the shallow end where I’m less inclined to go. Suits me. They can enjoy chatting while I enjoy the pleasure of treading water, floating without a care in the world—

Something ripples beneath me.

I frown, twisting to see the source. Thus far, the pool has been serene. The only source of motion comes from us and the water filters on the sides.

But this came from directly below me.

I sink, letting out my breath slowly so I can reach the bottom.

Nothing there. No strange ripple. Just... a feeling something’s beneath me, even though there isn’t. After a moment of fruitlessly trying to discern what’s not really there, my lungs burn. I shoot to the surface and take a gasping breath. Community... I need to work on staying underwater longer. Normally I don’t have a problem—I haven’t since I stopped taking the daily pill—but something feels wrong.

Goosebumps crest across my skin where it’s exposed to air. This pool has always been my second home. But now it’s as if the water... as if it’s breathing. As if it’s restless.

Crazy.

I take a deep breath, dizzy. Maybe I should stay out of the pool for a little while. Catch my breath. I must have overexerted myself practicing those armstand dives.

I make my way to my sister and stick to the shallow end for the rest of the evening, watching the other two race each other, practicing for the relays in a couple weeks. After a few minutes, I retract my feet and sit cross-legged on the edge. I close my eyes to steady myself.

Something laps against my skin in rhythmic pulses, even though I’m not in the water. My breath catches in my throat. I open my eyes and stare at the far end of the pool.

It must be my nerves, because there’s no way I can sense how the water laps against the far end of the pool—

Not when I’m sitting on the other side.

CHAPTER TWO

Don’t forget your pill. Mother smiles as she collects the plates and piles them into a stack. All neat and tidy, like everything else in this apartment.

My sister hops from her seat at the table—which is barely small enough to fit in the room and still give us space for chairs—and she grins. I won’t. She bounds across the dining room and through the white doorframe of her bedroom faster than a dolphin spotting fish.

Probably to go chat with Jen on EYEnet.

Especially you, Mother chides me. She settles the plates into the crook of her arm and waggles her finger. We don’t need you getting sick. She disappears into our apartment’s tiny kitchen. All our needs are provided for, but that doesn’t mean we have much spare room.

Part of the reason I spend so much time at the pool. Less crowded.

Don’t worry. I pluck the remaining napkins from the table and toss them in the trash. I remember the pills now. Mother peeks around the kitchen wall and gives me a concerned smile, and I force a matching smile before heading to the privacy of my room.

I flop on the bed. The orange adominogen pill bottle sits on the corner of my desk. I reach over and grab it, rolling it around in my hand so the pills rattle. If Mother is listening, maybe she’ll think I took one.

I toss it back on the desk with a clink. There isn’t a point in taking medication against a dead plague. Especially when we stop taking them after the Health Scan once we graduate.

I stare at the light in the ceiling, urging my aching muscles to move. A warm breeze lifts the curtains of my window, sending in the smell of freshly mowed grass. I take a deep breath, wishing I could smell the sea from where we live. The pool always has a familiar sting to the nose. But the sea... there’s a damp storminess to the surrounding air and a wonderful salty tang. It’s so open.

Endless.

Someday, I’m going to live right next to the sea. I’m going to have a job where I can sit outside or take a swim, and not be cramped by pastel buildings every way I turn. No walls keeping me locked up in a tiny little apartment...

I sigh. Who am I kidding?

I’ll probably get a job in sanitation or warehouse stocking.

I roll over and stare at the orange bottle. I should probably place today’s pill in my backpack in case Mother decides to count them again. A couple months ago she realized I wasn’t taking them and took pains to carefully count the pills every couple of days while I was at school. I managed to convince her I’d forgotten them between swim practice and coursework—that sort of thing—but since then, she’s been cautious about me missing them.

Problem is, I don’t really care.

Theophrenia—the hallucinogenic plague the pills are for—has been contained for decades. No one in the Community is going to catch it. The territories? Maybe. They only