He led her into an adjacent building, the largest the young girl had ever seen. It would have been big enough for the whole of Gamma Town to fit inside it three or four times over. Inside, though as sparsely furnished as most places Ninah had been, it was cool and bright, and there were even a few windows spaced along the exterior walls. Through them, Ninah could see several large Copses and a corresponding number of hydroponic farms. There were also a few other large buildings, though none rivalled the staggering dimensions of the one she was in. A cluster of residence-domes filled the cobbled space between the larger buildings; Ninah noticed that most of them were one-person domes, and that they all had their doors open as though their inhabitants had no sense of privacy.
She scuttled along the winding corridors behind the tall man, barely keeping up with his long strides and too out of breath to ask him any questions, wondering whether the tap-tap of his stick would be loud enough for her to follow if she fell too far behind. Occasionally a man or woman would pass her, walking swiftly in the opposite direction, or hastening up one of the sets of staircases which punctuated the inner wall of the corridor. Ninah smiled at the first three or four strangers she saw, but every one of them stared straight ahead as though they did not see her, so she quickly gave up.
Almost before she had time to stop, the tall man swung round and walked up a flight of stairs. He moved much more slowly, and leaned heavily on his stick, so Ninah was able to catch up with him. “Where are we going?” she asked. “...Sir,” she added after an interval, thinking it might be wise to show some respect.
The old man turned his humourless face towards her. “To your Choosing, of course,” he snapped. “You should have been taught about it by your Tutor. I’ll have to make a complaint ...”
“No,” Ninah interrupted. “I do know about it. I just meant where are we going this very minute?”
The man scowled. “Never interrupt me,” he said. “You farmer children have no idea how to behave properly. The sooner you are processed the better.” He paused at the top of the stairs and caught his breath. “We are going to the medical examination area,” he told her.
In silence, Ninah stumbled along as he led her into a very bright room crammed full of gleaming white machinery, covered in dials and switches and flashing lights. In the middle of the room stood an old wooden desk, half buried beneath piles of papers and books. It seemed out of place amongst all the technical equipment. There was a tall blonde woman sitting at the desk, slightly older than Ninah’s mother and wearing a green smock. She looked up when the pair entered and her thin lips formed a smile but her cold grey eyes did not change. “Ninah Tressard from Gamma Town?” she asked.
The tall man nodded before Ninah could answer.
“Welcome to your choosing, Child Tressard,” the woman said, standing up and approaching the young girl. “I am Doctor Chadwick. Please take your clothes off and stand on that pad.” She pointed towards a glass cubicle in the corner where the open door revealed a thin grey mat on the floor.
Ninah coughed nervously and looked at the tall man, who had taken a seat beside the desk. The Doctor’s eyes followed her gaze. “That is Administrator Lucas,” she said curtly. “He is responsible for your Choosing. He has to remain.”
Ninah clenched her fists involuntarily, wishing there were someone with her that she knew, who could advise her what to do.
“Be quick, Child,” snapped Lucas. “I have much work and cannot afford to devote all day to one farmer’s brat.”
Her heart racing, Ninah stepped over to the cubicle and, seeking some element of privacy from the head-high computers which abutted it, slowly stripped off her garments. The Doctor took her by the arm and walked her up onto the pad, roughly forcing her to turn towards the Administrator. Though she closed her eyes, Ninah could feel the old man’s dispassionate gaze slide over her naked body, appraising the slender torso, the small breasts, the narrow bony hips, the fuzz of red hair between her skinny legs. Ninah felt as though she were suffocating, and her skin had turned almost as red as her hair. “Not very womanly,” muttered the Administrator to the Doctor. “But she’s older than most of them.” He stared straight at Ninah. “Are you a virgin, Child?”
Ninah cringed, trying to cover herself with her hands. She nodded rapidly, unable to speak, fighting back tears of humiliation. She had never imagined her Choosing would be like this.
“It makes no difference to the procedure whether she is or not,” the Doctor muttered. “Let me carry out the physical examination.” Forcing Ninah to rest her arms against her sides, the Doctor attached a number of tiny sensors to the girl’s shivering body. Ninah jerked her head back and bit her lip when the blonde woman’s cold hand pushed her legs apart and slid something metallic inside her. A spot of blood dripped onto the girl’s chin. “Stand very still now,” the Doctor ordered her. She stepped back and closed the cubicle door. Ninah felt her whole body tingle and could make out a faint humming which seemed different from that of the dome filters; it reminded her of the moaning sound the Nards made when their throats were cut prior to them being gutted and cooked. She had no idea of how long she stood there, but was close to collapse when the tingling and the humming sound stopped simultaneously and the Doctor opened the door and disconnected the sensors. “You can get dressed now, and the Administrator will take you to your room for the night.”
With her back to the staring man, Ninah hurriedly put her clothes back on. A little of her confidence returned when she had done so. Though she could look neither of the adults in the face, she asked the question that was paramount in her mind. “When do I make my Choosing?”
“What are you talking about?” Lucas asked her crossly. He stood up and began walking towards the door.
“Who do I tell that I Choose to stay a female?” Ninah asked plaintively. “I am not interested in any award.”
The Doctor had reseated herself behind her antique desk. “We don’t do that any more,” she said curtly. “Not enough girls were volunteering, and we are desperately short of males. It is we who do the Choosing now, depending on the suitability of the subject. You will find out in due course what our decision is, after I have processed your tests. You probably already know that your Town is unusually productive, and has given us a hundred per cent acceptability rate in recent years. Please go with Administrator Lucas now.”
It seemed to Ninah that the room had suddenly started to spin, and that she was about to be flung against one of the walls. She reached out her hand to steady herself, and the tall man grabbed her by the elbow. He dragged her outside and further along the featureless corridor. Before she had regained her self-control, she found herself lying on a narrow bunk in a tiny bedchamber listening to the only door click locked behind her. Satisfied that she was at last alone, she made no further effort to hold back her tears. Sobbing uncontrollably, she lay alone and ignored until unconsciousness overcame her.
She was wakened by the click of the door being unlocked before it slid open. Doctor Chadwick stood there, holding a large glass of milk. “Drink this,” she ordered.
“What is going to happen to me?” Ninah asked, her voice tense. “When will I be told?”
The Doctor thrust the glass into Ninah’s unsteady hand. “A decision has been made. You will learn it when the Administrators give their formal consent. Now drink!” She stared unblinkingly at the frightened child. Though the surface of the milk seemed to be sprinkled with tiny black dots which were moving back and forth like boats on a lake, Ninah was too frightened to disobey. She gulped at the warm nutmeg-flavoured liquid, finding it surprisingly refreshing, then meekly handed the empty glass back to the Doctor.
Without another word, the blonde woman turned and walked out, locking the door behind her. Ninah stared at the blank wall for a moment, then began to feel extremely drowsy. As she lay back down, her body started to itch from the inside as though it were full of spiders. But she wa
s too tired to care.
***
A loud siren woke Ninah with a jolt. Both Administrator Lucas and Doctor Chadwick stood in the doorway to the tiny room staring at the dazed figure. “When you have eaten, the Transport Ship will take you to Kappa Town where your new life will commence,” the grey-robed man announced, in what was for him almost a gentle tone. “I’m afraid it will take several hours for your memory to adjust. We cannot avoid that. Do not be too long getting ready.”
Ninah looked down, as if from a great distance, at the body that had been resculptured and completely reformed during the night by the nanites still working within it.
He screamed.
TOMORROW’S CHILDREN
BY DELPHINE BOSWELL
It is now thirteen years since the 9.5 magnitude quake occurred on March 3, 2078, the largest quake to hit North America, destroying most of the state of California with the exception of the Monterey Peninsula. Although the quake only lasted fourteen to sixteen seconds, it managed to kill almost all of the 36,000,000 people who resided there. Life would never be the same. The joyful noises I had known turned to a deadening silence. My home of light and love had turned into a sanctuary of ash. Broken pieces, broken lives.
My name is Adhara Canis Major, named after stars in the galaxy; I am a reporter for the “Domicile Daily “and one of the ones lucky enough to have survived the ordeal without a scratch. What did remain of the peninsula floated out into the Pacific, soon to become known as the Island of Domicile, a damp, foggy, and windy mass of land outlined by a rocky seacoast. Add to this, there is a terrible undertow right off shore and a swarming group of Great Whites. There is no use for our pocket optic-audios here or our supersonic speed messaging as the towers were destroyed during the quake; hence, there is no use in trying to make contact with the rest of the world. Truly, Domicile is an isolated swell of land in the middle of nowhere.
After the initial shock of the quake wore off, people on Domicile grappled about in a state of confusion and uncertainty. Many expressions appeared glazed and almost mesmerized, not knowing what to do, not knowing how to cope. There were many who had lost family and friends. I recalled seeing two women huddled together, crying. Strangers reached out to strangers. As if by some God-like quirk, the Community Hospital of Monterey, a Trader Joe’s, a couple of Seven-Elevens, and one elementary school remained standing, totally intact, suggesting that the quake might have been a mere mirage. Several soldiers guarded the doors to the quick-food places as people waited in lines for supplies. Despite the limited quantities, there was no pushing or shoving as I remembered how people were before the quake. I heard people saying, “Thank you,” and “God bless you.” Someone raised an American flag. Out of tragedy arose altruism as the survivors spoke to one another about how grateful they were to be alive.
Over the next few weeks, however, much of the camaraderie and good will was exhausted. I saw a group of men pilfering; their arms filled with Hostess cupcakes, loaves of bread, and cans of soup.
“What in the hell gives you the right to think you can just up and steal what little is left?” one older man said to the thief. One of the robbers struck the elderly man with the end of a broken tree branch; blood dripped from an open head wound.
Like dogs playing tug-o-war, I saw two, young women arguing over the contents of a bag. “You, little bitch. It’s mine,” said one; the other scratched the woman across her face, leaving bloody gauges.
Eventually, after months of seeing the Domicilians responding more to their emotions than to rational thought or logic, when things seemed to get as bad as they could, a group of military men, from what was the former Naval Postgraduate School, as well as some soldiers from what was the Presidio of Monterey, came forth stating the importance of forming a government that could run and control the outbursts of the people.
On a negative note, the new government, known as a Napocracy, run by the Napos, or National Association of Patrolling Officers, resulted in anarchy. Some believe the Napocracy provides them with freedom—freedom from having to make choices, to bear responsibilities. To me, I view the government as oppressive. And, perhaps, the worse example of this came the day the Napocracy enforced the Anti-Conception Law to prevent the population of Domicile from growing and established the Cryopreservation Center, demanding that children be frozen until a time when the government deemed it necessary to reestablish the society.
It was then that Gemma my supervisor at the “Domicile Daily” asked me to write a story on the influx of children to the Cryopreservation Center. People were lining the asphalt walks leading up to the doors, and parents who were both angry and saddened to be offering up their children to be frozen, were getting into verbal altercations. I was asked to go down to the Center to speak with those who were waiting, to get their stories, and to write up a column. It’s paradoxical, really, in that Gemma wants public-interest pieces, but yet she doesn’t want anything published that goes against what the government dictates. “We agree for the betterment of all,” she keeps saying to me.
When I arrived at the Center, I found myself surrounded by crying infants; restless, whining children; and parents who obviously were beginning to lose their tempers. A heavy rain fell and large black clouds hung low, adding to the dismal picture I stared over. The people were drenched. I chose not to bring an umbrella as I wanted them to see me as one with them. “Hello,” I said. “My name is Adhara Canis Major; I’m a reporter for the ‘Domicile Daily,’ and I’m writing a column. Could I speak to you for a moment?”
The woman I addressed frowned. Her face was wet, her hair dripping onto her collar. Her black dress and white apron were soaked, and her black oxfords stood in a huge puddle. “What is it that you want to know?” She held the hands of two toddlers who appeared to be around three- and four-years of age. Both of the children were crying and trying to find shelter in the folds of the woman’s dress. Periodically, they would peek out and stare at me with their big, round eyes.
“How long have you been standing here, waiting to get into the Center?” I asked.
“Six hours, maybe more. My children are hungry. . . thirsty. . .cold.”
“Understandable. This is a terrible day to be outside. Have you been offered any umbrellas or cover-ups?”
“Really? Did you expect that the Napos would be that considerate?”
“What’s the reason for the hold-up? Have you been told?” I assumed some explanation had been given to the women.
“It’s a process, a Napo told us. First come, first serve. They say that with so many freezers beginning to start up at the same time that it has caused some power outages.”
That explained the grinding coming from the building, like an engine trying to start when the batteries had almost but given out. The noise would stop momentarily, and then start up again.
“Must you wait? Can’t you return when the issue is resolved?”
“To start all over again? To wait in this line, to lose my place?”
I continued to jot down what the woman was telling me. It was clear that there was no system in place regarding the processing of children and, worse yet, the Center could not handle the amount of voltage that was required to run so many freezer units. I wondered why someone hadn’t considered this before now, but, then again, the Anti-Conception Law and the Cryopreservation Center were issues that had come up quite abruptly once the government decided that something had to be done immediately to stall population growth.
I looked at the woman’s two children. I could see the fright in their eyes. I couldn’t imagine what it must be like inside the Center when the children were to be pulled from their parents arms, screaming and hollering in hysteria. I thanked the woman for her time and offered her my compassion.
Then, I stopped another woman who looked to be much less stressed. She placed her weight on one foot and fingered the rope around her waist, using it to wipe the rain
off her face. Her child, probably eleven or twelve, played with some type of game that involved black tiles with red dots. He arranged them and rearranged them on the pavement. He attempted to wipe them dry with his wet uniform shirt and placed them back in position.
I introduced myself to the child’s mother and asked her what her feelings were about having her only child frozen.
“Maybe, this sounds heartless to you, Ma’am. It’s obvious from the tattoo on your forehead that your position on Domicile pays well and that you are one of the intellectuals here. It’s not like that for me.” She brushed her soaking hair off of her forehead and revealed a tattoo in the shape of a large “A,” which stood for “mentally incapable.” I assumed that meant that she worked for the Napos in a servant-type capacity, not thought to have the intelligence to handle anything more challenging.
“I know what your insignia means, but I’m not sure I understand how your position makes it any easier for you to turn your child over to the government,” I said.
She moved closer to me, within inches of my face, looked me directly in the eyes and said, “I need the money, lady.”
“Money?”
At the sound of the word, two women ahead in line began to push each other; one woman pulled the other’s hair that was pinned behind her ears. Their children looked on like gawking birds.
I excused myself from the woman I had been speaking to and rushed to the side of the site. “Please, please, stop. “What’s wrong?”
“This bitch here called me a fuckin’ whore.”
Two of the children covered their ears with the palms of their hands.
“She’s full of shit. I never said such a thing.”
I tried to push myself between them and held up my arms. I explained who I was and told them that I would appreciate hearing their stories—both sides.
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