The Colony Box Set

Chapter 1

Chapter 1It started the way all rebellions do. With a dream.

Now I knew I wasn’t supposed to have dreams. We took a pill to prevent them—it was the blue one, as I found out the evening I accidentally dropped it. Every night after I brushed my teeth, I would find the same little paper cup waiting for me on my bedside table. There were four pills inside. One red, one green, one blue, one white. My mother put them there, in the same spot where she always put them.

I had been taking the pills for as long as I could remember. Every night, I swallowed them down with a swig of water. I could take them all at once—they’re small. Sometimes, just to be a little different, I would take them singly. Some nights it was red first, some nights white. Blue and green were my favorite colors, so when I took them separately, I always made sure I took one of those last. They all tasted the same, but still.

That night I wanted to get them over with, so I picked up the cup and meant to tip it back, swallowing all the pills at once. But at the last minute, I gave the cup a sort of jerk, just hard enough to fling the pills at my open mouth. Tossing them down. I’d try the same thing with the water but I knew I’d only end up splashing myself instead.

Three of the pills made it in. Red, white, green. They hit my tongue and started to dissolve. Reflexively I gulped them down, reaching for the cup of water. They did all taste the same, and it wasn’t a pleasant taste, either. As I washed them away, I heard a tiny ping! as the blue pill hit the ground somewhere behind me.

Great.

I turned, pivoting on bare feet so I wouldn’t step on it by mistake. The floor in my room was short white carpet, the same as it was everywhere inside—not just our house, but all the houses in the Colony, and the classrooms and office buildings, too. It matched the walls, the screens, the consoles, our clothes. Blending everything together seamlessly. Making us one.

The blue pill should’ve stood out like a bug amidst all that white, but I didn’t see it. I couldn’t see it. Where…?

I took a step and felt it crunch beneath my heel. There.

Fear clawed at the back of my throat. I’d never missed a pill before. We couldn’t miss them. Each month, a new supply was delivered to our home, a separate box for each member of the family. My pills were mine, and I had just enough to get me through to the next delivery. I couldn’t take one of my mother’s, or one of my father’s, and definitely not one of my little sister’s. These were for me and me alone. They were manufactured to my exact specifications.

I couldn’t miss one. What would happen if I did?

Cautiously, I raised my foot just enough to see the crushed blue powder. For a moment it rested above the carpet, but when I moved my foot, the pill rubbed in and disappeared.

I glanced up at the screen above my door. It was a blank, black face staring back.

Did anyone see? Did anyone know?

Without trying to make any sudden movements, I rubbed my foot into the carpet, grinding the powder in. Okay, so no blue pill tonight. What did that mean, exactly?

I didn’t know. We were told the pills helped us. They gave us quiet, peaceful lives, far from the horrors of the past, disease and depravity and desire, things we read about on the console or learned in class. The pills kept us healthy, and safe.

And I didn’t take my blue pill tonight.

Would I wake up dead in the morning?

I didn’t know.

We were told the pills help, but we weren’t told how. My heart hammered in my chest, so loud and fast I was sure the screen would pick up my distress and send a signal to the Health Center requesting assistance. It was the thought of seeing that blank screen come to life that forced me to calm myself down.

One pill. I could make it without one. I’ve taken them for sixteen years, I reasoned. Surely there was some sort of build-up in my system. Surely someone missed a pill here or there, and didn’t die from it. I’d be fine.

I’d be fine.

Taking deep breaths to steady myself, I finished the rest of my water and placed it on the bedside table beside the little paper pill cup. I rubbed my foot over the spot where the blue pill disappeared, to make sure it was good and gone, then pulled back the covers on my bed. The fresh, tight sheets felt cool against my fevered face. I lay down, stretching out so each foot reached into a pocket corner at the end of the bed, where the sheets met the mattress.

My breathing slowed. My heart stopped racing.

See? Not dead yet. The pills helped us live better lives, true, but no one ever said not taking them would kill you.

I’d be fine. I told myself this over and over again until I started to believe it.

I closed my eyes. A full minute or two later, when my muscles began to relax, the light in my room dimmed, then extinguished.

What difference could one little pill possibly make, anyway?

* * * *

Sleep usually came within ten minutes of lying down. Like a screen on standby, the mind would slow its normal functions, eliminating all sight and sound while the body recharged. In the morning, I’d wake after the prescribed eight hours of downtime, refreshed and ready for another day’s work.

Without the little blue pill, the cycle was interrupted.

I lay awake for what felt like hours. The first time I opened my eyes, the light in the room brightened slightly, in sync with my body. I shut my eyes quickly, and pressed them tight to keep from opening them again. If my light stayed on for too long, the screen would come to life and a concerned head would appear, someone from the Monitor Center to inquire after me. Was I ill? Unwell? Had I taken my pills?

No. Best to pretend, keep my eyes shut, the lights out. Fake it. I’m asleep, see? I’m asleep.

Eventually the thought became reality, and I felt myself spiraling down…where, exactly? I wasn’t sure. Sleep had always come at me in a rush before. By the time my head hit the pillow, I would already be gone. Turned off. Recharging.

But tonight I felt my consciousness slipping away. I lay on my back and felt as if my thoughts were pooling in the nape of my neck. My heart slowed to a steady rhythm that sounded like footsteps when I pressed my ear against my pillow. My mind whirled at first, anxious, nervous, but as my vitals evened out, everything behind my eyes emptied until I stared at a vast darkness, a black so complete, it made me feel miniscule to stare into it. I felt myself shrinking, disappearing, dissolving, until I was just a tiny speck against all that nothingness.

And then I winked out.

The next thing I knew, I was sitting on the edge of my bed beside someone. I couldn’t look up and see who, but I saw my legs in their familiar, loose, white linen pants, and I saw another set alongside. A hand lay on the other knee, a hand I could almost recognize. I tried to move and couldn’t. Tried to stand or scream or shout—nothing. I had no memory of getting out of bed, of sitting up, of even waking up, and then it hit me.

This was a dream. I was dreaming.

I could dream.

From the beginning of our lives, we were told dreams were bad. They made for lazy, unproductive people. They created distraction and desire, both of which were bad for the Colony. They tired the mind when it should be resting. The pills stopped dreams, and distraction, and desire. They kept us alive, made us function. Made us Whole.

But this dream wasn’t a distraction. It felt real. I saw my hands on my thighs, and could feel the linen beneath my palms. The person beside me was saying something I couldn’t quite hear, but I couldn’t lean closer or ask them to speak up. My mouth felt dry, but my hands were damp with sweat.

Who was it?

The other person’s hand rose off the knee and hovered a moment, indecisive, before crossing the distance between us to land on my knee instead.

A flush of heat spiked through me at the touch. It was the first time anyone outside of my family unit or my Other had placed a hand so casually on my body, and every nerve tingled at the sensation. Even through the thin pants I wore, I could feel the heat the other person’s hand gave off. Was it my Other? It would make sense, wouldn’t it, that my first dream be of Brin, who was conscribed to me at birth. But her hand was daintier, more feminine, her nails oval and not quite so blunt.

“Aine,” someone sighed.

Dream or no, I heard my name spoken out loud, and I felt the breath against my ear. I knew the voice. It wasn’t my Other beside me at all, and the hand steadily rising up my leg until it covered my own wasn’t Brin’s.

Warm fingers enveloped mine and finally, finally, I moved. I glanced over and saw who sat so close to me, who held me so tight, who made my blood burn and my heart race in strangely sensual ways, as they had never done before.

It wasn’t Brin at all. It was Kyer, my best friend.