The
Bloodlines Project
The best of their Bloodline, they
were promised a perfect life…but was it all a lie?
By J. A. Rogers
Chapter 1
We clapped at the end of Mamie’s
testimony. It wasn’t exactly original. It could have been any of
us. She’d gone through the usual, the things we’re all promised;
love, friendship, her own little bit of heaven. Sister Lola allowed
our noise for a few moments then held her hand up for silence.
Thursday afternoon. And it was
Scripture.
Identical to last Thursday’s
Scripture and to next Thursday’s. Every single Thursday I could
remember. And before me… every Thursday since the Flood.
And that
was over two hundred years ago.
The windows were high to stop us
gazing out. It was important to listen. The air in the Reading Room
was sweaty. Sister Lola knew her lines. The Flood.
Stories of
tragedy. Stories of courage.
A fly buzzed lazily across the
room. My breed namesake. I imagined what he saw. Four rows, 6 girls
in each, regulation cross-legged with hands folded neatly in laps.
Did we look happy?
Next to me Bliss slid her eyes
sideways trying to make me laugh. The nearer we got to leaving the
Workhouse the more risks she took. Ready for a little freedom I
suppose. It’s not that she’s not funny. In the dorm at night I
had to stuff my mouth with the bed sheet when she imitated the
Guardian Sisters. I didn’t want to be caught smiling this
afternoon though. I wanted Sister Lola to see how serious I was, how
ready for the future. How I appreciated the chance to play my part.
If I stared ahead… stopped
blinking…I could keep a straight face.
I concentrated on the patterns in
the heavy weave of the dress of the girl sitting in front of me. The
same grey as the wall behind the Sister. We’d got to the bit when
the waters had stopped rising.
All my life I’d been listening
to this. Today though, was different. We would not have any more
Thursdays. The thought gathered in my head. Exciting. Scary.
Sister Lola paused dramatically.
It was hot in the room but she looked cool. Her white cap had been
scrubbed by one of the Fleets in this room and it gleamed icily. I’d
never felt close to the Sister, she wasn’t someone you could like.
Still, I found myself wondering what it would be like not to see her.
I tried to listen.
“But what to do? How could our
ancestors save those who were still alive?”
Nobody spoke. We were not
expected to chant at this point.
Sister Lola answered her own
question. This was her favourite part. She raised her chin, eyes
shining. She looked so happy.
“And yes, the First Nations
agreed with the Scholars. Only they could help us in this, our
darkest of times. Our Leaders drew up their plans. So many had
drowned or died of the water sickness. For those left there was
limited shelter and less land to farm. The choices before them were
difficult and they needed all their courage.”
It was our turn now. We all took
a breath in and chanted.
“For us they planned. Their
only thought was of us. Our survival. Our futures.”
Looking along the row as we
recited our lines I felt sad to think I’d be leaving. At this
moment I was content. We were all together. All believing. Ready to
play our part in the Bloodlines Project.
Behind me a girl yawned. We
snapped upright desperate not to be accused of disrespect. Thankfully
Sister Lola’s zeal for the Scripture stopped her from noticing the
yawner.
“The most important lesson…
that the numbers of people should not outgrow the food supply. This
became our law and our hope of salvation!” Her expression was
serious.
“But who to choose?”
She waited for us to answer in
unison.
“For the good of us all, the
finest must be saved. The Fleets, the Brawns, the Bitzers and the
Flies, the best of their breed.”
She smiled and nodded, pleased.
“Girls and boys to be separated
until they are joined in bliss. When the time is right your ideal
partner will be chosen for each of you. Your lives are safe; your
futures guaranteed.”
Her gaze searched each row. I put
on my most serious expression. This was always a tense moment. The
Sister had to make sure that we were all believers in the project of
the First Nations. The Bloodlines Project.
As she turned to the screen to
start the visual there was a tiny, silent shift amongst us as we
stretched and twisted on the hard floor. The urge to move was so
strong. By the time she swung back we were still.
The first short film showed what
Sister Lola called, the ‘initial response’ to the Bloodlines
Project. This clip always made me sad. We watched as the crowd
protested. Of course I’d never seen any men or boys. Every Thursday
I would watch this and think how strange to see the women and girls
in the film jostling alongside them. One of the Fleets from our dorm,
a girl called Sila 4914, was convinced that she saw a woman with a
small child knocked to the ground at the back left of the screen.
Bliss and I had tried hard but we hadn’t been able to spot them.
One of the boys was easier to
see. He looked about our age. He stared straight at us from the left
of the screen. His hair flopped across his face and he pushed it out
of his eyes to stare angrily at the camera. All of us girls talked
about him when we were alone. Bliss thought he looked sad but I was
convinced he was just furious.
Sister Lola’s voice wobbled as
it strained to express both her sympathy for the misguided rebels of
the first response and more importantly, her pride in our ancestors’
determination to put the Plan into place. As if he could hear her,
the boy in the film returned to the crowd. Her hands, open palmed
seemed to guide him, her head tipped sympathetically to one side as
she acknowledged those misguided voices of protest.
“Imagine the agonies of the
First Nations as they debated the issue. They had to make some tough
decisions.“
Sister Lola threw open her arms,
as if welcoming us; this was the point where all our
great-great-great grandparents joined the history.
“Your own ancestors were among
the Chosen. They had been saved. They were the foundation stones of
the Bloodlines Plan. The first Fleets, the first Bitzers, the first
Brawns and the first Flies. Each breed suited for their purpose in
the Bloodlands.”
I was always struck by this…the
story of our origins, but this afternoon my eyes filled with tears at
Sister Lola’s words.
This morning Bliss and I had been
told we would be leaving to take our own place in the Plan. At
fourteen we had reached maturity. We had been promised the happiness
of a home and a partner chosen to be our perfect match. It seemed
unbelievable but we would soon become mothers to a new generation of
our breed.
Like all those girls who had gone
before us we had been called on to do our duty.
“And we mustn’t forget the
sacrifices made by all. “ Sister Lola said, her voice dipping
gently. I stared at her, for a moment is seemed she had heard my
thoughts and was speaking directly to me. But no, she was still
preaching. The screen above her showed the processions of the Second
Response Heroes.
They walked, slowly and with purpose past the raised
dais seating the Leaders.
“These were the real
champions,” Sister Lola said proudly. “Thousands upon thousands
of men, women and children preparing to give up everything to save
us.” She pronounced the ‘us’ in capital letters. “Their
sacrifice helped create the pure Bloodlines.”
We followed the swivel of her
gaze. In the heat of the Reading Room the scene seemed unreal. The
grainy film caught glimpses of these archaic and exotic people as
they trooped towards their end. Their clothes were brightly coloured
and none of them seemed to be wearing uniform. Holding hands and
carrying smaller children they climbed the steps towards the
Refrigeration Centre. One or two cast a glance towards the camera.
For a second their eyes focussed into the lens. I imagined what it
was to be one of these people. I always wondered if they had been
told that they were being filmed.
Did the floppy-haired boy know
that his might be one of the few faces known to us in the Reading
Room in hundreds of years?
Maybe, like me and Bliss, he was
not sure where he was headed.
Chapter 2
The buzzer signalled that it was
my turn. I tried to read the expression of the girl coming out but
she was looking down at the floor.
I had Sister Jas this week. The
walls were windowless and the faded brown of the rug seemed to suck
the colour out of the room. I seemed to be looking at everything as
if for the last time.
“Come in, come in Nena 26612.”
She had my notes open on her lap. Desks didn’t feature in
tutorials, too impersonal apparently.
“And how are you?” she bent
her head towards me, her pen still in her hand.
“Good thank you. Looking
forward to the move.” I knew she expected that.
Her eyes flicked down to the
file. “Ah, yes. Sunday.” She paused. “And, d’you feel
prepared?”
“Of course!” I smiled
bravely. I knew I was terrified but she didn’t need to know. All
our life at the Workhouse had been leading to this.
“It’s important Nena 26612 to
keep in mind all our teaching. You have been bred to serve the
Bloodlands.”
I bowed my head expecting her to
go straight to prayer but she continued.
“Is there anything you wish to
ask me?”
I could feel my face getting warm
with embarrassment. What I really wanted to know was about the boy
chosen for me. What would he be like? And when would I meet him?
“Perhaps about… the…” She
looked up at the ceiling fan as if she was searching for something.
“The process?”
I was suddenly shy. I didn’t
want to talk about this with Sister Jas, things that it seemed OK to
discuss with Bliss were too personal to share with one of the
Sisters. I shook my head.
"No, you’re quite right.
Sometimes best to not over-think these things.” She seemed relieved
too.
“Now, final review.” She went
through the usual questions, testing my knowledge of the history and
purpose of each Bloodline.
“And the features?”
I took a deep breath and recited.
“The Bloodlines have built on the best. The strength of the Brawn.
The speed of the Fleet. The precision of the Bitzer and the endurance
of the Fly.”
“Well done. But then….” She
hesitated and for an awful moment I thought she was going to cry. “I
was going to say was that you have been reciting the features since
you were small.”
“That’s true, Sister.” I
couldn’t think what to say, conversation wasn’t usual in
tutorial.
“You’ll do well Nena 26612.
And to think…” she continued, “That your own children will come
to a workhouse one day too.”
I bowed my head. This was just
how it was.
When I was young I didn’t plan to be a writer. I was more interested in being a reader.
Somehow though the threads of all those books I read, twisted and wove their way into a new story. And this is it.
Writing has become a bit of an obsession. If I’m not writing then I’m thinking about what I’m hoping to write. Imagine me, swimming my twenty lengths in the morning, gliding smoothly through the water, to all intents and purposes just another middle aged woman putting in a little exercise before another day at the office. If you could just read my thoughts you might be a little surprised, the sparse landscapes of the Bloodlands and the threat of the unknown worlds beyond race through my mind.
There are two more books planned about Nena. We can see at the end of The Bloodlines Project that there is unfinished business. And anyway, Nena is just too wonderful a heroine to say goodbye to.
