Prologue
Octavia
Three Years Ago
The courtroom is cold enough that goosebumps stand on my skin. Or perhaps it was just that my body is running on pure adrenaline as we await for the jury to return with their verdict.
Nervousness wars with my repeated mantra of ‘it’ll be fine.’ I tug down my pencil skirt as I stand. My lawyer, who took the case pro bono, takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. I ease my hand away and twine my fingers together, hands in front of myself.
The foreperson hands the bailiff the paper, who passes it to the stern-faced judge. He’s been kind of an ass the entire trial, but nothing more than expected, given the current President appointed him.
He unfolds it and looks up, stern gaze taking in the court but returns—and lingers—on me.
My ears ring.
“Guilty on all counts.”
IT’S BEEN TWO WEEKSsince my guilty verdict.
Pure, unadulterated, simmering rage has replaced every ounce of fear in my body.
Today is the allocution hearing to determine my sentence.
Utter bullshit.But I’m ready to say what needs to be said.
I stand, cameras flashing behind me. I clear my throat.
“The question isnotwhether I deserve punishment for my ‘crime.’ The question is how many children did not go to bed with empty bellies for the eight months that my Benevolence virus was increasing funds for families’ on state food assistance? The question is, how many of our government officials could have alleviated food insecurity for needy familiesbeforeI, a private citizen, was overwhelmed with the lack of compassion and humanity by the very people who were elected to lead us? Perhaps we should talk about the number of families on food assistance who work full-time, and yet cannot make ends meet? Or the number of parents who skip meals so their children are fed? Or maybe corporate greed and the salaries of CEOs that pay the backbone of their company, the workers, pennies on the dollar? ” I pause and look around the courtroom.
“So yes, I am guilty. Guilty of having a conscience. Guilty of seeing a way that I could help and taking action. Guilty of caring more for families than any of our elected officials.” A deep breath. “I did it.And I’d do it again.”
Chapter One
Octavia
Six months ago
“Listen,” Sue declares flatly, as I sit at the long table with my tray. “It’s a great deal. Ten percent reduction? Almost no one isactuallyan omega. I got over six months dropped. I’ll be out next year!”
“What now?” I ask as I take a drink of water.
Bridget shrugs, “Sue thinks all of us should do that alien omega testing. The state just upped the sentence reduction from five to ten percent.”
“Yeah, but what if you’re an omega?” Jill interjects. “Then you gotta go.”
Sue laughs. “Okay, first of all, the lady who did the blood work for me told me it’s like eight in one hundred people that have the gene. And secondly, she said most omegas don’t get matched for years. Besides,” she continues as she lifts a forkful of the industrial rehydrated mashed potatoes covered in brown sauce, “Can’t be worse than this!”
We all chuckle, but my mind is running.
A ten percent reduction would mean a year of my life back. Instead of eight more years, though I’m hoping maybe six with good behavior, I’d be looking at seven, five if I keep my nose clean.
Only five years.Five years until freedom. I can make it five years.
I nod to myself, already imagining a studio apartment with a few plants and windows I can open, and a kitchen I can access whenever I want.
Guess I’m gonna do the testing.
THE MAN WITH THE DYEDpurple hair smiles at me gently. “There we are, miss.” He smoothly places a bandage over the poke in my inner elbow.
