The Year is 2080.
London is flooding.
And 23-year-old Thomas Novak feels certain heâs cursed.
Each of Thomasâ idiosyncratic quirks - even his next-level intuition with technology - are the result of Mental Spectrum Disorder (âMSDâ), a genetic condition akin to Autism.
All MSDs (including Thomas) live and work apart from the rest of the human population. MSD is the reason Thomas hasnât seen his family in over 17 years. Itâs the reason he doesnât hear from them, doesnât know where they are, and barely even remembers them.
And itâs also the reason the love of his life, Benjamin, just took his own life.
But a chance encounter with a mysterious woman (Eve) who can feel Thomasâ pain changes everything. And soon, with Eve's help, Thomas will discover his true purpose, his path forward, and find a way out for himself, and those left behind.
The Year is 2080.
London is flooding.
And 23-year-old Thomas Novak feels certain heâs cursed.
Each of Thomasâ idiosyncratic quirks - even his next-level intuition with technology - are the result of Mental Spectrum Disorder (âMSDâ), a genetic condition akin to Autism.
All MSDs (including Thomas) live and work apart from the rest of the human population. MSD is the reason Thomas hasnât seen his family in over 17 years. Itâs the reason he doesnât hear from them, doesnât know where they are, and barely even remembers them.
And itâs also the reason the love of his life, Benjamin, just took his own life.
But a chance encounter with a mysterious woman (Eve) who can feel Thomasâ pain changes everything. And soon, with Eve's help, Thomas will discover his true purpose, his path forward, and find a way out for himself, and those left behind.
âFor small creatures such as we
the vastness is bearable only through love.â
~Carl Sagan
PROLOGUE
Clear Lake, Wisconsin
2059
Fai Turner woke up knowing one thing: today could be the day.
He brushed his teeth, pulled on a pair of jeans and his favorite t-shirt (the white one, emblazoned with the cover from the Talking Heads album Same As It Ever Was), and lumbered downstairs to the kitchen.
Faiâs Mom chatted away as she handed him three, oblong white pills. Theyâd been prescribed years ago before anyone knew that pills could not reverse the effects of MSD; you were born with it, and no pill in the world would change that. But Fai took the pills anyway, mostly because it made his mother feel better to watch him do so. Then he packed up his books, plus a little something special heâd been working on, and set off for school.
As Fai reached the main entryway of Clear Lake High School, his mobile rang. He fished it out of his pocket, but hesitated, not recognizing the number, strangely full of threeâs: (301) 331-3331. Fai wondered with amusement if maybe this was God calling â haha â God, who loved a good trinity. Maybe God would tell him not to use what heâd brought with him. Maybe God would say, âHey, kid, nice t-shirt. What else are you into? Mass murder?â
But, instead, it was Ms. Johnson.
âFai?â
âYes?â
âIâm Ms. Johnson, your new counselor.â
Instead of being some burned-out teacher with zero interest in adolescent psychology, Ms. Johnson (allegedly) was different. Sheâd trained as an Empath, one of the first-ever to be hired in-house by a public school system.
âLooks like we have an appointment on the books, today; just after your last period?â
âOh.â
âDo you want to come to my office, or should I come to class to get you?â
Just then, a gaggle of girls walked past Fai, talking and laughing about something, followed closely by one of their boi-friends, Tate. Tate cracked a joke, which made one of the girls, Emily, spin around and smile. Then, Tate winked, which made Emily blush. Before parting, the two hugged, just a smidgen longer than friends would hug.
Fai averted his eyes. Heâd never gotten the social signals right, in his entire life; not once. His insides squirmed as it hit him: the time to learn these skills had come and gone. He would be alone, like this, for the rest of his life. Faiâs bottom lip started to quiver.
âFai? Did I lose you? Fai?â
âNo, Iâm here. Either way is âŚfine.â
âOkay, why donât you just come to me, after class. Iâm right next to Principal Stedwellâs office. Okay? Iâm looking forward to being able to help.â
Fai hung up without saying goodbye, as was his way; helloâs and goodbyeâs were as mysterious as all the rest of ânormalâ human interaction. The bell rang, and the other students began moving more quickly, finally disappearing into their classrooms. In that instant, as he stood perfectly still and suddenly alone, Fai realized that he really and truly had become invisible. Heâd been tossed aside, shunned, exiled by all of these more social creatures. No, it was more than that; heâd been damned.
Ten minutes later, Fai Turner walked into his A.P. World History class, produced a homemade, hand-held, nano-hydrogen bomb, and detonated it, instantly killing all 1,302 students, teachers, and staff in the school, including himself. It was the largest full-scale attack on U.S. soil by a U.S. citizen since the Oklahoma City bombing in 1995.
The following Monday, a doctoral candidate in Human Genetics at the University of Toronto named Michaeli T. Jefferson, and Maliki Cheema MD, a Genetics fellow, hit âpublishâ on a white paper entitled âMental Spectrum Disorder: Humans 2.0â.
In this paper, they proposed a theory that MSDs could be a step forward in human evolution. Two genes, in particular, seemed to cause MSDs to be hyper-intelligent, socially sensitive, unmoved by nature, and highly intuitive when working with technology. MSDs were humans who had fully adapted to modern technology. So different were they, that Jefferson & Cheema even suggested these MSDs be referred to as Humans 2.0.
The gist of this white paper was summarized and posted to 10Chan2 the following day, and from there, the conspiracy of âothers among usâ spread like an unchecked virus. People went bananas. In the publicâs mind, Fai Turner, and MSDs like him, werenât even human. Makes sense. Makes perfect sense, that theyâre the way they are.
Now, people surmised, all thatâs needed (so that humans can be safe from them)⌠is to somehow get rid of the MSDs. All of them; every last one.
London, United Kingdom
2080
Thomas awoke reaching for Benjamin⌠only to find the other half of his bed empty.
âJake?â Thomas asked, rubbing his face, âJake, did Benjamin leave?â
There was a long silence. Thomas sat up.
âJake? Wake up. Did Benjamin leave? If so, what time?â
Another long pause. Thomasâ brain started revving up and quickly began running a thousand scenarios for why Jake wasnât responding.
Finally, Jake answered.
âI do not understand. Who is âBenjaminâ?â CHAPTER 1
London
2080
Early morning was not Thomasâ optimal time. Despite being a young man of twenty-three, each day he awoke with a clanging headache, and pulsating aches in his legs and feet. It was the medication he had to take, the medication heâd taken since his early teen years: Ciontin, 100 mg (or âCâ), and Philadine, 50 mg (âPâ). Despite the side effects, Thomas took the drugs religiously. P helped him focus, and C was necessary to counteract Pâs amphetamine-like properties, providing him with much-needed sleep. Most days, Thomas could will the pain from the forefront of his mind by the time he got to work... but the pain was always there, in the background; itching, like hives in bloom.
If the leg pain and headaches werenât enough to wake him, every morning a tiny, pushy, unstoppable drone called Jake acted as an alarm clock, pill dispenser, and message delivery service.
But the news that Jake had no working memory of Benjamin⌠that set Thomasâ heart pumping, right quick.
âThe current time is six-fifty-two, A.M. The external temperature is ---55 degrees, foggy, with a -- 89%-- chance of rain, low-level flooding expected by mid-afternoon. You have âone hundred and sixty-five-- new messages (eighty-five of them are marked Urgent). Would you like me to read you --your messages?â
âNo. Thank you, Jake,â replied Thomas.
Jake rose up out of its dock and flew over to Thomas carrying his morning dose of P, and a glass of water. Thomas took both, then peered at Jake, which seemed to be functioning perfectly; Jakeâs earlier question (âwho is Benjamin?â) made even less sense, now. Jake knew everything about Thomas; he recorded everything that happened inside Thomasâ apartment, along with the cameras installed by MSD Affairs, clocking all of Benjaminâs visits since the beginning.
Thomas struggled to open his bottle of P.
âHavenât figured out how to open these bottles for me, yet, huh? I should take a look at your programming, one of these days.â
âDo you want me --to set a --reminder âfor you to look at my programming?â
âNo, thank you, Jake,â said Thomas, finally prying open the bottle.
Jake flew back to his dock and settled down, like a cat curling itself inside a cardboard box. Jake would stay there while Thomas worked, relaying messages and reminders remotely into Thomasâ headset.
#
âOne hundred and sixty-five new messages (eighty-five of them marked Urgent)â might seem like an alarming number for first thing in the morning, but Thomas was used to this. As an MSD Leader, he had a couple of hundred programmers reporting to him, working around the clock. So this, in the course of one night, was actually sort of a light load. He rose and walked into the bathroom.
Ten minutes later, pain receding, Thomas toweled off from his shower. As he ran his hands through his thick, dark hair, he wondered if any of the messages pertained to (as Benjamin would say) âA bug? Or, a feature?â The age-old programming joke made him smile, just slightly.
Thomas lived alone, as all MSD Leaders did. Having worked his way up and proven himself loyal, heâd earned a private apartment. Being able to wake alone, shower alone, dress alone, and walk freely through the streets, to work⌠these were glorious, close-to-euphoric experiences. At least, as close as one could get, on C and P.
Thomas walked to his office that morning briskly, as usual, taking in everything with precision and detachment. That is, everything but the faces of the people who passed by. He saw them all as the same; not like him, not one of his, not worth noticing.
Thomas, conversely, turned heads wherever he went; he was tall, gaunt, and vaguely handsome, with a perfectly expressionless face and cheerless nature. Passersby longed to buy him a sandwich. Sometimes a brave person would ask him for the time, or for a cigarette; such was his odd magnetism. But Thomas never acknowledged a single one of them. It was against the rules; MSD Leaders could live on their own but were instructed not to interact with the neuro-typical (outside of the necessary interactions required for entering a restaurant or making a small purchase from a shop).
Thomas didnât mind these rules. The only person he cared about was one of his own kind, the person whoâd be waiting to get to work, inside his office⌠Benjamin.
#
Ordinarily, Thomas wouldnât have even broken his stride between the curb and the MSD elevators, but this particular morning in November, he stopped just outside the main doors.
Something was different.
In the middle of the night, it had stopped raining, and all of the water that typically pooled around the Wolfe Tech entrance had receded, giving Thomas a clear view of something.
Thomas tapped his headset.
âJake. What happened here?â
âOne moment--Thomas. On this spot in 1542-- Catherine Howard, fifth wife of Henry the Eighth-- was accused of adultery--â
âThank you for the history lesson. Perhaps something more recent?â
âWolfe Technology Corporation-- broke ground on its new headquarters--â
Thomasâ head tilted slightly towards the slate-grey sky, wondering if Jake was messing with him. Computers, like people, do get bored sometimes; maybe this was one of Jakeâs games. He took a deep breath and tried again.
âTry yesterday? These paving stones here look brand new.â
âSearchingâŚâ
Suddenly, it hit him; Jake wasnât going to find anything. This was a non-event. A thing that had been cleaned up under cover of night. New paving stones inserted, broken stones carted away under the cover of night, security footage wiped clean. Nothing left but faux-normalcy.
Someone had leapt from the top of the Wolfe Tech building and died, landing right there, during the night. The only question now, was: who?
#
âThomas! Just the man I needed to see.â
Thomas swiveled around to find Brit Newell, CEO of Wolfe Tech, walking calmly towards him. Newellâs carefully tailored suit and easy-going manner intimidated Thomas; he looked past Newell as he replied.
âMorning, sir,â Thomas replied. âAtypical to see you in, so early.â
âI need to speak with you. Privately.â
Newell turned and walked to the Executive Elevator, expecting Thomas to follow, which he did.
Moments later Thomas followed Newell past a gleaming silver desk where a very astute-looking young man stood up to take Newellâs coat and umbrella.
âTowels, sir?â
âNo, thank you,â Newell replied, âbut weâll both take tea.â
âI do not drink tea,â Thomas murmured, but Newellâs assistant had already scurried off.
Newell showed Thomas inside his office and shut the door.
Thomas took a seat on a couch made of something dark red and shiny. He placed his rucksack down on the floor beside him.
âIâm not sure how to tell you this,â Newell began, âbut another of your MSDs committed suicide last night.â
âThe paving stones,â he said aloud, not meaning to.
âThe what?â
âNothing,â said Thomas, who was already sifting through his mental catalog of underlings. There had been four other MSD suicides in the past six months. This was beginning to be a thing. It would reflect badly on Thomas, not being able to keep up his teamâs morale.
âWho was it, sir?â
Newell wasnât a monster, just a man busy profiting; he drew in a deep breath, knowing the news might sting.
âSorry to say, but⌠your protege, Benjamin Kwan.â
The lights overhead seemed to dim, and Thomasâ focus became as narrow as the lead of a pencil. Suddenly he could hear the sound of his own heartbeat, thumping wildly. The hum of the buildingâs HVAC became suddenly amplified. Newell kept talking, but to Thomas, it seemed as though he were just mouthing words.
âI feel awful, for you⌠I understand you two were closeâŚâ
No. No, no, no, no, noâŚ
âYou all right, Thomas?â Newell asked.
Thomas was pacing in a circle, picking at his hair. His other hand reached up, grasping for control of the picking-one. He stopped pacing and tried to look at Newell. Meeting his eyes for a split second was too much, so instead, he looked at the large bank of windows over Newellâs shoulder. It was beginning to rain again.
âThomas, are you all right, I said?â
âFine, sir.â
âYouâll tell your team he had to move on.â
âYes. Yes, sir.â
Thomas stood, swaying, wishing he could sit back down.
âDo you have any questions for me, Thomas?â
âJust one, sir,â Thomas admitted, âdid he leave a note?â
What a page turner! I devoured Evolution Vol 1: Sacrifice by Cara Winter in one sitting. Well written, gripping, and an all-too-possible dystopian future in which people diagnosed with Mental Spectrum Disorder are herded into dormitories, trained and exploited for their abilities, and even become their own prison guards.
Thomas Novak is a genius computer programmer who, at the age of twenty-three, has already risen out of the MSD ranks to be a Lead. Leads get perks, like having other programmers under them, and getting to live in an apartment instead of the dormitories.
The way this story opens might be a little misleading. This isn't a love story between two men. It's about the exploitation of a vulnerable group and the way their exploiters will stop at nothing to protect their power structure.
Ms. Winter skillfully unpacks and unfolds the layers of the story between Thomas and Benjamin, using it to show the dystopian elements through the lens of their relationship.
MSDs are considered not fit to live among "regular" humans. They are treated as less than human, as a cross between a robot and a cash cow. They take pills to control their reactions to an unfiltered world, they are expected to take care of biological needs but have no emotional ones. The only acceptable way for MSDs to spend time together outside of work is through "conjugals" (an unsubtle reference that brings the point home that MSDs are prisoners, no matter how comfortable their cages).
The messages aren't subtle. Dormitories as concentration camps, the prisoners becoming their own guards, conspirators and spies and hidden identities, power vs. powerlessness, having one's eyes opened to the truth. Thomas and the reader go on this journey together, led by Eve, an empath whose ability lets her leach the poison of knowledge from others.
An overarching theme of "us vs. them" made me question all of the ways in which we marginalize others, often without realizing it, and reminded me of how many times in history we've taken such marginalization to the extreme. Including setting up conditions so that the marginalized group accepts the status quo, which is nowhere more apparent than the contrast between Thomas' and Eve's reactions to life in the dormitories for MSDs.
Evolution Vol 1: Sacrifice is highly recommended for fans of the TV series Black Mirror and Man in the High Castle, the movie Push, and the book (or series) Brave New World. It would make a marvelous TV series! We've only begun to uncover the truth, and I look forward to future volumes.