Utopia

Part 1

1.

   The first thing I see when I open my eyes is him. The picture has slid free from where it was hidden safely in my pillowcase and now his face gazes at me as if begging me to remember. Ryker. I've memorised the name scrawled hastily on the back of the photo, though it has no meaning to me. Looking at this boy, with his trusting blue eyes crinkling in the corners and lips quirking up higher on one side, I know – I just know - that I should recognise him. But I don't.

   Printed across my otherwise white ceiling are blinking neon figures informing me the time is six fifty nine. Pulling my blanket right over my head, I hunker in the glorious darkness for exactly one thought-filled minute. Then, right on time, the lights in my room blaze down at full brightness, until even the thick blanket can't shield me.

   "Good morning Lyra, this is your wake up call," the computerised voice resonates around my room. If you say so, I think, shoving the photo back inside my pillow and throwing off my covers.

   "What have you got for me today?" I sigh, thrusting my palm against the sensor on the wall.

   "No Trade Authorisation Pin can be read. Scanning prints for identification... Hello Lyra Rosewood. You have been assigned to the first breakfast shift; arrive at the dining hall at seven fifteen. At seven thirty, please report to your preferred Trade area. As requested, you have been scheduled for the Simulation room at three o'clock, when finished please refer to your usual evening routine." Same as always then; big surprise there. As I'm shrugging on the set of clothes resting in my wardrobe, there's a knock at my door.

   "Lyra it's me," my father's voice calls from the other side of the door. "Can I come in?"

   "Uh yeah, sure," I say, eyes darting to my pillow to ensure the photo is fully concealed.

   He's smiling as he lets himself into the room. As always, over his clothes he wears a white lab coat that seems to gleam with its own authority. White teeth, white coat, and the pasty white skin that comes with no sunlight – he almost disappears against the pristine white walls. Sometimes it's so easy to think he was made specifically to be here, part of the furniture, as opposed to the result of humanity's last frantic stint at survival. That is, after all, why we are all here.

   It started with a simple illness – easily treatable assuming you received the right medication in time. But that was before it evolved, developing until the bug was immune to all treatments and spreading faster than they could contain it.   

   No one saw it coming and none of them were ready. Within a few months millions were dead and the rest were dropping like flies. There were no answers. No cure. For lack of a better name, we call it merely the Sickness.

   Those who hadn't yet contracted the Sickness were desperate for salvation and the remaining survivors sought refuge here. Together they formed the original Council. Officially this place is Utopia, a second chance for civilization. I know it as The Field, named after the force field encasing the entire facility. To ward off the Sickness, they say. To me it feels a whole lot like being trapped. 

   "Will you be joining me in the Lab today?" he asks, fingers brushing against the white coat I have on loan that I'd folded over my desk chair. I shake my head at his not so subtle push into the family Trade. Most people would tell you that choosing a Trade is your own personal choice... and those people would be liars.

   "Actually, I was thinking about lying low and stealing a day off. I've got Simulation at three anyway so..." I let my voice trail off, seeing the way his eyebrows have pinched together.