Page 1 of Conform
CHAPTER ONE
IDENTIFICATION NUMBER:F13463233
AGE:27
SEX:Female
WEIGHT:58.2 kg
HEIGHT:176 cm
GENETIC DEFECTS:Minor, Hereditary
PROCREATION STATUS:Approved
AHOLOGRAM FILLED THE CENTER OF MY OFFICE WITH Apainting. Simple, small. Just a woman, a hint of a smile on her face.
As usual, I was alone in the Ancient Art section of the Archives, buried deep underground. My job was to destroy, piece by piece, the remnants of the world ancient humans had laid waste to in the Last War. Elsewhere in the Archives, my friend Lo sat in the Books section, and there were others who sorted ancient tools, documents, and relics from before the war. Our screens dictated what was saved, reassigned, or—like this one—destroyed. A push of a button, and the ties to the past disappeared.
The title on the screen readMona Lisa. Her eyes captivated me like she held a secret. I couldn’t look away. Her smile, over a millennium old, taunted my curiosity. For a moment, it drowned out the word that has haunted me ever since that morning:Approved.
I was one of the many women in gray who had trained for this, waiting until our fertility was determined optimal and matched to an Elite male to fulfill our role for the Greater Good. Thoughts, hopes, wants: They were unnecessary. A distraction. The Illum that ran the city provided the Minor Defects, myself included, with everything we needed. What was left to think about?
I tore my eyes from the hologram projection, its glow illuminating my dimly lit office and my foolish desires. I could finally be chosen by an Elite for a Procreation Agreement—attend their balls and enter their towering buildings in the clouds. I would see their secret life above. Be a part of it. At least while they let me. While I was usable.
For years alone in this office, I had thought about a Procreation Agreement, wondering if the beauty the ancient humans captured in paint strokes still existed Above. Fantasies found me in my bed as my purpose was drilled into me every day. A moment in a delicate gown. A kind Elite man, spinning me on a dance floor until I was free of the horrors of the last twenty-seven years.
He’d dance with me like I was special, whisper my name in my ear:Emeline.Chasing away the words of inadequacy that had followed me my entire life. He’d capture me in his arms and bring our faces close . . . until our eyes would meet, and he’d deem me unworthy as every Elite had done.
The light fixture’s eternal drone overhead mixed with words I could never outrun.
That offspring ruined everything.
She should be in blue.
I don’t care what you do with her.
Get her out of my sight.
The smiling woman kept me steady, her power seeping into the room. My spiraling thoughts fell silent in the wake of her reserved beauty, as if she could see to my core, all of my secrets laid bare.
I hitdelete. Her smile clung to me as she disappeared. My office became a morgue once again, barren of color, of light, of choice. A place for destruction. Four white walls, a metal desk, screens that obscured the doorway, and a single hanging light.
The city had remarkable technology. I often wondered why the Illum had us doing tasks their technology could easily perform. Why they allowed us to see what came before. It was as if sorting these relics showed us how easily they were willing to toss aside the things they saw no value in. Reminding all the women of procreation age what would await us if we failed the Greater Good.
The next painting depicted a man in a blue outfit, not unlike my daily gray, sitting on a simple wooden chair. He held his face, his pain somehow palpable even after all these moons had passed. It felt almost indecent, like I was intruding on something private. Maybe the Illum were right to rid the new world of the old world if it had caused this much trepidation.At Eternity’s Gateread the title.
“What do you think happened to him?” a smooth, unmistakably male voice said, and I jumped.
Past the screens and projected hologram, a man stood in the shadows of my doorway, his frame blocking the hall beyond. He had a rugged beauty about him, and he peered into my office as if he belonged, wavy dark blond hair falling casually into his face.
“I—I don’t know,” I stammered. His lips pulled up in a half smile, a dimple appearing on the left side, and heat rushed to my cheeks.
No one came down here, ever. I had spent every day here for ten years and never had a visitor. My gaze remained locked on his handsome face, unable to look away.
“I think he lost someone, someone he cared for.” He leaned against the doorframe, staring at the hologram.
I could have asked a million questions—Who are you? What are you doing here? Are you authorized to be here? Why are you so handsome?—but I asked a question that mattered more to me than all the others, one that was dangerous.
