November

September: Week One

Jesse looked with extreme apprehension up at the newly built brick building that was to be such a huge part of his life for the next few years. He hated it already.

He blinked gray-blue eyes against sun and read the silver lettering on the front: Carrier Education Center. Jesse shook his head. What a sick joke. A few ex-soldiers about his age were milling around outside, a few heading indoors, all carrying or dragging full suitcases. Jesse checked the paper in his hand one more time, shouldered his bag and headed towards the building.

Inside, a table facing the door greeted him, and a young carrier who looked far too delighted to see him stood and smiled. Jesse handed over his paper and tried not to stare. The man was the carrier ideal - not too tall, lean but muscular, cut through the waist and smooth through the hips. His light brown hair, carrier-long but still fashionably short, was pulled back from his face with a half-ponytail. His brown eyes were bright and large, their color shining against his tanned skin. His fingernails were clean and short, and he wore a tailored sweater with the sleeves pushed up and a nametag that said Ephram: Peer Advisor. Jesse hated him. Hated his face; the warm brown of his skin that made Jesse look even paler by comparison. Hated his smile, self-assured in the manner of a favored carrier - Jesse guessed he was probably already engaged to a particularly senior officer. Hated his voice, with the acquired lilt and lightness. Hated the sycophantic way he spoke to Jesse. Hated his hands, which were long and fragile and perfect and smooth. Hated the sinuous turn of his body as he reached over the table. Hated the way the light reflected gold in the carrier's hair but only black in his own. Hated the fact that all this came naturally to him, but it was so, so hard for Jesse.

The man finished what he'd been doing, gathering things from around the table and stuffing them into a small cloth bag for Jesse.
"Here you go. This'll be your starter kit. It's got everything you need in it, most especially your C-Book; that's the carrier handbook, it'll really help you learn all the rules and get adjusted here. Your introduction room is the third one on the right; that's where you'll get your roommate assignment and key. You can take your suitcases with you and they'll be moved from there. Thanks for waiting and welcome to the CEC!"
The carrier shoved a folder into Jesse's hand, and with that, he was on to the next.

Jesse blinked at his folder; the front had his name and identification number listed beneath it, along with his place of origin, blood type, counselor's name (no longer Liam Beckman, so Jesse supposed they must have forced him to quit after all), CEC peer group room number, and a blank space to write in his assigned room number. He walked down the hallway, dragging his bulging suitcase behind him, and knocked on door 3E.
"Come in!"
The door swung open easily to reveal a very large room that looked - in Jesse's mind - not unlike a kindergarten. The walls were solidly painted in one bright color each - teal, orange, yellow, or white, and there were soft chairs and low tables scattered around over patterned rugs. A huge bay window with a windowseat took up one side of the room, the bottom of which was covered with pillows and cushions, some of which had toppled over onto the floor. There was, at one end of the room, a set of tall tables with barstools drawn up to the them, and at the other end, a pair of futons sat in a circle with three chairs. The walls were decorated mostly with posters, all of which bore government slogans over pictures of happy, smiling men in pairs.
'Love your country - love your carriers.' one read. Another said something about being mothers of the new world, and Jesse stopped reading then, because in his opinion, they might as well all say 'Grin and bear it.' At least then they'd be honest.

He realized belatedly that there were a number of men, scattered around the room, some sitting, some standing and talking, but most of them looking at him. He ran a hand through his shaggy black hair self-consciously, shifted his damp grip on his suitcase handle. A tall, thirty-something man jogged up to him. It was not immediately clear what his position was. He stuck out a hand to Jesse. Jesse took in his sun-browned skin, hazel eyes and brown hair peppered with gray, which was cut short - not short enough for an officer, but shorter than most carriers were allowed to wear it.
"I'm Sloane." he said, smiling to reveal a set of even white teeth. "I'll be your peer group leader."
Jesse shook his hand, relinquished his folder when Sloane reached for it.
"Come on in. Sit down. You can leave your suitcases by the door; someone will be over to get them shortly. You're the last to arrive, so we can all introduce ourselves."
The group gathered around Sloane, who took up a seat in one of the chairs on the far side of the room. Jesse ended up sharing the blue futon with two other carriers: one, a slender, dark-skinned man with shorn hair and black eyes that had a distinct angle to them; the other a small, almost boyish kid with curly black hair that fell over pretty brown eyes in ringlets; the color in his skin was faint - Jesse guessed a mestizo heritage. This one, the little one, was fidgeting in his seat, stealing sideways glances at Jesse. Through the circle, he introduced himself as Ortega. The dark-skinned man was Grant, the ash blonde with the honey brown eyes was Honesty, the cafe-au-lait-skinned femme was Vichy, the Asian ex-athlete was Sai, and the brown-haired mestizo with silver eyes was Suleiman. The man doing all the commanding, of course, was Sloane.

Sloane made them all go around and talk about themselves for three minutes, then they had to write out their definition of a carrier on sheets which Sloane collected for review. Jesse chewed on his pen for two or three minutes, scribbled 'fuck you' across the paper, and handed it back calmly. Sloane made a note of this on his folder. After that, they spent the morning helping each other "get settled" - the seven of them all had connecting rooms linked to Sloane's, and their leader insisted that each of them help move the others unpack their stuff and move in. 'Bonding' he called it. Jesse reflected that it seemed more like free labor.

Jesse was assigned to share a room with Vichy; the rooms were large, so there was good distance between them, and a movable screen was available to split the room in two. They spread it out halfway, each stretched out on their respective beds, and Jesse began to reflect on how he'd gotten here.

The Wars had ravaged the Earth, save only a few precious places where life had remained untouched. Jesse's own country had been conspicuously involved in beginning the process, and had ultimately been one of the hardest hit. Entire cities had been destroyed. Water was polluted, land was lying fallow and food sources were low. More than four-fifths of the population was gone. The government established martial law to help the people cope, but after the Wars ended (or at least slowed down a bit) they never really stopped. In fact, the military began to take over, eventually becoming the center of civilian life. Drafts were reinstated, and every man, woman and child under the age of 45 was required to join up. Children were placed into military academies, preparing them for a life of service to their country.
Adults were placed, according to age and skill, in various jobs. Jesse's mom had been 44 when the draft was first talked about, and 45 when it came. She'd barely missed it. Jesse, on the other hand, had been twelve, a sarcastic kid still playing in his mom's quiet apartment in the oldest part of the rebuilt city. He could see the in-town military headquarters from where they lived, and he spent many afternoons in his childhood watching the planes and helicopters take off and land.

When the draft was instated, the government was desperate. No one had been spared. Man, they said, woman, and child. So it was that when the biological weapon was released into their military bases, targeting women but sparing the men, intending to halt utterly the progress of their nation, its return to functionality, it hit the country extremely hard. Millions were dead. Disappeared...faded away. Jesse's mom had been living in the apartment in the rebuilt old part of town. Jesse's mom had been lucky.

She'd had to submit to a million tests, been locked up in quarantine for months on end, but when they found out that she'd reached an early menopause, was completely and utterly incapable of producing anything other than Jesse, twelve years old, they'd simply given her a hysterectomy, cut her belly open and sewed it back up and left her outside the clinic, no longer really concerned whether she lived or died. Soria liked it that way.

Then the plague had begun to spread. It mutated, changed form and shape and suddenly, it wasn't just military women who were affected - it spread through the cities first, then the countryside, then into other nations and around the world. Soria was not affected. Soria had no womb.

It took almost ten years for anything to really happen. Then, spontaneously, in some places, like fish moving into adulthood or frogs fixing their environment, men began to Change. At first it seemed arbitrary - who, when, where, why. But seven nations came together, then ten nations, then thirty, then all the nations left, and they figured it out. Testing worked at first, but then suddenly aberrations were appearing - mistakes in the code and they realized it was changing, too fast for them to keep up. Their only recourse was to wait. By then, the plague had died out - run its course and disappeared. The military still ruled. Everyone just waited.

Jesse had been in a morning seminar when he'd felt the pains - just a quick tug at his abdomen, like a pinch, and then it spread down a bit, expanded into nausea, and stopped. He went to the doctor on the third morning, suspecting food poisoning. They did not let him leave. The waiting time had just begun.

Once the Change was discovered, of course, participation in the Carrier Protection program became mandatory. They'd put him on the list.

Jesse blinked back to now. Vichy was at the window, speaking quietly to him.
"I really don't want to be here."
Jesse propped himself up on one elbow.
"That makes two of us."
There was a knock on the door and Vichy jumped, craned his neck around the screen to see. It was Sloane, coming in to tell them that it was time for lunch.