If this idea gets good reviews… I'll continue.
A young man second in line to become a Supreme Justice, a job any man would die for... This man would die just to get out of his destiny.
A long-since due novel seperator, too old to be considered useful, who makes a startling discovery.
A girl so beautiful she's branded an Outsider and forbidden to have children.
A genius little boy who can't follow the rules he can't accept.
Only one thing links them... their quest for freedom... against an unbeatable opponent... the rest of the world.
Excerpt from Chapter One
"We are one in all and all in one.
There are no men but only the great WE,
One, indivisible and forever." -Ayn Rand-
The pages of the novel turned like melting butter in his hands. He scrambled to keep them separate but like thick milk they flowed together and became united. Cursing under his breath, Art McPerson, avid novel separator, flung the book up high. It fluttered down to earth like a moth with merely a thread of life left. Art groaned in frustration and flipped through the next volume, muttering as he searched for the missing link. The pages tore like clouds as he frantically skimmed the inkblots, searching.
The useless pamphlet of paper, because its information was irrelevant, was thrown among the many rejected others. Without wasting an instance, Art flipped through the next book and found a small piece of the puzzle. His stale breath, scented with ale from last night and plaque, flew over the pages, rattling them. He pulled out his magnoscope and studied it softly.
Are. The word was are. He grinned, knowing that this unknown specimen would be worth a small bonus. Are. Are? What was that word? He could read it, use it in speech, but he did not understand it. That was the problem with being programmed by the Box. He pulled out a scalpel that could shred steel with a scrape and setting the electric device on its lowest power-point, carefully cut out the word, and gingerly plucked it.
The tiny strip of yellowed paper was then maneuvered to the sheet. He charted down all of the following, feeling like a high seas captain who had just discovered a small unknown island. He clutched the book and looked at its faceless cover. Pondering was not profitable, but one could not help it at times. The frayed cover seemed nearly impenetrable at touch, yet so flexible. He tugged at it, ever so slightly. Nothing. He tugged again. Pages collapsed through his fingers, nicking them like gnats, and spewing across the floor.
"What. . ." For the first time on the job, Art was confused. There were words, everywhere. He saw them, the whole novel on the inner hidden pages spread before him.
"Art, how ya doing in there?" The gritty chalk coated voice of the Headmaster jolted him back to reality. He quickly gathered up the pages and stuffed them back into the book. He quickly jammed it in his pocket. He could be fired for his discovery. Art grabbed the next book, and started up on the routine again. Pick up. Skim. Destroy. Pick up. Skim. Destroy.
"Fine," Art muttered, and decided then and there to install a mind block to erase his memory of the finding.
The Headmaster, a stern sickly man lumbered into the room, eyeing Art suspiciously. He was a wild-eyed man with greasy brown hair that would never obey, and brilliant narrow cat eyes, which could focus quicker than one could blink. A large overweight man, he panted as he walked up to Art's work and looked intently over his shoulder.
"Oh really now, you found the word Are. Congratulations," he said, beaming. That was the trouble with Douglas O'Toy; he only warmed up to Art when he made an interesting discovery. "Did you note the book title and description?"
Art narrowed his eyes and attempted to maintain a steady cold voice, "I found that highly unnecessary, considering the book was so mutilated and water-logged, and that most of it was illegible."
"Just like your discovery, then," Mr. O'Toy growled, snatching up the shred of paper with lightning speed. "Zero credit, I'll take that."
This time, Mr. O'Toy had pushed Art too far. He jumped to his feet, angrily, knocking his chair over in the process. "Oh no you don't, not this time Douglas. I've had enough of your crap!" He didn't care that he was using a Forbidden Word, which would undoubtedly cost him his job, not to mention referring to his "superior" by their common name. "How dare you take my finding, and… and…" he tripped over his words, his face burning with rage. "Do you know how long it takes to find just one word?! Do you know what it's like to search and search, and find something that would help you pay for the food you and eat and the clothes on your back, then have someone like you take it all away from you? Do you, Doug?"
Mr. O'Toy's mouth was hanging wide open, as he gaped at Art in astonishment. Art assumed no one in the many years Mr. O'Toy had been supervisor, had ever mouthed off to him. He figured he might as well gather his things before Mr. O'Toy's astonishment wore off; when that happened, he knew it would quickly turn to fury.
"Good-bye, Mr. O'Toy, it's been a real pleasure," he half-spat, "working with you." He collected his coat and quills and headed towards the door. "Good luck to you."
He had reached the cold street that was somehow more inviting than the warm nastiness of Mr. O'Toy's shop, when he heard his explode. Loud leers followed him as he hurried away, wanting to put as much distance between small frail him and large temperamental Mr. O'Toy.
Not heading in any particular direction, Art lurched like a madman, scattering small groups of school children, and causing an old woman to drop her groceries in fright. When Art bent over to help her, she let out a yelp of terror and took off in the opposite direction, leaving Art holding a bent can of string beans.
Art did not realize the forbidden book was still tucked safely away in his coat pocket…