Chasing Liberty - Book one in a dystopian trilogy

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Set in the not-so-distant future where faith, family and freedom do not exist . . .

“. . . a must read as this book takes you further in what happens to a society that is government run than the book Agenda 21 by Harriet Parke and Glenn Beck.”  ~Joe Goldner, co-host at The Truth Is Out There-Voice of the People Radio Show!

“Chasing Liberty is a fast-paced novel set in a futuristic, dystopian society that has eliminated individual freedoms for the greater good of society. When Liberty seeks to escape her fate the chase is on.”    ~Ronald Paxton, author

Liberty554-062466-84 of Aldonia lives in a responsible society that cares for the earth and everyone on it. They have learned to balance resource consumption with replacement initiatives, unavoidable pollution with clean-environment efforts. Science ensures that every baby born is healthy. The government ensures that every baby born is needed. All are cared for, taught, and given a specific duty to perform, their unique contribution to society. Why is Liberty so unsatisfied?

In less than two weeks, Liberty must begin her vocation. Every girl in Aldonia wishes she had Liberty’s vocation. She would rather flee from Aldonia and live on her own, independent of the all-controlling government, the Regimen Custodia Terra. The high electrical Boundary Fence crushes any thought of escape. The ID implant imbedded in her hand makes it impossible to hide. She has no choice but to submit. Liberty is slated to be a Breeder.

As vocation day draws near, a man with an obsession for Liberty attacks her and injects her with a drug. She’s about to lose consciousness when someone comes to her rescue, a man in amottled cape and dark glasses. She wakes in an underground facility where people watch over Aldonia with an array of monitors and surveillance equipment. These people are full of secrets, but she discovers one thing: they rescue a man scheduled for re-education. Liberty gains a glimmer of hope. They rescued him. They can rescue her.





“You know my name.” All emotion had left me days ago, and my tone reflected it.

The technician smiled, her eyes narrowing with a look that showed she hadn’t expected my cooperation. Leaning towards me, she grabbed my hand with unnecessary force and dragged it over the ID implant reader in the center of the table.

I winced. They had said it wouldn’t hurt a bit to reinstall the implant.

My information flashed on a small screen next to the reader. “For the record, I am interviewing Liberty 554 dash 062466 dash 84 of Aldonia.” As the technician spoke, she faced the wall with the LEDs, though the microphones in the room would no doubt pick up the slightest whisper. Every word we uttered would end up transcribed by a voice-activated writing program.

I dragged my arm back to my side of the table. My name is Liberty. The numbers stood for the breeder facility in which I was born, the date of my birth, and my place in the total number of births for that year. One hundred twenty-seven live births per year were permitted in that particular facility. It was a precise number, determined by teams of scientists and environmentalist who had in mind the amount of resources available for quality of life, the needs of the people, and the amount of damage that the earth would inevitably sustain from our existence.

It has been this way for generations. We were a society that cared for the earth, balancing resource consumption with replacement initiatives, unavoidable pollution with clean-environment efforts. Before this time, people had been the earth’s worst enemies.

“Why do you think you are here, Liberty?” The woman blinked her overly made-up eyes.

Ours was a responsible society. All contributed and all were cared for. I don’t know why I had always found myself so dissatisfied.

The woman reached into the bag at her feet and brought out a notebook, a box of pencils and my pocketknife. She slid them across the table.

I chuckled under my breath. The items belonged to me. They must’ve found my hiding place.

“You will use these for your first stage of re-education. You will write your story, explaining everything that happened to you from the day you first came across these.” She tapped the notebook. “You will include the reasons for your behaviors, the things that motivated you.”

I met her gaze.

She smiled with a sincerity that reminded me of my favorite preschool nanny. “This is not a punishment. It is a form of therapy, a way of cleansing, purging destructive ideas from your mind. A team of Re-Ed specialists and I will help you move through the stages of re-education. They may at times seem difficult, even unbearable, but our methods are very successful. We will help you to re-evaluate your past choices and ideologies.”

Her eyebrows and forehead wrinkled. She stretched her arms across the table as if she thought I might take her hands. “We will help you be satisfied with life in our society.”

I was glad she didn’t say happy. I may complete their program and re-enter society, but I would not be happy. I believed what she said, though, that their methods were effective. We’d all seen people returned to society after Re-Ed. I couldn’t compare them to their past selves. They relocated graduates to distant cities to avoid renewing harmful relationships. Re-educated people tended to have distant, unemotional gazes. Their smiles lacked sincerity and they moved through life at a relaxed pace that surpassed the typical citizen’s leisurely pace. Few dared ask what happened in Re-Ed. Graduates never spoke of it. I would find out soon enough. This first stage seemed harmless.

I slid the box of pencils closer.

She nodded and withdrew her arms. “Write everything you remember, retelling in chronological order all that happened to you, beginning with the incident of the bunker.”

I tapped a pencil from the box, one of the few pencils that I had previously sharpened. I remembered how my hands ached as I taught myself to write. I looked at her and snickered. “Writing my story will take more paper and pencils than this.”

“Yes.” She stared as if trying to read my mind.

I glanced under the table. The bag at her feet may have held more supplies, but I couldn’t tell. I looked at her again. “I’m quite proficient on a keypad.”

“Yes, we know.”

“You really expect me to write this by hand? You’re using a voice activated writing program.” Dropping the pencil, I jerked a thumb at the wall with the panel and the green LEDs.

“It was pencil and paper that set you down the wrong path, Liberty. Pencil and paper will redeem you.”

Biting back a sarcastic reply, I crossed my arms and slouched down in the chair. I would accept this willingly because of the promises they had made me. I would need to leave out a few details so as not to put others in jeopardy, but I would do this because many that I cared about would be given a chance. They would not be forced into re-education programs. They would be permitted to join our communities in good faith, allowed to prove that they can adjust to life under the Regimen Custodia Terra without intervention.

The Regimen would probably need to adjust the number of births permitted at breeding facilities for a few years. They would generate a workable formula. It was just a matter of calculations. I hoped they would not separate the families. I couldn’t imagine how devastating that would be, especially for the children. They did not permit me to know the details of their integration. They only gave me a promise. I hoped they would keep their word.

I picked up the pencil again. “You’ll keep your word, won’t you?”


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Theresa Linden