Elite

Sylvie hated Scabs.

She didn’t care if they were necessary for the healing of New Eden—she hated them. The eerie, crimson glow of their OPTICS disturbed her almost as much as the zombie-like way they shuffled around completing their menial tasks.

Apprehended for their rebellious acts, Scabs served the society in a state of perpetual slavery. The OPTICS—the very object of their rebellions—keeping them docile and harmless.

As if they could ever be harmless, Sylvie thought as she narrowed her eyes at her own, personal Scab, Emma. Everything about her— from her freckled face all the way down to her lanky limbs—set Sylvie’s teeth on edge. She curled her lip, disgusted, as the girl leaned down to pick up a discarded towel off of the floor. Sylvie had thrown it there purposefully rather than place it in the laundry chute positioned two steps away. It wasn’t her job after all.

She wasn’t a Rebel.

Looking away, Sylvie found her reflection in the smooth glass of her vanity mirror, the green of her own eyepiece glittering back at her, confirming what she already knew. She was an Elite. A true citizen of New Eden.

Sylvie smiled wickedly, loving the look of her own lovely face. The perfect symmetry. The flawless skin. All made possible by the emerald blush of her irises.

“My cheeks need a little color,” Sylvie said aloud, even though the oral command was not necessary. Rose bloomed across the apples of her face, creating the ideal contrast against her porcelain skin. “That’s better,” she smiled and flipped her long, ebony curls off of her shoulder. Standing, Sylvie smoothed the invisible wrinkles from her slinky, black gown and appraised herself one final time in the complimentary glass. “Emma,” Sylvie said, satisfied with what she saw. “Get my coat!”

She was finally ready for the Commemoration.

***

Tiny flecks of light hung suspended in the air over New Eden’s Central Plaza. They twinkled excitedly like a thousand fireflies eager to join in the annual celebration. It had been 98 years since the Wall went up, wrapping New Eden in its protective embrace and every November since, the Commemoration celebrated the society’s rise from the ashes.

The grounds bustled with activity as Sylvie made her way through the lush gardens. She was a little early, but it was the only way she would get a chance to speak with the Premier before the festivities began.

“Sylvie,” he said, greeting her warmly with a kiss on each of her offered cheeks. “You look absolutely lovely.”

Reidan Price was an image of perfection in his dark, tailored suit. The salt and pepper hair that swept across his brow only made him appear more dignified. More refined. He was the perfect symbol for the great nation he ruled and, in Sylvie’s eyes, the perfect father as well

“Hello Daddy,” she smiled, unable to keep the pride out of her voice. “Are you ready for your speech?” She ran a smoothing hand down his lapels and tightened the textbook Windsor knot at his throat.

When she was a child, Sylvie had watched adoringly as her mother had completed the same ritual, but the image was now a distant memory. She should have witnessed it well into adulthood, but the Rebels had stolen that from her. And with it, every ounce of compassion she may have felt for their plight.

Glancing past her father, Sylvie appraised the Wall in the distance and in that moment, its 100 feet of brick and mortar didn’t feel nearly high enough.

“Sylvie?” her father said, drawing her back to their conversation. “Did you hear me? I said have you seen Alistair this evening? I need to meet with him before the Address.”

Alistair Stone had been New Eden’s Director of Defense since before Sylvie was born. He was her father’s most trusted advisor and anytime he was around, it was all work and no play, no matter what else was on the agenda.

“Oh no, daddy!” Sylvie whined. “You promised. No work tonight. The Commemoration is about celebrating the work you have already done, not piling on even more!” Sylvie stuck out her bottom lip in a full pout. To anyone else, the expression would have seemed childish, but it had worked on Reidan Price every day for the past sixteen years.

“I know, honey,” he said, patting Sylvie affectionately on her hand where it rested on his large chest. “That’s why I need to meet with him before the party.” He winked, coaxing a brief smile from her until a surly voice sent it running back off her face.

“Sir?” Alistair said, appearing as if he knew he had been the topic of conversation. A fact that was entirely likely; Alistair had a way of knowing everything.

“Ah, Alistair,” Reidan said. “Just the man I was looking for.” Alistair’s thin lips pulled back in the semblance of a smile. The gaunt lines of his face, though, twisted the expression making it more ghastly than friendly.

Sylvie always wondered why Alistair never tried to improve his image like the other citizens of New Eden. The OPTICS had given them the ability to modify their appearances and while they didn’t perform miracles, they certainly could have done something to correct his pallid skin and rail thin form. Sylvie wrinkled her nose disapprovingly and made a mental list of everything she would change about Alistair Stone.

It wasn’t limited to his appearance.

“I have the reports on Sector C like you requested,” Alistair said in his typical no-nonsense voice. “I was hoping we could review before your address. I have taken the liberty of uploading the highlights to your eyepiece.” The mention of Sector C was all Sylvie had to hear to know her place in the conversation was at an end.

Of the five sectors that surrounded New Eden, Sector C was the most aggressive. Not that it was public knowledge—Sylvie knew what little she did only because her father spent practically every waking moment reviewing strategies to silence the growing threat. It was a practice that took place mostly behind closed doors and out of earshot, but Sylvie had managed to piece together the essentials. Sometimes she wished she knew more about the Rebels so that maybe she would be welcomed into a discussion rather than edged out.

“Was there anything else you needed, dear?” Sylvie’s father asked. His face was alight with anticipation that she knew had nothing to do with her and everything to do with his awaiting reports.

“No daddy,” Sylvie said, slowly shaking her head. She knew any other response would start a battle she could not win. Gathering herself up onto her tiptoes, Sylvie laid a gentle kiss on her father’s cheek. Before the development of GeneticCosmetics, she may have had to wipe away the red sign of her affection, but Reidan Price’s face remained unstained. “Good night,” she said and gave him her brightest smile. Her father had enough things to worry about; she would not add her bruised ego to the list.

Turning away, Sylvie set her sights back on the party.

Message Bianca, Sylvie commanded silently. Instantly, the phrenic messaging screen appeared in her field of vision. “Where are you?” Sylvie asked, the message transcribing across the display briefly before she sent it on its way. The social media aspect had been the very first application of the revolutionary OPTICS and they were still Sylvie’s favorite.

In History class, she had learned about archaic communication devices used by previous civilizations that operated on a limited power supply. When that power would run out, it would leave the person virtually stranded without access to anything in the Aerial World. Powered by the human body, there was never a threat of Disconnect with the OPTICS. And for that, Sylvie was grateful. She had no idea what she would do without unfettered access to the Network.

It was just barbaric.

A soft chime alerted Sylvie to the arrival of Bianca’s reply. “Walking in now,” her message read. Sylvie turned just in time to see Bianca St. Clair stroll through the archway into the plaza.

As she entered, she tossed her waist length blonde hair to the side and angled her chin over her shoulder, striking a pose. The front of her black mermaid gown dipped scandalously low, beckoning for the notice of men and women alike—which was exactly why Bianca had chosen it. She lived for attention and she didn’t particularly care where it came from as long as she got it. Most people would have been intimidated by her brazen personality, but Sylvie and Bianca were two sides of the same coin.

“Sylvie!” Bianca squealed when she spotted her other half across the square. Sylvie waved excitedly and the two girls rushed toward each other with outstretched arms. They embraced as if it had been years since they had last seen one another, rather than just a couple hours.

“You look absolutely gorgeous!” Bianca said, pulling back to inspect Sylvie from the top of her ink-black hair down to the point of her equally dark shoes. “Davis is not going to be able to keep his hands off of you!”

Davis Vine had been the Premier’s shadow ever since he graduated from Academy the previous year. His aspirations to rule someday were no secret and neither were his intentions toward Sylvie herself. Even a blind man could see the way he looked at her and tonight would be no exception.

“I know,” Sylvie grinned, running a confident hand down the curve of her hip. “But he is going to have to get in line.” Sylvie’s commitment, on the other hand, was considerably less decided.

“You are a cruel one, Sylvie Price,” Bianca laughed, linking her arm through Sylvie’s as the two of them started toward their seats.

“Perhaps,” Sylvie grinned. “But I’m not the only one.” She bumped Bianca playfully with her hip. “Dressed like that, I suspect you have quite the agenda yourself.” Bianca smiled sheepishly. “Just whose heart are you planning on breaking tonight?”

“I have a couple candidates,” Bianca giggled. And as they made their way through the crowd, it became obvious whom those candidates might be. Thanks to the technological advances that came with the OPTICS, beauty was in no short supply in New Eden. Every girl could have radiant skin and perfectly kissable lips. Yet somehow, despite equal opportunities, Sylvie and Bianca managed to outshine every bit of the competition. A fact they knew full well as they arranged themselves at the VIP table in front of the stage.

Sylvie admired the view from her preferred position. Scabs moved through the throng with trays of champagne and a colorful array of canapés begging to be plucked from the glittering plates. Everything was exactly as it should be until a shrill cry sent the picture perfect image shattering into a million different pieces.