Paradigm (9781909490406)

P
ublished
by Bookouture

A
n imprint of StoryFire Ltd
. 23 Sussex Road, Ickenham, UB10 8PN

United Kingdom

w
ww.bookouture.com

C
opyright © Ceri A. Lowe 2014

C
eri A. Lowe
has asserted her
right to be identified as the author of this work.

A
ll rights reserved
. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.

T
his book is
a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

T
his book has been
some time in the making, which makes thanking the many people who have contributed and supported me longer than it should. But I'll give it a shot. Firstly, my coaches Lucy Pearce, Michael Druce and Annie Grove-White for giving me the confidence to start this at the outset. My initial readers: Dorota Filipowic, Bobbie Allen and Kerry-anne Mendoza for their encouragement and inspiration, Iseult Murphy for her excellent, ongoing ideas and diligent editing, and Hannah Quinn, for her overwhelming love and support, re-reads and for not ever letting me give up. My friends: Mia Barnes and Nancy Mendoza for keeping it real and for being part of my chosen family. My family: For my dad, John Lowe, and especially my grandmother, Elvira Lowe, for believing in me—I still think of you every day. And special thanks to my partner Kristina Kunsteinaite for doing everything that has enabled me to get this done, including her love and directness, ensuring I am grounded and that I consistently adore what I'm doing. For Formentera, that has always been there and always will be—especially Can Gavinu where the first page of the first draft of the first chapter of this book was written. And then, thanks to those who've been there in the final stages, giving me encouragement and understanding: my forever friends – Becky, Jayne, Jill, Janine & Claire, my creative writing groups, my Twitter and Facebook friends and followers, and my colleagues, especially Jenny Hogbin, for the coffee, the listening, and for the incredible support, always.

Huge thanks to my editors Jenny Hutton & Claire Bord and publisher Oliver Rhodes and his amazing team at Bookouture for their excellent interventions and support. But also for believing in Carter and Alice and what they have to say about the world today—and in the future. For those I know and love, this is for you; you inspire me. But more than anyone, this book is for my sister, Sally Andrews, who reminds me every single day what it means to be strong and independent and to always make life worth living—whatever the circumstances.

‘
Y
ou have
five minutes of this life left.'

As the words that came through the speaker finished, a hideous wailing sound broke out from the cell next door. Carter clamped his teeth down and screwed his eyes together tightly in an attempt to drown out the noise. If
he
could keep himself together, then surely the old-timers should be able to manage it. It just confirmed everything he knew about anyone over thirty. The screaming started again, up and down like a Storm siren. He pushed his back against the hard, cold wall and waited until the whine diminished to a sob, concentrating on counting down in time with the clock, in a mixture of excitement and anticipation. He would be brave; he would make his parents and his professor proud. He would show everyone. He would be the best leader the Industry could ever imagine.

The voice came again: ‘Four minutes remaining.'

There was the occasional thump of a fist against the wall of the chamber next door and then the sound of crying from somewhere else, further down into the Catacombs. But otherwise, there was silence. He hugged his knees to his chest, the hairs on his arms prickling. A sliver of concern worked its way up his spine. This was the start of the most important journey of his life.

T
he process
of travelling down into the depths of the Catacombs had taken longer than he had expected, but he didn't really remember all of it. The drugs he'd been given when they'd come to collect him that morning had begun to blur his memory straight away. As the group of men, women and children had walked across Unity Square, the sun was just an arc of beautiful red in the distance. But when they reached the entrance to the Catacombs, one of the men began to sob loudly behind him.

‘Shut up,' Carter whispered, ‘They'll hear you.'

‘I'll miss my wife,' choked the man, ‘and my daughter.'

Carter looked at him with pity. He was a wreck.

‘What's your name?' he said quietly.

‘Pablo.' The man sniffed.

‘Well, Pablo,' said Carter, ‘you had ten years with them and that's the rules.'

‘But it's not enough,' cried Pablo. ‘I want my little girl.'

C
hildren made you weaker
—that was for sure. Having a child would have forced him to stay above ground for longer—that was usually guaranteed for all parents whether they wanted it or not. But the older you got, the harder it was. And now, it was his turn to contribute to society. Although it would be hardly surprising if old Pablo were never woken up; at somewhere in his early forties, he would struggle to readjust. Carter had seen it happen before.

‘They'll be fine,' said Carter, not meeting the man's eyes. ‘And they'll be waiting for you up top like nothing ever happened. They're your family, right? And you'll be back before you know it.'

Pablo nodded miserably and fell silent. Carter reminded himself that once the needle went into his arm, even the biggest of lies could be forgotten underground—especially for someone like Pablo. But at least, for now, he was quiet. And every second that passed was one second closer to Carter becoming Controller General. He moved away from the group and pushed his way ahead to the front.

U
ntil they reached
the core of the Industry Headquarters, the journey was dim and quiet. The long line of them trudged through the tunnels down into the depths of the Catacombs on the traditional last walk. It had been that way ever since the early days. As the tunnels became wider and opened out into the last of the long, straight stretches of underground passage, the guards stopped and a door in the wall, placed slightly higher than the level of the tunnel, slid open. A man with smoky black eyes stepped out onto a ledge in front of them that Carter hadn't even noticed and addressed the group.

He knew who it was straight away—the current Controller General, Bobbie Alderney.

‘I won't keep you long,' he said coolly, ‘but I wanted to thank you for your co-operation today. As you know, making yourselves available for use in the future is both an honour and a duty and the Industry thanks each and every one of you.'

From halfway down the line, Pablo snivelled and Carter shuddered.

‘Controller General,' Pablo called out, ‘I'd like to make a request.' The line fell silent and Alderney snapped his neck to look in the man's direction.

‘And what,' he said, ‘might that be?'

‘I'd like to go back, Controller,' he said. ‘I have a family.'

There was a ripple of anger and disbelief through the crowd. Alderney watched with a curled smile on his face.

‘That's not the rules,' said one woman.

‘What makes you so special?'

‘You're a disgrace.'

Pablo looked distraught. ‘I don't belong here,' he said. ‘I belong up there with my daughter.'

There was an amount of jostling and pushing as people at the back made their way to the front to see what was happening. A grumbling rose from the crowd. Alderney was still silent, observing the group. Carter watched as his eyes flicked from one individual to another and then back to Pablo.

‘Please,' begged Pablo. ‘I'm just one man—there are plenty more here—just one won't make any difference.'

‘One man can make all the difference,' said Carter, hauling himself up onto the ledge next to Alderney.

‘Pablo,' he said, ‘what's the most important thing in your world?

‘My family,' said Pablo. ‘That's obvious,'

‘Is it?' said Carter. ‘You're not acting that way. What happens to the family of a dissenter?'

‘I'm not a dissenter; I just want to be with them.'

Carter looked at Alderney and then back at Pablo. ‘But you
are
a dissenter,' he said. ‘Look at these people—all dedicating their lives, like so many others have before them. You're saying to them that they don't matter, that you're more important than them and their families. Do you see that?'

Pablo shook his head. ‘I'm just one person,' he said. ‘It won't make any difference.'

‘But it will,' said Carter. ‘It will make all the difference. Do you see that you need to be brave now, that you need to make your family proud? It's what we all have to do.' Carter's tone was firm, almost threatening. He thought he could hear his own heart beating.

There were nods from the crowd and Pablo opened his mouth to speak then closed it again. He melted back into the group.

‘I'm sorry,' he said. The group turned away from him.

‘Walk on,' said Alderney and nodded at Carter. ‘Good work, Warren,' he continued. ‘All I've heard about you must be true. You saved that man's life there.'

And with that, he folded himself back into the door and disappeared.

After that, few people spoke until they reached their cells, exhausted. Pablo kept his head firmly fixed on the floor and held his own hands tightly together.

‘It will be okay,' whispered Carter. And then nothing more was said.

‘
T
hree minutes remaining
.'

The liquid light in the chamber turned to a clock and began to count down. Carter watched the soft rhythm of the numbers as their calmness slowed his heartbeat to a steady pulse. The chamber was perfectly square and there was little furniture—just the light, a squat table and the raised bed he was sat on, attached to the wall. It was perfect.

The voice sounded through the speaker.

‘Your time has now ended. Please remove your clothes and place them on the floor. Put on your sleep case. Your duration in the Catacombs will begin in exactly one minute. The Industry thanks you for your immediate co-operation.'

There was a desperate whimper and then a thump on the wall from the chamber next door. Carter squeezed himself into the sleep case and lay on the bed with fifteen seconds to go. It was icy cold and he shivered. His assistant appeared as the clock turned over to zero. ‘Carter Moses Warren. Fifteen years and thirty-five days old. No viruses or contaminations. No children yet—although you have been certified capable. Vital organs guaranteed for donation,' she ticked a form on her slate and smiled, ‘should anything go wrong.'

Carter smiled back at her nervously as she kept talking. ‘Sign here please, Carter Warren, and we'll see you some time in the next twenty years. The exact time will, of course, depend on when The Model decides that you are needed again.'

He tweaked a smile. ‘Any chance you can be a bit more precise?'

‘Nothing is ever guaranteed,' she said and pounded his forearm for a vein. When she found it she stopped, the needle lingering over his skin before she pierced his skin. ‘One other thing—I hear there's a chance you're going to become a father. Shame we didn't know about this before.'

Carter's mouth dropped open but no words came out of his mouth. Being a father meant being above ground, and definitely giving up his chance at Controller General. He tried to speak again but the injection had already started to take effect.

‘If it turns out to be true, then it's good work for someone so young,' said his assistant, ‘and at your first real attempt too.' She spoke gently but her words were piercing. There was nothing Carter could do—not even his fingers worked. The assistant continued. ‘Well, whatever it is, it's likely be all grown up by the time you get back—fatherless and alone, just like you. Sweet dreams.'

As his eyes closed, the numbness spread delicately through his body and the anaesthetic coursed into his bloodstream. When he opened his eyes she was there, in front of him. Not the assistant, but the girl from the party the night before. He remembered what the assistant had said and he tried to sit up. The girl twirled around in a circle.

‘You don't know what you've done, do you?' she said. ‘This is going to be the end of everything.' Then there was a cold, cackling laughter that echoed through his bones.

‘I have to go back. They said you are having a baby,' said Carter with a heavy sleepiness. His voice broke off and he tried again. ‘I don't want to have a baby. I can't…' There was a fizzing noise and the girl disappeared.

Carter's assistant zipped up the sleep case and nodded to the security porter standing in the doorway.

‘He's under,' she said. ‘Move him to the shelves.'

And with that there was darkness, and he could feel and hear nothing more.

W
hen the shrill
, ugly alarm sounded fifteen years later, Carter was still numb. He tried to move, but nothing worked. In the darkness he began to count and, although he thought he had reached one thousand, he wasn't sure where he had started from. Slowly, he blinked his eyes and, almost without realising it, he was fully awake. Then the voice came again.

‘Your time has now come to leave. Your clothes and a brief cleansing will be provided. An assistant will be with you shortly.'

Other than squirt a hose directly into his mouth and then all over his body, the assistant did very little. His clothes, the ones he had been wearing when he had entered the chamber fifteen years before, were wrapped in a waterproof packet on the same low table that had been in the room previously. The only thing that was different was the assistant. She handed him a pill and a glass of thick syrupy liquid.

‘Drink it,' she said. Carter knocked back the glass.

‘Did it… you know… all go all right? The assistant before said that I…' Carter's first words were stilted and came out in a choked, gruff growl punctuated by coughs. The assistant ignored him.

‘You have five minutes to prepare before you permanently leave this accommodation. Please ensure you are dressed and ready to leave. The Industry thanks you for your co-operation.'

As the words ended, the bed snapped back against the wall, throwing Carter onto the floor. The numbers of the electronic clock began to count down. Within thirty seconds, he had cleared his body, writhing around on the floor exhausted. Hoses in the ceiling came on automatically and showered him again. He'd just managed to slide into his trousers when the clock reached zero and his assistant handed him his personal information card and a sick bag then ushered him out into the long hallway.

B
oxy chambers ran
the length of the corridor on both sides and all the doors were open. He remembered it like it was yesterday. For him, it almost was. The floor, a thick black conveyor belt, wobbled ever so slightly as Carter stepped out onto it. The man in the chamber opposite still had his pants around his ankles when the final alarm sounded.

The floor shook for a second, the assistants stepped back into the rooms and then a belt carried the rest of them off towards the Control Room. The man from the chamber opposite who hadn't managed to dress himself properly was drenched in a slime that could have come from himself or the girl next to him who was also being sick at each gap in conversation.

‘Different to the way down, eh, kid?' said the man, smiling, and retched into his chuck-bag. The girl nodded and looked away. Her tunic was on back to front and her hair was sticky. Carter turned from them in an attempt to separate himself, but he could still hear their chatter.

‘How long have we been here?' said the girl. The man with his pants in his hand looked embarrassed and confused.

‘No idea,' he shrugged. ‘Different for all of us, isn't it?' There was the sound of vomit gently hitting the bottom of the bags and the chug-chug of the travelator. At least there was no screaming on the way back up.

‘I had an escapee on my downward,' said the girl to the pantless man who seemed to be interested.

‘Yeah?' said the man. ‘He got back in line though, right? Nobody would be that stupid.'