The Apex Agenda

Please scroll down if you prefer to read Chapter 1.

Reviews:

"The first chapter brought tears to my eyes. It reminded me of my daughter."  Debby

"The Apex Agenda is an emotional rollercoaster through a gender-conforming dystopia that is extremely pertinent to our real world. It explores our differences, and how those differences can tear us apart or bring us closer together. Full of tense suspicion and danger, it will have readers on the edge of their seat. The depth of the relationships, and the very relatable struggles faced by Cam and her family, moved me to tears. This Brave New World meets Civil War: X-men novel is a must read."

Alethea Lyons, author of The Hiding Series (amongst others)  Alethea's website 

"Let me be upfront—I am definitely not the target audience for The Apex Agenda. As a 60+ woman whose reading preferences lean toward feel-good fantasy and far away from dystopian fiction, I wasn’t expecting this book to resonate with me.

To my surprise, The Apex Agenda hooked me from the very first page. I couldn’t put it down until I devoured every word. Tracy Todd has crafted an extraordinary story, blending riveting action with deeply human themes that linger long after you’ve finished reading.

The worldbuilding is exceptional—immersive, complex, and disturbingly believable. Todd’s ability to balance a gripping narrative with deeper societal questions is what makes this book shine.

In a nutshell: if you’re curious about the conversations shaping the next generation or want to dive into an exciting, emotionally charged dystopian world, The Apex Agenda is a must-read. Tracy Todd has delivered a story that’s not just thrilling but also timely and profoundly meaningful.

Prepare to be entertained, enlightened, and utterly hooked."

Vered Neta – Author of "Things We Do for Love" or "Full Circle"

www.veredneta.com

“I really enjoyed Apex Agenda and hope it becomes a bestseller.” 

Tracy Todd has created a bleak and restrictive future society in her debut young adult novel, “The Apex Agenda”. But there is a positivity and ray of hope that shines through the pages. Cam is supported by a diverse cast of characters skilfully woven into a rich tapestry that counterpoints the dark landscape of “normal”. I was especially drawn to Cam’s relationship with her best friend Liddy who is trying to come to terms with a her/his new gender. Even though their unswerving bond of friendship is threatened, it never breaks.

I would like to think this story will spark important conversations about gender and sexuality. It’s a positive affirmation that being different is okay and no matter how you choose to live – we are all human.

Jane A McGowan, Author at the Writing on air Festival

https://www.facebook.com/jane.mcgowan.904

"What a great read, totally original didn't want it to finish.  It's fast paced, exciting and entertaining. I won't give too much away.  It's set in the future, but could quite possibly be our future!  It's believable.  Whilst reading, I could see this as a film in my mind.  I hope there is a second book. 

Will read other books by this author.  Great ideas.  Thank u for a good read." Mandy

"I read the sample of The Apex Agenda and I'm very excited to read the rest when it's published! I love a book with a dystopian aspect to it, which this book has, but it has so much more, what I've read so far is really well written so I can't wait to read the rest of the book!"  Debbie

"From what I have already read of The Apex Agenda, I can hardly wait to read the rest. I like the way fantasy touches on real issues of today. The author explores identity with a twist of dystopia and the supernatural."  

"Tracy has a writing style I truly enjoy.  Her books draw me in from the get-go.  The Apex Agenda is fast-paced, full of adventure and intrigue, and it keeps you glued to your seat as you flip through pages."  Sonia, South Africa 

CHAPTER ONE

I’m what they call a ‘late bloomer’. At least, I hope I am. Mum said not to worry, that it runs in the family and that’s why I’m small, but that still doesn’t make up for all the snarky remarks and the whispers of ‘zombie’ and ‘Golem’. I’m the last one in my class to make the transition and the whole school knows it; the oldest, ungendered, grey-and-white-uniformed oddity. That’s me! I stick out amongst a sea of black, blue and purple. Even kids in younger classes have started to wear their new, gender-defined clothing.

Liddy, my best friend, has changed already. She so wanted to be a girl and dressed like one the whole of her life – make-up, nails, frills, the whole lot – but about a year ago, she came to school with red eyes. When I asked her what was wrong, she just pointed to a couple of fine, dark hairs above her top lip.

“So?”

“So? Is that all you can say?”

“Well, I mean…” I felt as if I were to blame. “It’s just who you are.”

“No, Cam, it isn’t who I am. I’m a girl. You know that.”

“Maybe it’ll go away.”

She’d glared at me in horror and stalked off. A couple of months later, after formal testing and several clinical check-ups of physical changes, her family had her coming-out party and proclaimed her a him, and immediately began using his middle name ‘Lou’.  Liddy hated every second of it and since then, even though he’s now so obviously a boy, with boy parts, he still dresses in purple wraps and wears kohl eyeliner. Not only that but he resists responding to his middle name, which gets him into huge amounts of trouble.

By law, we’re all required to have a first and middle name, one female and one male, both beginning with the same letter. It just makes things easier after the Change happens. Some opt for unisex names to avoid the whole thing. Pre-Change, we’re permitted to use either name, but after coming out, we have to use the one defining our gender. My middle name is Camden, so Cam works for me.

Liddy gets moody and just ignores me if I try calling him Lou. He’s even begun growing his black hair long again. We’re all allowed some time to adapt after the Change, but if he doesn’t conform soon, his parents will send him to one of those weird ‘head doctors’. I wince and tense my stomach muscles, as if someone’s about to attack me. I couldn’t bear them taking him away. What would I do without Liddy? He’s my only friend.

When we were seven, we went on our first school trip together. The teachers sat us around a campfire and told us these scary stories of poor creatures who’d failed to go through the Change properly; how, in the past, they’d roamed the streets, zombie-like figures with white eyes that craved human blood, strange non-humans that were physically and morally corrupt. We’d squeal in delight at the horror, knowing we were safe, that we were pure; physically and morally superior.

Later, I remember, we created a game. One of us took the role of the zombie and went up front. The rest of us huddled behind. The aim was to get as close as possible, taunting the evil creature, knowing at any point it might turn around, grab one of us and then we’d catch the ‘lurgy’ and turn into a zombie, too. ‘Zombie’ isn’t the official word for the Ungendered, but as kids, it was either that or ‘Golem’.

I don’t feel safe anymore. There are too many eyes watching, too many snide comments. When I walk around school, kids glance and hurry away, as if I’ve got a contagious disease. Even worse, the teachers have become more cautious. Mum says they won’t report me, that she’s had a word with them, but parents watch, too. Liddy’s father won’t let me visit anymore; he hates me. A few months ago, he screamed at me to get out of his house and even told Liddy we couldn’t hang out anymore. Liddy ignores him, but he isn’t someone to mess with. He works in security at one of those clinics, and anything can set him off. He’d have no problem speaking to the authorities about me.

My breath hitches and I hold my body tight, my fists clenched. In the oval-shaped mirror of my dressing table, I notice my pupils widening in horror. I see what they all see when they look at me. Heck, I totally get it! I’m an anomaly. Using my forehead as a drumstick, I tap it against the cool surface of the mirror and rock on my feet, heels to toes, tap, tap, heels to toes. A shudder runs through me at the thought of being a Golem for the rest of my life. Our family genes are pure but still, we know it could happen. It’s happened to others.

“Cam, I’m going.”

My mum’s voice startles me. She’s shouting up the narrow stairs. I pop my head around the bedroom door.

“Right, Mum. See you later.”

“Don’t be late.”

“What?”

“For the specialist.”

“Oh, yes… Okay, I’ll be there.”

Of course I’ll be there. I have no choice.

Walking over to the window, I push the curtain aside and force the air out of my lungs. The glass fogs up. I smear the mist away with the tips of my fingers as I watch my mum open the gate, turn left and stride away, her broad shoulders swinging slightly. She’s wearing a smart, purple suit with a pink blouse. Around her neck is her trademark scarf, knotted in front to cover her scar – a bicycle accident from childhood which threw her over the bars into a wall. Her windpipe swelled so much that she was unable to breathe, and the medics had to perform an emergency tracheotomy on the street. It resulted in her having a deeper voice than normal, but she was lucky to survive.

My eyes wander across the road to the squat block of flats for oldies. The faded yellow paint is weathered and peeling. There are ten districts of these ‘prefab’ buildings in our town, cement and steel-framed, made in a workshop and put up within a week. Ours has been here for at least twenty years. Colours indicate rank. Because my mum works as a CEO’s secretary at a large energy company, she was allocated a two-up, two-down terraced block in the yellow section. Yellow is about midway, with blue being the most luxurious and cream being single-roomed hovels. Those with jobs graded ‘higher-up’, such as government officials, are permitted real houses, with red bricks and gardens.

I slump in front of my mirror again, watching the person in front of me stare back, nostrils flared, thinking of the appointment. My mum took me for initial testing a couple of weeks ago and we are now going back for the results. She said we needed to show our support for purity by volunteering, rather than have them knocking on the door.

“Just to be sure,” she’d said. “Nothing to worry about.”

“But what if—”

“You know the Change can happen any time from ten to fifteen. You’re not yet past evolving. No good thinking about it until we get the results, Cam.”

And so, it’s all I’ve thought about ever since. I’m so ashamed, I haven’t even told Liddy we get the results today. What if I am a zombie? What if they just take me away? My chest heaves and tears well up. I scrub my scalp with the tips of my fingers, as if it will somehow help me escape my own thoughts. But I’m still here, still trapped inside this non-human body. I pick up a brush and drag it through knotted, dark hair. My face pinches in pain, but at least it’s real, something I can feel in a world that is gradually tilting, like a sinking ship in a great storm.

I close the front door and navigate my way down the street, avoiding mothers and little children, kids chasing each other, and the queue of people at the bus stop. My eyes flick to the new signage flashing on the wall of the bus shelter: ‘Pure Genes are the ONLY Safe Genes. We are all in Danger. Report Difference.’ There’s a crackdown going on. It happens at least once a year. Scowling, I hunch over as my stomach churns. I wish Liddy didn’t have detention again. He lives around the corner and usually we walk to school together, but he’s always in trouble nowadays.

By the time I get to school, I’m  miserable. The musty smell in my locker doesn’t help. It’s been getting worse over the last few days, like something is rotting in it. I tried air freshener, but now it stinks even more. Stuffing my bag in, I grab my history book and head for the toilet. As usual, Liddy’s already in there, applying eye make-up. I stop and stare, unable to ignore the fact he’s now in a black trouser suit and blue shirt while I’m still in childish grey and white.

“What you gawping at?” He narrows his eyes at me.

“You want another detention?” I glance around at the cubicle doors, making sure no one else is around.

“What for? This toilet isn’t as busy as the other one.”

He’s referring to the fact that he’s in the Ungendered loo but is supposed to use the boys’ now.

“That’s not what I mean. Doesn’t your dad say anything about the make-up?”

He skims his lower eyelashes with kohl. “What he doesn’t know, won’t hurt him.” He looks down at me, smiling and flicks his shoulder-length locks behind his ears. “What do you think?”

“I think the teachers will have you wash it off before break, and the note home will have your dad belting you again.”

He frowns and sticks out his tongue as I wash my hands. The antiseptic smell of the brown, liquid soap tickles my nostrils. I glance at the speckled mirror, trying to avoid my own reflection. I hate looking at myself. Still flat-chested and skinny at fifteen, I look like a tall twelve-year-old. Last year, I thought it had begun. I was getting the typical hot sweats, my chest ached, my stomach was in agony – all the right signs – but it stopped after a couple of weeks. Mum said it was probably pre-puberty and an indication that the Change was coming, but nothing’s happened since. Every morning, I get up, praying for the sickness, the foggy head. Every morning, I’m just the same abnormal me.

The pale green walls of the Ungendered bathroom, the low sinks (made for younger children) and the tiny cubicles all seem to mock me, reminding me that I am not like others; not a true citizen in society yet, not a safe part of the whole.

Glancing at Liddy as I pick up my book and pencil case, I can’t help but be a bit envious.

Why does he fight it? I wouldn’t care if I were a boy, as long as I was something. He doesn’t know how lucky he is.

“Come on, we’ll be late.”

Liddy and I head for our first class. We walk down the centre of the corridor. As usual, those passing us scoot to the edges, like a wave parting to form a passageway just for us. Liddy grins and bows his head as if he is a king.

“Thank you, my subjects.”

I keep my head down. Liddy doesn’t have to worry. He isn’t like me; he’s confirmed.

We enter the stuffy classroom and head for our usual seats on the right-hand side, dumping our books as we slump down. Liddy’s legs are so long, they reach into the aisle.  Mr Shu whips his long ruler on the desk, making a cracking sound.

“Right, everyone, settle down.” He grins at the sudden silence and pushes his thick glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “We have a lot to get through, but first, Joe has something to say.”

Liddy and I look at each other. He raises his eyebrows and mouths, “Who’s Joe?”

I shrug in response as Mr Shu opens the door and a gush of cooler air enters the room. A wide-faced boy with dark skin and short, black hair walks in. For a second, I think he must be new, until he lifts his head. I hear several gasps from the room. Liddy grabs my arm and squeezes so tight a pain shoots up my shoulder.

“Cam, it’s Joanna.”

Joanna used to hang around with us.  I watch Liddy’s face pale and then flush a deep maroon.

“When did they take him? How long has it been?”

“Six months.”

Liddy’s leaning so close, I can smell the sweat prickling on his forehead.

None of us thought Joanna would be back. A year after his coming-out party, he’d still had his hair braided and insisted on wearing dresses outside school. Then, one day, he didn’t come in. There were rumours, but no one knew for sure, and no one dared ask.

He looks different now. His eyes glaze over as he begins to speak. “Hi. I know you all knew me as Joanna… I mean, Joe.” His voice is flat. Flicking his eyes over a piece of paper with a pre-written statement, he starts again, stuttering.

“I-I’m better now.” His fingers twitch as he strains to say his next words. There’s a hoarseness to his tone. He glances over at us and frowns, confused.

“What have they done? He’s not right,” Liddy leans in and whispers.

I nod. A year ago, Joanna was happy, funny; she couldn’t keep still. But Joe is nothing like that. Other than the twitches, he doesn’t move. No facial expressions, no widening of his eyes, no grin.

“If I upset any of you before, I’m sorry. But now… I’m… I’m better now.”

His arms hang at his sides. He lifts his head and focuses on the back wall, as if he’s trying to read last year’s essays. They’re yellowed with age, like enemy soldiers hanged and left to rot over a medieval battlefield. Mr Shu’s hand folds over Joe’s shoulder and he gently pushes him forwards.

“It’s okay, Joe. Look at this as a fresh start for everyone. Take a seat.”

Joe shuffles to an empty desk in the corner. The whole class watches as he drops into his chair and rests his head on his arms, closing his eyes. Mr Shu clears his throat to get our attention.

“Joe will need our support.” he says. “The treatment works, helps people become productive members of society, but it sometimes affects memory. In Joe’s case…” He hesitates. “Let’s give him some time.” He waits a second before going into the usual spiel. “Right, everyone. On your feet.”

We all obey with a clattering of chairs, dragging our bodies to a standing position, and begin the monotone chant of allegiance we’ve been saying since we started school.

   “I promise to observe the five tenets and never misuse them for my own or another’s benefit. I promise to respect and obey my elders and those in a position of knowledge and greater understanding. I promise to champion purity of humankind and the natural world. I promise to serve my country and free it from disease and corruption by rooting out evil and the forces that would destroy us.”

Mr Shu nods. “Goodness in purity.”

The class responds with, “Goodness in life.”

His reply is, “Defend our values. Keep us safe.”

And our droning retort is, “Report difference.”

Immediately, everyone slumps down, Joe already forgotten. Mr Shu quickly begins the lesson, blabbing on about something to do with homework.

Liddy’s hand is trembling next to mine. He pulls it under the table; his face is still a maroon colour. I glance at the new poster on the wall. It’s red with black writing.

Spotting Difference

1.       Does not look according to gender assignment.

2.       Does not behave according to gender assignment.

3.       Displays affection towards the same gender.

4.       Encourages impure liaisons.

5.       Does not obey the five tenets.

I scribble a note on the corner of my pad.

‘You gotta conform, Lid, before it’s too late. Y’know, there’s another crackdown going on.’

Liddy leans in and reads the scrap of paper. Sighing, he picks up a pencil and draws a sad face and then turns away as the teacher begins the lesson on civil rights in the 1850s. Normally, I like history, but today I can’t focus.

What if they took Liddy for the same treatment? Would I lose my only friend?

My chest tightens at the thought, and I rip a scrap of paper from my notebook, intending to scribble another warning note for Liddy, but then, I look at him, his eyes watering as he stares at Joe, and change my mind. Scrunching up the paper, I stuff it in my pocket. We can talk later. But Liddy has to conform. He can’t go on like this. It’s just too dangerous.