The urge to vomit woke Margarth up.
She sat up tentatively and noticed a kidney dish which someone had thoughtfully placed by her bedside. After expelling some foul-smelling green liquid, she cleaned her mouth surreptitiously on the inside of her tank top, for the lack of anything more suitable. Her eyes darted around and she saw that she was in a badly lit room ominously filled with hospital beds, some of which had clearly passed their pinnacle of glory. Flakes of peeling paint curled from the walls and a solitary light bulb dangled precariously from the ceiling, its feeble shaft of light creating eerie silhouettes everywhere. A figure shifted with a groan in the bed next to her and she perceived that she was not alone. Thankfully, it turned out to be Ren, and to her relief, he stirred gradually.
"Where are we?" Ren asked in a whisper.
"I don't know, but if you're able to walk, I suggest we leave pronto," Margarth replied.
They were crossing the room when a heavily built man with a bushy head of hair and a strong jaw opened the door and strode in.
"I'm Bacchus," he said, shaking their hands in turn. "Sorry for the reception, Margarth and Ren. We had to give you a shot of tranquiliser, Margarth, a milder version of the one which they fired into Ren. For your own safety, it's better that you don't know exactly where we are. How's your leg?" he asked, turning to Ren. "We gave you an antidote to counter the effects of the Pax Keepers' drug."
"How long have we been knocked out?" asked Margarth. "Our parents will be wondering where we are."
Sitting down on Ren's bed, which sagged with a mournful creak under his bulk, Bacchus brushed aside Margarth's concern with an airy wave of his paw. "Everything has been taken care of. We left a handwritten note in each of your houses, purportedly from the both of you, to say that you've eloped."
"Elope? We're only seventeen!" Margarth squeaked.
Bacchus steamrolled over her protests and continued speaking. "We've been watching the both of you for the past few months, and notice you haven't reported your powers to the Council." Grinning broadly, he went on. "We approve of rebels like yourselves. How would you like to work for us instead?"
"Who's 'us', and where have you brought us?" growled Ren suspiciously.
"We're the Alternative," came the laconic reply.
Thoughts of the Alternative swirled wildly in Margarth's head. She had come across the term in an online game which she often played, where random text would occur as a staccato aside to the scrolling congratulatory message when she achieved entry to the Hall of Fame, no mean feat as the chance of success was less than 0.1 per cent. However, Margarth was an accomplished gamer and code developer, having perfected her skills during the many sultry afternoons when her laptop served as her only companion while her parents toiled unquestioningly at the role which the Council had assigned to them. She used to dismiss the arbitrary jumble of letters and numbers as a technical glitch but its regular appearance drove her to distraction, and she did not rest until she had broken the code and realised that it was a message for members of a group who called themselves the Alternative.
Bacchus assured them that they were in a quiet part of the country with no interfering neighbours in the vicinity. "We're more than a hundred kilometres from the city centre," he declared. Externally, the safe house appeared to be abandoned, with ugly dark-green moss clinging stubbornly to its towering walls. An air of desolation shrouded the compound but this could hardly be further from the truth. The house was in fact jam-packed with cutting edge equipment. Bacchus further explained that the Alternative had been established in response to the Council's increasingly draconian laws and its fanatical obsession with control and manipulation. Margarth knew that over the years, technology and scientific research had progressed to such an extent that humans were now able to determine the qualities which their unborn child could have. Beguiling eyes which would never be bothered by cataracts? Check. Thick lustrous hair that never dared to split its ends? No sweat. Skin as smooth as alabaster from infancy to old age? Easy peasy. Staying alive with perfect health till the age of 200? No sweat. Having a child no longer meant accepting the random concoction of genes doled out by some cosmic deity or by chance. Man could now play God and create their own customised Adams and Eves. As human knowledge expanded, the choices became ever more sophisticated. Intellect, strength, courage, foresight, longevity — a complete palette of options was available as long as one was willing to pay. And there were always customers eager for such guarantees in life. Design your own child, urged the glossy ubiquitous advertisements, fully endorsed, and even, it was discreetly rumoured, funded by the Council.
The result of all the genetic engineering was a new race of enhanced humans, who in addition to having the qualities paid for by their doting parents, often exhibited extraordinary talents. Jaykel from Margarth's Physics class could harness the power of air and was always called upon to work his magic on humid afternoons. Tallianna, the little girl who lived next door, was able to communicate with birds and her house was constantly alive with the chirps and calls of feathered friends who had flown from all over the world to visit the girl who could speak their language. After Tallianna's parents had proudly informed the Council of her skill, the latter had responded with an official document that ordered Tallianna's presence at the National Aviary on her eighteenth birthday, whereupon she was to begin her career for the Council. Margarth had rolled her eyes when her mother told her this.
"Tallianna's only three!" scoffed Margarth. "Why can't she grow up and decide for herself what she wants to be? Maybe she won't even like birds when she's eighteen!"
"The Council knows best," her mother had sniffed. "I'm surprised at you, Margarth, for having such disturbing thoughts." She added in a warning tone, "Please do not air your ridiculous notions in public. You know that Community spies are everywhere. You're growing up, Margarth, and your father and I can't be responsible for your actions any longer. If you get yourself banished to the Frontier, you'll have to go alone. We won't be joining you there." Margarth stuck her tongue out at the back of her retreating mother, stormed to her room and kicked the door shut with a satisfyingly loud slam.