by Eileen Glass
“How did we get here so fast?”
“Uh, that’s why they insisted on the tower,” Stephanie says, stepping into the living room with him. It’s awesome and rich, with dark leather couches and a huge holoset TV. “This building is alive, Rourke. It’ll grow rooms and stuff when you have a baby. It’s all really weird and quite beyond human comprehension at the moment. Or so they say. The alphas just don’t share. It’s something to do with matter and energy though. It’s science, not magic.”
“Wow. This is a lot of space.”
The sunken living room. The kitchen. It makes the one at home look like a closet. Rourke takes out his phone and snaps two pictures, thinking he’ll send them to his mother and show her how well off he is. But then he decides not to.
Thomas’s bloated appearance still nags him.
It doesn’t matter if it made him feel uneasy and his stomach has dropped without the assistance of an elevator. Rourke needs to get like that.
His words are at odds with his queasiness. “When do I get to see Zachri again?”
“Eager, huh? Well, tomorrow he can drop by for a supervised visit.”
“Not tonight?”
“Jeez, Rourke.”
Convince them, Zachri said. He knows what’s up, and he doesn’t mind.
“Pleeease, Stephanie? I waited all this time! Three months!” Sick on the space toaster. “That’s twice as long as most people!”
She puts her phone behind her back like she might be trying to hide it from him.
“I’m already in trouble, Rourke! Probably. I mean, they haven’t contacted me yet, but… A lot of fuck ups were made. You weren’t healthy when I delivered you. You weren’t looked after in your first meeting because the damn baggage got lost. And then, possibly the train… Betas have to be reverent of alphas, you know. After this I’m probably going to go through ethics and social remedial training.”
“Why? You didn’t do anything wrong!”
“Yeah, by Earth standards. But alphas take social classification to the next fucking level, Rourke.”
The cheery facade is down, and Stephanie’s shoulders slope, her head dropping as if she’s tired.
She’s not getting a fancy apartment. Rourke didn’t want to show his mother the nice place because it might make her feel bad before she gets her money. But Stephanie will always be regular. And the alphas don’t treat regular people very nicely.
“Why do you work for them?”
She picks up her head. “Because we’re making it better. We’re fighting too, Rourke. We want freedom from our oppressors, same as you and everyone else in our city. We just fight on a different front is all.”
“So you work with them to change their minds,” Rourke murmurs. Where he’s from, no one sees the Omega Society as anything but pro-alien traitors.
“They listen to us, at least. I mean, in letting us present our concerns. They take very few of our suggestions, but what gets through can make a lot of difference. For instance, we couldn’t stop the tower from going up, but we convinced them to let us build a college around it.”
At her gesturing, Rourke approaches the window with her and she puts a hand on his shoulder. She talks about the classes he can take, clubs he can join, and all the ways he can better himself ‘while raising his family’, which is the nicest way to put it.
Rourke isn’t eager for any of that. He touches his stomach much like Thomas did and thinks about hanging out with him. Cory also has a baby, ironically. The normal way.
But it changed him too. Cory understandably had less time to be his friend. He looks a lot older now with circles under his eyes all the time. He’s rarely online for video games and he hasn’t texted Rourke a simple, Hey, what are you doing? in over a year.
“Rourke?” Stephanie waves a hand between his face and the window. “Whatcha thinking about?”
“Oh. Just… Missing home, I guess.” He hesitates to tell her the truth, but the words are clawing their way out. “It’s all kind of fucked up here, ya know?”
He shrugs casually so she won’t realize how much it affects him.
“Home sickness is very normal.” She pats his shoulder and Rourke wishes it was his mother. He doesn’t want to live in this fancy apartment by himself.
“I have to go do paperwork,” she says. “Tons and tons of paperwork. And I haven’t answered my email in like two hours, so there’s probably two hundred messages in there.”
“Thanks, Stephanie,” he says, patting her hand briefly, just because it seems like this omega business seems like one hell of a headache.
“No worries, Rourke, alright? You’re in the clear. Living on the Moon just like you’ve always wanted.”
Right. That stupid essay.
“Yeah,” he says hollowly. “I want to see Zachri though. I don’t want to just sit here bored all day.”
He’s far from being in the clear. And his mother had better live long enough to receive her fortune.
Otherwise, I might be jumping out this window…
He frowns and turns from the glass.
Rourke heaves a sigh and drags his hands down his face, seeking a place to collapse once she’s gone. The leather couches in the sunken living room are divine. Someone has left an array of pamphlets on the coffee table. One of them says, Welcome to your new home! Rourke kicks his feet on top with two satisfying heavy thuds.
Zachri enters his thoughts. His skin becomes more sensitive with the memory, Rourke makes an Mmm noise, rolling his neck against the leather texture.
He feels like a cat getting scratched down his spine, from head to tail.
From what little he’s gathered of the circumstances and what Stephanie has said, this sensitivity is due to the alpha’s pheromones, which smells like mint candy to him. But Zachri isn’t here. So maybe he got it off an alpha in the subway.
Most likely, since he’s here alone, he’s recreating the sensation from memory.
His nausea feels better. His fever is still on, but he’s less aware of the pressure in his head.
Maybe living here with Zachri won’t be so bad. But that’s beside the point.
Though just thinking the word Mom brings on a weight heavier than the sickening dread of looking at Thomas’s stomach, Rourke reaches into his pocket for the phone.
He’d so much rather sleep. One day of not checking in can’t be the day she’s gone forever, right? He’s not that unlucky.
But Rourke hasn’t got the alpha yet. He’s nowhere close to getting pregnant. She had ‘less than a year’ when Rourke started his application four months ago. And she might have to make it a couple more months.
His head is positively pounding as the phone goes past it’s second ring. When he hits the voice mail, he pushes the end button and takes his feet off the coffee table to sit up.
“Come on, Mom…”
It’s ringing again. Past the third ring his breath stops.
“What?” says his mother’s voice, groggy as hell. She was just sleeping, as he hoped. The TV is on despite this, and Rourke remembers that he was always the one to shut it off. Her electric bill is going to be high.
“Hey, Mom, I’m just checking in.”
“Oh.” He hears her yawn. Her words are sluggish with sleep. “Are you on the Moon now? What’s it like?”
“Well, there’s alpha’s everywhere…” He launches into a description of the subway and the park, but not too far in, she interrupts.
“Did they touch you? Were they groping? You don’t let them, Rourke!”
“What? No.” Why did she jump to that?
“They’re not allowed to take turns on you!”
Rourke’s mouth drops open. ‘Take turns’ in this context isn’t anything he wants to hear out of his mother’s mouth. Ever.
“Don’t let them pass you around! I’ve been reading online, and you’re only contracted to one alpha.”
“Yeah, I know, I read all about it too. Mom, they’re not, uh, polyamorous anyway…”
“Well, yeah, kind of…” Rourke glances at the window with the amazing view. He can’t tell her where he’s living now or she’ll scream.
“What?” she asks, demanding.
“You want me to tell you?” That’s not a conversation he can have with her. Technically he knows his mother is just as sexually inclined as he is, but he doesn’t like to think it. Ever.
“They used to share them! Gang rape. For months, Rourke, daily! And then who ever got the man pregnant got to keep the bitch. That was their way.” She drops into a fast, conspiratorial whisper. “And now they’ve got those Omega Society jackasses telling everyone about mates this and that, and happy babies, and fancy auctions, just like they told you! Rourke, if anything happens to you in that place, you can call this phone number—oh, where did I put it…”
“Mom, it’s not like that.” Rourke rubs his eyes. The pleasant feelings are gone and her voice is grating. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m here, I’m safe, I’m—”
“Hang on, I’m getting the number.”
The sound of falling dishes disturbs him. What must her ‘nest’ look like now without him to at least carry the dishes to the sink once in a while?
“Mom, calm down. This place isn’t like that, Zachri is really nice….” But while he says the words, a flood of images through his memory contradict him. Stephanie fighting for his safety—or something—on their first meeting. Zachri getting shot full of tranquilizers for fuck’s sake.
How very nervous Stephanie became when she raised her voice to him a little bit in the subway.
Yet, coming out of his mouth are the mumbled words, “Everyone has been very polite, and I’m taken care of. Really. If you could see this apartment… Should I send you a picture?”
She’s not listening. The rustling continues through the phone.
“Mom? You know, the other omegas are really happy here. I’m…” He winces. “…signing up for an art class with this guy, Thomas. He’s really friendly.” And pregnant. “He’s been with his alpha for several years.”
“Here it is!” Her voice is loud through the speaker, like she’s holding the receiver end to her mouth like a microphone. “One. Eight-seven-seven… Rourke, are you writing this down?”
“Mom, you’re not listening to me.”
“Honey, these people have connections to the media. You need to contact them if something goes wrong.”
“Mom…”
“Rourke! This is for your protection, so do as I say!”
You need to calm down, he’d say at home and guide her into her chair. She gets obsessive sometimes, usually with some miracle cure she found on the internet. Rourke has had to convince her several times that she needs modern medicine and the help of verified, degree holding doctors.
“Are you writing it down?” his mother presses, completely serious.
“Yeah, yeah, Mom, I’m writing it down…” Rourke doesn’t even know if there’s a pen in this apartment. “You know you could just text it to me.”
“Good idea. Hang on, I’m doing it now.”
Several discordant beeps sound through the phone as she goes pushing buttons.
“Mom, do it after you hang up.” Her phone multitasks quite easily, but that’s way more than he wants to explain. “You know, the Moon is really cool. The sky is dark all the time in most places. They have a special forcefield dome where you can see all the stars, and it’s amazing, Mom. I should’ve taken a picture. But even under normal domes, you can see the Earth all the time and it’s beautiful.”
Her end is strangely quiet.
“Mom? …Hello?” His phone has gone back to the home screen. “Oh my god, you hung up exactly when I told you to…” he groans to himself. Then his phone dings with his mother’s text message. First with the phone number, then with, You should call right away.
Ding.
They will keep you safe.
He lies on the couch, turning the phone to landscape so both thumbs can type.
I’m not being raped. Or held captive. Everyone is really—
He stops. Typing into the phone is hard work and carrying on in voice-to-text seems redundant since they were just speaking.
He’s not going to convince her anyway. Not so quickly, and not long distance. She grew up when the Omega Society was only newly formed and abductions were ending. His people were close knit for such a big city, neighbors checking in on each other. They bonded under the unified purpose doing everything they could to resist ‘the masters’.
He replaces his text with, Okay.
Ding. Are you calling it now?
Out of patience, he types, Napping now. Call later. Don’t worry. Then he turns the volume off. His suitcase is parked near the door and it’s time to see what the bedroom and bathroom are like. The thrum of energy in his gut promises him that the sheets are going to feel divine.
Rourke never thought about living alone. With rent high and wages low, it’s common for children to stay at home forever. The only exception is with small apartments like the one he and his mother shared. If Rourke wanted to make a family, he’d have to make a decision about leaving home or moving his mother with him.
Cory and Ann got their own little place. They wanted to make a life apart from their parents so they would have room for more babies. It costs Cory all his free time though, and Ann works hard as a customer service rep on her laptop. They’re both happy and perfect for each other.
Rourke got the impression that moving out was an adventure for them. That there was freedom in never having to pick up after anyone, or have the TV always on. Countless times, he’s awoken in the middle night to a show his mother has passed out with.
So, ironically, the first thing he does when he finishes his nap is turn the TV on.
He spends ten minutes unpacking, and the rest of the time just puttering around from room to room. He doesn’t feel like he lives here. The element of ‘home’ is missing. He turns the holoset to one of his mother’s favorite channels and picks up the phone.
She got quite angry with him in the texts, but nothing ranting. He sends her, I love you, Mom, just because her death has been on his mind so much lately. She’ll find it sweet and forgive him.
Cory’s profile pic is under hers. There’s never any new messages.
Rourke’s thumb taps the edge of the phone for a while. Cory always called him a chicken shit in a joking manner, spurring Rourke to do something. Now he has to do it himself.
He clicks on the picture and makes two typos writing a three-letter word.
Hey.
And he waits, his heart hammering.
At two minutes, he’s sure he either won’t get a response, or he’ll get a super long, nasty one. At three, he wonders if Cory is even at his phone to read it. And at seven he finally he convinces himself that he isn’t.
He sets the phone down. Rattled. He’s upset, but he can’t pinpoint why. Cory might be ignoring him, but that’s his right.
A buzzer sounds, making him jump to his feet like he’s been caught at something. But it’s only the indication of someone wanting to see him. Rourke presses the allow button on the intercom near the elevator, not bothering to ask who it is since it’s probably Stephanie.
Instead, the elevator doors open to a very pregnant Thomas. He’s carrying a dish topped with tinfoil, and the wobble of his gait makes him look like he could topple over. Rourke wants to rush forward and steady him, take the dish and carry it for him. But that’s weird for a guy to do for another guy.
“Hey. How are you?” he says with a smile, managing the dish and the walk himself. He’s like a fat goose, and Rourke feels terrible for thinking it in the wake of his friendliness.
“Stephanie gave me your
room number. I like to cook, so I brought you some chicken, gravy, and biscuits.”
He goes to the kitchen like he already knows the layout of the place.
“It’s alright if you don’t want to eat though. I didn’t eat a full meal for nearly two weeks when I first got here. Heh, my alpha had a fit when he found out.”
No good thoughts are forthcoming on this topic while Rourke looks at his swollen belly. He’s a terrible person, he should go to hell. Rourke knows that being pregnant has nothing to do with being fat.
But Thomas is a guy, and this is so weird.
Thomas’s hands come around his belly, like he’s protecting the child from Rourke’s judgment. Rourke shakes his head, realizing he’s been silent and staring. This guy just brought him dinner.
“I’m sorry! I-I’m Rourke. Shit, you know that.” He laughs to get him through this awkward moment. “Um, welcome. This is, uh, my new place, I guess. Dinner is a really nice gesture, thank you.”
Thomas’s easy demeanor returns.
“You’re welcome! Stephanie really wanted to make a full evening out of it and show you around, but I warded her off for you.” He goes to panel on the wall that Rourke hasn’t inspected yet. “Stephanie mentioned that she forgot to set up your windows too. Poor girl. She’s losing her mind over you.”
“Oh. Yeah...” It’d be perfectly alright to stay quiet. Rourke prefers to let the conversation sail over him most the time. But this particular topic stirs something in him. “I don’t know why they’re giving her such a hard time. I sold for a lot, so the Society has its money. They’re grilling her over little things like forgetting my bags or some shit.”
“The alphas are perfectionists who adhere to a strict classification of individuals. But don’t worry, we’re wearing them down.”
The room dims, Rourke’s windows tinting.
“Hey, that’s cool.”
“Yup. They’ll brighten up too when we’re on the day cycle. You can adjust sunrise and sunset to your personal rhythms, but there is a standard ‘Moon time’ to make days predictable for businesses and such. C’mon, let’s dish up.”