by Mark Souza
He and Robyn were drifting apart. He’d felt it for months yet didn’t do or say anything, hoping instead that time would restore their relationship and return the old Robyn to him. But who was the old Robyn? And for that matter, who was the old Moyer? Things were so perfect and easy when they dated. But maybe that was the problem. The parts of themselves presented during courtship were only the best each of them had to offer. She didn't speak of children then, and neither did he. He assumed because it didn't come up, children weren't that important to her. And at the time, maybe they weren't.
Now she seemed distant and moody, often flying into a rage at the smallest provocation. In response, he spent more time at work, and more time reading. His attention settled on his reflection in the glass and the passive expression on his face. A coward peered back at him. Why couldn’t he approach Robyn and talk things out? Why couldn’t he summon the courage? But he already knew why. Confronting her might bring things to a head, and if pressed, she might leave.
He wondered these days if he meant anything more to her than a good apartment in a fashionable part of town and a means of attaining a baby. What would his role be after the baby was born? Would there be any room left for him once Robyn had what she wanted? Would there even be the pretense of love?
He looked over at the couple again. The woman appeared to feel the weight of Moyer’s stare and moved tighter to her husband. Moyer contrasted her behavior with Robyn’s. When faced with adversity, Robyn didn’t cling tighter to him, she became more distant. Perhaps that was the difference between love and whatever it was he had with Robyn. Love not reciprocated is not love; it’s obsession.
The woman’s husband glared at Moyer. He was protecting his wife. Moyer smiled a little and turned his eyes away.
Whether he and Robyn could salvage a relationship was something Moyer needed to figure out. And he needed to make a decision before they threw every credit they had into buying a baby.
He wondered whether Robyn would show up for dinner with the Martinezes or remain at her parent’s house pouting. Then he remembered. Kelsey was bringing her baby. Robyn would never miss that.
Robyn was quiet when she came home. She spent most of the afternoon on the couch avoiding eye contact and giving Moyer the silent treatment. What right did she have to be angry? She had picked her side, and it wasn't his. He supposed this was better than the alternative, an all-out, knock-down-drag-out fight.
As six o’clock approached, Robyn went to the kitchen and started angrily rattling pots and pans, an announcement that dinner was in progress and she was still upset. When she emerged a while later, she set the table for four without a glance toward Moyer. Plates, glasses and silver were placed with the speed and precision of a card dealer at a casino. Moyer attempted to help, but at her frenetic pace he was merely in the way, more a hindrance than a help, and she made sure he knew it. She still exuded a tensely restrained rage prickly as razor wire. Moyer busied himself in the kitchen carving the soy loaf in an attempt to look useful at a respectful distance.
Robyn’s voice floated in from the other room. “You and Petro started at Digi-Soft at the same time right? And you both hold the same position?”
Moyer knew where she was going. She must have dwelled on this for weeks. “Yes, but I…”
“While they’re here, I want you to find out how they managed a baby,” she said.
A sweet aroma wafted from a pot Robyn had boiling on the stove. Moyer checked inside. “Fresh corn? Where did this come from?”
“I have my sources,” Robyn replied.
“How much?”
“Don’t worry, it was barter.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better? What are you giving in trade?”
“Sexual favors,” she joked.
“I’m serious.”
“I’m writing an encryption program.”
“To encrypt what?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care. We have fresh corn, and Petro and Kelsey will be impressed.”
“But —”
“No buts, I’m being careful. No one will be able to trace it to me.”
Moyer said nothing, but he resented the blithe way Robyn put herself at risk whenever she wanted extra money. A shiver tingled his nerves as he recalled Hugh Sasaki after the mind-cleanse, perched at his desk in his newly purchased clothes.
They say rehabilitation isn’t that bad because you don’t know what you’re missing. But those close to you do. Sasaki was married. His wife's hologram sat on his desk. Moyer imagined his role as Robyn’s caretaker, making Robyn’s wardrobe choices, dressing her as Sasaki’s wife had dressed him. He remembered Sasaki’s relentless flow of drool and shuddered again.
Moyer sometimes thought of Sasaki’s wife and how her life was stolen away the day security agents dragged her husband out of Digi-Soft. Her role of partner reduced to default caretaker. Rehabilitation was not legal grounds for divorce. She was stuck with no outs.
“Kelsey and Petro are getting off the elevator,” Moyer said.
“Is that your twinkle, or are you guessing?”
The doorbell rang.
“How do you do that?” Robyn asked.
Moyer slid the sliced loaf onto a platter. When he peeked around the corner, Robyn was in the hallway stooped over a carriage cooing at Petro and Kelsey’s baby.
Moyer dried his hands to welcome his guests. “Petro, Kelsey, please come in. Mow her down if you have to.” Kelsey grinned, she understood. Robyn remained rapt on the baby, following as Petro pushed the carriage across the threshold.
“Can I hold it?” Robyn asked. Kelsey nodded. Robyn reached into the carriage and hesitated. “How do I do this?”
Moyer shook his head. “You had domestics class in high school. You should know how.”
“That was years ago, and I wasn’t paying attention,” Robyn said. “As I remember, I was infatuated with a certain boy at the time.”
Kelsey patiently positioned Robyn’s arms into a cradle across her chest and placed the baby against her breast. “Support her head with your hand,” she instructed, “That’s right.”
Robyn’s mouth hung agape as she gazed down at the baby’s face. “She’s so tiny. What’s her name?”
“Brooke.”
“Oh, what a pretty name.”
Moyer glanced at the stroller. “Aren’t you afraid someone might take her? Some people would do anything for a baby,” he said, subtly nodding in Robyn’s direction.
Petro reached under the carriage and withdrew a life-size doll. “In public, this is what we put in the stroller.”
“It looks so real,” Robyn said.
“It’s supposed to. Out on the street I carry our baby in this.” Petro opened his coat exposing a support harness lashed around his chest and shoulders. “If anyone snatches the stroller, they’ll only get the decoy and take us for pretenders.”
“Did they issue a decoy when you got your baby?” Robyn asked.
“No,” Kelsey said. “We had to pay for it. I got it at a pretender’s store.”
A baby was supposed to be a happy event, some crowning achievement, but it all seemed a horrible waste of money to Moyer. The cost of a baby alone was tantamount to bankruptcy, and then there were all the things that went with it: cribs, carriers, strollers, decoys. Money, money, then more money. How could anyone manage it and why would they want to?
“How did you afford to —”
“Robyn,” Moyer interrupted, “didn’t mean to pry.” He gave Robyn a scolding glare. How dare she after they had discussed this very matter? “Questions can wait till after dinner.”
Robyn edged next to Moyer. “Do you want to hold her?” she asked, leaning in with Brooke.
Moyer stiffened. He wanted nothing to do with the child. He knew what Robyn was hoping, that he would hold the baby and somehow have a change of heart. “I think the corn might be done,” he said.
Kelsey turned to Petro, an odd expression on her face.
“Yo
u have real corn?” Petro asked. Moyer could have kissed him. No wonder the man had so many friends. He had an amazing ability to sense potential conflict and knew how to swoop in at the nick of time to defuse the situation.
“Robyn got it. She knows someone.”
“The loaf smells terrific too,” Petro added, “Is it flavored?”
“Beef and herbs,” Robyn said, rocking the baby in her arms.
“Beef,” Petro snorted. “That reminds me of my great grandfather. He was alive before cows went extinct and had eaten real beef as a child. He stayed with us for a while until a retirement apartment came available. He wouldn’t eat beef flavored loaf at our house. ‘Don’t piss on me and tell me it’s raining’ he’d say, ‘I know the difference’. He blamed everything on Hogan-Perko.”
Moyer came from the kitchen carrying a bowl filled with steaming corn on the cob. “Hogan-Perko?”
Petro nodded. “He said Hogan-Perko started as an agricultural supply company, cloning farm animals and seed. It wasn’t until after the Chinese plague wiped out human reproduction that they transitioned to babies.
“According to my great grandfather, Hogan-Perko manipulated cattle genetics to maximize beef yield. Once that was accomplished, they made millions of copies of essentially the same cow. Anyone raising anything else couldn’t compete. Hogan-Perko cows yielded more meat on less grain in a shorter time. Soon, Hogan-Perko had the entire cattle market. And because of it, when the new strain of anthrax hit, all cattle had the same genetics, and none of them had any resistance. Inside of four months, not a cow remained on Earth. At least that’s the story he told.”
“Leave it to Petro to bring up pestilence at the dinner table,” Kelsey said. “The loaf smells lovely.” Kelsey set her baby in the stroller. Brooke lay on her stomach, head turned to the side sucking her thumb. Moments later she was asleep.
During dinner, Petro mentioned offhandedly, “I got the skinny on Hugh Sasaki.” Moyer’s head bobbed up from his plate. This wasn’t what he’d consider a proper dinner topic. In fact, their wives shouldn’t be hearing it. “They caught him trying to sabotage the Worm.”
“Who is Hugh Sasaki?” Robyn said, “And what’s the Worm?”
“Something from work we’re not supposed to talk about,” Moyer said.
Petro smiled as if it was no big thing. “I’ve already told Kelsey,” he said. “It’s just us here. Can’t you trust your wife?”
“Moyer never talks about work,” Robyn said. “I have to pull it out of him.”
“The Worm is a program Moyer and I are working on,” Petro said. He leaned close. His smile broadened. “It allows data to be loaded into the brain through the net-chip.”
“So what?” Robyn said, “The net chip already does that.”
Petro’s expression grew serious. “This is different. You know how, with the net chip, you have the feeling of watching and being a spectator to what’s happening? With the Worm, the recipient isn’t aware information has been implanted. The information is like a memory. If a ball game was downloaded, your memory would tell you that you were there, and you wouldn’t know any different.”
“Are you saying that if this program was used to download information on, say, knitting, I would know how to knit?”
“Well,” Petro said, “your hands would take a little time to come up to speed, but the knowledge would be there. At first it would seem you had become a little rusty.”
Moyer pursed his lips. “I don’t think the application is intended for anything as trivial as knitting.”
“What happened to Sasaki?” Robyn asked.
“Security agents took him,” Moyer said, “Dragged him out. They brought him back after rehabilitation a slobbering wreck.”
Robyn’s eyebrows shot up. She turned to Kelsey. “I knew something was wrong. Moyer came home all quiet. Not the normal quiet, a more serious and tense quiet. You know what I mean.”
Kelsey nodded.
Petro flashed a mischievous grin and Moyer worried over what he had in mind. “With Hugh Sasaki’s misfortune, the lead programming position has opened up. Moyer looks to be next in line. It’s more money and an opportunity for bigger things in the future.” He shot Moyer a wink.
“Moyer, why didn’t you mention this to me?” Robyn asked.
“I didn’t want to get your hopes up, not until I knew for sure.” Moyer glared at Petro who barely restrained his glee. It was all a game to the Brazilian, like chess. Petro wanted Moyer to help him advance. Moyer would carry the petard and take the risks — Petro would get a free ride on his coattails at a safe distance. Telling Robyn was his way of applying pressure to squeeze Moyer into doing what he wanted.
The baby started fussing. Soft bleating cries barely audible from across the room tugged at Robyn’s heart. Petro and Moyer cleared dishes while Kelsey sat next to Robyn on the sofa and nestled the baby in Robyn’s arms. She passed Robyn a bottle. Moyer paused to watch. Tiny lips closed tightly around the nipple. The baby’s cheeks pulsed in and out. Robyn bent her head close and drew a deep breath through her nose. Tranquility spread through her like a gentle breeze. From the expression on his wife’s face, Moyer knew there was no turning back.
“You are a natural, Robyn,” Kelsey said. “When are you two getting a child?”
Chapter 5
Monday, 17 October
Robyn checked her lotto tickets on the net while riding the tube downtown from work. She had one ticket with three correct numbers out of eight. That would get her a free ticket. The rest she tore in half and crumpled into little balls. Maybe Moyer was right, the lotto was for suckers. One hundred credits gone — well technically, only ninety-nine — money tossed to the winds, money she’d never see again, and worse, an I-told-you-so lecture from Moyer.
The tube decelerated. Robyn consulted the route map. It was her stop. She filed out of the car leaving the balled up remnants of her losing lotto tickets on the seat. She climbed the steps up to ground level a few blocks north of Freedom Circle.
The streets just off the Circle were lined with boutiques and specialty shops. She used to spend a lot of time shopping this district before she became a cleaning woman. Since then, her circle of friends had dwindled, and to be honest, so had her desire to shop. The prospect of running into someone from her previous life was too dismal. She had lost the energy and will to explain her circumstances.
It was cold, the sky high and light blue. A dusting of ash, gray snow, still remained in doorway thresholds and corners where sweeper machines couldn’t reach. Robyn glanced at displays in store windows curious as to what was in fashion, though she doubted she’d ever be in a position again to be trendy. In her younger days, she paid top dollar for clothes without corporate advertisements. It was a sign of affluence. Now, because of saving for the baby, she barely owned anything without a logo. The more and larger the logos, the less the clothes cost. It was an enticement or commission of sorts in return for turning oneself into a human billboard. These days she was an insect trapped in amber, frozen while time and fashion passed her by.
Despite her interest, she didn’t slow from her goal. She played out the route in her head. Many of the stores along the way were vacant, windows dark and empty with FOR LEASE signs displayed prominently, victims of the Mars Initiative. It was a bad sign. Robyn prayed the shop she was searching for was still in business. She rounded the corner onto Oak, and there it was: Baby Universe. The lights were on inside and an LED sign flashed the word OPEN. In the window display, a female mannequin held a baby and fed it from a bottle. Next to that was a high-tech stroller, much nicer than Petro and Kelsey’s, and an antique crib.
Robyn peered through the window as a clerk stocked shelves. She was young and pretty, too young to have a child of her own, or to know much about them. Another woman walked among the displays. She was older, in her late forties, Robyn judged. She walked tall and proud, her face placid. It was her eyes that struck Robyn as profoundly sad. They displayed no spark, no life. The
woman plucked a doll off the shelf. A small smile tickled the corners of her mouth. She pulled the doll tight to her chest and then cradled it in her arms as Kelsey had shown Robyn to hold Brooke.
The woman looked outside as if she sensed someone watching. Robyn froze, feeling like a voyeur, sure she’d been caught. When the woman turned away, Robyn started for the entrance. On her way inside, the woman with the doll brushed by on her way out.
“Ma’am! Ma’am, you can’t leave with that,” the shop girl called.
The young clerk rushed past Robyn in chase. The clerk caught up to the woman on the sidewalk and clutched the doll by the foot. The woman turned, eyes wide, nostrils flared, mouth puckered in determination. “It’s my baby,” the woman snarled. She tightened her grasp and tried to jerk the doll away, but the clerk wouldn’t release her grip. After a few more attempts, rationality returned to the woman’s face, and with it, resignation. She released the doll and tried to blink back tears. She turned away and staggered down the street.
The clerk carried the doll back inside by an arm, dangling it loosely as if it was a sack of onions. With her other hand she flapped her blouse in and out rapidly to draw cool air against her skin. She froze when she noticed Robyn. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were there.”
“Does that happen often?” Robyn asked as the clerk returned the doll to the shelf.
The girl’s face flushed pink. “Unfortunately it does, and it’s scary every time. It’s the look in their eyes that gets me. I swear they go a little insane. It’s the time before their sanity returns that frightens me. You can never be sure if the reason they’re childless might be a psych issue.” She shook her head side to side. “Some people would do anything for a baby, even a plastic one.”