“They all miscarry these days,” Ciddah said as she turned into her office. Mason stopped in the doorway. Ciddah settled behind her desk and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “The plague weakens the body so much that women can’t carry a pregnancy to term. I’ve been asked to explain this to you. I think now is a good time. Have a seat.”
Mason moved a stack of papers off one of the chairs in front of Ciddah’s desk and sat down. Ciddah didn’t speak, simply stared at him, and a Bible verse came to mind: “Who is this that appears like the dawn, fair as the moon, bright as the sun, majestic as the stars in procession?”
The thought embarrassed him. Why suddenly wax poetic over a woman he’d just met? A confusing woman. He stared at his hands, unable to look at her again until she finally spoke.
“The thin plague ravages the immune system,” Ciddah said, “which in turn affects the reproductive systems in both men and women. What you told your outsider friend about Safe Landers being sterile is not completely true.”
A rush of heat seized Mason. “You heard that?”
“Some nationals are sterile. Some are not, but their donations are too weak to survive fertilization, which amounts to the same thing. And some women just don’t have the strength to carry a child to term, even with the help of fertility stims. You were also mistaken about pregnancy. Many women become pregnant in the Safe Lands, but they always miscarry. There hasn’t been a child born to a Safe Lands national in over three years.”
“But Kendall Collin —” Mason said.
“Kendall is an outsider. Like your women, she came to the harem uninfected. But the male donor was infected, so her child will be too.” Ciddah’s eyes were suddenly hard and angry. “I’m not a member of the Safe Lands Guild, but I do know that outsiders are brought here to save our people. We’re dying. And if you and your outsider friends refuse donation, we have no chance of survival.”
Mason sat up tall in his chair. “Your government holds our people against our wills. We don’t owe you anything. And we’ve survived, uninfected, all these years by having a wiser way of life.”
Ciddah huffed and shook her head. “So you say. But you can’t imagine what it’s like for a woman to lose a child.”
Mason could imagine, actually, more than most men. But he didn’t see her point. “What does that have to do with us? You can’t imagine what it’s like to have your freedom taken away.”
“There’s freedom in the Safe Lands,” Ciddah said simply. “If you comply.”
Mason scooted to the edge of his chair. “Forced compliance is the opposite of freedom.”
She raised her eyebrows and looked down her nose. “Not if you choose it.”
“Choosing compliance over death is not freedom,” Mason said, grabbing the edge of her desk and leaning up against the smooth glass. “It’s blackmail.”
Her tone became heated. “You’re a healthy male. It’s your duty to donate!”
Mason didn’t know what to say. Clearly Ciddah was upset. He realized he’d practically climbed onto the end of her desk, so he sank back in his chair, wanting to understand. “You resent me because I won’t donate?”
“Because you’re selfish and narrow-minded.” The words felt like a slap, and Mason didn’t know why. “Thousands of women desperately want to bear a child, yet since it’s not your belief to donate, you refuse. And you leave hundreds brokenhearted.”
Mason took a few short breaths. “I’m sorry women have to experience that kind of pain. But it’s not my wish to mate with hundreds of women.”
Ciddah growled. “You don’t have to! Don’t you get it? The Surrogacy Center does it for you.”
Couldn’t she see how awkward that statement was? “Yes, but it’s still my child. My children.”
“No, it’s not,” Ciddah said, softening her voice. “Children belong to the nation, are raised in the nursery and boarding schools until they’re fourteen.”
Wait, this was what Kendall Collin had been talking about. She’d said that she wanted to hold her child, and Ciddah had said that the child belonged to all of them, but Mason hadn’t understood fully until now. “What of their mothers?”
“Surrogates are given six weeks of rest, then they return to their lives.”
Questions tumbled in Mason’s mind. “What about bonding? What about breastfeeding?”
Ciddah wrinkled her nose. “Bonding is a myth. And breastfeeding isn’t sanitary. Plus, the plague passes through a surrogate’s milk. All infants are given formula. There’s no reason for the mother to stay with the child. The true reward of giving birth is knowing you helped your community survive.”
“The mothers never see their babies again?”
“Surrogates can apply for a revealing. And when a child comes of age, if the child also applies for a revealing, they can meet. Male donors may also apply for a revealing. But both surrogate and child, or donor and child, must apply before a revealing is granted.”
To never know family? To have no parents or siblings? How horrible. The Safe Lands had many good things—excellent medical care, the technology to do things Mason had never imagined—but they were misguided about so many more important things.
Mason looked directly into Ciddah’s eyes. “So you’ve grown up all alone? Never saw your parents together?”
“Like I said, no one does. It’s not how things are supposed to work.”
“In my village,” Mason said, “a man and woman grow fond of one another, spend time with one another, and if they decide they’d make a good match, they appeal to the elders for marriage. If the elders grant their request, a three-month waiting period begins. Then the man, if he hasn’t already, must choose a trade and build a home. And the woman, if she hasn’t already, learns a trade as well. Both are mentored by an elder as to how to be a good husband or wife. At the end of the three months, the man stands before the entire village and announces his intention to marry.” Unless, of course, no one wanted him, and his parents arrange the marriage.
Mason went on. “If no one objects, the wedding is scheduled. Then the mentoring elder joins the couple in marriage and they are declared man and wife. Should they have children, those children live with them in their home until they’re old enough to choose a spouse of their own. That’s the way of my people.”
Ciddah’s cheeks pinked, and she folded her arms. “Some of that sounds comforting, but isn’t it a lot of work to have to have two tasks? Raising a child and working a trade?”
“My mother never complained. And she was a doctor and taught school.”
Ciddah shook out her hair, something Mason now realized she did when nervous. “You’re of age. Did you appeal to your elders to marry?”
Mason didn’t want to mention Mia to Ciddah. It hadn’t been his idea, anyway. “No.”
Again she tossed her hair, this time with a flutter of eyelashes. “Why not?”
Now that Mason could answer. “I didn’t feel … I hadn’t found the right woman yet.”
Ciddah transformed before him then. Gone was her honest anger and vulnerability and personal questions. Her eyes became distant again, her posture stiff. “You must think my people cold and lazy to only work one task.”
“Some of them, yes. But not all of them. Not you.”
She came back to him then, instantly softening at his compliment. “Have you witnessed a birth? A natural birth?”
“Hundreds —of animals.” He chuckled. “But only one human birth.”
This time Ciddah leaned over her desk. “Tell me about it. Please?”
Was she serious? She’d never seen one? Heat crept up the back of Mason’s neck. “It’s … difficult to describe.”
She slapped her palm on the top of her desk. “Mason Elias, you exasperate me with your modesty. Just tell me what you saw!”
Now she was mad again. Ciddah’s moods were like the weather: sunny days, wind, thunderstorms, lightning, and if he waited long enough, the sun would come out again. “Okay,” he said. “But I
hope it’ll help you understand why I’m here in the SC.”
CHAPTER
20
When Mason came to work Monday afternoon, Ciddah sent him up to the task director general’s office. “Lawten wants to see you,” she said.
Lawten? As Mason rode the elevator to the eighth floor, he pondered the reasons Ciddah might be on a first name basis with the task director general. Nothing he came up with pleased him.
Kruse led him inside the office. “It’s the intellectual one, Mr. Renzor.”
See? Even Kruse called the man Mr. Renzor. Without waiting to be asked, Mason sat in the red leather chair in front of the task director’s desk. The man looked … weathered. Mason didn’t really know what made men handsome to women. Muscles seemed to matter. And that sort of rugged, courageous hunter thing Levi and Jordan had going on. Lawten Renzor had neither. Surely Ciddah wasn’t romantically involved with this man.
“We’ve taken the time to show you why donation is important to our survival,” the task director said. “Now, will you comply?”
Not going to happen, Lawten. “I understand why you ask me to donate. But not why I should help. You killed my father, all the elders of my village. You claim to value life, yet you willingly destroyed it. And to clean up the mess you’ve made of your city, you ask me to reproduce with my friends and family. It’s completely unacceptable.”
The task director looked at Mason, his eyes dark, unnerving. “What will make it acceptable?”
“Nothing. Let my people go back to our village to rebuild our lives as best we can.”
“We can’t do that, Mr. Elias. If we let you go free, we die.”
“And you have yet to show me why that’s my problem.”
Those eyes stripped Mason, making him feel exposed. “If you refuse, we’ll be forced to use infected donations on your women. Then their children will be born infected and the process will likely infect the surrogate as well.”
Anger shot through Mason, but it was short-lived. The man was bluffing. “Then you gain nothing. You need uninfected donors if you’re to survive.”
“Yes … You know, we are receiving regular donations from Omar Strong.”
Omar! That foolish, careless … “Sounds like you got what you want, then.”
“I cannot excuse you from donating simply because you have a brother,” the task director said. “There are no such relationships in the Safe Lands. You must do as every other national does.”
Mason clenched his teeth. This man was cruel. Insane. Depraved. “Your actions … Your procedures … You don’t need donations—you need to find a cure.”
“You’re our cure, trigger,” Kruse said, flashing a glowing smile.
Mason stood up and leaned on the task director’s desk. “If I find a cure, will you release me and my people?”
The task director laughed. “What makes you think you can find a cure?”
Mason had no idea how to cure anything, but he said, “What makes you think I can’t?” God, I hope you plan to help me with this one.
“Uh, let’s see now, shellie …” Kruse said. “Our scientists have been looking for a cure since the end of the Great Pandemic and keep failing. Yeah … that’s pretty much it.”
“We do healing differently where I come from,” Mason said, as if his head were filled with secret knowledge. “At least let me try.”
The task director leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “Very well, Mr. Elias. I’ll allow you to see our history and research. But unless you offer something constructive in one month’s time, this experiment will end and Kruse will take you to the Donation Center himself.”
“I don’t understand,” Ciddah said when Mason returned to the Surrogacy Center and found her sitting at her desk in her office. “Contributing to the population is our responsibility as citizens of the Safe Lands. Every male national must donate. Every female must be a surrogate. Why would Lawten excuse you?”
Lawten again. “Because I’m going to find a cure, somehow,” Mason said as he sat in the chair in front of her desk.
Her eyes flew wide, baring every bit of the whites. “For the thin plague?”
When Mason nodded, Ciddah burst into deep laughter, a sound that should’ve annoyed him since she was mocking his plan, but somehow endeared her to him instead.
She stopped laughing. “There is no cure, Mason. Everyone knows that. Most people don’t even want one.”
Not want a cure? So people really were insane here. “Ciddah, if I find a cure, the task director promised to free me and my people.”
Ciddah frowned, her eyes growing distant. “Why do you want to leave so badly? How can you stand living in the dirt?”
Man, she got mean when she was angry. “How can you stand living in a gilded cage?”
Her eyelashes fluttered. “A what cage?”
“Gilded. It means covered in gold.”
She shook her head, tossing her hair over one shoulder.
“It’s a metaphor, Ciddah. I’m saying the Safe Lands is a beautiful cage, but it is a cage nonetheless.”
Her brow scrunched up, wrinkling her forehead as she tried to think of a retort. Mason liked arguing with her just to see her facial expressions.
She finally said, “We stay inside the bell to be safe from the dangers outside.”
“What dangers? Do I look dangerous?” Mason clapped his hand against his chest. “I’m not even infected! The plague only exists inside your walls. The only serious dangers outside these walls are your enforcers murdering or abducting innocent people and bringing them here. You can’t even leave. It’s a cage.”
She lifted her chin. “Some have left, but they always come back and say it’s dangerous.”
“Probably because they don’t know how to survive without all the gilding. The way everything is handed to you here … Who does your hunting? Butchering? Who plants your food? Who makes your clothing? Even I could kill an animal if I had to, though I’d probably live off tubers and vegetation instead.”
Again with the forehead wrinkle. “Must every word from your lips be a riddle?”
Mason grinned. As fun as it was to debate with her, he had work to do. “No more than the words from yours. If you don’t need me for anything else today, I’d like to leave. Lawten said I could work on a cure, but only on my free time.” He stood up and walked toward the door.
“Wait. You’re not going to the HC, are you?”
“If the HC is the History Center, then yes. Lawten gave me permission to read the information on the computers there. Don’t worry. They’ll be monitoring me. I can’t ruin anything.”
She crossed the room and stopped inches from him, bathing him in the smell of vanilla and cinnamon, but she looked down, not to the floor but sort of into nothing, mumbling to herself. “So unfair! Months away from HC access. Stupid Lawten.” She looked up at Mason, forehead crinkled. “You’ve been here two weeks!”
He couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll tell you what I learn, if it means that much to you.”
“How will you even know what you’re looking for?”
Mason shrugged. It was a good point. “I don’t know. But I have to try.”
She grabbed his arm in both hands and tugged. “Take me with you.”
He wanted to. “I don’t have permission to take anyone along. I don’t want to abuse Lawten’s trust.”
Ciddah released his arm. “Why are you calling him that?”
“You do.” Mason waited to see her reaction.
She just stared. Her left eye twitched. “Fine.” Ciddah shoved past Mason and strode down the hall toward the front desk. “I’ll work harder,” she said without looking back. “I’ll reach level ten by the end of the year. Then I’ll have access to the computers too, but I’ll be able to work there during the day. And I’ll have an HC task director to mentor me.” She glanced back, her hair a golden cape swirling with her movement. “You won’t.”
He chased after her. “Ciddah, I don’t
want to compete with you.”
She waved her hand over her head. “I know. You’re just trying to rescue your people from us caged barbarians.” She turned around and started to walk away. “Well, I’m sorry that you hate us so much. That you hate me so much!”
Mason felt completely lost by her reaction. Had he insulted her somehow? Insulted her people? Taken the Lawten comment too far? She was clearly jealous that he could visit the History Center. But calling her jealous wouldn’t temper the situation. He could think of nothing to say that would help, so he simply remained silent and followed her to Rimola’s desk.
When he reached her side, she folded her arms and scowled. “You have nothing to say?”
“I don’t hate you.”
Ciddah slouched, then switched her weight to her other foot, her expression softening again.
How long did he have to stand here? “Um … Do I have your permission to leave?”
“Sure, Mason. Have a fun time.” She flashed an ugly smile and patted his arm.
“O … kay. Thanks.” He headed for the elevators.
Behind him Ciddah growled, walked back down the hall, and slammed her office door.
Mason glanced at Rimola, who seemed to be fighting a smile. Embarrassed for reasons he couldn’t define, he pushed the button to call the elevator.
Women made no sense whatsoever.
CHAPTER
21
The fight with Omar had earned Levi a broken nose, a second X, three nights in a solitary jail cell, and now a meeting with the man who’d killed his father. Levi sat shackled to a chair in a holding cell across a metal table from General Otley.
“Behavior like yours is only permitted in fight clubs, little rat.”
Levi imagined breaking free from his restraints and strangling Otley. But he couldn’t do that even if he had the strength. He was village elder, and so far, he’d done a pathetic job of upholding that rank. His business with General Otley would have to wait until his people were back in Glenrock. For now, it was time to buck up and do what he had to do to get back on the streets.
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