Caste (The Corporation) Read online

  Caste

  RaeLynn Fry

  Terebinth Tree Publishing

  Idaho

  Sale of this book without a front cover may be unauthorized. If this book is coverless, it may have been reported to the publisher as “unsold or destroyed” and neither the author nor the publisher may have received payment for it.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used factiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, business establishments, or events is entirely coincidental.

  CASTE

  All rights reserved

  Published by Terebinth Tree Publishing

  Copyright © 2013 by RaeLynnFry

  Cover art by Rachel Bennett

  Image from iStock Photos

  This book is protected under the copyright law of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork here in is prohibited without the express written permission of the author

  First Printing: May 2013

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Edition: May 2013

  ISBN: 0989213412

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9892134-1-7

  www.RaeLynnFry.Blogspot.com

  @RaeLynnFry

  To my hubby, who put up with my crazy whims and fancies and tolerated my neglect with patience. I love you.

  D ay one

  One

  Anyone from Neech knows there’s no such thing as sleeping later than the sun. Only citizens of the Inner City, Dahn, are allowed that luxury. I have yet to miss a sunrise.

  My calloused fingers act as a barrier against the rough bark as I toss another log into the hungry flames. It feels like November inside even though it’s only September outside. Also, I need the water in the kettle to boil faster so I can hurry and make breakfast and tea. It’s going to be a busy day at the factory and I’m already running behind.

  I focus on the soft hum of the air filter, a familiar constant in our home. As a result, our small house is never completely silent—but at least we can breathe. Despite the sparse coughs it gives, it’s dependable in filtering our city’s air into something breathable. Which is more than most people in Neech have. It’s not like the Corporation actually provides filters for everyone.

  There’s no privacy down on the main level of our apartment, unless you’re alone—which is hardly ever in this house. Every room spills into the other. The cramped living room opens into an even more cramped kitchen with the fireplace on the wall separating them.

  A small room sits off the kitchen with a ragged and heavy drape in place of a door. It’s a pantry. Of sorts. It’s also the guest room when we have guests. Which is never. But Momma thought it’d be a good idea to have, just in case.

  I aggravate the flames with an iron poker and watch the glowing embers jump off the logs only to nestle in with the heaps of grey ash.

  My little brother Ajna sits at the worn table Papa made for Momma as a wedding gift nineteen years ago. It’s the only thing left in the house that’s hers. Everything else I helped put away nine years ago.

  Ajna’s slumped over his bowl of porridge—or gruel, as he calls it. I watch him out the corner of my eye as he trolls his spoon along the bowl's bottom, his head slipping lower on the heel of his hand. A couple more seconds and his face will plant squarely into his breakfast.

  I look around the room, searching for another log. I find it buried in a corner. The last one. A cruel reality of life in the Outer City. Never enough of the things we need. We’ve already used up all our ration stamps and won’t get any more until the Corporation reissues them next month.

  I drag it over to the fire with a sigh, feeding it to the flames and making the embers and sparks dance up into the chimney just as two sharp raps sound at the door. Right on schedule.

  I groan.

  Ajna’s head snaps up. “It's here!” He scrambles out of his chair, moving so suddenly it clatters to the floor behind him, his breakfast sloshing dangerously close to the lip of the bowl.

  My brother’s hand is almost on the knob before I can say, “Sit down.” He stops but keeps his body facing the door. I stand, dusting bits of bark from my palms. “I said, sit down.”

  With a scowl, he swivels his head and shifts brown eyes, identical to Papa’s, in my direction. “Why? You're not Momma; you're just my sister.”

  “I’m the closest thing you’ve got to a momma.”

  Sometimes it feels like a war is just looking for an excuse to break out, having three hot-headed and opinionated people in the same tight space. Tempers flare from time to time, and arguments can get real interesting real fast.

  Ajna crosses his spindly arms over his narrow chest, wrinkling the shirt I got up extra early this morning to iron. I frown. His soft face is defiant, giving away how stubborn he can be—exactly like his sister. And with his jaw set like that and his brows furrowed, for a flash he looks too much like Momma.

  “Little early to be startin’ at each other’s throats, don’t you think?” Papa walks down the stairs, letting his weight drop into each step, scratching at his back. His tousled hair makes it look as if he’s just rolled out of bed, even though I know he’s fully dressed and ready for the mill.

  I’m the image of Momma—or so Papa says—and Ajna is an exact replica of Papa, as if the Corporation cloned him. Who knows? Maybe they did.

  “Morning, Papa,” I say.

  “Mornin’, Karis.” He comes over and kisses me lightly on the forehead. “Son, go and finish your breakfast.” Papa rubs at his scruffy face. He’s been talking of growing a beard for fall. I can already see my breath in the early morning air. My eyes drift back to the empty corner with only chips in the way of wood.

  “But Papa,” Ajna says with a stamp of his foot.

  “No buts. Your food’s gettin’ cold, and if we’re wastin’ our rations, the Corp will have no problem cuttin’ ‘em back.” He bends down and rights the fallen chair. “Now, apologize to your sister.”

  Ajna hangs his head and turns around, sulking back to his seat where he plops down and stares at his bowl of breakfast. He mumbles something that sounds like, “Sorrykaris,” but I can’t be sure.

  I brush my hands against my pants again and walk over to the front door, snatching up the folded piece of paper that’s been slipped underneath.

  Two knocks mean another delivery’s been made. They started around the time the sickness did. The same time as the increased Guard patrols and strange deaths. I still think there’s a connection, even though Papa and Journey say I’m putting too much stock into it. I thought the deliveries would stop after a few days. Two months later and they show no sign of letting up.

  “Another newsletter?” Papa asks, taking his seat.

  Ajna squirms in his chair, excited for the answer.

  “These things are poison,” I say. “More than the Corporation is.” Already I’m in a sour mood, and the day hasn’t even started.

  It’s a fine balancing act, living under the Corp’s rule—even finer if you’re in the Outer City. It’s best just to keep your head down and do your part. Don’t make waves, as the old saying goes. Though, I don’t know where it came from.

  If a Neech citizen was caught with one of these newsletters in one of the Corp’s random searches, they’d be Released, no questions asked. Wouldn’t matter that none of us asked for it, it’d be considered treason.

  I crumple the paper with extra vigor.

  “Don't do that!” my brother shrieks. His spoon clatters to the floor.

  “It's trash, Ajna; it belongs in the fire,” I say.

  “No! I wanna read it.” He reaches out, ple
ading with his eyes.

  “It's filled with nothing but lies—and poor ones at that. Half the stuff is completely impossible.” I hold my closed fist towards the flames. My fingers start to itch from the warmth. “Experimentation on citizens by the Corporation? Selective Genocide? Functioning cities out in the Further?”

  “Pleasepleaseplease!” Ajna’s opening and closing his fists, stretching his arms as far as they’ll go.

  “Karis,” Papa says. “Give your brother the newsletter. It doesn't do any harm if he reads it.”

  “Only fills his head with nonsense,” I say, pulling my fist back from the heat.

  “Karis.” Papa tilts his head and looks down his nose at me.

  I hate Papa’s warning voice. But only a stitch less than I hate his warning look. I toss the crumpled paper at my brother, watching it land in his breakfast with a light plop. Completely unintentional.

  “Hey!” Ajna complains, but his smile tells me he doesn't care. He fishes the paper ball out with nimble fingers and smoothes it against the table’s surface.

  “I finished patching your duster, but you’re going to need a new one soon.” I take Papa’s overcoat from a pile by the fire and hand it to him, inspecting it one last time. “It looks like a molting dog.”

  Papa chuckles and takes the garment, fingering the patched elbows where holes had been the night before. “Looks good, Karis. I can probably get a few more years out of this.”

  “Not if you want to keep your skin from burning up and falling off when you go outside.”

  Papa gives me a loud sigh.

  “Okay, so maybe that’s a slight exaggeration, but the less exposed to the air, the better.”

  The Corporation’s installed air filters in Neech, but they’re subpar, and there aren’t nearly enough of them to make any real difference to the air that slips through the tears in the Corp’s Biozone. Some citizens wear masks outside for extra protection. Others claim the air’s not that bad. Those are the ones who usually end up coughing their lungs up and then dying.

  “If we sell off some of the rations we don’t need, with the credits we have, maybe we could trade for the rest,” I say.

  Papa’s eyes go soft. “Trade with what, Karis? We’ve already used all our wood, and the month isn’t half over.” I was hoping he wouldn’t notice. “Besides,” he goes on, “this jacket’s fine.” He drapes it behind a chair. “Busy day at the factory?”

  I nod. “We're backed up. A lot of people are too sick to come in.” I dish up some breakfast. The porridge slops into the bowl with a sucking splat.

  Papa says, “Eta’s said this sickness has been keepin’ her busy day and night.”

  Eta’s been a friend of the family since Momma and Papa were first married. She’s one of the oldest citizens and the best Medic in Neech.

  “I heard the last it was this bad was back Before,” I say.

  “Karis, please.” Papa shifts his eyes to Ajna. “She’s had to take on a few more apprentices.”

  “Trial by fire for them, I guess,” I say. “She know what it is yet?”

  He shakes his head. “By the time she’s called in, they’re too sick for somethin’ to be done, even if she did know what it was. Whatever it is, it’s killin’ fast. We’ve already lost three men at the lumber yard.”

  I nod. “We’re short by about a dozen or so at the factory. I'll probably have to pick up a few extra assignments tonight.”

  “They payin’ you extra for that?”

  “I hope that’s not a serious question,” I say, setting a bowl on the table in front of him.

  He smiles. “Don't push yourself too much.” He takes the porridge from me. “It's not worth it.”

  Of course it’s not worth it, but that doesn’t mean a choice exists. “Journey’s unit is shorthanded too, so she’ll be there. It won't be too bad.”

  “Dhevan’s okay with that?”

  “She has a Pairing to pay for and a dowry to give. Dhevan can’t complain. Plus he’s pulling extra hours in the fields with the increased tithes.” I sit across from Papa and look at Ajna. His nose is buried in the newsletter, finger racing across the page, unaware to our conversation. “I’m gonna have a dowry to give soon, too, you know.” I stir my porridge, not that hungry.

  “You're too young to be Paired. I plan on keeping you in the house as long as possible.”

  “I’m seventeen, the same age as everyone else who’s Paired. Besides, Kavin will have something to say about your selfishness.” But Papa’s comment makes me smile. I’m not ready to leave home either. But when I’m Paired, I won’t have a choice. It doesn’t matter that the Corporation told us we were perfect for each other; I knew Kavin was right for me the first day we met as kids.

  Back Before, when everything started to get really bad, people went sort of crazy. There was a long period of time without any recognized authority. There was no easy access to clean water, food, power, medicine. People were killing and stealing; sickness swept through and took even more lives. It wasn’t until the world’s population was decimated by two-thirds before any form of power had the needed leverage to step in.

  By then, people were beaten down enough to accept being ruled over again—if it meant survival. In the end, it was the group with the money who grabbed the power—corporations. And among the dozen or so that raised their heads, it was the beast with the most horns that won. The Corporation. With our population so low, unions had to be genetically optimal. Voila: the Corporation’s breeding program—Pairings.

  “Listen to this!” Ajna belts out. The chair lets out a string of creaking protests as his body wiggles in excitement against the old wood. “This guy says half the cameras around the Outer City don't even work! He says they’re there to scare us and keep us in line.”

  “Yeah, but which half? If that’s even true.” I roll my eyes. “Papa, you're really going to let him read that trash?”

  “If it makes him happy—”

  “—It does,” Ajna says.

  “—then I'm fine with it.”

  “Fine, but you get to deal with all his crazy talk from now on. Have fun explaining to the neighbors why your son's going on about Corporation conspiracies.”

  Papa laughs at me. “You’re so much like your momma, sometimes it's like she never left.”

  My smile stiffens. I don’t like the pain that slashes across Papa’s face every time he mentions Momma. Or being compared to the woman who left her family without so much as a glance back.

  “Time for the bulletin.” Papa reaches over to our small television set and flips it on.

  Every citizen receives one channel, the Corporation's Announcement Station, or CAS. Every morning and evening we get our updates through that. At lunch, it’s through the loudspeakers planted throughout Neech.

  The box struggles to generate black and white static that dances to a soft hum. Papa pounds once on the top of the box, jarring the picture, but it doesn’t make it any better. A fuzzy voice comes through the left speaker; the right one’s broken.

  “Stupid thing,” he mutters, “never works." Papa drops his fist down again.

  “Maybe if you wouldn’t abuse it,” I scold and reach over to adjust the aluminum antenna. Eventually the picture improves to the misshapen symbol of the Corporation: three interlocked rings, two on top and one at the bottom. It’s supposed to symbolize the Corporation supporting our two cities, Neech and Dahn. The static-filled voice pipes through a little clearer.

  “There,” I say. “All it needed was a little kindness.”

  A pre-recorded voice fills our kitchen.

  “Good morning, citizens. A brief reminder from last week, it’s important to be extra vigilant about keeping an eye out for Untouchables. Military Guards have encountered an influx of activity in the Further, and if you aren’t careful, the Corporation won’t be able to protect you. Should you see an Untouchable, notify the Military Guard via comm at once. Do not engage, no matter how harmless they may seem. After all, they a
re Untouchables, the furthest a human being can get from being harmless.”

  The only citizens allowed to venture beyond the Outer City and into the Further are Military Guards, and only if they’re covered head to toe in thick outer clothing, with air canisters, weapons, and rations. Everything outside the shelter of the cities is toxic. The air. The water. Everything. The Corp’s Biozone only covers the two cities; out there it’s scorching sun and acid rain. Dust storms so harsh they’ll scrub the flesh off any man. Not to mention no food or water. I don’t know why anyone would want to go out there anyway, it’s barren, deformed, and deadly, filled with things that’ll kill a person in half a heartbeat. Venturing out into the Further is a death sentence. And the Corporation makes sure to remind us of that as often as they can.

  “Demand is up in all areas of manufacturing and production is down. Since there seems to be a lack of motivation to ensure the cities have the supplies needed in order for all citizens to survive and prosper, work shifts have been lengthened beginning tomorrow—an hour before dawn and an hour after sunset.

  “In order for the good of the city to survive, everyone needs to sacrifice. Any citizen found cheating or stealing from the Corporation—and in turn your fellow citizens—by not participating will pay the price. In addition, the Corporation will be increasing its tithe from 70 to 80 percent.

  “Remember, everything you do is for the betterment of the cities. Cheating the Corporation is only cheating yourself.”

  The screen fades back to static, and an annoying buzz seeps from of the left speaker.

  “That's ridiculous!” Papa shouts. He smacks at the television off switch, turning the screen black. “They’ve already reduced our water rations three times this year. The harvests aren’t bringin’ in as much as previous years. The land is dyin’. We can’t help that! When’s the Corporation gonna care they're killin’ us?” He runs his hands though his hair, resting them on the back of his neck.