The accusation hung in the air between the two men while Benjamin collected his thoughts. “General, that isn’t true! No one has even left the hangar. We’re under constant guard.”
“I am ‘President’ Holt now. You may address me as ‘Mr. President.’”
Benjamin was getting an uneasy feeling about this man. He knew that no one in the hangar could have harmed President Taylor. However, General Holt had an entire army behind him and plenty of opportunity to kill her. And why had the general advanced to the presidency instead of Vice President Kenner? The whole situation put him on edge.
“Now that I’m president, I simply won’t tolerate your mutiny. But I’m not coldhearted enough to send you all out into a world toxic with radiation. So I’ve drawn up a treaty, which clearly defines how you will live inside this Dome. It’s not negotiable. Take it or get out.”
The president produced the document and a pen.
“May I at least read it?” Benjamin asked.
Holt nodded his consent.
The terms of the treaty designated a place called the Pit for the civilians to live in. Living quarters would be constructed immediately, and everyone would be given food and water rations. In return, they would mine the Pit for coal. The crude resource would be fed into gasifiers and turned into a liquid gas, which was needed for the replicators. It would also serve as the main source of fuel until the nuclear winter was over and solar energy could be harvested.
The last part of the treaty outlined a Cull. The treaty stated that the elderly, defined as anyone who had reached the age of fifty, were considered a drain on resources and a liability rather than an asset. Therefore an annual Cull would be held in order to maintain sustainable use of resources and control population growth.
Benjamin’s eyes widened with shock as the realization of what the general was proposing sank into his numbed mind. “You can’t possibly think we would agree to being killed at fifty?”
“With your arrival, there are now two hundred sixty-seven people we didn’t count on living inside this Dome. When the Dome was built, great care was taken to ensure that it could sustain a growing population. Population models were based on the initial three hundred people who were approved to be here. Now we have a population of five hundred sixty-seven, and we’re only in our first week. You see the problem, I’m sure.”
He wondered if the rules in the Pit would apply to those living in the Dome as well as in the Pit. “So everyone in the Dome agrees to be Culled?”
“You needn’t concern yourself with how I run the Dome. Your only concern right now is signing that treaty. If you don’t, you’ll all be out today.”
Benjamin knew Holt wasn’t joking. They were already under constant guard by his soldiers—the same soldiers who willingly opened fire on them when the general gave the command. As president, he would have even more power. But how could Benjamin sign? He tried to think of how many people he had seen who looked to be fifty or older, but all he could remember was the children. Even in the face of global doom, they were adapting to their new environment, playing the games that children play, somehow immune to the misery going on around them. It was for them that he had to sign. So he did. Benjamin himself was sixty-five. He was signing his own death warrant.
After he signed, he was told that the first Cull would take place the next day. Holt was generous enough to give him time to break the news to the people and let them say their goodbyes. They were all shown to the Pit, their new living quarters. They were marched through the massive main floor of the Dome, with its modern architecture, all open and airy with lights bright enough to mimic the sun’s rays. Comfortable furniture was scattered about the large room, which was dominated by a fireplace with a simulated fire burning in it. But the room was still under construction.
“What are they building?” Benjamin asked one of the soldiers.
“A barrier to keep you urchins out,” the soldier said.
“So we return to the feudal system of the bourgeoisie,” Benjamin mused.
The civilians were marched past the construction, down a narrow hall, and through a door. It was as though they entered a different world, one which was dark, cold, and damp. The Pit was nothing more than the first two levels of a hollowed-out mine. There was no place to sleep, except on the cold, damp stone.
“President Holt promised us living quarters,” Benjamin said.
“And you’ll get them as soon as they can be replicated. So you had better get mining. The replicators can’t work without coal,” the soldier said, then laughed.
Benjamin covered his eyes with his hands, overwhelmed by these inhumane conditions. He shook his head, wondering what in God’s name he had done to these people. Maybe it would have been kinder not to have signed the treaty. Maybe it would have been better to let them take their chances outside.
With growing dread, he realized he was one of the lucky ones. Suddenly, the Cull didn’t seem so bad after all.
Chapter One
Date: May 15, 2307
Red.
I lived in a dark world of rock and artificial light, surrounded by dark-haired people. My red hair shone like a beacon in the Pit. And I hated it.
I picked up a lock of hair and rubbed it between my thumb and finger in a futile attempt to erase the color. Of course it didn’t work. It never did. So I ran a piece of coal along the strands just like my mother taught me. It didn’t completely hide the red, but it helped me blend in down there.
Even though my mother knew the red drew attention, she loved my hair so much she’d named me for it: Sunset O’Donnell. I’m not sure why she went with “Sunset” because she never saw one for real. If the sun was still rising and setting, then it was doing it outside the Dome. I guess she must have seen a picture of a sunset in a book or maybe in one of the movies they showed in the common room. But whenever anyone asked my name, I always said it was Sunny.
Sometimes I missed my mother so much I could hardly breathe. It had been two months since she was Culled, and I still felt as if nothing in my life would ever be right again. I knew my emotions were irrational because the Cull was something we’d lived with all our lives. My ancestors signed a treaty almost three hundred years ago that condemned us to it. Not that I blamed them. It was either agree to strict population control or take their chances in a world toxic with radiation. I guess they thought that having a short life was better than not having one at all.
When they signed the treaty, they never could have envisioned how much it would change over the centuries. Under the original terms, a person living in the Pit wasn’t obligated to join the Cull until the age of fifty. But as our population grew, the bourgeoisie, or “bourge,” as we called them, lowered our death sentence to thirty-five. The Pit didn’t just readily accept the change, but the bourge had all the power, and we had none.
The bourge reminded us daily that we were uninvited guests inside the Dome, and in order for us to remain welcome, we had to pull our weight. Ever since we first arrived in the Pit, we mined their coal, processed their sewage, cleaned the Dome, and did anything else they tasked us with. In exchange, they gave us credits, which we used to pay for our housing and basic needs. Without enough credits, we ended up homeless. And homeless people disappeared after the lights went out. The credit system was just another way the bourge ensured that every person in the Pit remained useful. Freeloaders were not tolerated.
The thought of losing my job urged me to move faster this morning. I finished running the coal through my hair and reached up to put it away. As I did, there was a dull twinge of pain in my left side. I lifted my t-shirt and examined the bruise. Although it was still a bit tender, it was healing nicely. I blamed my own stupidity for the injury. My supervisor had warned me plenty of times about being slow at my job, but I was just so sad about losing my mom. Thankfully, my supervisor knew that, so instead of firing me, she ordered a guard to give me some incentive to move faster. The cracked ribs didn’t hurt nearly as much as the humiliation I felt at being beaten in front of my coworkers. My job performance was now greatly improved.