Seneca Rebel (The Seneca Society Book 1) (7 page)

It was her son. I didn't have to ask. "What's his name?"

"Connor. I call him Con Con. He'll never understand why I never came home."

We sat in silence for the rest of the ride. I wasn’t the only one who’d made a big sacrifice.

The flighter traveled deeper and deeper into lush greenery, away from civilization. It was quite possibly the most scenic trip I'd taken in my entire life. I saw virtually no signs of human life other than train tracks and a dozen or more freight trucks as we flighted down 81 South. The Smart Road was populated with automated vehicles. That was where the majority of the traffic was, if you'd even call it traffic, which you wouldn't. Besides the highway, the Smart Road and a flighter here and there, we were just like a brush sweeping across nature's paint palette, collecting all its richness in our bristles. My lungs opened up to the thick, moist air, my eyes as wide as an owl's in the dark of night. Except it was twilight, and the sky was still a deep sea blue, only just beginning its slow fade to black.

We reached a mountainous area of Southern Virginia and the flighter landed in a secluded nook, next to a lake. The water was still and inviting. As the seasons changed, the robust green that filled the branches here was speckled ever so lightly with maroon and orange.

"This is Claytor Lake."

"It's beautiful."

"Isn't it? All this is the result of a dam built on the oldest river in North America. It's an ancient gift that, fortunately, man has not yet destroyed. The dam once provided this region with much of its hydroelectric power. Southern Gate Electric, a utilities company owned by Congressman Wallingsford's brother, Billy, bought the dam five years ago and Seneca had it converted to power a large portion of the Northwestern Seneca hemisphere. This small area provides us with a substantial source of power that allows us to do the things we do. It's also used to cool our super computers. Right now, we’re standing directly above the greatest computing center in the world as well as one of Seneca's premier medical hubs."

I looked around, trying to pinpoint any sign of this. Nothing. In fact, everything I saw was natural and gorgeous— the antithesis of the artificial world of computers. "You would never know."

"And for the most part, no one does."

The mysterious men in blue shadowed us. About a hundred yards down, near the forest's edge, I saw a circle of grass with a gold ring. The entrance.

"Come on, let me show you."

Our little posse met two more men in blue at the entrance, trading places with our original escorts who turned back to the flighter. We stepped onto the encircled grass patch. The gold dome appeared and then, quickly, we descended. I was kind of surprised that taking this advanced elevator down inside the earth was beginning to feel normal.
 

"Doro, this is where you’ll be spending a lot of time once you go through your pre-requisite session work at S.E.R.C."

When the gold dissolved, the forest's sweet serenity was replaced by walls of computer monitors, all pumping out droves of data. This place was like my bedroom on insane mega steroids. An open workspace. People everywhere, young and old, of every ethnicity, working together or apart on intricate spreadsheets of equations and data. The buzz of machinery and voices blended symphonically. The smell of technology, what an aphrodisiac! Everyone looked enthusiastic about the work they were focussed on. This was an absolute wonderland to a tech junkie like me.

I started along a five-foot-wide gold path that ran through the middle of the open space. One group in blue caught my eye. They were all my age and were working with people of various ages, from a three-year-old girl to a man of about sixty. I skidded to a stop. One of those people was Blue Combat Boots. Everything around me faded to a blur, then pulled focus on him. Blue Combat Boots was working with the sixty-something man, taking stats from sensors on the man's body as he walked on a treadmill.

"Doro? You coming?"

"Yes... what's going on over there?"

"That's a regenerative medicine residency for advanced S.E.R.C. scholars."

"So what, like physical therapy?"

"Like growing limbs for patients that were either born without them, or lost them in situations like land mine explosions or car accidents. Even people who had their lungs removed from cancer can have brand new lungs that work better than the ones they were born with."

This was absolutely amazing. These patients were moving their arms and legs as if they’d always had healthy ones. Scientists had been trying to perfect this advancement in the Aboves for decades. Here in Seneca, it was so normal that not only doctors were analyzing patients’ progress, but people my age were, too. And one of those people was Blue Combat Boots. This guy wasn't anything like the ones I went to school with back in LA. Oh no, he most certainly was not. I stood there watching him as he and the older man shared a joke.

"There will be plenty of time for you to explore all of this, but today we have a different agenda."

I looked at Ellen Malone with the wonder of a kid on Christmas morning. If only I could stay in this spot for just a few moments more. But she didn't return my "this is going to be fun" look, and so I followed her, looking back until I was beyond where I could see him anymore.

"There's an awful disease endemic to Seneca that comes from an abundant fauna in the Southeastern Hemisphere. Necrolla Carne. It's an organism that slowly eats away at the human body, causing a long, drawn-out death. It's something you never, ever want to witness."

"Um,
that
is repulsive. Makes my skin crawl just thinking about it." Ellen was amused as I scratched furiously at my arms. Talk of disease always made me feel the symptoms. Just like my dad. He was always washing his hands thoroughly, all the way up to his elbows.

"Fortunately, our medical research and development team has developed a vaccine that immunizes us from it.”

"A shot? I'm getting a shot today?"

"It's not too bad."

"It's the worst. I hate shots. I hate needles. I might pass out."

Ellen laughed. I did, too, but out of nervousness, not amusement. Soon we entered a medical wing that made every doctor's office I’d ever visited back home look like an exhibit in a history museum. Ellen explained that I wouldn't see a doctor unless a problem arose, and that was only three to five percent of the time. Instead, a lot of my experience would be automated or handled by technicians.
 

I followed the footpath map to the med-unit, which had been transmitted to my flexer upon entry. I marveled at the white touch screen with blue typeface that covered the entire length of the wall. It was an automated system that managed the devices within each med-unit and was overseen by a few med-techs in powder blue lab coats. My flexer notified me that I had reached my med-unit, so I stopped and went inside as the golden door opened.

My instructions were relayed to me by an automated narration in a calming female voice: "Take a seat." "Roll up your sleeve." "Open your mouth."

Even though I was a little nervous, I laid back in a robotic chair that did all the work a nurse or doctor always had done in the past, and surprised myself by thinking that I trusted this machine more than I would an actual doctor. My physical statistical data was transmitted from the chair back to the computer for analysis and report, and the machine said, "You are healthy, Dorothy."

If this technology already existed, why couldn’t it happen up in the Aboves? No sooner had I begun to ponder that than a voice instructed me to expose my left shoulder for that dreadful shot.

10

I
WOKE
UP
in a haze and a cold sweat. I was literally drenched, back in my bed back at the ambassadors' house. Ellen Malone must have brought me back while I was out cold. Things were a little blurry, but after a moment, I regained focus and grabbed for the glass of water at my bedside. I downed it. That vaccine was no joke. Luckily it was preparing my body to fight this disgusting Necrolla Carne disease. No way was I going to take the chance of getting some retched flesh-eating organism.
 

I was thankful for the comforts of the ambassador’s house right now. It was Friday, my last day there, my last days living in the Aboves. Over the weekend I would be set up in my new habitat in Seneca. It was surreal, to say the least, to know that I was moving to a location below the surface of the Earth. Permanently.

It was no sweat off anyone's back that I wasn't making it to that Friday’s sessions. I guessed this vaccination was something every citizen of Seneca went through, and my reaction was no different than anybody else's.

There was a light tap at my door and Jennifer Wallingsford poked her head in. It was the middle of the day and the mansion had been so quiet that I thought I was alone.

"Hi there." Her face bloomed in sympathetic recognition, "Oh, the Necrolla Carne vaccine
.
Isn't it
the worst
?"

"I just feel like death, but other than that, no big deal."

"Seriously. Well, it's worth it for a day of feeling like death over a permanent
real
death."

"No kidding."

"I have the day off to pack for my family vacation to Cape Cod. Do you want me to get you anything before I go?"

"No thanks, no appetite."

Jennifer was in sweats but still managed to look extremely put together. Like she was in a catalogue for high-end varsity athletic gear. It stung me in the gut when she said she'd be with her family. It not only made me jealous, but I felt cheated too. How come she could be with her family, but I'd been forcibly separated from my mom– especially while I was still dealing with losing my dad? My stomach was crippled with queasiness, not just from the shot, but also from the thought of not seeing my mom again.

A deep voice called up from downstairs. "J. Wall?!"

"I'm upstairs," she hollered back down. "My twin brother. Time to go."

Her twin brother: G.W. Wallingsford. From what I had always heard, the Wallingsfords were related to the first president of our country, George Washington. And so the first initial of his name was for George after the most famous George of all, and the middle initial, W, was for William, his uncle. G.W. had been in the news a lot because he had gotten busted at a party in Georgetown with a bunch of Mojo'd-out teenagers. The whole thing was pushed under the rug faster than a BoomJet as G.W. suddenly started speaking out on behalf of the anti-Mojo movement. He’d become their poster-child.

The Mojo Stick was a nano technology that rendered all other recreational drugs obsolete. Now you could just inject a micro-computerized version of your drug trip of choice straight into your bloodstream. There were cocktails of every variety, you name it. Anything from a light buzz to being completely out of it. Since there was no chance of overdose, people who wouldn’t normally try drugs, did. I had never tried it, and never would because there was no way I was sticking a needle into myself for fun. The government was trying to block Mojo Sticks because even though you wouldn’t die from using them, they were turning people into drugged-out zombies. There was an absurd demand for these things. A multi-trillion-dollar industry had grown up overnight.

G.W. poked his head in the doorway. You could tell in a second that they were twins, because like his sister, he didn't look like a teenager and his voice was deep like a
man
man. A head full of thick, blond, men's shampoo commercial hair and light blue eyes made me want to believe anything he was about to say. Perfect white teeth, just like his dad's, and athletic gear from head to toe that looked like it was fresh off the production line. He was not my type, but for almost every other girl, he was exactly the type, and I could understand why.

"Hey!"

"Hi, Georgie. I just have a few more things to pack. Want to hang with Dorothy while I finish up? She just got to Seneca and had her Necrolla Carne vaccination today."

"Oh, man. I feel your pain."

"Thanks." He seemed like a normal enough guy. Not so consistent with the bad boy image that had gotten so much press last year.

Jennifer sashayed out of the room and G.W. plunked down on the foot of my bed.

"So, where you from?"

"LA."

"Nice! I love LA."

"Me too. I miss it already."

"Come out sometime with my crew and me, you won't miss it anymore. We have some serious fun in these parts. It is possible, trust me."

"Cool, okay." I never trusted anyone who said "Trust me" and I wasn't going to start with the notorious son of a congressman. On the other hand, I was definitely down for experiencing a good dose of his lifestyle, if only to see what it was like and tell Julie about it later.

"Feel better. I'm gonna hit the loo and head out for a weekend of hobnobbing with pops and the rest of the corruption contingency. Wish me luck I make it through in one piece."

"Luck be with you."

"Nice to meet you. Dorothy, right?"

"Doro."

"Doro. Cool. That's slick."

He jumped up and whistled his way out the door. Too bad for him I didn't believe in luck.

11

S
UNDAY
NIGHT
I was back to my sleepless self. Tossing and turning, hoping each one would be the last and I’d finally doze. Maybe that shot wasn't so bad after all, considering I managed to get some rest, for once, right after I'd had it. The weekend was all about getting settled into my new digs. This place was pretty darn bizarre. It might be cool and all, but it lacked the comforts of home and I just couldn't grasp how it could ever provide that. I longed for a welcoming lick bath from Killer, to get home from school and have my mom grill me on test scores. It was the little things that I would never experience again that I missed most.

Believe it or not, the noise from the double decker 405 Freeway that hovers below our 14
th
floor digs and bled through the double-paned windows and walls that might as well have been made of rice cakes. That is how we lived in Culver City, California. Not just us. Everyone.