Dissonance - Book One

forty-two

"Have you found her?"

"Not yet."

"Then when?"

"She'll surface soon enough."

"What if she doesn't?"

"Then I guess this was all for nothing."

"Awfully nonchalant for such a serious matter."

"Believe me, I understand the direness of our situation."

"Do you? Because it seems rather smug to joke when you're placing the fate of humanity in the hands of one girl."

"Well then I suppose I shouldn't bust out the self-congratulatory bubbly just yet."

"I suppose not, Captain."

"I just received the final list from the General."

"You might want to check your list for a lawyer."

"And for what purpose will I need a lawyer?"

"For the inquiry commission once this all blows up in your face."

"If this blows up in my face, there won't be an inquiry commission. There won't be anything."

"For your sake, you better hope not."

"For everyone's sake, I hope not."

***

It's an odd feeling, when the worst actually happens. It's as if God himself were standing over us shaking his finger and saying, "I told you so, but you were too stupid to listen." Scientists had been predicting the effects of climate change for years, warning against its impacts and trying to prepare society for disaster. But no one wanted to stop driving their big SUVs, recycle, or conserve water, and the government had a difficult time convincing the public just how truly detrimental our carbon footprint was to the human race.

So they came up with an alternative solution: population control. Fewer people meant fewer resources needed, less waste, fewer cars on the roads, less impact on the environment. It also meant fewer mouths to feed and fewer poor people for which to provide programs. It was called The Attwood Contingency, named after the scientist who invented the drug necessary to carry out the plan. It was the government's last effort to save the planet by eliminating the amount of people that abused her resources. It was signed into law in 2025 with a four-year preparation window to start getting society ready for the change. Part of that change involved pumping hundreds of gallons of Hermaphrozeene into our drinking water. "It's similar to fluoride," one senator explained. "Only instead of preventing cavities, it prevents pregnancy. Think of it as liquid birth control." Babies born in 2030 were the last of the "free to choose" births as it began being called. After that, no baby was to be born until my generation reached child-bearing age, which was determined by Congress to be 28. That gave humanity just under 30 years to start undoing the effects of thousands of years of damage. At that point, a lottery system would go into effect, where woman would be selected at random to procreate and would be given a pill to counteract the effects of the drinking water. For my generation, it meant never knowing whether you would have a family of your own. It was odd growing up knowing that there was a good chance I would never have children. It seemed like the most inherent of all human desires to want to bring life into this world, so it's a strange feeling when that option is taken away. With my siblings dead, it meant that if I wasn't selected, then it would be the end of my family entirely. Maybe that was another reason my parents insisted on keeping me close. Their view of The Attwood Contingency was that it was the government's way of appearing to the public as if they were addressing the climate crisis without actually addressing it. It kept big business happy, but truly had little impact on Mother Nature. But they kept their opinions mainly to themselves. Actually, they kept to themselves in general. They had very few friends and rarely interacted with the neighbors. They had little to no involvement in the community and hardly ever made it to school functions. They weren't always that way though. Things were different before the accident. I remember the dinner parties my parents held when I was younger. My sister, brother and I, would hide at the top of the stairs, peeking down at my parents' guests as they sipped wine, talked and laughed. I had always assumed their reclusiveness was just another side effect of the accident. It was a way to hide their sadness and to insulate themselves from the pain of the outside world, but I wondered now, if there wasn't more to it.