“Quick, tell the Custodians,” called out another boy. Homosexuality being illegal, and all that.
Ryan made his entrance at that point. “I miss something, class?” he asked, scowling, as he set the roll on his desk.
Taking my seat at the back, I sought out his eyes, unable to shake the nagging suspicion that he could have told the six boys who I was. He shot a look in my direction as he started calling out the roll, his brow creased, clearly downcast about something. I sighed and scribbled abstract symbols into the surface of my desk, reflecting that moodiness was normal for him, a consequence of his fellow Custodians shunning him. They didn’t take kindly to whistle blowers.
I went back to doodling, conscious of the black looks Jazza was sending my way. If looks could kill...
* * *
I woke feeling a sense of relief the next morning, and realised I didn’t have to go to high school because it was Saturday. It didn’t meant I didn’t have to study, though –Mr. Cho always kicked off Saturday mornings with a double period of Social Morality, where we studied the Founders’ teachings and how to implement them successfully into society.
Mr. Cho had something different planned for today, though, for he didn’t pick up his copy of A Better Way and start reading from it. Instead, he stood solemnly at the front of the classroom and cleared his throat.
“Last night, during the council cabinet meeting, the chancellor revealed a new initiative that will, over the next few months, involve all of the Specialists. Madison, Suyin, Bhagya, and Chelsea, pack your toiletries and report immediately to Doctor Jeong on the third floor,” he said.
My sisters stood without hesitation but I broke form by remaining in my seat and lifting my hand.
Mr. Cho glared at me. “Did you misunderstand my instructions, Chelsea?”
“Not at all, Sir, but if you don’t mind my asking, what is this new initiative?”
“The Chancellor wants to know if your genetically engineered modifications, specifically your ability to echolocate, can be passed on to your progeny.”
That brought mixed reactions, some girls gasped, others exchanged hurried glances, and others simply gaped at the councillor.
“And how will this be determined, Sir?” I had a horrible feeling as to where this was heading.
“Through in vitro fertilisation–” he began.
The girls started speaking at once, except for Bhagya, who remained rooted to the spot, eyes locked on Mr. Cho, her slim body shaking almost imperceptibly.
“We’re going to be impregnated?” I tried to hide the indignation and horror I felt from my tone, but I failed.
“Isn’t that what I just said?” Mr. Cho snapped.
“But with whose seed?” I suddenly wished I was back in high school, facing off with Jazza and his thugs. Anything but what Mr. Cho was insinuating – that I be subjected to an IVF pregnancy without even being asked for my consent. This was a total abuse of my personal rights, an unacceptable invasion of my personal space.
“The sperm has been donated by the councillors,” he replied.
At that admission, most of the girls started twittering amongst themselves with great excitement, as though having a pregnancy forced upon them was welcome now they knew it was from the members of the town’s ruling council.
I realised I should react in the same way, but I just couldn’t! I remembered that one of the primary reasons for desiring to leave Newhome two years ago was because I wanted to escape the town’s custom of getting girls married, pregnant, and barefoot in the kitchen at the age of eighteen.
“This is a great honour, Chelsea!” Mr. Cho was watching me carefully now, no doubt concerned by the emotions of revulsion and indignation that were visible on my face. Why did I have to wear my emotions on my sleeve where everyone could see them?
“Is the chancellor one of the donors, Sir?” Madison asked keenly.
“No.”
Madison pouted, disappointed. I looked at her, aghast. She was twenty, the chancellor was, what? Over seventy? And she wanted to bear his child? I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“Will we be informed which councillor has donated the sperm used to fertilise our eggs, Sir?” Suyin asked excitedly, like a small girl receiving her first sewing kit. I had to hold my breath to keep myself from throwing up.
“That information will be kept confidential,” he replied. He looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “Any more questions, Chelsea?”
“Is participation in this program mandatory or voluntary?” I asked.
“You wish to reject the honour afforded you by being asked to serve the chancellor in this way?”
He had me there and I knew it. “No, of course not, Sir,” I lied, bowing my head in respect. Bhagya turned towards me ever so slightly, looking at me from the corner of her eye. I panicked, suddenly afraid she’d blow the whistle on my lie, but to my relief, she remained silent.
“I’m glad to hear it. Now off you go. Doctor Jeong is waiting.”
I wanted to ask who would raise the babies, but figured I’d already worn out my welcome by asking questions none of the other girls did. This one I would run by the doctor.
The entire third floor of the Genetics Laboratory was a hospital, complete with operating theatre, intensive care unit, a long, winding ward that accommodated many beds, and other rooms as well.
As soon as we exited the elevator, a grim male nurse escorted us to the gynaecology unit, a compact, white room packed with workstations, cots, and various types of diagnostic imaging equipment.
A Korean doctor with greying hair stood from behind a workstation and ushered us inside. I winced when he examined us with a critical eye, as though inspecting a slab of meat. He snatched a pile of hospital gowns from a shelf and handed them out to us.
“Get changed and wait for your names to be called.” He spoke down to us, as though we were too far beneath his station to warrant showing us even the barest modicum of respect. He pointed to a pair of changing rooms to the right.
“May I ask a question, Doctor?” I asked when I received the flimsy garment.
“You are not here to ask questions.”
That got my back up. “Doctor, we are human beings, not lab rats to be experimented on willy-nilly, nor automatons for you to order about as takes your fancy. If you desire my cooperation, the least you can do is answer my question.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Chelsea!” Suyin gasped as though she just witnessed me commit an unforgivable sin. Even Madison seemed shocked by my outburst.
“You are Chelsea Thomas, the new girl,” the doctor said. It was a statement, not a question. I should have realised he’d have a detailed dossier on me.
“That’s right.”
“What is the question?” he snapped impatiently.
“Why were we chosen for this honour, Sir? You know, over the other nine girls?” I asked, voice shaking as my confidence began to waver.
“You four were chosen because your weekly medical check-ups revealed you to be at the peak of your ovulation cycle. The other girls will be brought in when they reach the same phase. Now, if you don’t mind?” He pointed at the changing rooms.
“Oh, I see. Thank you,” I said, recalling what I had learned about the human reproductive cycle when studying my brother’s year eleven biology textbook. “One more question, if I may. Will we be permitted to raise the babies ourselves after they are born?”
“They will be raised by the state.” He looked me in the eye as he spoke, but I couldn’t help but notice that an odd expression fled across his face. I looked to Bhagya, wondering if she could tell if he was hiding something. I wondered if the children would be raised in the chancellery by their sperm-donor fathers, or in the lab, being constantly poked, prodded and. My feeling of unease intensified. Something was off here.
I nodded, wanting to ask another question, but he held up his hand, forestalling me. “No more questions. Get changed and wait until you are summoned.”
When the curtain fell closed behind us, I saw that her whole body was shaking, as though shivering from the cold.
“Are you okay?” I asked. I certainly wasn’t.
“Okay? What sort of question is that?” she replied, straight-faced.
Recalling Romy mocking her about visits to a psychiatrist, I took her dark-skinned hand in my white one. “If this is too much for you, you have to tell them.”
She pulled her hand firmly from mine. “You have a lot to learn, Chelsea.”
I took a deep breath, let the matter drop, and quickly changed into the hospital gown. It was an embarrassingly flimsy garment which I had to lace at the back. That done, I sat beside Bhagya on one of the room’s three plastic chairs, subconsciously fingering my bruised ribs. I hoped the doctor didn’t need to give us a full medical exam, because the cat would be out of the bag if he did. My companion bounced her legs nervously up and down while examining the backs of her hands.
We heard the doctor call for Madison, and sometime later, Suyin. Unable to stand the suspense, I stood and paced our small changing room.
“Are you okay?” Bhagya asked, still without emotion.
“I don’t want to do this.”
“Chelsea, it is our honour to serve the chancellor in whatever capacity he requires.”
“But all this – being artificially inseminated – it’s not what I envisioned when I came here.”
“What did you envision would happen when you came here?” she asked flatly.
“I don’t know, being with my own kind, doing odd jobs for the chancellor. Not being experimented upon.” Also trying to find out what the geneticists were up to, but I couldn’t exactly tell her that.
“Chelsea, you shouldn't be having thoughts like that, not after spending two weeks in the Round Room. Your desire to serve and honour the chancellor should consume your every waking thought.”
“I understand that, but–”
She caught my hand and pulled me back down to the chair beside her. “Didn’t your time in the Round Room open your eyes to the truth? Didn’t it set you free from the misconceptions, misdeeds and rebelliousness of your past?”
“Yes, but–”
“If it didn’t, you’ll have to do another stint in there.”
I looked into her striking brown, tawny-flecked eyes, wondering for a moment if she was trying to warn me. Seeing her staring back at me without the slightest hint of compassion quickly put paid to that idea.
My mind was a mess of conflicting thoughts. With all marriages in Newhome arranged by the fathers, I never expected I would have a happy one. However, the thought of having my own children one day was a pleasant one. But this? An IFV pregnancy dictated by the establishment, outside the bounds of marriage, and without being allowed to raise the child myself? It was too much!
Then, somehow, Bhagya’s words got through to me. If I served the chancellor by having this baby, it could be a step in my journey to atone for my past misdeeds. Ninety people perished because of me, but if I could pass on my biologically engineered enhancements to a child, that child could make a valuable contribution to society. Besides, I didn’t want another stint in the Round Room.
“You know what, I’ll be fine,” I said at last.
“Good to hear it.” She let go of my hand and resumed bouncing her legs. A moment later, the nurse called my name from outside the curtain. I rose hesitantly, glanced uneasily at Bhagya, and left the room.
When I entered the gynaecology unit wearing only the somewhat insubstantial hospital gown with a revealing split down the back, I felt so exposed that I couldn’t lift my eyes from the floor. My thoughts turned to Ryan, and wondered if he still would have sent me here had he known I would go through something like this. That thought brought back the horrors I’d endured at the hands of Jazza, Stefan and Carver, and the questions that inundated my mind about Ryan. Was he really part of a resistance group? Was he working with the Patriot? Did he tell them who I was? Or was he secretly working for the chancellor?
“Chelsea Thomas?” the doctor repeated.
“Sorry, coming.”
He led me to a large piece of equipment at the far side of the room. It looked like an MRI scanner I saw in Brandon’s textbooks, except the body was shorter and the mouth wider. The machine was in pristine condition, but it looked old, as though it had been built decades ago. I tried to combat my increasing anxiety by reminding myself I was making a valuable contribution to society by submitting to this procedure.
“Lie on the couch,” he said.
Going by the location of the headrest, I would be going in feet first. Shaking uncontrollably – even though the room was warm – I lay on the couch, tightly gripping the hem of the garment, lest my thighs and private parts be revealed.
The nurse laid a folded, thick-weave cotton blanket over my torso, after which he brought over an intravenous drip.
“You’re putting me to sleep?” I asked.
The doctor glanced at me from where he was adjusting some of the settings on the machine but didn’t respond.
“Sir?”
He scowled, clearly annoyed. “The procedure is entirely automated, but causes some measure of discomfort. Now spread your legs and raise your knees.”
“Fully automated?” I asked, looking at the metal monstrosity with no small amount of trepidation.
“It accomplishes in one procedure what used to take our ancestors three to five days.”
“The geneticists designed this machine?” I asked.
“Full of questions, aren’t you.”
“Sorry,” I said, but didn’t avoid his piercing gaze.
“Lie still, it’s time to begin the procedure,” he said at last.
The nurse wiped the back of my hand with a sterile swab and inserted the intravenous drip in the back of my left hand. I felt something cold snake up my left arm, and then...
...woke in a hospital bed in one of the rooms I saw previously. The rooms in the ward all opened into one central, winding corridor, with only curtains to provide privacy, should it be required. I was still wearing the hospital gown, though the intravenous drip was gone, and a small bandaid covered the puncture wound. Strangely, I didn’t feel any different than I did previously.
A tall nurse with neatly combed red hair and an awful lot of freckles was walking by. Noticing I was awake, he came to my bedside.
“How do you feel?” He was young, mid-twenties at a guess.
“I’m okay, I guess. Did the procedure work?”
“Of course.”
“So I’m...”
“Pregnant, yes.”
Just like that, my whole world had changed into something unrecognisable. “What happens now?” I asked.
He pointed to my neatly folded dress on table near the wall. “As soon as you feel up to it, get dressed and return to level one. Mr. Cho is expecting you. The others have already gone down.” And then he was gone, pulling the curtain shut behind him so I could get changed in privacy.
I felt a little groggy, but climbed out of bed and donned my clothes as quickly as I could manage. I couldn’t get out of the hospital gown fast enough. As I changed, my hand strayed to my stomach, as though I could somehow make a connection with the small life growing within me. That I was pregnant sent my senses reeling – I couldn’t believe this was actually happening. I could imagine my mother’s reaction to my being pregnant out of wedlock – she’d be absolutely mortified. Then again, she adored the chancellor, so she’d probably give blind allegiance to this. My father would be more supportive, but then again, what was the point of even considering my parents’ reaction when I may not ever see them again. Besides, it wasn’t as though I was actually going to keep the baby. They would be grandparents but would never see their grandchild.
A flash of irritation
passed through me when I recalled that I didn’t know who the father – the donor – of my baby was. I wondered if I would agree to knowing his identity if the offer was made. Maybe it was better I never knew.
Dressed, I thrust back the curtain and headed for the elevator.
* * *
Back on the first floor, everything felt the same, yet also completely different. I popped into our dorm and dropped off my bag. Catching sight of myself in the full-length mirror set into my wardrobe’s door, my gaze went immediately to my stomach. I was in a daze, barely able to comprehend that there was a life growing there. And that I was “volunteered” for this without my permission. This whole scenario felt so wrong, even though I understood I was doing a great service to the chancellor by going along with it.
I was so distracted, standing there staring at the mirror, that I didn’t register the soft footfalls until it was too late. A hand with an iron grip grasped my upper arm and pulled me roughly around.
Romy stood before me, her normally pale face red, her eyes wide with rage.
“What?” I snapped
“Why you?” she snarled.
“Why me what?”
“I understand the other three being chosen to receive this honour, them being the first three brought to the lab. But you? You’ve only been here a few months. It should have been me, not you.”
“Ever occur to you that they don’t share you’re over opinionated view of yourself?” I said. I should have told her that our being chosen had nothing to do with how long we’d been in the lab, but on the state of our ovulation cycle, but I just couldn’t give her the satisfaction.
“You’re accusing me of being conceited?” If her eyes widened any further they would pop out of her head. “You’re the one who came waltzing in here like you owned the place, trying to show us all up just like you did when you lived out there in Newhome Proper. Passing yourself off as a boy, flaunting the chancellor’s regulations, bringing about the breakout.”
Forager - the Complete Six Book Series (A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Series) Page 109