Saven Deception Read Online Free PDF

have to stay positive. Things are going to be different. I feel it in my bones. “I hope so,” I answer Jenna.
“I’ll freak out if I have to do a similar job.” Then something else occurs to
me. Another thing I haven’t considered thus far. “Do you think there’ll be
people there from all the Sectors?”
    I can’t recall anything in the
registration rules that stipulated you had to be from a certain Sector or that
it was restricted to residents of a particular level of society. But now I
wonder. If there are going to be upper- and middle-class representatives in
Thalassic City, will they allow us to freely mix or keep the usual segregation?
The knots in my gut tighten further as my concern reaches crescendo-level
proportions.
    I don’t know what I’ll do if this
self-titled second chance doesn’t materialize as I’ve hoped. I don’t know that
I have the strength to go on if it’s more of the same—if I’m forced to
relinquish all my newly resurrected hopes and dreams.
    “Good question.” Her brow furrows. “I
presume so. I mean, this is the government’s new plan for dealing with the
overpopulation crisis, and I can’t imagine they would only choose us
lower-class lowlifes to occupy their shiny new underwater cities. If anything,
I’m surprised we’ve been given this opportunity at all.”
    “I guess we’ll find out soon enough
anyway.” I toss all negative thoughts from my mind as a male police officer
steps in our path. He quickly ushers us into the building. Our bags are
inspected and then we are escorted to our living quarters.
    The long, narrow room contains ten sets of
uniform bunks, all dressed in clean, white bed linen. A large wall-to-wall
closet lines the far end of the room. Walking over to a steel door located at
the other end of the room, I push inward and peep inside. It’s a large bathroom
with separate shower and toilet cubicles.
    Jenna plops down on an empty bunk and I
dump my bag on the bunk opposite.
    “You are required to attend a welcome
meeting in block twelve in fifteen minutes. Don’t be late,” the officer says,
handing each of us a digipad. “I’ve added the coordinates to your devices.”
    The room fills up quickly as girls arrive
one after the other. Jenna takes it upon herself to make all the introductions.
I watch the girls covertly, my eyes honing in on their wrists. Every single one
displays the bronze star tattoo, which symbolizes the lower class.
    As we make our way to block twelve for the
welcome meeting, I share my observations with Jenna.
    “I wouldn’t read too much into that. I
doubt they’d let any bullions or coins share accommodation with the dregs of
society,” she surmises, referencing the slang terms us stars use to refer to
the upper and middle class.
    Every citizen of the Sovereign Northern
States of America boasts a tattoo on their inner right wrist. Gold bullion for upper-class
citizens, silver coins for the middle class, and bronze stars for me and my
fellow lower-class servants. 
    Hence the imaginative nicknames.
    Though there’s a ring of truth to Jenna’s
logic, I’m still suspicious. Her tone has also pissed me off a little. I can’t
contemplate why she’s so damn quick to disrespect her own place in society and
so eager to criticize her own people.
    I was born and raised a star, but in my
mind, that’s only the categorization that society has inflicted on me. It
doesn’t define who I am or what I’m capable of achieving.
    It’s the same for the tattoo I bear on my
wrist, the one that showcases my place in society. It sickens me that I’m
branded in such a way. That others look at my position in society and only see
what they want to see, what they’ve been told to see. The upper and middle
classes refuse to open their eyes or accept there are people in our sector who
are intelligent, with similar ambition and aptitude for bigger and better
things.
    Just because someone was born into a
position of privilege in the Core or