The Killing Jar (2 page)

KAUFMAN RESIDENCE, LANCASTER, NORTH AMERICA

AUGUST 7, 2232

Calloused fingers strummed the strings of his guitar. It was metal thin and flawed enough to imitate the sound of wood, but Theo didn’t know the difference. He’d never seen a real one.

His room was utterly silent.

Music resonated into his ears via his homemade audio strips. When music piqued his interest two years earlier, Theo had designed a pair of slim plastic devices no larger than six millimeters in length that would sit at the base of his jawbone and emit vibrations up into his ears. The precise frequencies allowed his auditory nerve to perceive the notes and rhythms of his favorite artists with considerable clarity. He had hoped to finish the final prototype before Selection, before he was assigned a mentor and given other, more useful projects toward which he should direct his studies and his time.

But those thoughts were for later.

His favorite band, Daisy Red, streamed into his ears as he played along on his guitar. The chords were complex and difficult, one of the hardest songs to play, but Theo had practiced hard. He hit every note.

He closed his eyes and let the sound flow through him. Vibrations penetrated every cell, reverberated in the deep, dark parts of his mind, the parts where only he could go. The lyrics, the melody, the bone-tingling beat. Theo loved every moment of it.

Then his bedroom door flew open in a flash.

Howard Kaufman stood with arms crossed, his mouth moving, but Theo only heard the music. He swiped at his wristlet to replace the music with his father’s stern voice.

“—Selection is in four hours. You are supposed to be getting ready and reviewing the list of mentors down at the Hall.” One of the most prestigious astronomers of the day, Howard sported a thick salt-and-pepper beard that twitched as he spoke. He squinted hard to see Theo across the room, though if anyone asked him, he would say it was from too many hours at his telescope.

Theo set the guitar against the bed. “I have four hours. That’s plenty of time.”

“I won’t have the last Kaufman showing up to Selection looking like that. Get yourself cleaned up and get to the Hall.” Howard leaned in and squinted harder. “Do
not
embarrass this family.”

Theo ran his hand through his shoulder-length hair, black as onyx and perfectly straight, wishing that were the biggest embarrassment his father would face today.

Selection came for everyone, whether through completion of a fourteenth year of education, or arrival of the sixteen birthday. One way or another, everyone declared their path for the future.

The whole affair took on a rather perfunctory air considering Theo had been genetically engineered to succeed in academia. After all they’d been through to create him, his parents had definite ideas about what constituted success. For him, Theodore Kaufman, second child of Howard and Cheryl Kaufman, the life of the Scholar had been selected from birth.

Theo’s sister had done little to help. She’d Selected Scholar without so much as a wavering moment and gone off to her prominent career in cosmic research, the Kaufman specialty.

He picked up his guitar and set it across his leg. He moved to switch his music back on, but Cheryl appeared in the open doorway.

“Theodore, what did you say to your father?” She planted a hand on her hip and waited. Her sleek black hair was spun into the usual Scholar bun.

“I didn’t say anything.” It was true. Mere sight of his guitar was enough to send Howard into a lecture.

“He’s proud of you. This is a big day for you and for us. We worked hard to give you the best possible opportunity.” Rather, they let a geneticist pick the best possible combination of traits. They’d paid an exorbitant sum to create him.

“Do you need help with your hair?” she offered.

He shook his head. “No, I can keep it long until after the ceremony.”

“You’ll have to shave it when you get to the Academy. Might as well. You never know which mentors are watching.”

“I’ll take my chances.” Pressed to it, he was far less willing to shave his head than he’d let himself believe.

“Suit yourself. Breakfast is ready.”

Theo set down his guitar for a second time, but he wondered if he would ever pick it up again. His parents were so sure he would go Scholar. He wished he could have that confidence, one way or another.

They had no idea how conflicted he’d become. The echo of Daisy Red played in his ear as he walked down the stairs. He could still feel the vibrations in his hands. He didn’t know if he was ready to give that up.

With less than one percent of the population defecting to a different class than that of their birth, it wasn’t just his parents that expected him to go Scholar. All of society did.

No pressure.

Their little town, Lancaster, Pennsylvania, had once been a quiet, religious community nestled in the hills. Now, it was the center of astronomy and the cosmic sciences, an urban metropolis like none other. It was one of the first dome cities in North America.

Theo loved it, the clean lines, the organization of the neighborhoods and commercial buildings. Artificial trees dotted corners and colorful flowerbeds decorated entryways. The latest advances in metal alloy, solar paneling, and air purification created a picturesque city of scientific revolution. Everything was positioned to optimize efficiency and productivity, the way Scholars prefer. Lancaster was the ideal location to enter a field in math, science, or engineering.

If he didn’t select Scholar, what the hell was he going to do with his life?

Nanotechnology had been his focus for seven years, almost half his life. On his tablet screen, the ninth prototype of his audio device rotated in three dimensions over the kitchen table. Each component spread from the other so he could evaluate the inner workings, make necessary alterations to improve the clarity of sound.

Howard looked up and grumbled at the display.

Theo ate his bowl of nutritional provisions and pretended like he didn’t notice. It wasn’t as if he could tell his father that he would like to pursue music, that he wanted to write his own songs. Even Nanotechnology was below Howard's standards.

Cosmic research was the hot field of the century; astronomers, astrobiologists, planetary researchers, cosmic radiation specialists. Each and every Kaufman had joined some field related to the exploration of space. All but Theo.

With his father’s disapproving glare, he sent the projection beck to the screen of his tablet and switched to the news app. He couldn’t focus anyway.

NEW STRAIN OF H12NAB VIRUS ISOLATED FOR VACCINATION. ANTH DRUG USE LABELED A MODERN EPIDEMIC. DR. JACKSON PARR, LRF PLANETARY SYSTEMS DEAD AT AGE 33. WHALE SKELETON EXHIBIT OPENS AT TOKYO HISTORY MUSEUM. SELECTION CLASS 14925 AT 1200 AT LANCASTER CENTRAL HALL.

“Have you given any thought to who you’d like to pursue as a mentor?” Cheryl asked as she ate another spoonful of the porridge-like substance.

“I have a few in mind,” he lied.

“Have you considered Dr. Ramos in Planetary Colonies? He has an excellent pedigree. Then there’s Dr. MacGherety in the Stockholm Astronomy Center. She’s a brilliant researcher. One of my colleagues said she just graduated her last mentee. I think you should let her know you’re interested.”

But Theo wasn’t interested. Not only in Scholars he’d never heard of, but in cosmic research in general. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to be a Scholar. It was like his parents forgot there were three classes he could choose from, that only ten percent of the population selected Scholar.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll add her to my list.”

Theo shoveled in his provisions in great heaping spoonfuls. Then, he pushed from his chair and dropped the bowl in the sink. “I’m going to Lanc Central. See you at the ceremony.”

“Come here, Theodore.” Cheryl rose up and crossed the kitchen to stand beside him. Her indigo body suit complemented the bronze skin they all shared. “You have nothing to be worried about. You are a Kaufman. You were born for this.”

“Yeah, thanks,” he said over his shoulder as he slipped past the metal door and emerged onto the front step.

Theo was grateful for his Youth status and the freedom of dress that allowed him to still wear comfortable running shoes. He didn’t have much time left and there was still one stop to make before Selection.

KING RESIDENCE, MONARCH, NORTH AMERICA

AUGUST 7, 2232

Midnight.

Dasia pulled a bright blue cap over her chestnut curls, shot back the lavender pill, and prepared to sneak away into the night.

No one said living a double-life was easy.

Her dusty work boots traversed the worn wooden stairs. Made from wood reclaimed from twentieth-century ships abandoned on the lakeshore, they’d seen plenty of lifetimes.
Oh, the stories they could tell.

Now you’re talking to the stairs, she told herself. Dasia always marveled at the near-instant immersion of the drug into her system. It was as if she could feel its progression around her body, like a sip of cool water down her throat on a hot day.

The door creaked as she pushed past it and onto the porch, but she knew her parents would never hear. The air purifiers hummed noisily at the foot of every bed in the old-style farmhouse.

Outside, without a mask, Dasia breathed in the strange haze. Metallic, thick like smoke with a copper flavor, almost like blood.
A fog of pale orange blood
, she thought with a smile.

Of all the reasons a person could grow to love anth, Dasia’s influenced mind was a true treasure. The strange thoughts, the curious notions, the perceptions of colors so much more intense. A farmer’s life could easily grow dull, but not with anth. Dasia savored every moment the drug infiltrated her body.

Not to mention she could stay up for days. Without the highly-illegal pills, Dasia would never be able to farm all day and see her friends all night. With it, she only had to sleep one night in every four.

It was a twenty minute walk to the Daugherty property, and another ten to the skeletal silo where the group met at night, a metal frame with a collapsed ceiling that revealed the night sky.

Only Cole was there, her life-long friend who would soon be much more. He sat reclined in the dust piles, the powder of haze that had settled in the stillness of the silo. So consumed with anth, his wild eyes looked up the sky, his mind racing with images only he could see. A thin film of orange coated his forehead and cheeks.

“Hey, just you tonight?” she asked as she crossed the silo.

Without moving, he answered, “Hey sexy.”

“How long have you been out here?” Even swaddled in her anth-induced peacefulness, Dasia knew better than to sit out for so long without a respirator.

“A few hours. You know, they used to be able to see stars. The whole sky was black and blue speckled with tiny spots of light, light that traveled from other galaxies.”

“Before the haze? What, a hundred and fifty years ago?” A moment later, she added, “How much did you take?”

“A lot,” he admitted, his arm pulling her closer as he continued to envision a sky that no longer existed—at least, not in Monarch, Montana.

Someday, Dasia would marry the shaggy brunette boy she’d known her whole life. She’d be Mrs. Daugherty.

Dasia Daugherty.

It had a ring to it.

Two years ago, she remembered the way she felt when her father revealed his plan. After a lifetime of ranching, raising colts into horse, calves into cows, leverets into sweet rabbits, Paul King would become a farmer, along with his only daughter.

Crops. Plants to replace animals.

She knew it made sense, it was logical. In the constant deterioration of crops by the haze, areas such as Monarch could bring in a considerable profit if they utilized the early spring when the haze was thin. With food growing scarcer, they would have vastly more money, an insurance against the dismal future.

But it meant the loss of her animals. In a matter of hours, trailers and transports arrived to haul away the creatures she had raised. Watching the trucks pull onto the road and drive away left a massive hole in her, one she thought would never be filled.

The next day, her father told her of his plan to unite with the Daughertys through her marriage to Cole. It wasn’t that she didn’t like him, after all he was fantastically beautiful, but it wasn’t what she wanted. She was fifteen then, she wanted romance. She wanted to choose her husband, to marry because she was in love, not because he father told her to. He took away her last major life decision. She was no longer living her own life. Her father had taken it from her, every last bit of it.

Dasia cried for a week.

Then Cole gave her the first taste of anth.

He came over to see her, to express his support for their parents’ decision, but mostly to check on her, to make sure it was all right with her. Even from the first moment, he had been most concerned with her happiness. When he saw her devastation, he offered her the lavender pill, ground to a powder and mixed into her coffee. It was then she made peace with her father’s plan and her marriage to Cole.

In the two years since they had become inseparable, their future wedding nothing more than pretense. She sank against him, her Cole, and let the anth consume her.

“You think we’ll always farm corn?” she asked as her thoughts turned to the future.

“Sure, why?” A pale orange puff erupted from his lips as he spoke. It was beautiful in its strangeness.

“The haze. It’s hard enough to keep it off the crops during the day.” Each year, they purchased more industrial air circulators to keep the haze from settling and killing the plants they so depended on. “You’re covered in it, you know?”

Cole looked down at his arms, his eyes suddenly wide as if realizing his exposure for the first time.

“Snakes, we shouldn’t have stayed out for so long.” Cole struggled to stand in the dust pile and pull her up beside him. “Come on, you can stay with me tonight.”

“Really?” Her pulse raced. Nights spent in Cole’s room were her favorite.

“Of course. I want you with me.” Cole pulled her against his chest, his muscular arms around her like a protective barrier.

“Your dad said we couldn’t. He was mad last time,” Dasia reminded him. Cole’s father had always intimidated her, his gruff manner so cold to her. She would be part of his family, officially, in a few years. The last thing she wanted was his disapproval.

“I love you, Dasia. And you’re coming home with me. End of story. Dad can get over it.” His hand pulled her chin up, gently, to press his lips against hers. Cole stole her breath and then some.

“Come on,” he said at last with a sweet kiss to her forehead.

Dasia could only smile and fall into step beside him as they started the walk back to his family home.

But Dasia didn’t know they would never make it back, or that she would never see him again.