Golden Dreg Boy, Book 1 Read online

  Dad’s hand creeps through his already-disheveled hair. “Just talked to the premier. Can’t wait until you start your career. I need good help. Always busy. Too much work.” A tired, lifeless look settles in his eyes. He organizes papers and folders on his desk and then rises from his chair. He says some things don’t belong on machines as data.

  “How come you never got another assistant in the labs after you fired your last?”

  “Can’t trust people.” His lips scrunch. “He betrayed us. He was lucky the premier only demoted his status to Dreg. In my opinion, he deserved to die.”

  I’ve never heard Dad talk so mean. “Geesh, that’s harsh.”

  “That’s life. If you betray the Americas, you pay.” He holds my gaze with icy eyes before they quickly warm, and my father returns. “Now, let’s go eat.” He pats my back as he passes me in the hall.

  Five minutes later, we’re eating. I’m happy that we haven’t been affected by sickness this time. No one word can capture this moment, but “cherished” might do. With Dad’s schedule, gathering us at the table for dinner is nearly impossible, so I cherish this moment silently.

  Chapter Nine

  Sleep beckons me at the same time every night. Right after my family has dinner, watches the mandatory newscast, and then enjoys a few other streams, I’m ready to drown in blankets.

  We go to bed early, usually before ten, and one of my parents or I read to Emmaline in her room before she falls asleep. Tonight’s my turn. When I snap off the projected hologram from the tablet, the screen winks out, and the projection disappears.

  She frowns. “Can you read me another?”

  “You’ve practically read every book in here.” I tuck the paper-thin silver device under my arm.

  “Mom loaded more books. She told me,” Ems whines.

  “That book was thirty pages long. I’m tired.”

  “But it had big words and images. No chapters. A baby book.” She crosses her arms. Can’t get anything past her.

  “You’re so spoiled.” I get up from her bed.

  “Am not.”

  “Are, too. And it’s bedtime.”

  “You forgot two things.” She relaxes back, eyes fixated on me. Smiling, I walk back to tuck her in. I brush my lips against her cheek, and she lays her head on her pillow, finally satisfied.

  “Goodnight, Kade.”

  “Goodnight, Ems.” I close her door and then walk to mine. Off the main hallway, which runs from the front entrance to the back of the house, our rooms are positioned at the longest and widest part. White walls blend into a marble floor, making this side of the house feel pristine and tranquil, like the calm before the storm. But the hill sectors are often quiet since they are so far away from downtown.

  I touch a panel in the wall, and the sliding door to my balcony swooshes open for me to step onto the deck. The breeze hits my face, and I stand with my back to the sprawling balcony windows, giving me a view of the vast hill sectors. My sector faces Sector Two, and Three faces Four. In the distance, the market is tucked well below the rocket-train tracks and bubble tracks, and all their lights merge into the twinkling lights of the remaining cities and land, like millions of stars clustering together.

  My thoughts revolve around the unauthorized party that brought me liquor, a mack-out session, and some good advice from my father. Times like that are few and far between.

  Soon, I’ll work for the government at my father’s company. Shaw Technologies works on a lot of top-secret projects that he won’t tell me about until I take my rightful place within the organization. But overhearing bits and pieces whenever he is in his office, talking on his secure line to the premier, another scientist, or someone else from the government makes me feel like I am already part of the business.

  Dad often talks about research and new technology that will keep Goldens healthy. I’ve never been sick and feel sad for Nell and people who are healthy one minute and then die the next. My throat tightens, and I push back the tenseness. I can’t be weak.

  Ems was sick once with the chicken pox and then again with an undiagnosed strain of the flu. Both times she almost died, and I didn’t cry. I stayed strong. Mom and Dad have had common colds and pneumonia, but they always pull through since they’ve had those sicknesses before and have some prior resistance.

  At school, we’re taught that Goldens are more susceptible to disease because our vaccines don’t work as well as they used to and our immune systems have changed because of it.

  In the distance, where Dregs live, a huge fire burns, wafting puffs of black smoke into the air. A riot? Dregs always burn things to keep warm but also when they protest against government research or the law in general. They’ve always been a part of research, but some call the testing inhumane. I’ve never believed that claim. Testing is never mandatory, and results contribute to making our society better for both Goldens and Dregs.

  I walk back into my bedroom and close the balcony door behind me.

  I’m fast asleep but then wake to a loud bang. Sounds like the front door was knocked down. Noise in this house travels fast, echoing off the high ceilings, marble, and wood floors. My mother’s screams shoot me upright.

  “Surrender and you will not be hurt,” a stern voice yells. Cops flood my room, yelling inaudible words and holding yellow Laser-Taser guns ready to shock. The range of those things is incredible. I stand and straighten my back.

  “Keep your hands up!” another commands.

  This must be a mix-up. Wrong house. Wrong person. My hands are high to show compliance, but they wrestle me to the floor anyway. Why are they treating me like a common criminal? Like a Dreg? Turning me over on my back, they slap glowing e-cuffs on my wrists.

  Outside my door, Dad is restrained. In Mom’s arms, Emmaline clenches Mom’s neck. She shouldn’t be seeing this. Impressions like these haunt the mind and change you. She needs to forget this moment altogether, but it’s too late. This is seared into all of our memories. A shadowy, skulking stain seeping in like sickness. Could this be the last time I see my family?

  “Prisoner’s secure,” one of them says. I look at my hands. Definitely secure.

  The officers pick me up from the floor with their hands linked inside my arms. The e-cuffs, deceptively strong as steel, slice into my wrists, and I wince, trying to keep my hands as still as possible. Unfortunately, that’s nearly impossible with cops pushing me forward.

  “Is all this necessary? This is a mistake, I’m positive. If you would only—”

  “Shut up, boy.” An officer and his buddies march me into the hallway to follow my family being pushed downstairs.

  “I’m second to the premier. I don’t understand what’s going on,” Dad says. “If you call the premier, we can clear this nonsense up.” They poke his back with a long metal baton. A Stunner-Stick. I’ve seen Dregs get arrested like this before. When cuffs or batons light up red, they are ready to shock, to subdue intended victims with electricity. This one isn’t red. Thank all that is good.

  My father shuts up and stumbles where they push him. We descend the winding, opulent fifty-two-step staircase with more shoving and incoherent mumbling. I watch my feet so I don’t trip and fall and this becomes the only way to calm my nerves. Finally, we reach the foyer and halt under the tiered crystal chandelier. An officer taps a tablet and words appear in the air as he reads, “Kade Shaw is hereby charged with treason.”

  I laugh but stop once my mother gasps and her face turns white.

  “That’s preposterous,” Dad interjects, but his strangely calm demeanor doesn’t match the raging emotion his voice should have when cops are arresting his only son.

  An officer shoves a glowing red Stun-Stick into my father’s gut, and he doubles over in pain. My mother rushes to his side, and then she, too, is surrounded by officers. Ems is still perched on Mom’s hip, holding on tightly. She’s crying, and I can’t bear to look at her.

  My eyes go to the officer reading. “On this twenty-third day of M
ay, Kade Shaw has been found guilty of treason and will be executed.”

  Face crumpled, knees weak, and feet numb, I slump into the officers’ arms. Panic surges through me after a cop taps the baton against my chest. I shudder under the electricity.

  “Execution without a hearing? What kind of justice is that?” Mom cries. No one answers her. They drag my shaking body outside and down the front porch steps.

  I struggle to glimpse back at my family. Dad stands with one hand holding his stomach, still in pain. Mom’s mouth is agape, and Emmaline’s face is buried in Mom’s neck. I am blindsided, as shocked as they are. One day, I’m at an unauthorized party macking out with a girl. The next, I’m with Ems, lying on our deck. And then…bam! I’m arrested and told I will be executed.

  This has to be a dreadful dream, an alternate reality implanted at a Virtual Reality Bank, or a sick quip. This is not how my life is supposed to end. I am Golden! I am not Dreg!

  Chapter Ten

  We live in our bodies every day. In the mirror, we see the same face with the same eyes staring at the same hands, arms, legs, and feet. But have you ever looked at yourself? Really looked? Beyond the shell we inhabit?

  Now I’m seeing myself for who’s on the inside, and for once, I’m not seeing the good. I don’t know myself as well as I thought. Unshakable self-doubt hovers over me. Who am I if not Golden?

  My hands are not my own. They look strange. Too long and slim for my taste. I scrutinize, wishing my life was in them. That I was in control. Deeply ridged, the wrinkles on my knuckles and the lines on my palms are supposed to tell my life story. At least that’s what the Dreg woman with the guitar in the market told me once.

  I am a Golden boy. People want to be me. But now, even I don’t want to be me. Retreating into my mind is best because sleep won’t calm me tonight. Going further with a girl or following in my father’s footsteps isn’t on my radar anymore. No future exists at this moment. My life is not the certain promise it once was.

  What Dad said earlier makes a whole lot of sense now. He wasn’t positive my future would be fine. Maybe he was trying to tell me this would happen. Or maybe this is a coincidence or words I’ve interpreted incorrectly. Naw, couldn’t be either. He could never have known this would happen.

  I stare at the cell across from mine, squinting to find what little light scurries across the walls and floors from the high windows near the ceiling. Even the light doesn’t want to be here.

  Rounded black stones surround me, meeting the concrete floor unevenly and pressuring the jail into a jagged configuration.

  “Hey, kid.” A voice across from my cell makes me jump. “You’re Kade Shaw, right?”

  I nod but I don’t move.

  “Heard they’re going to execute you tomorrow.”

  “What? Is there a digital advertisement going around?”

  “They execute people they want to silence. People who know too much. You’re in here for treason, so you must be a threat.” His voice sounds strange, like it doesn’t belong with his body. Does he, too, have an execution date? And if not, why bother speaking to me if he knows I’m doomed? “Dead man walking,” they used to call it. Although “nearly dead man breathing, talking, and sitting,” would probably be more accurate.

  “I’m innocent.”

  The man throws himself into a fit of laughter. He leans forward. The wrinkles in his face are deep with age. “Isn’t it obvious?” he asks once he stops laughing. When he disappears back into the darkness, I search the shadows. “You’re a Dreg. You were hiding amongst their own.”

  “I’m not Dreg. I’m Golden.”

  “You’re Dreg if you’re in here with me. The only Golden I see are the guards. They may live in Sector Three or Four, but they’re still Golden.” His laugh is strained, and I’m annoyed with him for laughing at my expense.

  Not many Goldens go to jail. The unspoken rule is don’t arrest a Golden if you don’t have to. So when one goes to jail, there’s a serious reason. For kids my age, it’s usually to learn a lesson, like Noodle’s time after his party. Well, I’ve learned my lesson and am ready for my parents to come get me.

  “I’m Golden whether I’m in here with you or not,” I say louder. He laughs again, and I have no choice but to be rude. “Shut up, you old Dreg.”

  His laughter siphons off into an uncomfortable wheeze.

  “Why are you here?” I spit out the question burning on my tongue.

  “Stealing.”

  “Stealing?” I parrot.

  “Well, stealing repeatedly.” The man laughs again.

  “Why steal if you keep getting caught? A smart person would stop. Doesn’t the risk no longer make it worth your time?”

  “One month in jail per offense.” He has a chipper tone as he holds out his hand, gesturing to his prison cell. “This beats sleeping in the streets.” His tone and pitch grow serious. “I’m old. They don’t worry about me committing crimes. They only arrest me if a Golden catches me and complains. But they can’t use me like the young ones. The young ones try not to break the law if they can help it. I’ve seen those ones disappear.”

  I try to break down his every word. He’s accusing the government of making Dregs disappear, which is preposterous. Heavy claims for an old Dreg. He thinks he can break the law while younger Dregs can’t. I curl my hands into fists, balling them in my lap. “People like you should be punished more severely.” My hands shake. I want to hit him. This is how it feels to be backed against a wall. This is how it feels to have nothing.

  “You Goldens…all the same. Think you’re better than Dregs.” In the dim light, I finally catch sight of his eyes, which beat with unrestrained passion. “Think you can keep stealing from us? Take away our liberties? Think we’ll fall, beg, and grovel because we worship you?”

  The man stands up perfectly straight before hunching over and ambling the short distance to the front of his cage. Strange. He’s about a foot away from the bars before I get a good look at him. He’s scruffy and gray-haired. Really old. Goldens are still mastering old age because our average life spans are often cut short by sickness and disease.

  “Come here, young buck,” the old man calls. I reluctantly rise and walk a few feet to the cage bars. When I touch them, they turn a metallic red and emit a shock. Falling backward onto my ass, a few choice curse words come out as electricity surges through my body. He laughs again, and I want to run at the bars to get at him. But I learn from my mistakes. Breathing heavily, hands draped around my knees, I decide to stay on the floor. The air is charged with metal and a bit of something stale like molded bread. “You did that on purpose.”

  “I didn’t tell you to touch them.” He glides closer but not enough to touch the bars of his cell. He’s quite agile when he wants to be.

  Grinding my teeth helps me control the active tremors. Acting like it doesn’t hurt helps my pride.

  “I’ve seen a lot, young buck, and it never gets better. Goldens take without giving and live by their own rules. There’s no freedom until we’re all free.” His voice has gone coarse. “I’m surprised you don’t remember me. I shouldn’t be, I suppose.” He sighs. “I followed you from the market one day.”

  I don’t reply. Not because I don’t have anything to say, but because I have plenty. Now I remember. After a Dreg protest, he showed up outside our backyard and asked for points. He said the same line: “There is no freedom until we are all free.” I told him it was nonsense and to go away. I couldn’t believe his nerve. That was a time I fully agreed with Noodle about needing security gates.

  His monologue gives me pause. Phrases reverberate inside my head: “Think you can keep stealing from us?” and “There’s no freedom until we are all free.”

  First, what have Goldens ever stolen from Dregs? The mere thought of this being true is absurd. How dare he accuse us of such a deplorable deed! How can we steal from those who have nothing? And the freedom thing? Oh, please. Everyone’s free. It’s what people choose to do with the
ir freedom that makes the difference.

  Chapter Eleven

  I stir for the remainder of the night on the cot. The metal springs dig into my skin, and no position helps me sleep. Each one aggravates me almost as much as the last. I finally settle on my back, convinced this way—springs sticking into my shoulder blades and my lower spine—is the best.

  I stare at the ceiling. What’s Ems doing right now? She probably doesn’t understand what happened. She’s asking questions and crying. I usually answer her questions best, but I’m not there this time, and that hurts. Pompous of me, yes, but it’s the truth. My sister is my heart. She doesn’t have my worries, sitting in this jail cell, not knowing my fate. She’s at the no-worries age. Or should be.

  My thoughts stall, and I close my eyes. I’m pushing Ems on the swings in the backyard.

  “Higher!”

  “Ems, you’re pretty high as it is. Too high, and you’ll get stuck in the tree. And besides, you should learn how to swing by yourself.”

  “No. You’ll always be here.”

  “Hate to break it to you, but I won’t. Soon I’ll be starting my career. I’ll get assigned a home in the city until I finish training. Then, at family age, I’ll get married and live in my own house in Sector One.”

  She didn’t like that answer very much, but I kept pushing.

  The memory fades into nothingness. No place to store happy moments because I’m too worried about my future. Yet other memories come. Don’t know how long I think of my sister, but it helps me finally fall asleep. Who knows when and if I’ll ever see her again in real life.

  I’m surprised by the person who graces my dreams.

  The Dreg girl tosses her purple hair with a flick of her head and looks up at me. She confuses me when she smiles because she didn’t when we met in person. “What’s your name again?”

  “Kade.” I perk up and look around. Where are we? The market, but it’s vacant. Only us facing each other.