Regress (The Alliance Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Regress

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Read on...

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Regress: The Alliance Chronicles Book One

  By SF Benson

  Copyright © 2016 by Avanturine Press, LLC.

  All rights reserved worldwide.

  Published March 31, 2016

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the express written permission of the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of this author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Scripture quotation from the Holy Bible, New English Translation, Biblical Studies Press, 2005. All rights reserved.

  Cover Design by Regina Wamba

  Editing by Maria Pease

  Formatting by Cover Me Darling/Athena Interior Book Design

  For more information about this book and the author visit:

  www.authorsfbenson.com

  To J.R. and Brionna,

  For believing in me and supporting my dream.

  And Mom and Dad

  Because you knew I could do it.

  “I pledge allegiance to the faithful and knowledgeable leaders of the great American Republic, to follow their laws always and fulfill my duties as an American.”

  —Pledge of Allegiance, 2020

  Someone once compared living in New Detroit to having a religion—a fanciful idea about a hopeful life in the presence of tragedy. Illogical. Irrational. Life here needed more than hope. It required a blind eye, shutting out the ever-present insanity on our streets, blocking the scars from our wars. It took fortitude.

  Living among the disturbed, the poor, and the downtrodden took a special strength. Those who felt sympathy for people like Mrs. Emery, Ko’s next-door neighbor, made themselves an easy pawn for the city’s predators. It was a constant struggle—do the right thing or the safe thing. Mrs. Emery suffered with a similar struggle—being kind and considerate or existing in her own world.

  Gazing out the window at the old woman in a dingy yellow nightgown running in her front yard made me feel less human. The imaginary cats she fed chased after her again. Hope couldn’t help her. People wouldn’t help her. Life and I had issues with Mrs. Emery, but unlike Life, I regretted mine. I let the thin grayish curtain fall back in place and faced Ko.

  “Weren’t you supposed to help me pack?” My best friend dragged a faded olive-green duffel bag from under her twin bed.

  I sat on an overstuffed pink chair. “When was the last time your mom checked on Mrs. Emery?”

  “I think it was yesterday. Why?”

  I swung my long legs over the chair arm. “No reason.”

  Ko tucked her chin-length chestnut hair behind her ear. “So, you’re no longer pissed with her?”

  “Don’t know.” Mrs. Emery crossed a line, and I still didn’t know how I felt about it.

  Ko placed a stack of folded clothes into the bag. “Mrs. Emery can’t help herself. She had our six. We’re lucky she’s around.”

  I popped a stick of gum into my mouth. “If you say so.”

  “And what does that mean?”

  “She didn’t have to rat us out.”

  Ko exhaled. “We shouldn’t have been sneaking out in the first place.”

  “It was just a few times.” I blew a bubble and watched it deflate. My issue with Mrs. Emery stemmed from my strong dislike of people stifling me.

  “Doesn’t matter.” Ko rubbed her brow. “Who’s gonna watch your back when I’m gone?”

  “After you’re gone, I won’t need anyone. Sneaking out won’t be on my agenda.”

  On the surface, Ko and I didn’t seem to have a lot in common outside of our mixed heritage. Her Japanese and Latina background gave her deep brown eyes and a curvy dainty figure. My Portuguese and Jamaican background produced a tall girl with unruly raven hair and smoky eyes. Males appreciated Ko’s shape. They didn’t look twice at my boyish frame.

  We were opposites. My weaknesses were her strengths and vice versa.

  I was the yin to her yang. She obeyed the rules like a zealot. I rewrote them. She preferred obedient, predictable guys. I had a thing for willful, independent ones. If we were angels, my rank would be among the fallen while she did the Lord’s work.

  Nevertheless, Ko was my protector, and I loved her. We met when my family moved to New Jefferson. She was my ever-present guardian helping me dodge the bullets of life. We weren’t trying to create mayhem by sneaking out. We were trying to hook up with some guys from the center. Mrs. Emery stopped us in the driveway.

  “Tru, I’m just saying to watch your back.” Ko fidgeted with a pair of white socks before sitting on the bed. She focused on the floor. “I know about your Underground trips.”

  I stopped chomping on my gum, and my mouth fell open. I never told Ko about my forays to the warehouse district where banned music groups played. My frequenting the area pushed the boundaries any sensible person would follow. The drone police were planning regular raids on the area. Law-abiding citizens would stay away. Not me.

  “How do you know?”

  “It doesn’t matter how I know. The New Order is shutting it down. There will be arrests. They’re tracking movement in the district.”

  My guts crawled into my throat. It took a lot
to scare me, but the government tracking citizens unnerved me. How were we tracked? How long had it been going on?

  “Last night, the drones caught another runner. He didn’t even make it past the lookout point. You know—”

  “Yeah, I know.” Yes, the streets of New Detroit were dangerous, yet I loved tempting fate. Being reckless wasn’t just an addiction for me. I enjoyed freedom. No one, not the New Order, nor my parents would dictate my life. “I’ll be—”

  My phone vibrated with a message from the Center for Human Advancement (CHA).

  I rubbed my sweaty palms on my jeans, tapped the screen, and read the text.

  Truly Shara Shepard, born October 10, 2008, will be inoculated on October 13, 2025 at New Belle Isle, building 2-4-A. Inoculation must be administered within 48 hours of the date listed. Please be prepared to assume your work orders. A no-show will result in arrest by CHA officers.

  “What is it?” Ko continued packing without looking up. She added her black Riza handbook and a couple of pristine white dress shirts to the bag.

  “Inoculation Day orders.”

  The government stopped mailing notices two years ago in lieu of texting our death sentences. In ten days, my life would change permanently. No more freedom. No more choices. The world of the working adult awaited me. The destruction of my creativity, though, concerned me most.

  My artistic ability was all I had. Math and science were my weaknesses. I wasn’t some promising soldier like Ko. My parents didn’t understand my ability. Ko didn’t understand its importance. Art defined me. Expressing myself made living in this war-torn world easier.

  The leaders of the American Republic declared creativity a waste in our society and banned it. The New Order relied on citizens to disclose unknown Creatives—those who had missed government identification because of their age. No trials needed. A sketchpad, sheet music, or a paintbrush guaranteed a death sentence.

  Seventeen-year-olds, the safe age, were inoculated by law to prevent the Great Ebola Pandemic from ever happening again. Don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against protecting people. The virus wiped out populations worldwide, and I lost plenty of friends.

  However, I wasn’t some concerned citizen speaking out against Inoculation Day. This was about maintaining an essential facet of my personality. Imagine not being able to describe a golden sunset, a blustery fall day, nor the new birth of spring. Imagine never experiencing Beethoven’s intense and funereal “Moonlight Sonata” or Tchaikovsky’s spirited “Violin Concerto in D Major.” Imagine spending the rest of your days listening to heartless synthesized music devoid of lyrics.

  The New Order told citizens the vaccine had no side effects. However, it robbed Creatives of our artistic abilities and ransacked our souls, causing a permanent downward spiral into a spiritless, empty life.

  Officials denied the outcome.

  I didn’t care about their analysis. I was nobody’s test subject.

  As a Riza recruit, Ko would never have to worry about an Inoculation Day. Their exemption should’ve concerned people. If the mandatory inoculations acted as prevention, why did recruits get a waiver? Did the virus know military blood from civilian?

  Somehow, I doubted it.

  Of course, Ko didn’t share my anguish. Tomorrow marked her first day at the Riza Institute for Military Excellence, RMA. She needed to pack all her belongings. Her leaving screwed up our tradition, though. On Fridays, we streamed old movies and ate cheap Chinese food in her room. I’d sleep over, and we’d feast on blueberry pancakes the next morning.

  A rolled-up white sock sailed over my head. It landed behind the chair. “You should be ready. No big deal.” Ko flashed a weak smile and tucked her hair behind an ear.

  “No big deal!” I clutched the armrests, forcing myself to stay seated. “Are you kidding me?” Over the past year, we had frequent arguments about my pending Inoculation Day.

  “Shhh!” Ko’s voice trembled. Her normal paranoia reached a new height.

  Acceptance in RMA gave her an advanced security clearance. Although the likelihood of someone bugging her small room was slim, Ko whispered, “Tru, remember loyal citizens obey rules. You don’t question the New Order.”

  “Says who?” I asked in a normal voice. “Not everyone wants to be a good little soldier.”

  She held her chin high. “I will become an officer not a soldier. But that’s not the point.”

  Ko was an outstanding Riza Corps initiate who followed orders without exception. She would be an excellent soldier and a supreme officer. I didn’t understand her choice, though. Cute girls like Ko didn’t do military. Fashion or some other glamorous pursuit would be a better fit.

  “You don't understand, Ko. We don’t even know about all the side effects from the vaccine.”

  Ko pulled out another duffel bag. “I know what happens if we don’t inoculate people.” She glared at me. “Have you forgotten about the Street Wars or the Revolution?”

  “No.” I hung my head.

  Who would forget the bloodiest street fighting in the American Republic’s history? It left New Detroit and other major cities devastated. The fighting led to a pivotal revolution led by the middle class and an overthrow of government. Overnight, our country transformed—unemployment, common diseases, illnesses, and social disorder all ended. But what did we trade for those benefits?

  The pounding in my skull blurred my vision and threatened to incapacitate me for the night. Respite would come when I stopped stressing about the vaccine. Ko had no understanding for what Inoculation Day represented to me.

  “You’re going off to officer training. I’ll spend the rest of my life a brain dead, working stiff! I guess it’s acceptable for me?”

  Ko tossed a full bag to the floor. “I don’t have all the answers. There isn’t any scientific proof the vaccine eliminates creativity.” The Cogent way of thinking adhered to the theory things did not exist in the absence of empirical evidence. Bull!

  “Have you forgotten about Tai Barraza?”

  Tai, a gifted Creative a level ahead of us, began playing the violin at age five. She dreamed of concert halls and amphitheaters packed with adoring fans. Tai’s life changed after the vaccine. Her days were no longer filled playing Mozart, Pachelbel, or Vivaldi. Her new routine involved a struggle to recall traffic signals, common household items, and even some people. Tai functioned with the mind of a toddler. Her public excursions were always under adult supervision. Shiny objects captured her attention. It didn’t matter if the object placed her in front of a speeding vehicle. Whenever I remembered Tai, my heart ached. Such a promising life wasted.

  “Of course, I haven’t forgotten Tai.” Ko sat down. “But she’s improved.”

  “The last time I visited Tai she cried when she saw her violin. Her parents were considering burning it.”

  “Well, that’s changed. The side effects are gone, and she’s happier now. She’s discovered a love for chemistry. Tai’s on the road to becoming a promising scientist.” Ko offered me a polite smile.

  “Did Tai tell you that or someone else?”

  “Her parents said—”

  “And it doesn’t bother you? Tai lost herself! She won’t be a scientist or anything else! She’s been sidelined!” Experiencing life on the sidelines wasn’t living for Creatives. The pain in my head worsened to the point I saw red. I’d implode if I didn’t punch something or someone.

  Ko believed the propaganda. She didn’t grasp turning Creatives into apathetic citizens was a miserable waste of human potential. Loyal individuals who turned in Creatives benefited. Reporting the whereabouts of my kind earned a sizable reward. I didn’t have to worry about Ko turning me in, though. Our friendship was strong. I trusted her more than I trusted anyone.

  “Some sacrifices are necessary to improve society.”

  I jumped up, knocking over the floor lamp. “Improve society?” I guess my life was a commodity. “Do you consider me a necessary sacrifice?”

  Ko slammed her d
resser drawer. “You’re different!”

  “You’re evading the question.”

  “Can we agree to disagree?” Ko stood there with her hands out. “No more fighting? Okay?”

  I didn’t want to fight with Ko on our last day together either. Perhaps I could be proud of her without agreeing with her choices in life.

  Yes, it bugged me that she would spend the next four years in a pleasant, clean environment receiving a great education. Her life included choices, and her future didn’t include me. My future resembled the dim bulb now casting odd shadows on the plain beige walls of her room.

  I replaced the lamp. "I'm sorry, Ko. No more fighting. So when can I visit you, or aren’t you allowed visitors?"

  “Of course, it's allowed, silly.” Ko grinned. “After the first forty-eight hours. Wait until you see it, Tru. Everything in the dorm is so shiny and new. And there's so much tech. I won’t have to use an ancient desktop computer anymore."

  I tuned Ko out and played with my gum while she went on and on about Riza. I couldn't blame her excitement. The wars made it difficult to find decent housing. Most of the sectors in the city were vacant lots with rubble or abandoned buildings occupied by squatters.

  Ko's parents lived smack-dab in the renewal sector of New Center. Their old brick home, on the grid, allowed Ko access to a ten-year-old computer and a few other high-tech items. When she graduated, she’d live in a renovated smart home.

  When I left the learning center, my family would continue living in our squalid riverfront apartment in New Jefferson. My sector didn’t have front yards with kids and dogs playing. Instead, large, fiendish ebony birds roamed our streets like winged gang members.

  “Hey, you can always visit my parents. You know you’re family.”

  “I know.” I grinned and nodded like an idiot.

  There would be no more future visits after Ko entered RMA. I got the ‘you must prepare for your own future’ lecture from Dad. He said Creatives have always lived a miserable existence, a talent with no real reward. He said I should embrace the life predetermined for me.

  Bull! My predetermined life revolved around a manufacturing job my brother, Cris, set up. He said the company employed some eligible guys worth meeting. My mother disagreed. She arranged a marriage prospect with Holden Pratt, a boring Cogent Purebred five years my senior with shocking red hair and freckles. His family lived in one of the best sectors. Holden was nerdy, claustrophobic, and meek. His expertise shone with test tubes and beakers not females.