Sectors

By Harule Stokes

A murder has been committed in Westwood. Joseph Marshall, a newly graduated NextGen operative is sent to investigate the only suspect - one of the last remaining Fallen. These super-soldiers, the preamble to the NextGen, have mostly died off. Not due to the passage of time, but because they went insane, some violently so, and had to be stopped by the government that created them.

Being NextGen is not easy. Their childhood is stolen by the Alliance's military machine. Society fears their very presence. And worst of all, every NextGen must serve in a massive concentration camp called the Sectors.

The Sectors, created over 70 years ago, was developed to keep the Northern Alliance's greatest enemy, the Keynosians, under thumb. Like the Alliance, the Keynosians have genetically gifted men and women among them called the Empowered, who are capable of just as much violence and destruction as the NextGen. Fearful of another war, the Northern Alliance is intent on keeping them contained. Joseph is recruited to police one of the worst locations within this massive prison camp, Westwood.

With a Fallen partner and a murder investigation he must solve, Joseph has his hands full. The last thing he needs to do, is fall in love… with the enemy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harule Stokes
• Release date: Jul 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9780988221116

Harule Stokes

I love to express myself through the written word.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Graduation

WONDER WHY MOM IS CALLING so late? Normally she’s in bed by now. Hi, Mom. Is everything okay?

Oh yes, Joseph, everything is fine. I’m just calling to see how you’re doing.

I’m good, Mom.

Are they... treating you okay?

Treating me okay? That’s a bizarre question. I can’t help but to chuckle. Uhh, yeah, Mom, they’re treating me fine. It’s not like anyone’s abusing me here or anything. Although I am hoping Jennifer will treat me to some abuse tonight when I see her at the party.

Hmm, I hear a lot of noise in the background. Are you boys having some sort of party in the dorms?

Good lord, always with the questions. Well, I certainly can’t feign ignorance of the thumping Keynosian music filling the hallways, but I think it’s safer to leave out the fact that the party is coed. Mom knows the Academy’s rules, and despite how she feels about this place, she’d never allow me to flunk myself out.

Mom, it’s graduation night, so yeah, we’re having a party... what’s up?

You boys don’t have a bunch of girls in the dorms, do you?

Impossible. There’s no way she knows that. She’s psychic, she has to be. Okay, Joseph, play it cool. Awww, Mom, come on. Look, nothing’s going on here... is that why you called? You needed to make sure I’m following the rules?

No, no... it’s just, I haven’t heard from you in a while, and I wanted to talk to my little man, make sure you’re doing alright. Her voice trails off, sounding small and frail, like she’s on the verge of crying.

God, I hate when she does that. This tends to happen when there’s some terrible revelation looming on the edges of a conversation. She did the same thing when Grandma passed away. I’d rather she just come out and say what’s really on her mind. I’m an adult. I can take it.

We’ve been busy, that’s all, I assure her. With all of the training, and now the prepping for graduation, my plate’s been full. So, how are you and Mikey doin’?

I wait for her response as she sighs deeply on the other end of the line. She’s building to something.

I hope everyone’s okay.

Look, the reason I called is, I’m feeling really guilty about not coming to your graduation. I know what I said before, but still... to not see my eldest walk across a stage and get his license and diploma. It’s a big accomplishment in your life—

Mom, it’s cool okay. I don’t want to talk about this. Not now. You don’t need to worry about it, I say, but her absence still stings. Now, it’s too late for her to show up in time for the ceremony, and her feeling terrible doesn’t change that fact.

No, it’s not cool. It’s... it’s just not. I feel like I should be there with you, regardless of how I feel about that... stupid, so-called school. Even over the phone, I can tell she’s speaking through clenched teeth. I mean, you’re graduating with intellectual honors! That’s something we should be celebrating together, right?

"Mom, I’m twenty years old, I get it. You’re doing what you think is right, as am I.

Look, I know it’s hard for you not to see me as a little boy, but I’m old enough to understand the situation. We’ve both made choices, and we’re both sticking to them. So, even if you’re not here, you’re my mom. You’ll always be my mom and I’ll always love you. No matter what.

She takes a breath. You’re a man, I know. I just... dunno. It’s just that, sometimes it feels like I’m losing you.

Mom, wow, exactly how are you losing me? It’s not like anyone can stop me from being your son, or you my mom. I’m not disappearing, I’m not leaving the country, heck, I’m not even leaving this continent. In the Sectors I’ll be just a phone call away at whatever base I get assigned to. My assignment will be given to me tomorrow. Once I have that information, I can start figuring out travel times. I hope they give me something close like Willow or even Stone Branch. Those Sectors are close enough and high enough in level for me to be assigned there. The bonus of them being a mere three or four hours away from the mainland is icing on the cake.

You’ve explained it all before, I know. I just... I dunno.

Mom, before I’m shipped off, I’ll be back home to pack and rest for a few days. After that, it’ll only be a month until my first trip home, so you’ll be seeing me soon and often enough to be sick of me.

And the sniffling begins. Damn it, I knew she was going to ruin my night somehow when I picked up the phone.

Are you crying, Mom? Come on, there’s no need to cry.

It’s not that, Joe. It’s just, I’m so proud of you. I feel it in my chest, in my heart. I feel it so much it’s as if my heart will burst when I think of the man you’ve become.

I’m stunned. After all of our tense conversations about my enlistment, I hardly expected to hear her say this. To say how proud she is of me. All of this on the eve before of my graduation.

I just want you to know that no matter what, I respect and love you with all my heart. Okay, sweetie? I don’t want you to ever think otherwise.

She hated my decision to enlist. She felt the decision was forced upon me. She felt it was not a choice I made from my heart, but a responsibility society pushed on me. But, I am a NextGen. The gene she and my father passed on to me may have kicked in late, but it kicked in, and did so quickly. It became obvious what I was becoming when in just over a month’s time my body’s density and weight increased so much that normal beds could no longer support my weight. Yet, she avoided it.

I still remember the sound of her sobbing in her bedroom the night I told her. It broke her heart when the school officials called and told her I was being tested for the genetic markers of a NextGen.

At her speeches during those boring Freedom for All rallies, she’d staunchly denounce the Northern Alliance’s system of taking children and training them to work as police in the Sectors. She sees it as a form of slavery, not only for Alliance citizens but also for the Keynosians. They are forcing slaves to rule over other slaves, she’d say.

Yet now, faced with my graduation and deployment, she tells me how much pride she feels.

I gear up to speak, and a sudden rush of emotion rises from my gut and makes a beeline for my eyes. I chuckle a little, trying to clear the swelling in my throat, rub my hand over my face to deter the tears that threaten to appear from behind my eyes.

A few passing guys from the dorm floor glance at me. I can’t be seen crying.

Nervously, I lean in close to the receiver and shield my face. I’m proud of you too, Mom, I whisper, hiding my loving words from the ears of any nearby partygoers just like the tears.

You’re proud, of me? she says, her voice rising in surprise.

Of course, Mom. I’m so proud of your strength and conviction.

She pauses, then chuckles. I suspect she’s clearing her own emotions – a trick I’m sure I stole from the source.

You’ve never wavered on your stance regarding Northerners and South – err, Keynosians... Damn.

Was that... Joseph, you know better...

Come on, I didn’t say it, Mom. Don’t freak out, okay?

The guys here refer to Keynosians as Southies so often I almost slipped up and repeated the slur to Mom. I’d better make sure to purge that habit after I leave this place.

Yeah, okay, you better not say it. I raised you better than that.

Just saying Southie around Mom was and still is an instant grounding for a month or more.

"Well, as I was going to say, you’ve never backed down from what you believe in, and believe it or not, that’s something they’ve pushed in our training here from day one. Staying vigilant and focusing on your task has been a big part of the teachers’ mantra.

Never being afraid to do what must be done to achieve your objective. That’s something you have: vigilance.

Hmmm, never thought I’d agree with anything the Academy had to teach.

Actually, they’ve repeated or at least captured the spirit of lots of things you’ve said.

Minus many other important things.

And those are things we won’t go into now, right, Mom?

"No, Joe, we won’t. I... I just want you to know that I love you, and I’ll always be proud to be your mother, always. I know you’ll do what’s in your heart to do regardless of whatever nonsense they teach you regarding the Keynosians. I know my son, and I know you have a wonderful heart. Now go, join your friends.

And by the way, it sounds like you boys are having a serious party over there.

Oh yeah, it’s been a blast so far.

Mmmhmm... so, are you going to fess up?

Huh? Fess up to what?

Joseph, do you honestly expect me to believe no girls are over there? I hear booty-grinding music, and I know you boys are not up there grinding on each other.

Mom... booty-grinding music? Really?

Yes. Booty. Grinding. Music. I can hear it playing in the background, ya know. You guys are blasting that pseudo-Keynosian music you kids love to dance to these days, and I’ve seen those horrid music videos they play to those songs.

Seriously, Mom, I’m not getting into all of that right now.

She erupts in laughter. Ohh-kay fine, enjoy your supposedly girl-less party, and I’ll see you soon, yes?

Her laugh always delights me, just hearing it brings a smile to my face.

Of course, Mom. By the way, tell Mikey I said, whassuphomie!

What? Umm, how about I tell him you said hi? I’m not repeating whatever you said there.

We laugh. For a moment, neither of us speaks, and I know her mind is churning on the other end of the line. Mom, seriously, don’t worry.

I’m not! I trust you. Now go. Have fun. Love you much, Son.

Love you much too, Mom.

Of course, she’s right about the girls, although I’ll never admit it to her. There are a lots of girls here actually, both norm and NextGen of all class ranges. For the norms, they’re busy vying for NextGen attention. Not sure how they even got in here. None of them attend the Academy, of course, and most are probably from the surrounding area. We NextGen may have our lives carved out for us, but we’re also well compensated for that. Which is probably the only reason so many norms are here. They’re probably looking to snag a cushy life on our NextGen salaries.

I hang up the phone and am slowly walking towards the thumping rhythms when I find myself sweeping back into memories of the arguments Mom and I had regarding my enlistment – thoughts I usually try to avoid. The truth is, she’s right. I didn’t have the option to not enlist. Well, not truly. Sure they call it choice, but what kind of choice is enlist or be forced into some non-threatening, menial job like garbage collector or security guard? Each so-called choice is limited to occupations where no one care who or what we hurt. So no, that are no really options for unenlisted NextGen.

Mom finds my negative view of those jobs offered to NextGen as very insulting. Those are honorable professions, she’d say. Without them, we wouldn’t have the society we have now. You need to respect that.

Honorable or not, I want something different for myself. If I can make more money, a lot more money working in the Sectors, I’ll do it. It’s not like you can have a level 8 NextGen, or any NextGen over a level 5 for that matter, just mingling with the general population unchecked. That much power needs to be controlled. That’s that entire reason we have to keep the Keynosians in the Sectors, after all. Also, NextGen and their progeny do not have a glorious past. So, the fear of what we can do is not completely unwarranted. With every year that passes, there’s a report or two of some crazy NextGen going on a rampage. Each time, they leave corpses in their wake. It also doesn’t help that our Fallen forefathers, like my own grandfather, had to be killed once they returned to normal society.

Joe, wassup man?!

It sounds like Zek.

I turn towards the side corridor and see his bright red hair and freckled face, illuminated by a bundle of fluorescent tube party favors, bouncing towards me, well above the crowd. Those tubes barely fit around his tree-trunk neck. Disheveled as always, he approaches in a rush, his hard black shoes clacking against the concrete floors so hard, he can probably be heard in the next hall. As he stomps his way towards me, the oaf nearly stumbles into a few norm girls in his approach.

Gotta love the guy. Despite the scare, they stare at him hungrily when he passes.

I’ll never understand how such a sloppy, uncoordinated guy could be so popular with the ladies. I’ve always suspected it’s because he looks like he should be ranked at level 10, and therefore there’s a hope that he’ll have some substantial money coming his way.

I wonder if those norm girls are disappointed once they find out what level he really is? Although, after the deed is done, I doubt it matters much to him.

Wha’s wit’ the face, dude?

I just got off the phone with my mom, I say solemnly.

Oh yeah? he says, stopping in front of me, near a few girls. He takes a moment to glance at them. I just got off the phone wit’ her too.

Crap, I should have kept my mouth shut.

Joe... bro, I had to tell her to shtop calling me, man! I mean sure, she fine and all, but damn, she way too old for me! The few folks that are loitering in the hallway begin to laugh. Make sure you remind her to shtop callin’ me, ’kay?

No surprise I guess, he always has something to say about someone’s mother, mine being at the top of his list. What made matters worse is the fact that after he met her, he found her very attractive. He literally told everyone how hot she was. I thought I’d never hear the end of it. He had everyone laughing their asses off after he spent the seven days before winter break gluing my mother’s face on posters of naked women he hung in his room. He called it his love wall.

He’s lucky I didn’t kick his ass.

Still, I find it hard to get too upset at him. We’ve been running buddies my entire time at the Academy. Despite his abrasive humor, he’s the only person I’ve consistently been friends with since the day I got here.

People are looking at me... I better say something. Nothing, I got nothing. Shut up! is the only comeback my mind is allowing to surface. Weak.

I may have aced my intellectual studies, but I can never come up with an effective and clever response to Zek’s biting jokes.

With his huge frame, he lumbers over to me, draping his thick arm across my shoulders. His weight, although nearly the same as mine, causes me to shift to my left.

Glancing around, Zek leans in with his oversized head. He’s so close to my ear I can feel the moisture of his breath. Serish-ously, dude, get your ass in there! he bellows.

Wow, way too loud to be leaning in so close. I better dial down my hearing before he ruptures my eardrum.

We jush got another keg courtesy of the big boss man, Commander Jacob! he says, pointing his thumb behind him.

No shit? The commander rarely interacts with recruits directly for any reason, far less purchasing alcohol for a secret dorm party. He’s old-school military, going back to the Great War. That man is the last surviving Fallen.

No shhhit, dude.

Is he slurring? I turn to get a better look at him. How is he actually drunk? His eyelids drooping, he grins like a fool close enough for me to smell the liquor. Wow, I think he really is drunk. Despite his size, his recovery power is showing itself to match his level.

He lifts his head up for a moment and clears his throat before returning to the same uncomfortable position, his lips close enough to nearly brush against my ear. Jacob’s been keepin’ an eye on this year’s class or shome shit. Shuppos’ly, now this is jush wha’ I heard, the numba of NextGen bein’ born is shlippin’ a lot! His arm swings about in an attempt to mime a lot.

Don’t they say that every year?

His eyes widen in shock. I dunno, he says, shrugging. Did you hear shum-thing?

Clearly the memory of last year’s party, which we dutifully crashed, has drowned in the alcohol surrounding his brain tonight. Zek, the entire senior class last year was talking about it, remember?

Blank and expressionless, he looks in my direction. Not really at me specifically, just somewhere in my direction. I wonder if he’s even listening to me while in this state.

Still, I continue. But, as far as I know, the commander has never actually participated in the graduation party by buying kegs of beer, so maybe there’s some merit to the rumors.

Zek looks at me, slack-jawed and confused, before turning towards the loud music in the distant hall. Fuck it, he announces with a slap on my back, and quickly ushers me down the hallway and into the exuberant crowd. Come on, bro, my buzz is fadin’ already!

The music has definitely picked up since I left to speak to Mom. Stepping into the large flashing room, I feel my foot squish into something wet and slimy, the moisture creeping through the fabric of my favorite sneakers. It’s too dark to see much of anything on the floor without pushing my sight. Since there’s certainly more than enough ambient light in the room to make it possible, I quickly adjust my sight and instantly illuminate the room as if the lights were switched on. Good, at least now I’m able to see and safely navigate the space, saving my sneakers from getting further ruined by this red, green, and blue dye-filled cake.

Walking through, I make sure to avoid the globs of cake, the nearly dead glow ropes, and the occasional puddle of indiscriminate liquid spilled by careless drinkers. I could probably push my sense of smell and find out exactly what that scent is, but it’s probably better to leave that a mystery.

The once smooth floors are now an utter mess, and that’s not including the trash dumped all over the place. Despite being made to withstand the pounding of our weight, the polished floor is beginning to show pockmarks from the heavy footfalls of my weighty, dancing classmates.

Then, to my delight, the music changes to one of my favorite songs, Drop it and Rock it. I can feel the heavy bass and drums of the Keynosian-inspired music pounding in my chest. The deep rhythms force me to sway and bop along with the others. It’s hard not to be affected by these sounds. It may not be the music my mother played all the time when I was a kid, but it’s definitely a reflection of those sounds. The music she filled the house with while I was growing up was more hypnotic, more spiritual. This new music, made by Northern groups, isn’t authentic enough for her and far too empty to really listen to. Still, it’s great for a party.

Now this is a party, right! Zek yells into my eye, probably trying to locate my ear. I’ll need a few more drinks before I get up the courage to dance! I’ll be back! he howls as he heads towards a group of people I’ve never seen before, all holding plastic cups of beer.

It looks like fun, getting wasted and acting silly, but I can’t join in since I can’t get drunk. My constitution, as a level 8, makes that impossible. Zek, who barely made it into the Academy at a level 2, can enjoy to his heart’s content, the lucky bastard. He’s still capable of getting a buzz, even if it’s only for a few minutes. I guess there are some perks to being ranked so low.

Oh my God, there’s Jennifer!

Joe, you coming or what? Zek yells, holding two large plastic cups filled to the brim with foamy amber liquid.

Nah, man, I’m good right here for now! I yell back. This is my final opportunity.

Come on, man, live a little! It’s a party after all! The sound of his speech makes it clear he’s already recovered from the alcohol he previously consumed.

I’m not interested in that; I see my objective.

Jennifer dances no more than a few yards away, yet through the crowd and the great difference in social standing, she’s always seemed too far away to approach. But today, the final day before we leave this place, I have to find the courage to talk to her.

Huddling in a circle with some of her clingy friends, she sways back and forth, as pretty as ever.

I just have to get her to dance with me.

What the fuck, man, you know I need you to help me look good dancing! Zek calls as he stumbles back to my side. It’s hard to tell if it’s the alcohol or his innate awkwardness that causes it this time.

Sorry, my man, I can’t let you distract me. I’ll be right back... hopefully not, I say with a grin, glancing towards Jennifer.

It only takes Zek a moment to track where I’m looking.

Oh shit, bro! I see now... You’re gonna be rubbin’ up on Jennifer! A few people turn around as his bellowing laughter cuts through the music pounding out of the large speakers. Asshole! Don’t screw this up for me!

Good, Jennifer didn’t seem to hear his rude comment. Sometimes I have to wonder if Zek is trying to undermine me.

With a sly smile and wink, Zek walks back towards a makeshift bar filled with various bottles of liquor. He gulps down all of the beer in one of the cups he was holding with a quick swallow.

Good, he can’t interfere from over there.

As I get closer, Paula, Daphne, and Georgia – none of whom will make an approach towards Jennifer easy – spot me. They act as if it’s their job to keep potential suitors at bay. Yet, undaunted, I make my way towards her, watching her try to dance. She’s not doing a very good job of it. Still, she’s very pretty, and the money and influence her family wields only enhance her attractiveness to me.

Paula nudges Jennifer with her elbow, and she turns to catch my eyes hovering over her gyrating body. She shoots me a stunning smile and an enthusiastic wave. Too cute.

It seems like we’ve been doing this little dance the entire senior year – exchanging glances, chatting briefly between classes, and sharing the occasional study groups or combat training drill runs. There’s no way we met so many times by accident. I certainly made sure of that, and I have wonder if the same applies to her. Now here we are, the last night before graduation, and I never dared to ask her out. Not once. Stupid Joe.

She spins and twists awkwardly with her back to me, her jet-black hair reflecting the multicolor lights flashing about us. Her dark, shiny locks splash against Daphne’s face, causing her to grimace more than usual. I cautiously look at her small but well-shaped buttocks as she spins again, and just as I lift my gaze from her backside, her brown eyes meet mine. A moment of embarrassment grips me, but that quickly evaporates when she returns the look, holding my gaze.

Something in her eyes calls me over, letting me know now is a good time to end the dance of attracted acquaintances. I play it as cool as I possibly can, squeezing my way through the crowd.

She turns completely around to greet me squarely, slowing her steps to a simple back and forth sway that doesn’t match the music. I guess we can’t have it all.

Hi, Joseph! she squeaks over the din.

I nod and slip through the line of her friends to get close enough to touch her before speaking.

Hey, Jen.

Already I can feel the three girls burning a hole in my head with their eyes, making me feel like an interloper.

She breaks a moment of awkward silence by touching my shoulder as she leans in to speak. You having a good time, Joe? Her voice is so sweet, like she’s singing my name – at a very high pitch.

Okay, here we go. I will when you come over here to dance with me, I respond.

With a coy smile, she takes my hand, and I immediately lead her away from the other ladies, who sarcastically say hello in unison. Nice to see you ladies, I say insincerely.

Wow, this is a lot easier than I thought it’d be.

As we weave through the crowd, I pick a spot far enough from the music to enjoy it without hampering our ability to speak. So... Jennifer, wow, you look great as usual, I say as we begin to almost move together, her awkwardness making it difficult to match her timing. Maybe it’s because of her heels?

Thanks, Joe! It’s about time you noticed! she says, beaming a smile as she turns, dancing to the song in her head and ignoring the one currently playing.

This is not going well. I can barely get close to her as she bumps into another dancing student near us. I’ve always noticed! I say, working my way in, trying to close the distance between our bodies.

Really? I mean, you’ve never said anything to me, so I assumed you didn’t think I was attractive! She nearly headbutts me. Oh my God, she’s terrible.

I didn’t speak earlier because I was intimidated. Can’t tell her that though. But she must know the reason. Why would a rich girl like her want to be with some poor guy from South Beacon?

I’ve just never had the chance to say so before. It’s not like they approve of male and female fraternization.

That’s true, but that didn’t stop Isaiah from trying!

Sadly, I’m not a level 10 like Isaiah!

Leaning in, she brushes her finger under my chin. No, but you’re a lot sweeter than Isaiah, she says, looking right into my eyes.

For a moment, she looks embarrassed, shifting her eyes around the room before performing another awkward move. So, I heard you are going to graduate at the top of the class! Congratulations! She reaches out and brushes her hand on my shoulder.

Only in academics, my physical rating is still a solid 8!

Really? So who’s graduating with the top rating?

It’s between Davan and Isaiah. Both those guys are top level 10s! This yelling is tiresome.

Yuck! Both of those guys are just beastly, she says with a look of disgust. Honestly, I think they’re both a bit off! She chuckles while quickly looking around to see if they’re in earshot of our conversation.

She’s right. Both of them are a little slow upstairs, I’d say. They’ve spent all of their time getting bigger arms while subsequently getting smaller brains. That doesn’t matter much unfortunately, with both scoring tens on their physical aptitude tests. Neither were ever in danger of getting booted from the program, unlike Zek. All level 10s are treated like stars in the Academy.

Enough about them and school stuff. They’re alright, I guess, but a better question is what’s up with you?

What do ya mean?

Don’t flinch! God, she stepped right on my pinkie toe with those spiky heels. I think I’m going to have to take her outside to talk. Her dancing is going to get me killed. Gently, I grab her arm to slow her movements so I can lean in close to her ear.

Dude! I hear piercing through the crowd. Has to be Zek. I look up and see him once again bumbling through the crowd, waving at me. What’s up, bro! Check it out, I drank like an entire bottle of rum! he howls, holding up a dark bottle. I quickly wave him off. This is not a good time for him to interrupt me. Is that Jennifer?

With a sigh she turns around, moving her dark hair away from her face and dropping it behind her ear, just before waving to him halfheartedly. She steps lightly towards me, close. Gently, she presses her shoulder against my chest, her breast against my sternum. She smells so good. Is she trying to give Zek a hint? If so, I agree with her wholeheartedly. His interruption is not welcome. Especially since I’m doing pretty well at the moment!

Thankfully getting the hint, he makes a huge O with his mouth and gives me a silly double thumbs-up.

Zek’s so silly, she says, with an expression that simply cannot pass as a grin.

I know I heard her say silly, but it came off more like jackass.

Yeah, he can be, but he’s the best dude I’ve met since I’ve been at the Academy. But, enough about him and school crap... where were we?

She turns fully towards me, both her hands on my chest as she looks up into my eyes. So Mr. Big-shot Brainiac, how did you score in the physical aptitude tests? she says.

Didn’t I tell her my level already? I’m only at level 8.

Wow, that’s really good!

Now who’s being sweet? I say, tired of this loud, crowded party. We need more privacy. I lead her by the hand to the large glass doors that open into the second floor outdoor patio.

As the doors click closed behind us, quieting the music enough to speak comfortably, she bounces ahead of me and throws herself against the railing.

I wasn’t being sweet, ya know. Level 8 is really good. Heck, I wish I scored an 8 so I could get assigned to a Sector where I could make some real money. Daddy wants me to be able to make it without him if I need to. Self-reliance is big in his book, she says with a smirk.

Really, you wanted to score high? Wow, I wish I scored a bit lower, I say, walking towards her slowly, away from the music, closer to the balcony railing, where she’s turned to face me.

Frowning, she sucks her teeth. Why would you want that?

Leaning to the side, my forearm on the railing, I glance up into the night sky and remember all of the gruesome reports. Operatives killed or severely injured in those outer Sectors, the ones I’ll probably be assigned to.

I don’t think my mom’ll be okay with more money if there’s an increase in the risk of her having a dead son.

Come on, you’re acting as if you’re going to get sent to South Rose or something, and even if you did get sent there, you’d probably survive anything they could throw at you.

South Rose? Nah, they’ll probably put the beastly duo in there. Anyway, I’d like to hear more about you. What are your plans after your full tour is completed?

Perking up a bit, she smiles broadly. I can feel her excitement about the future. Well first, after my final year of service, my dad will be lining up a job where I’ll be helping advertise our storage business on the tube. So I’ll basically be part of the public relations team. That’s what I wanted to do anyway. No surprise there. But, as a NextGen at my level, you kinda gotta do your time in the Sectors to be able to get a normal job.

Wow, that’s pretty cool. Your family does the ‘storage is what we do’ jingle, right?

Oh yes, you know it! My dad’s company is doing great. We even started breaking into the Southie market. It seems so... profane to hear someone so attractive say something as vulgar as Southie. So far, we’ve made a big splash in the Sectors, and with so many empty factories, we don’t have trouble finding space to purchase.

The evening breeze whips past us, causing her to shiver. She steps closer to me, opening my jacket to place her hands on my thin white shirt. My hands are getting a bit cold. You don’t mind, do you? Cold hands... right.

I couldn’t mind less.

So sweet, she says, giving a light squeeze to my waist. I’d really like it if we could keep in contact. It’s not easy to find friends that last from the Academy, I heard.

I’d really like that, I say in a near whisper. I reach around her lower back to place my hand just above her buttocks, my fingers wandering a bit.

Well, I’m getting tired. She grins. You want to walk me back to my dorm?

Certainly.

I pull her in, towards my lips. She offers no resistance, slowly closing her eyes, letting me know she’s willing. We kiss tenderly, gently, as her hands move from around my waist to the small of my back.

As we slowly pull apart, she says in a near whisper, Good answer.

Looks like I’m going to have a very good evening after all.

  

So dude, what happened last night, did you get some of that rich-girl pussy or what? Zek says, too loud and certainly without any thought of decency, as he wakes me abruptly.

Good lord, my head is throbbing! I barely rise three inches from my mattress before I immediately clutch my temples, trying to squeeze the pain from behind my eyes. Fuck... what time is it?

Time for you to get your sex-havin’ ass up and ready for the selection ceremony, he says, slapping me with a flattened pillow I probably pushed onto the floor while sleeping.

I look over at the bright glowing red numbers on the alarm clock. No, that couldn’t be the time... could it? The clock says it’s 1:24 p.m., but that can’t be right. Fuck! Did I sleep through the morning and some of the afternoon? It’s after one already?

Yep. Apparently she put it on you so bad, you’ve been knocked out all day. I didn’t bother getting you up for breakfast. You were snoring so loud I could hear you from the hallway. He walks towards the window to open the shades. I can hear the thick heels of his patent-leather shoes clapping on the floor. He’s fully dressed in his gray Academy regalia, his appearance uncharacteristically neat. He glances over at the mirror sitting on my desk and adjusts his gray beret, positioning it perfectly on his head.

I gotta get dressed.

Hell yeah you do! Because I’m your friend, I took the liberty of getting your uniform pressed when I got mine done this morning. He points towards the suit dangling on the closet door. You had your uniform scrunched up in the closet under some pile of clothes, dude. You gotta do better than that, man.

Tossing the sheet from the bed, I slap my feet on the cold floor. The selection starts at what, 2:00? I stammer out. God, I feel really foggy for some reason.

Looking at me suspiciously, Zek asks, Did she hit you with the X-Shot pills, bro?

Huh? X-Shots? Is that what she gave me? I didn’t really ask what they were.

So you did sleep with her! Lucky fuckin’ dog! I guess you ain’t know that those rich chicks like that X-Shot shit. It’s supposed to make the experience more powerful for the dude by forcing more blood into your dick, swelling it up, making it bigger.

Why would she give me a drug so strong that it would have me this messed up still?

She must’ve given you enough to kill a norm if you’re still feeling it.

I’ve never done anything like that before. Staggering a little, I try to stand. I feel my senses uncomfortably heightened, specifically touch and smell, but what’s worse is I can’t withdraw them. I can smell the abrasiveness of Zek’s cologne over his equally abrasive musky sweat. Even the particles in the air brushing against the skin of my bare legs, face, and arms feel like tiny pellets all over my exposed flesh. My pajama bottoms feel like sandpaper. The cold humid air pouring through the window feels like an icy waterfall. I’ve taken drugs before, but never have I experienced any that lasted this long. I’ve been able to metabolize pretty much every toxin I’ve come across over the span of an hour or less, so this a huge surprise.

The night was probably crazy, right? That’s what you get when you take those X-Shots, it’s a lot of fun while you’re screwing, but when you start the downslide... man, it’s crazy. It’s probably tossing your sensory control off and everything, right? Good thing you’re a level 8, ’cause that shit had me wiped out for three days, at least I think it was three days. But you... you’re handling it pretty fuckin’ well, I gotta say.

I remember that. It was our first year here. The girl got kicked out after they found out she was actually selling that crap to students. I’m sure her being a level 3 had something to do with it as well.

That was Janice, wasn’t it?

Stopping abruptly, he turns and thrusts his finger towards me. Yeah! That was her name, fuckin’ bitch. She screwed me, then left me jacked up on that shit. She didn’t even help you carry me around after that. Going into my dresser drawer, he pulls out my pouch of toiletries and tosses them onto my desk. Did she take some too?

I awkwardly grope about, looking for something to wear. I understand why he’s talking so much. I have to keep my mind active to shrug off the effect of the drugs. That’s the same thing Greg told me to do with Zek when he was messed up on that crap. I need to listen, think, and try to gather myself. Naw, she only wanted me to take it.

Yep, she was trying to turn you out! he says, laughing and pointing at me rudely.

Slowly the fog is beginning to lift, but my coordination is still off. Damn! I just remembered! Zek says, grabbing my shoulder. His skin is so rough. The best way to get over that shit fast is to take some A-Hits!

Come on, man, not another drug, I say wearily. The mere idea turns my stomach and increases the pounding in my head.

Naw, seriously, it’ll help. They’re like some crap that flushes the other crap outta your system. I took some after the last time I got fucked up with Alice, you remember her? Anyway, let me get those A-Hits and I’ll be right back. On that note, Zek rumbles down a few doors to his room. I can hear him fumbling with his keys and yanking open his creaking dorm room door.

I feel like Zek looked last night. Why would she give me something that has me feeling this way? Is she just that stupid? Still, getting involved with Jennifer would be a good thing for me. She’s hot and rich, a very good combination for any sensible dude. Plus, if I married her, I’d be able to do all of the things I’d like to for Mom and Mikey.

I don’t want to be afraid each and every time she hands me a drink, though. I guess I can try to get over that, but there’s also her annoying voice and complete lack of rhythm. She looked so bad on the dance floor.

I have to get dressed. Rifling through the fairly clean clothes pile dumped in the corner of my closet, I pick up a pair of socks. Do they even match? They both look black... awww, screw it. I don’t have time or the patience to sort through this pile. So, unless they’re doing a sock check, I should be fine.

Hey, what’s up, Joe, I hear coming from the doorway.

It’s Peter passing by my open door. Hey, Pete.

Seriously, you need to hurry up and get ready.

Don’t you see me burrowing through a pile of clothes like a crazed gopher? Uh huh, I know. See you there, I say, waving him away from my door.

Later! he says as he happily bounces down the hallway, his heels clicking against the reinforced stone floors. I should be more pissed at myself for not being organized, not at Pete. Zek, despite his appearance, is extremely organized; every piece of clothing is put away neatly. My mom would love his room I’m sure.

The hallway is suddenly quiet. I guess everyone is either at the assembly or well on their way to it. God, I hope I get assigned somewhere like Stone Branch. Checking the time again, I realize I can’t wait for Zek any longer. I better head to the bathroom and shower before the assembly. Putterman will most certainly call me out if I’m even a tad bit smelly. Although her physical aptitude is low, her senses are beyond any level 10. It’s such a weird mutation for a NextGen to have only their senses enhanced.

I hear Zek slam his door and stomp his way back to my room. He cuts me off in the hallway, midway to the lavatory. He extends his cupped hand towards me. Found ’em! he says exuberantly, his face ruddy.

The pills look like they’ve been under his bed or something – one has a piece of lint attached to it. Where did you find ’em? Please don’t say under the bed.

Jacket pocket. Take ’em fast and get your head right. You know Putterman can sense if you’re not 100%. She’s like a bloodhound.

More like a wolf, ’cause if you’re weak, sick, or even feeling remotely tired...

She’ll take a chunk outta that ass! We laugh as he dumps the two small white tablets into my hand. Quickly, I toss them into my mouth and swallow. I can taste the acrid, metallic chemicals as they scrape the back of my tongue going down. Dude, I’m gonna head there now. See you in a few?

Alright.

Don’t be late! he says, smoothing the beret on his head as he dashes towards the stairway.

I know! I’ll be there on time, thanks to you, bro. I grab my underwear, toiletry bag, and hopefully matching socks, and I make my way to the bathroom.

Before I push open the black painted door of the communal bath area, I turn to see Zek but only catch the stairway door slowly closing behind him. I hear the thundering of his footsteps as he hurries down the stairs. He’s a good friend, I think. I would love to be teamed up with him, with someone I know, but I don’t think they would match a level 8 with a level 2. Although his intelligence would suit him for investigative work, he’ll probably be put on border patrol at Bordertown or something as equally mundane. He’d make a great partner for anyone. I know I’ll certainly miss his companionship when we’re deployed, separated by miles on a man-made land.

As I enter the bathroom, I can feel my coordination increasing. The bright white of the bathroom tile is sobering, and I’m hoping the shower will be an equally awakening experience. As usual, I head towards the third shower stall as it’s the one with the most consistently warm water. I slip out of my pajama bottoms and pull back the heavy white plastic shower curtain. I walk in and prepare myself for what I expect to be a shock. The initial blast of water is usually chilly, but the other two stalls are even worse. It’s such an odd thing to be so powerful yet afraid of a cold shower. For all of our NextGen resistances, climate is not one of them.

In defiance of my attempt to turn it, the large chrome handle in the shower releases a loud squeak, which sets off a series of clangs from the pipes inside the walls. Standing naked in the stall, I pray the water isn’t too cold when it comes out.

Wow! I yell with a shiver. No such luck. I shake violently under the frigid water, my sense of touch still boosted by the drugs.

I’ve got to hurry. Quickly, I scrub myself down, trying to make the experience as short as possible. The good thing is that this painful experience is really forcing my body to kick into high gear. I can feel my blood rushing around underneath my skin as muscles quake in an effort to heat my body. All of this activity is helping me remove any remaining toxins.

As the water temperature warms, my thoughts begin to wander to the selections. I truly hope I can get into a good Sector. I’d hate to have to work someplace like Oceanview, Westwood, or either of the Roses. I heard they have too much turnover there, too many deaths. The norm officers and NextGen are often at war with the Keynosians living there.

All of the picture we were shown makes those outer Sectors looks like a battlefield. Buildings literally falling apart from the plant growth, streets crumbling, and worst of all, trees growing from the freshly dead. I did hear their women are fine as hell though... minus the big feet, of course. I always thought that was strange, big feet, bare and ashy. Returning operatives lecturing at the Academy would joke about the feet of the women. They’d also talk about the women being cold and distant all the time while the men were friendly and talkative. Our women are the exact opposite. I did hear the food is excellent, so that’s a plus. At least if I get killed, it’ll be with a full stomach.

As I get out of the shower, I hear someone coming in. It’s Deeter. He’s the only Keynosian I’ve ever met and gotten to speak to for any length of time. He walks in staring up at me from under his thick, bushy brow and wild curly hair, but his eyes are always blank and dead.

Hiiii, Joe, he says, dragging his words out as if they are too heavy for his tongue to carry.

Deeter! What’s happening, my man? I say as I dry off quickly. He always looks away as if embarrassed by nakedness.

Uhhhh, I’m gooood... Joe, he says, smiling slowly before dropping his head down to watch himself pull on a gray wooden mop handle.

Are they all this slow? If so, my job will be a whole lot easier than I thought. Gripping the handle tightly with his big ashy hands, Deeter pulls a large green bucket mounted on wheels into the bathroom, apparently getting ready to mop the floors. He wipes his hands down his blue T-shirt and onto a pair of blue khakis before proceeding to look around the area, his mouth gaping and slack. Jamming the gray handle down a few times, he sloshes the very wet mop onto the floor.

He glances up for a moment, staring at me before smiling. Oh, Joe... sorrrry ’bout the water.

No worries, Deeter. I’m almost outta your way anyways.

He looks off into the distance, then looks back into my eyes. You... young people is graduatin’ today, yeah?

Yessir, I say respectfully, with a nod. He’s nothing like the Keynosians shown on TV. He’s so docile and pitifully slow while those guys are quick talking, always trying to make a buck.

Deeter suddenly reaches his hand out towards me, calling to me. Don’t forget... The time we are given... is the timmmee... we are given, he says, smiling dimly through a mouth full of missing teeth.

I have no idea what he’s talking about. But that saying is something I’ve heard many times before.

Hey, Deeter, I’ve heard that before and still have no idea what it means, I say with a chuckle. Can you tell me?

Huh?

That saying, what does it mean?

Pausing again as if he doesn’t remember what was last said, his face holds a blank stare. Why are his eyes so very empty? He reaches up and places his fingers on the peacemaker collar he’s wearing, tapping it with three fingers one after the other. Ohh, yeah... ha! The time we are given?

Yeah, that’s the saying. I’ve heard it before but I don’t get it. Can you explain it to me? Am I wasting my time asking this guy?

It means, be your best... right?

Now he’s asking? I don’t know, D, you tell me. You said it.

I... don’t r’member...

Does it mean to be mindful of the time?

Just then a flash of life flushes his face, lighting his eyes. Gooood! Yeah... be mindful... of the time. That’s good. And just like that, the life and light is gone. Turned off as quickly as it came. His elderly eyes, black and empty once again, gaze across his antiseptic kingdom as he sloshes his mop slowly across the tiled floors.

I step over to the sinks on the other side of the room to brush my teeth, but my mind stays with Deeter. I cannot help but feel sorry for him. What was he before that collar was placed on him? What could he have been?

I remember my mom holding one of those collars so tight I thought she’d cut herself on the metal ring at a Freedom rally in our town. The things they do to the minds of the Keynosians they are latched around; the collars not only poison their marks, but their minds as well. But, what choice do we have?

The main force of the Keynosian army was made up of empowered Keynosians like Deeter. God knows what Deeter would do if he could think clearly and had the full use of his mark. What would he do to people like Zek, that go out of their way to pester him? I always found it sickening when Zek would make fun of him. Many times I’d step in and stop his incessant ridiculing of Deeter, who would just walk past him with his head hung low.

There was even a story going around that the class two years before ours put fireworks in his bucket that resulted in his leg being burned pretty bad. Supposedly, he lay on the ground clutching his leg, screaming and crying for over an hour, too confused and frightened to move. It took a few other Keynosian workers to pick him up and take him to the hospital.

No one deserves that kind of treatment.

Shit, I just noticed the time on the digital clock above the long mirror over the sinks. I better get dressed and head over to the auditorium. It’s assignment day after all. Maybe I’ll come back to say goodbye to Deeter before I leave for good.

  

I reach the auditorium and instantly start to get worried. What if they team me up with one of those level 10 retards or someone annoying like Peter? I’d be spending the next ten years of my service partnered with someone I don’t like. Although, it could also turn out well and they could team me up with Zek... level 2 Zek. Yeah right, that would never actually happen, but it would be cool. We could get some easy task where I could just sit back and cruise while collecting a fat check. But, someone with my rating would probably be better suited to partner with a level 10 and sent to a tough Sector.

I just hope I’m nowhere near Davan or Isaiah. I can’t imagine spending any more time around those guys than necessary. Six years in the Academy is far more than enough punishment.

As I walk up the cut stone stairway, I pause to review my reflection in the large glass doors. Beret is fine, jacket seems okay, just a little tight though. My socks are definitely not matching. Damn. I wonder if Putterman will catch it? As I stand in front of the dark glass, I remember that people on the other side can see me. They probably think I’m some nut.

Opening the door, I proceed inside slowly, my eyes adjusting to the dim interior. The foyer is empty. Before me, another row of large wooden doors stands ominous, and the one fully open looks awfully foreboding. I push my hearing to broaden its reach, hoping to find the ceremony hasn’t started.

Suddenly I catch the sound of Putterman clearing her throat, grabbing my attention. Glad you could join us, Mr. Marshall, she whispers.

How did she know I’d push my auditory range? God she’s annoying.

Positive she can hear me, I respond softly, Thank you for having me, Instructor Putterman.

Line three, row H, she says loudly, giving those seated the opportunity to notice my late arrival. The entire graduating class is here, already seated and lined up in the auditorium seats according to physical aptitude. Jennifer greets me with a smile and an excited wave, Zek grins a bit and flashes me two thumbs-up. It appears I haven’t missed much as Instructor Gravel is still explaining the assignment process.

To repeat for Mr. Marshall, who’s finally decided to join us... the higher levels will be assigned to the more difficult Sectors. This is done according to need, not preferential treatment of any kind, he says, pacing across the hardwood floors of the stage.

He’s quite the imposing man. He’s probably as large as Zek, minus the clumsiness. He’s what Zek could be in twenty years and eight levels.

Each of you are expected to live up to the standards this institution has set, as they are necessary for the protection of our country, our way of life, and the protection of the Keynosians in the Sectors which you will be assigned.

Putterman’s eyes follow me all the way to my seat, as do Jennifer’s. I’m certain for different reasons.

"Now that the formalities are out of the way, we can proceed with the selection process.

Once your name is called, please stand and come onto the stage to receive your orders. Do not lose this piece of paper, Gravel says, raising his voice to catch our attention. "This is the only proof you’ll have of your assignment and must be presented at