by Jessica Dall
“I’m sorry.” She held her hands up before catching herself and crossing her arms. She didn’t need to apologize to him. “I didn’t know, so I thought I’d ask. Again, since you obviously understand me, what do you think you’re doing?”
He paused for a long moment, studying her, before pointing to the landscape over her desk. “I was just looking at the picture you have on the wall. I didn’t have anything else to do while I was waiting.”
“I didn’t think it was that interesting.” She glanced at the picture, then back at the man.
“We don’t have much art where I’m from, if you can imagine.” He met her eyes.
She studied him. “I didn’t know you all could appreciate art.”
“We aren’t monkeys,” he said. “Even if we were on a lower mental level than you, as your lot seems to think, even Neanderthals could appreciate art. I’d like to think we’re at least on the same level as them.”
“Neanderthals?” Dahlia frowned.
“Primitive man,” he said.
“Primitive woman, you mean?”
“Or primitive man,” he returned.
She blinked once, looked him over, making sure her face was unreadable.
He waited for a long moment. Neither spoke. He finally released a breath. “Do you want me to know your name, or...?”
She waited for him to lead off before choosing to speak. “Dahlia.”
“Pretty,” he said in a way that Dahlia couldn’t quite tell if it was meant to be sarcastic or not. “I’m Ben, by the way, if you care.”
“Benjamin.” Dahlia nodded. “I saw.”
“Ben,” he repeated with a little more emphasis.
She didn’t argue, moving to her closet and undoing her braid absentmindedly. “How long is this supposed to take?”
“What?” Ben raised an eyebrow.
“All this.” She waved her hand, motioning at him dismissively. “I’m trying to figure out how much longer I have to pretend to be awake. Really, I’m ready to just get in bed and catch up on some TV. But no, I’m twenty now, I have to deal with this crap.”
He smiled. “So this is your first rotation?”
Dahlia stiffened. “What’s it to you?”
He shrugged, looking her over. “You’re a doctor?”
Dahlia’s eyebrows furrowed slightly before she coached her expression back to unreadable. “What?”
“That’s what your clothes color coding means, right?” Ben motioned at her shirt. “Green means doctor?”
“Oh.” Dahlia looked at her shirt and the tension in her voice lowered. “Yeah. Yes. Yes, I am. I deal mostly with homeopathics.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Homeo-what now?”
“Homeopathics,” she repeated. “Herbal remedies, noninvasive healing...”
“Ah,” Ben said. “Witch doctor shit.”
Dahlia paused and crossed her arms. “Medicine that works even without cutting people open. I don’t know what ‘witch doctors’ you’re familiar with, but—”
“Meant no offence.” The corners of Ben’s mouth twitched as though he was fighting down a smile.
She studied him, face stony. “Right.”
Ben stared right back, watching as she pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it into a chute. “So...”
She glanced at him, “So?”
He hooked his thumbs into his waistband and shrugged, “So, you want me on the bed then, or what?”
“Why would I want that?”
“Didn’t they explain the mechanics to you?” Ben smirked before obviously thinking better of it.
“No, I get the mechanics, thank you,” Dahlia said. “I just don’t want you here at all, so why would I want you on my bed?”
Ben sighed. “Please don’t tell me you’re one of the devoutly misanthropic.”
Dahlia raised her eyebrows. “Big word.”
“I’m male, not mentally retarded,” he said.
Dahlia looked back at her closet. “And here I thought they were synonymous.”
Ben crossed his arms. “You’re a bit of a bitch, you know that?”
She turned her head to the side. “You really think pissing me off is the best option you have right now?”
“What are you going to do? Beat me? Because I’m pretty sure I could take it... and the whole thing would be detrimental to your whole ‘women as peacemakers’ image. They would have to kick you out of the club.”
“I would never beat someone.” Dahlia frowned. “I don’t know how you settle your differences with people, but we don’t use corporal punishment here.”
He scoffed. “Right. Well, it’s probably for the best. I’ve got about half a foot on you anyway.”
She glanced at his feet, and then back up to his face. “What?”
“Oh right, you’re metric,” he said, slowing the words down and over-enunciating. “It’s probably for the best. I’ve got about fifteen centimeters on you.”
“Ten.” She shook her head, ignoring his condescension. “Exactly ten from your stats.”
He waved his hand as if dismissing the entire argument.
She glanced down again for a second before her curiosity got the best of her. “What were you saying? Half a foot?”
“It’s a measurement,” he said.
“You measure things with your feet?”
“No.” He sighed. “Well, originally it was based on feet, but it was a standardized unit of measurement before you all took power.”
She continued to look at him, holding her nightshirt without trying to change any further.
“Aren’t you taught any history before 2200?”
“Most classes are before 22:00.” Dahlia studied him, puzzled. “I don’t know any that late, actually.”
“No.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Not the time. The year 2200.”
“The year 2200 hasn’t happened yet.”
He released a slow breath. “On the old calendar.”
She frowned. “You mean pro pacis? There’s not a whole lot to study there. We focus on O.S.V.”
“I’ve never understood your calendar.” Ben shook his head. “You kept the months and then just made the year start in March. Does that make sense?”
She looked at him for a long time and then undid her jeans and stepped out of them. “So, once again, how much longer would this thing generally take? I’ve had a long day.”
“How long for what?”
“This thing.”
“For me?” He smiled
She undid her bra and pulled her nightshirt on. “Have I hit on some strange machismo thing?”
He shrugged. “You don’t know how long ‘this thing’ should take?”
“Well, I know how long it would take with just me,” she said. “I’ve never had to factor in another person.”
He smiled to himself. “Ah, so you don’t need me here at all.”
“I’ve been trying to explain that to people all week,” Dahlia said, moving to the end of the bed and sitting with her legs under her.
Ben nodded, not saying anything.
Dahlia released a breath, staring back at the man and feeling awkward. He was attractive, she supposed, not that she had a lot of experience in judging male attractiveness. He looked symmetrical and square jawed with all his limbs. She didn’t know what else she was really supposed to be looking for in an “attractive” man. His hair, recently cut, seemed to be somewhere between light brown and dark blonde. Someone probably groomed the men before sending them over. It was hard to believe they would keep themselves looking like that by their own means.
“Didn’t get to study me long enough behind your mirror-window?” Ben crossed his arms
“Hmm?” She emerged from her thoughts.
“Generally, you guys get all your scrutinizing out before you get in the same room with us.”
“I was distracted,” Dahlia said.
He snorted. “Now that’s something you generally don’t hear.”
She continued staring at him.
He sighed. “What?”
“You look very...” She fumbled for the word. “Clean.”
His eyebrows furrowed. “Thank you?”
“I suppose I just expected something more...” She paused again. “Primal, I suppose would be the word.”
“We don’t spend our time rolling around in mud, if that’s what you thought,” he responded.
“Are the clothes new?”
“What?”
“The shirt at least.” Dahlia motioned with her chin. “The pants look older.”
“How could you possibly know that?”
“The dye isn’t faded.”
He just looked at her.
She felt her face redden, fought it with every rational bone in her being. She would not let him make her feel embarrassed. “I’m a doctor. I’m paid to pick up on little things.”
“It’s new,” he said at last, looking at the matted grey-collared shirt he wore. “A little too... button down... for my tastes, but...”
She surveyed him again. “Used to different types of apparel?”
“Why do I feel like you’re imagining loincloths?”
“Maybe because you wish I’d want to see you in a loincloth?” she quipped before pursing her lips. “I was just wondering what you’d prefer to wear.”
“Nothing out of the Stone Age, but I’m sure you’d still find it archaic with your modern clothing standards.”
“Well, most of your systems are archaic,” Dahlia returned. “It’s not surprising.”
“At least we remember what happened before your bright, shiny year zero.”
“We would pay attention to all that if anything of importance had happened pro pacis.”
“You mean like the assassination of Thomas Dumas?”
Dahlia paused a moment. Her damn curiosity demanded an answer. “Who?”
“Thomas Dumas.” Ben leaned back against the desk puffing his chest out in an almost aggressive posture. “You know, the guy who kicked all this off? They didn’t teach you that in history?”
Dahlia pressed her lips together. “No offense intended, but I don’t think I need a history lesson, especially not from you.”
“Yeah, no offense to be had there.” Ben rolled his eyes, leaning back against the desk. “At least I’m not the product of that propaganda machine parading itself as an educational system that churned you out.”
“Yeah?” Dahlia crossed her arms over her breasts. “Just what school did you go to, pray tell?”
“We may not have a school at the camps, but we have our own oral history.”
“Oh, so you’re relying on a game of telephone that’s been played over three-hundred years for your information. That sounds reliable.”
“Any less reliable than a history taught in a government-run school that has a vested interest in indoctrinating all its students with values that will keep it in power?”
“You have something against the government?” She raised an eyebrow.
“I have something against being treated like a second-class citizen because I was unfortunate enough to be born with a penis.”
“Well, that’s just a symptom,” Dahlia said, matter-of-fact. “I think the main problem is the mutation that gave you that and whatever other problems go along with it. That poor mutated Y chromosome is what gives you all those symptoms.”
“You realize without that ‘mutation’ you wouldn’t be here, right?” Ben looked her over. “You have a father somewhere.”
“I’m sure the pedigree office has recorded it,” Dahlia said. “Though all of that mess might not be necessary in the near future. Early studies have shown that it’s possible to merge two eggs, rather than a sperm and an egg, so that they have the necessary forty-six chromosomes, and no Y chromosome to speak of.”
“So then, what would you do with men when you have masturbation and pseudo-cloning?”
“Men would be obsolete,” she said, “which I suppose they are pretty much now for the most part, but I’d imagine we’d just leave you in your camps. With children being produced from two ova, there’s no possible hereditary passing of the so-called ‘Y’ chromosome at all, so baring spontaneous mutation there will be no male children. Wouldn’t be many of you after long enough.”
“So you have it all figured out then,” Ben said.
“Assuming the women in genetics do their job.” Dahlia shrugged off his response. “Like I said, I find this whole mating ritual thing archaic. It’s bordering on unnecessary as it is. Do you think it’s been long enough that I can sign off for the night and go to sleep?”
“You seriously have me here, and would rather sleep?”
“You think you’re too good to pass up?”
“I find it hard to believe someone would want to pleasure themselves when they have other means.”
“I’ve always been self-sufficient,” Dahlia said. “All of my aptitude tests said so. I have work tomorrow. I’m going to bed now.”
Ben looked around. “So what do you want me to do?”
She shrugged, sliding up the bed and straightening her nightshirt. “I would suggest sleeping, personally.”
He frowned at her. “You are so strange.”
“If you say so.” She switched off the light and turned away from him.
Chapter Two
Like clockwork, Dahlia walked into the café less than a block down the road from the hospital at 13:30. Cassandra waved her over to a small round table near the window before she had the time to smile at the woman in saffron at the hostess stand. The café had been a long-standing favorite haunt for hospital employees on their lunch break. The bright airy café, even if it was done mostly in white and pastels like the hospital, lacked the harsh antiseptic smell of their work place. Instead, it offered the smell of cooking meat and the baking pastries for which the café was famous. Dahlia smiled and slipped past the small waiting area into the last chair available at the glass-topped table. Cassandra, two other women in Emerald Green, one in Cyan, and one in Fuchsia smiled at her.
Audrey, the first girl in Emerald, looked her over. “You look good in green.”
“I don’t know.” Dahlia pursed her lips, studying her shirt. “I was a fan of cyan. It brought out my eyes.”
“Green is good for your complexion.” Zoë, Audrey’s twin, also in green, nodded.
Claire, the hospital librarian in Fuchsia, nodded, examining her. “I like it. How was last night?”
Dahlia’s good-natured smile dropped. “I’d rather not talk about it.”
“That bad?” Georgia, the group's now sole nineteen-year-old, looked apprehensive.
“Well, nothing happened.” Dahlia shook her head, taking a glass of water another saffron-dressed server handed her. “I was tired. I went to sleep.”
Cassandra frowned. “Nothing happened. Lia—”
“No, I understand,” Zoë said. “I’m so tired after work most the time I call mine up from camp maybe once a month.”
“But on the night of your twentieth?” Cassandra shook her head. “That’s just depressing.”
“I don’t know.” Claire shrugged. “I still fail to see the need of men to begin with.”
“Thank you,” Dahlia said. “I was beginning to think I was the only one who understood the futility of the entire exercise.”
“Okay.” Zoë held up her hand. “Time to stop debate. It’s not exactly proper lunchtime conversation.”
Cassandra sighed theatrically. “Fine. So, Lia, what’s going on in your life of being a gardener?
Dahlia sent her a look. “Watch it. I bet I could find something deadly and untraceable to slip into your drink there.”
“Yesh.” Cassandra smiled. “One day with a man and you’re already thinking murder. There should be a test to weed out the easily corruptible.”
Dahlia stared at Cassandra for a long moment before changing the topic. “If you’re truly interested, we’ve found a plant that appears to be a pow
erful contraceptive. If it works throughout testing, it means we can take out the chemical version we mix into the water.”
Georgia smiled. “Side effects?”
“We’re really going to talk about contraceptives?” Cassandra looked between the two women.
“Still in testing,” Dahlia responded to Georgia. “Doesn’t seem to have any thus far. Even less than the ones the one we have now. Also it seems to last for about a month, so it wouldn’t be necessary to constantly pump it into our systems. I’ve actually used myself as a test subject.”
“Seriously?” Georgia raised her eyebrows.
“Well, the only thing we really have left to test is if it makes you sterile, and I really don’t give a crap about that either way.”
“What if you get maternal urges?” Claire asked.
“I’ll funnel them into gardening,” Dahlia said sarcastically. “Anyway, if Genetics starts pulling their weight, we won’t need birth control ever again. There’ll be no need for contraceptive with in vitro. Honestly we’re just killing time until Genetics makes the study obsolete.”
“At least it isn’t your entire specialization,” Cassandra mumbled.
Dahlia grinned. “Let it go, Cass.”
“I don’t know,” Audrey said. “I don’t think I’d like a world without men... I mean, I’m really glad they aren’t out here mucking about, don’t get me wrong, but unlike the rest of you freaks, I actually like sex.”
“Don’t group me in with them.” Cassandra pointed across the table.
“Oh, just get a vibrator.” Claire rolled her eyes.
“Without men,” Dahlia cut off Cassandra’s retort, “it would free up the lesbians to do other things than work at the camps. Maybe all you girls who still want company for your recreational hours will just be able to switch your amorous intentions to the other team.”
Audrey’s nose crinkled. “The lesbians? They’re just about as good as men. Why would I ever want to try to become one?”
“Well, without men...” Dahlia smiled behind her water glass. “Personally I’m more than good with taking care of myself.”
“Agreed,” Claire said
“All of you are freaks.” Cassandra shook her head. “Why do something yourself when you can have someone take care of it for you?”