Death Thieves

by Julie Wright

  “I know how you feel.” I took her hand and gave it one quick squeeze. “But you aren’t alone. You’ve got your whole life waiting for you out there.”

  The doors fell open and the bridal march started. Jay waited at the end of the aisle. I went first as maid of honor.

  Jay’s marriage to Jen was the sixth wedding that month. Our small group from the past had wasted little time in pairing off and moving on. Josephine and Leland were already expecting their first child. They’d been whisked off to some private remote location for observation, since a live birth hadn’t been done in over sixty years, and the regents didn’t want anything to go wrong.

  And for reasons I couldn’t understand, the news of the pregnancy had been kept pretty quiet. I would have assumed such news would be international precisely because they hadn’t had a pregnant woman walking around on this earth for over sixty years. It should have been huge news. But instead, the net carried reports of sports winnings, stock market prices, new funding for ocean exploration, and the glitzy life of the regents.

  I passed Kathleen who smiled at me as I made my way to the front. Once I caught Kathleen shaking her head. “Why would they take Josephine and Leland from the colony of the New Youth?” she had muttered to herself. “It doesn’t make sense.” She must have realized she had spoken out loud because she startled when she saw me. But I gave a nod that showed I agreed with her regarding the oddity.

  Another oddity was that many of the regents throughout the world attended the New Youth wedding ceremonies. The regents had taken the place of fame and fortune over Hollywood stars and musicians. Movie stars were making a comeback, but the regents were held in higher esteem. I wouldn’t have ever guessed that someday politicians would trump movie stars. Professor Raik preened for the regents and smiled with them. And though I couldn’t explain why, seeing them all bunched together at the weddings reminded me of vultures waiting for an animal to die so they could feed.

  I forced a smile as I waited at the end of the aisle for Jen to make her journey to Jay. Everyone looked delighted. Alison positively glowed.

  Alison wanted to be next in the matrimony line but flirted so much with so many different guys, it was anyone’s guess who she would actually end up marrying.

  There weren’t many like me. Most of the New Youths dated and flirted and fell in love. I didn’t do any of that.

  I frowned as Jay took Jen’s hand. What was that emotion that had just bubbled up? Jealousy? I held my breath a moment and contemplated jealousy. What were the chances of me finding anyone worth being with like that? Sure, I got along with most of the people in the dorms. They were fun to hang out with, eat dinner with, go to movies with, or whatever, but none of them was who I wanted.

  And the only one I did want, I wasn’t allowed to want.

  Oh yes. Very jealous.

  And the desire to be with that one person denied to me only grew over the next several months.

  ***

  12-06-2113

  Did you know that Albert Einstein, the man who made it possible for me to know you, wrote letters to his cousin like we write notes to each other? Every scientist needs a springboard from which to jump their ideas off. I’m grateful for you, Sunny. You make it easier for me to think.

  Yourit

  Tag’s ability with science affected me every day, and not just because he’d made the breakthrough discoveries on what sorts of forces were needed to stimulate electrons in order to give them enough energy to jump to calculated orbits. Were it not for his science, I’d never have been a part of this future. But more than that, he helped me understand my classes. His mini tutorials helped me understand important elements the teachers just couldn’t get through to me. And even with all my ability to research the world archives and history chips on the net, Tag’s scribbled notes were more helpful.

  I did searches on the net for him, too, using my classmates’ lapdesks so it wouldn’t look like I was harboring inappropriate feelings for a soldier. I was sure they could peek at my searches on my lapdesk. But Professor Raik wouldn’t suspect anyone else of anything. He wouldn’t have a reason to keep tabs on the searches of the other students who so dutifully fulfilled his dream of them marrying and having children.

  I was the only misfit of the group, searching for any information about where Tag came from and how he’d been raised. Apparently Taggert wasn’t all too popular a name since there was only one I found in Amerio Canada, one in Eurio UK, and one is San Francisco. But most of the pages and news regarding a Taggert in San Francisco were broken links. It was as though someone had systematically erased his existence from the world. He didn’t belong to social networks or have an online presence anywhere that could be found. I couldn’t even locate records of which public nursery he’d been born in.

  I also tried searches for Winter Eve Rae. Many of those links were broken as well. I saw a few news articles archived on the beginnings of an acting career, but just as Tag had seemed to have been erased from the world’s digital memory, so had my sister.

  12-08-2113

  Don’t compare our friendship to Einstein’s friendships. That man may have been brilliant, but he gave everything he was to science and didn’t ever have enough left over for relationships. He admitted he’d failed in relationships. You are not allowed to fail me, Yourit.

  Today, Professor Modesitt actually mentioned a young man who wrote the breaking paper on valence electrons, and I knew he meant you. Don’t try to deny it. Professor Modesitt asked if I wanted to work a few hours every week at the public nursery on Angel Island. He said I’m really catching on, maybe not to physics, but definitely to biology. I didn’t mention that I owe it all to you. JS is going to have a baby. She wrote me yesterday and told me she’s due in July. So it looks like her and I will both be working with babies.

  Sunny

  “Where are you going?” Alison had the look of disapproval I’d become used to whenever I pulled my jeans out of my closet.

  “Angel Island. Professor Modesitt is going to have me work in the public nursery.”

  “And you said yes? Are you cr—” She took a long breath. It had been a trial for many of us to learn to cut that word from our vocabulary. She lowered her voice. “Why would you do that?”

  I pulled my jeans up over my hips, buttoned them, and crawled around the base of my bed to find my boots. “I wasn’t going to at first, but he said there might be a chance that with further study, they can figure out a way to create a less hostile environment for the babies in the birthing fluids. If I learn more, maybe I can help make it so there won’t be a need to”—my turn to take a deep breath—“to euthanize the children.”

  “Having more of them just perpetuates the problem. We’re really better off with the decline of their birthrate. Our posterity will breathe life into the world; their posterity only prolongs the inevitable.”

  I bit my tongue to keep from responding to the daily diet of propaganda fed to us in our classes. The fact that Alison knew how to use the word perpetuate was a breakthrough all on its own.

  “Would you be able to do it?” I stared at my shoes, tapping the toes together absently.

  “Do what?”

  I sighed. She’d already moved past the conversation in her mind. “Take your own child to a test they might not pass—knowing that you might not have that child to go home with?”

  “Well, that’s not a problem we’re likely to have, is it?” She laughed.

  I clucked my tongue. “Yeah, not likely. Well, I better get going or I’ll be late.”

  “You study too much!” Alison called as I shut the door.

  “You don’t study enough.” I murmured, even though she couldn’t have heard me through the closed door. My work at the nursery allowed me access to one elevator that took me to ground level. From there, I had exactly four doors I could enter and exit through with my IDR. All of those doors led to the ferry that would take me to the island.

  I still hadn’t grown used to t
he way people let their gazes slip past me as though I weren’t there. No one looked me in the eye or ever said hello. I belonged to the state, and although the regents were beloved superstars of the people, those who carried out the regent’s orders were feared. I am so not a queen, Tag. Not unless you consider me one of those who got her head chopped off by the will of the people.

  Ignoring those who ignored me had become almost a game. I swept my glance over and around them, too. I made a point of focusing on the water, and the waves, and the way the gulls circled and cried in the air above me. I stayed inside the ferry instead of out on the deck due to the cold wind. The world had a blue tinge to it from the ice and snow. So much for the global warming theory.

  From the island, the buildings and world created on top of other buildings looked really spectacular.

  Professor Modesitt stood at the door to the nursery waiting for me. A soldier stood sentry on the opposite side of the door.

  “Right on time, Miss Rae. I’d like to introduce you to Mast. He’s the guard of this facility, and should you see anything that looks like it might jeopardize our operations, you’re to inform Mast immediately.”

  Mast gave a curt nod.

  “Why does the facility have a guard?” I whispered once we were inside.

  “Not everyone agrees with this method of bringing children in the world, mostly parents whose kids didn’t pass the test. There are bomb threats, arson threats—well, you get the idea.”

  “Oh, right.” I glanced back toward the doors. “And we only have one guard?” Professor Modesitt hadn’t instilled any confidence about my safety working there.

  The wall behind the front desk was a waterfall. The room smelled like sugar cookies baking, and the soft music soothed like a lullaby. I smiled. It was a peaceful room; maybe working here would be good for me. My opinion changed the moment I entered the dark cavern called the nursery.

  “The cradles are chronological. From day one to forty weeks.” Professor Modesitt pointed along the rows and rows of clear plastic baskets suspended three feet off the ground by long metal rails. The room was lit by red lights as though we were in a photo lab. The steady sound of a heartbeat thumped through the room, recreating the experience a baby would feel in a real womb.

  I thought of Jen Savage being pregnant and how her notes to me were filled with an over exuberant love for the child she carried.

  With such thoughts of maternal love, I peered into one of the baskets and pulled back immediately. Inside the basket was a small fleshy looking blob. The umbilical cord from the fleshy sac was attached to the side of the basket. As the blob-sac moved, tiny ripples formed at the top of the fluid so that they lapped against the clear lid.

  “It’s important to monitor the cradles at all times. Their temperature must stay consistent. Nothing must be allowed to contaminate the birthing fluids. Making babies is a precise science.”

  I didn’t remind him that his precise science ended up with a good portion of those babies dead. That was what enticed me to come here. I wanted desperately to put a stop to the crazy problem. I wanted to be a real part of the solution, not just in becoming a little baby farm myself like Professor Raik, our teachers, and the regents seemed to be pushing all of us toward, but in figuring out why the babies’ brains didn’t develop. Maybe, with enough research, I could figure out how to alter the genetic mutations and disease that caused the sterility in the first place.

  And then everyone would be equal. Then, I could stop having to ignore the people ignoring me on the ferry. Then, maybe Tag wouldn’t stop me from saying the three words that repeated themselves in my mind a million times a day.

  Professor Modesitt spent the next several hours showing me my duties, explaining how everything worked, and cautioning me over the dozens of things that could go wrong. It was impossible to focus on him for too long, my gaze kept slipping back to the dark nursery—to where those cradles housed an unknown generation. Which of those cradles would produce healthy normal children? And which of those cradles would represent heartache for everyone involved?

  My eyes felt strained after identifying cells in Professor Modesitt’s microscope, in spite of the fact that the image had been projected onto the nursery digi-board. We pulled samples from each of the cradles and ran them through tests for variances. I rubbed my eyes at the end of my shift and pressed my fingers against my temples to try to massage the headache away.

  Professor Modesitt accompanied me to the ferry. “It’s been a good day’s work. I was right about you.”

  “I didn’t really do anything.” The water splashing against the sides of the docking area calmed me. I gulped in the sea air, grateful once again for all the things that hadn’t changed in the world. Water was still wet; the sky was still blue.

  The darkened nursery with its red lights and rhythmic heartbeat sound almost made me forget that normal things existed outside that room.

  “You notice; you observe things no one else sees. It’s why I hoped you would join me here. I think you have spectacular potential simply because you see when all others are blind.”

  My face warmed under the compliment. I hoped he was right.

  Chapter Twenty

  1-24-2114

  Morning Sunny,

  You’ve been working at the public nursery for two months, and I heard your dedication is unprecedented. I heard a rumor that you ignored the Christmas and the New Year’s festivities. How is the year 2114 going to feel about you with you shunning it outright that way? Don’t let your other studies fall to the wayside.

  Yourit

  My other studies had fallen to the wayside. I’d become the worst workaholic they’d ever seen. The celebration of 2114 had little effect on me or my research and work, but the festivities led to eleven new weddings and a couple of birth announcements.

  2-14-2114

  Morning Yourit!

  Thanks for the Valentine’s present. I didn’t check out the book you sent me to check out, but Vomit for Valentines was definitely worth reading! I read it while standing in the aisle between the book stacks. My stomach ached from holding in my laughter. Hilarious! This almost makes up for you missing last week’s note. Professor Modesitt has authorized me to work more in the nursery in spite of complaints that I spend too much time there anyway.

  I hope all is well with you.

  Sunny

  The time working in the public nursery had changed me. By venturing out on my own instead of in the social atmosphere of being with friends, the sense of quiet despair from the people settled over me as well. For all the modern wonders of their world, the people feared their government, feared their neighbors, and yet hoped for a better future. In spite of my elite status, and in spite of the fact that the general public feared meeting my eye once they realized who I was, I had become one of them—wanting and working toward their same goals—whether they wanted me or not.

  I pulled cultures from brain segments that had been stored in the cryogenic freezer and settled in to test the cholesterol deposits stored through the brain arteries in the hoping to find some correlation between the degree of blood flow and the mental capacity in the newborns.

  “Do you want to try a live birth today?” Amy asked. She was one of the resident baby doctors in the public nursery.

  My heart sped up as my stomach fluttered. “Really? Can I?”

  She nodded, her bright pink ponytail bobbing with the motion. She had a bubblegum ad on her hand that matched her hair. “You spend more time with these babies than anyone else around here. You should be there when they take their first breaths.”

  I put the brain segments back into the freezers and all but ran to the wash station to scrub up. It seemed they did the live births at times when I was out of the nursery. For all the time I’d spent there, the opportunity to witness a child being pulled from the birthing fluids had never presented itself.

  I stepped into the dark nursery, where Amy had already unlatched the clear basinet from the railings
and started to wheel it to the birthing room. I followed her, Professor Modesitt, and a few interns into the birthing room.

  In movies from my time, they always portrayed childbirth as a rushed affair—babies were born in taxi cabs, or women were wheeled into emergency rooms screaming from pain and everyone panicking at the new life about to make an entrance to the world.

  Future births weren’t anything like that. Everyone treated the moment with reverential awe. They all whispered in hushed tones. Amy motioned for me to stand next to her. She handed me the surgical scissors. “Cut the birthing sac here.” She pointed to the end. Once the cut is made, you’ll need to help the others apply gentle but firm pressure on the sac.”

  The sac and the pressure exerted to the sac were the best ways we had to replicate a real birth. It gave the baby the same experience as if they had lived in a real womb. The consensus was that if they simulated the natural birth as closely as possible, then they would have the best chances for success in mental stability. I doubted their methods and on many occasions had to bite my tongue to keep from telling them all how witch-doctor absurd their processes were sometimes. The baby going through a birthing canal had nothing to do with mental stability. Lots of babies in my day were born by C-section and were just fine. The few times I gently mentioned this to the doctors and professors, I was shooed away with a tsk as though I was the crazy one.

  For all the new modern wonders of the future, the medical world sometimes seemed to be run by superstitious children.

  We applied the pressure and massaged the baby free of the birthing sac. Professor Modesitt pulled the fleshy sac to the side while Amy pulled the baby from the fluids. “Suction her nose and mouth, Summer.”

  I found the bulbous instrument and cleared away the fluids obstructing the baby from taking a real breath. The baby’s squishy eyes opened briefly as the infant mewled a noise of protest.