Ambition

AMBITION

  By Lee Strauss

  A short-story prequel to PERCEPTION

  AMBITION

  A short-story prequel to PERCEPTION

  By Lee Strauss

  Cover by Steven Novak Designs

  Copyright 2012

  This is a work of fiction and the views expressed herein are the sole responsibility of the author. Likewise, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are represented fictitiously and nay resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual event or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Eighteen year old Noah Brody doesn’t like GAPs—Genetically Altered Persons. He’s taken up his dead father’s cause, speaking out and protesting against unfair GAP policies that are responsible for the massive social divide between wealthy GAPs and poorer naturals.

  If only he could keep his mind off of perfect Zoe Vanderveen, daughter of the GAP family his mother works for.

  And can he really fill his father’s shoes?

  NOAH

  I propped up the computer pen, its little tri-pod legs springing out, as a virtual monitor appeared on the wall and a corresponding virtual keyboard on my desk.

  I tapped away and waited for my blog to appear—Down with Gap Policies! My posts were getting lots of hits and tons of comments. Most agreeing with my rants on how GAPs—Genetically Altered Persons—had unfair social and financial advantages over the rest of us left in our normal state.

  Occasionally I get a dissenting voice, and there was one today:

  This is typical GAPphobia, man. You secretly have GAP envy, and I don’t blame you. Being GAP is awesome. You wish you had my life, dude, my long, healthy life with more than my share of beautiful chicks who won’t wrinkle and die for a really long time.

  I smirked. What an idiot. I answered back.

  The last thing in the world I want is to be a GAP. A hundred years on this earth is plenty long enough for me. I just wish I could live without having to know a GAP or without them stealing funds and opportunities from the rest of us.

  I read the next comment:

  Keep up the good work. The more noise we make, the more they’ll have to stop ignoring us. Your father would be proud.

  My heart jumped at the mention of my dad. My eyes darted to my photo wall with its rotating pictures and I focused in on one of him. His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm and his passion for justice.

  I answered back.

  Thanks, I do what I can. And… I hope so.

  I answered a ton more before giving into the demands of my growling stomach. I headed to our kitchen—small U-shaped room with terracotta tiles on the floor and the morning sun shining through a big window over the sink—and rooted around for something to eat for breakfast. Toast and jam. Couldn’t go wrong with that.

  My brothers, Jonathon and Davis, sat at the table in the dining room that was basically an extension of the living room. I leaned against the door frame and watched them as I ate. They had scrounged up an old-fashion puzzle—its pieces were piled into a small mountain on the middle of the table. Davis crinkled his little nose as he examined the photo on the box cover.

  “What is it?” he said.

  “It’s the Eifel Tower,” Jonathon answered. “It’s in France. That’s a country in Europe.”

  “Looks cool. Maybe we can go there someday,” Davis said.

  Jonathon grunted. At fourteen he was old enough to know that we weren’t going to France or anywhere, ever, now that there was no fossil fuel left in the earth. Air travel required expensive alternative energy and was assessable to only the very rich—which meant it was another perk for the GAPs. Just more swag in their oversized pockets.

  A guttural groan bubbled from my chest when my Communication Ring buzzed and I saw Ma’s name there. I knew when she’d left for work this morning that she would be calling. She was too thin, too pale, too ill, to put in an extra shift to prepare for another frivolous event at the esteemed Vanderveen residence.

  I had offered to cover for her last night when I’d heard, but she refused, and the selfish part of me was glad. I hated substituting for her, something that I’d had to do a lot lately.

  I tapped the base of my ring as I deposited my dirty dish in the sink and her three inch holographic image appeared.

  “Hi Ma,” I said.

  “Noah, I’m so sorry. I just don’t think I can make it through the rest of the day.”

  “It’s okay. I’m on my way.”

  I brushed my teeth and got dressed, taking a moment to straighten my bed sheets and clear off my desk. Tidiness gave me a sense of control. It was a false sense, but I liked it anyway.

  “I have to go guys,” I said. “Ma will be home soon. Stay out of trouble for once, huh.” I scrubbed the top of Davis’s head on my way out the door.

  We lived in a lower middle-class neighborhood. Mostly one level, single family or duplex homes in a Mextex style, with stucco painted white or yellow or salmon and all with red-tiled roofs. Most, like ours, could use a fresh coat of paint and a good deal of yard work. I strode through the weed-lined path to the Lev Pod transit station and hopped the next pod that glided to the square by my church.

  My church meaning the church my dad was the pastor of before he died, when people still congregated for services on Sunday morning. It was closed to the public now, but the building was legally mine. Kind of a strange inheritance. It had a clock tower from the past century with a big clock face and wrought iron hands that pointed perpetually to twenty five minutes past twelve.

  I exited off the main pod station near the square and navigated the crowds, walking west. I dodged soundless electric and hybrid vehicles manually navigating around magnetic grid systems and maneuvered through the mass automated pod buses snaking through the city until I reached the pedestrian overpass.

  Eventually I arrived at the gates of Sol City. I showed the gate security guard my domestic help ID issued to me by Paul Vanderveen so I could fill in for my mom when she felt too weak to work. The times of entry and exit for me was limited to weekdays from six am to six pm unless one of the Vanderveens called in for an exception.

  My back bristled at the way the guard dismissed me as I passed through the gates, like I was a piece of scum.

  Sol City was another world compared to my life outside the gates. The houses were ostentatious, the grounds spotless and the people white, blond, blue-eyed and yes, beautiful. In a fake Ken and Barbie doll way. This world belonged to GAPs. They had wealth, health and the best genes money could buy.

  The Vanderveen residence was an ocean-side monstrosity. A west-facing glass box with folding glass doors that opened to a vast view of the ocean. An infinity pool spread out toward the beach flowing over onto a second tier.

  I entered through the back door, the one used by the domestic help, and dug through the closet that held the white jackets Alison Vanderveen made the male staff wear. It was her way of reminding us of our proper place. My chest tightened as I shrugged it on, squeezed by an invisible band. Though I was as tall as that stone-faced woman, she had a way of making me feel small.

  I despised her for it.

  I proceeded down the hall toward the living area. Liam Vanderveen, son and heir, approached from the opposite direction. He had a towel wrapped around a bare waist, and in bare feet he mindlessly tracked water all over the floor. He flicked blond curls from his brow as he passed me, and a spray of sand and water hit my arm.

  He moved by me without catching my eye, like I was invisible.

  Jerk.

  Near the great room, I spotted a set of youthful, white legs skipping up the open slat steps to
the bedrooms above. Zoe Vanderveen’s likely. The only daughter, she thought herself a privileged princess. More than once I was thoroughly ignored by her and her superficial friends as they lounged around the pool with not a single care in the world.

  Ma came down the stairs and I almost gasped aloud when I saw her. She looked so frail and washed out.

  “Noah, thanks for coming.”

  “No problem, Ma. Go home. Get some rest.”

  She gave me her instructions before turning away. My eyes followed her; narrow shoulders slumped forward, feet shuffling with fatigue. It killed me to see her that way.

  I made my way to the living area which was cavernous, with lots of white. White leather couches and chairs, white throw-rugs over white tiles. The wood accents were dark brown, and silver ornaments sparsely decorated glass surfaces. A wall-size monitor filled the southern wall. It was turned off now, but when it was on, life size objects projected into the room in holographic 3D.

  I busied myself with dusting and polishing according to Ma’s directions and followed that up with mopping up the