Eve of Man

by Giovanna Fletcher

  I stop pruning and look up at her, letting her know she’s got my full attention now.

  “Your mother was a very special woman.”

  “Did you know her?” I ask, my interest piqued. Now that I’m starting to understand the woman who carried me for nine months, I want to hear everything there is to know about her.

  “Not personally,” she admits with a touch of sadness.

  My heart drops with disappointment.

  She glances around us to ensure no one is in earshot, then continues, her voice low and gravelly, quite different from the delicate sound I’m used to hearing from her. “But one of the things that made her special to us women wasn’t that she fell pregnant with a girl but that she had done so away from a laboratory. Whatever your mother and father shared was more efficient than a bunch of men and women in white coats telling us our bodies were useless.”

  “She was tested, the same as everyone else.” I’ve read about it in her own letters, her thoughts of failings echoing Mother Kimberley’s. “She was one of you.”

  “Yes, she was told she was of no use and was sent home to your father…so the story goes,” she adds, with a noncommittal shrug that suggests I’m not the only one to have my suspicions about what we’re told. I realize it’s not just me being kept in the dark.

  “That’s true.” I nod. “My mother wrote about it.”

  “Yes.” A smile appears on her face but doesn’t quite reach her eyes. I wonder if it’s for my benefit or theirs. “I just wonder if the power of attraction and emotion should be so quickly overlooked, Eve. Science has failed us before.”

  “I’m sure it’s advanced since then. What else have they been doing all this time?” I ask.

  Mother Kimberley shakes her head. She thinks I’ve not listened, that her words have gone in one ear and straight out the other, but she’s wrong. I’ve heard them and they’ve made me stand even firmer in my decision.

  Science has failed before.

  Maybe it’ll fail now.

  Secretly, that’s what I’m hoping for, because being responsible for bringing another human, my child or not, into this world doesn’t feel like the right thing to do. And maybe, just maybe, their experimental meddling was Mother Nature’s reason for attempting to kill us off in the first place.

  21

  BRAM

  I can’t sleep.

  No surprises there, I guess, although tonight is different. Usually it’s my brain that keeps me awake, thinking about the missions, the future, and Eve (of course). During the day a river of thoughts is held at bay behind a dam inside my head, but each night it bursts and the river drowns any chance I had of sleep.

  But tonight it’s not my mind that’s keeping me awake. It’s a feeling, a physical feeling, that somewhere in the core of my body something is leaping around. I suppose they call this “butterflies,” although that seems to paint a far gentler mental image than what I’m experiencing. Mine are trapped hummingbirds, flapping tirelessly to and fro, their wings relentlessly strumming the strings of my emotions as I lie in my bunk.

  A small pop breaks the silence and I roll over to see Hartman sitting in the glow of his reading light at his desk in the far corner of the dorm.

  “It’s called bubble gum,” he says, sensing my eyes on him.

  “Huh?” I reply.

  He purses his lips, and a blue bubble starts to appear. It grows and pops, splattering over his nose.

  “It’s vintage!” he says, throwing a small, shiny rectangular piece of paper to me. “Try it.”

  “Jeez, it smells sweet,” I say, folding back the silver foil and sniffing the blue strip of gum inside.

  “Don’t waste it. That stuff ain’t cheap!”

  “Thanks,” I say, avoiding having to try it by subtly slipping it into the chest pocket of my jumpsuit.

  “You’ve not stopped rubbing your fingers together for the past thirty minutes,” he says, and I’m suddenly aware that I’ve been massaging the spot where Eve was touching me earlier, remembering the sensation that my kinetic gloves were creating on my fingers, that she was creating as she guided my hands around that cube.

  “You know you pushed it to the line again today, dude,” Hartman says, and I can’t help but feel he’s finding this subject difficult to approach. “You do realize that I could tell what was going on, both of you playing along that you were intent on completing the Rubik’s Cube—which, by the way, was obviously a totally romantic gesture on your part.”

  Okay, maybe it’s not so difficult for him to approach it.

  “We both know she can solve that thing in no more than twenty moves. I know you can too. I’ve sat here watching you twiddle it around, slept through the constant clicking when you were figuring it out years ago. But today she repeatedly made mistakes. Purposely directing you to make wrong turns, allowing your time on the Drop to last that little bit longer.”

  I don’t say anything. What can I say? He’s totally right.

  “Look, if I can see it, then you can bet your next set of stitches that your dad can too, and if by some freaky miracle he can’t, then Miss Silva certainly can.” He waits for me to fill the silence, but I’ve got nothing to say.

  “You’ve got to be careful. Sometimes I wish they didn’t heal you up so good. Then you’d have the scars to remind you of what happens when you break the rules here. Your dad may not punish you publicly, but he sure as hell makes you pay for it, dude.” He sighs.

  “Today was the longest Eve and I’ve had physical contact,” I say, staring up at the underside of Hartman’s bunk. “I know it’s forbidden.”

  “Exactly! Think how many pilots have lost their jobs, or worse, for that exact reason. Lucas, Kook, that other guy with the weird nose.”

  “Saunders?”

  “Yeah, all of them slowly falling in love with her, then pushing the boundaries of their missions. It’s a criminal offense, Bram! Anything that could potentially put her at risk, that’s a prison sentence, dude,” Hartman warns me. “Don’t think I can’t see what’s going on with you two.”

  He knows me too well. He knows her too. Plus he’s right. It’s beyond stupid. I used to laugh at those pilots who came here, swore their oath to the EPO, and then, wham, fell in love with Eve within the first few months on the job. Saunders, Lucas, Kook…Idiots. I’ve grown up with her and managed to remain professional. Always kept my intentions, my motivations clear. Why this change? Why now? Where have these feelings come from? Am I jealous of the Potentials? Maybe. Has this love been born out of the fear of losing Eve now that she’s being called upon to fulfill her destiny?

  Did I just use the word love?

  Maybe I’ve always loved her.

  * * *

  —

  “Hello?” her innocent voice calls. “What’s your name?”

  “I’m Holly,” I reply, staring at Eve’s incredible face through the prototype visor my father has just finished. Her big blue eyes are trying to figure me out, as though they’re staring into my mind even though we aren’t even in the same room.

  “Who are you really?” she says. So smart.

  I feel the nervous energy from the grown-ups surrounding me, even though I can’t see them beyond the visor on my face.

  “Cut it off,” I hear Vivian whisper to my father, followed by a rustle of his shirt as he moves to end this session.

  “I’m a kid,” I tell Eve quickly. My father pauses. “Just like you.”

  Eve looks at me. My insides flutter. “I’m Eve,” she says, trying to suppress a smile.

  I sense the glances around the room.

  “Can we be friends?” I say the line as I was instructed to before the session began.

  “Maybe,” she teases.

  * * *

  —

  I sigh.

  “What?” Har
tman asks.

  “Do you think…” I stop myself asking the question.

  “What?”

  I look at him. I can trust him. More than anyone.

  “…that she feels it too?”

  He rolls his eyes, then lets his head hit the table. “Oh, my God, Bram. I can’t believe you said that. I mean, I know you two have been getting closer—I can see that, anyone can see that—but seriously, dude, this is Eve. The person you’re talking about, the girl you’re asking me if I think she’s feeling things for you, is Eve. The. Savior. Of. Humanity. E. V. E.”

  I shouldn’t have opened my mouth.

  “I mean, I thought that was how you were feeling, but I never really thought it, you know what I mean? I never thought you’d be dumb enough to act on those feelings. To let it start affecting our missions.”

  “Okay, okay, forget I said anything!”

  “Oh, believe me, I will! I’m going to erase this whole conversation from my memory, then empty the trash,” he says, while pretending to tip the contents of his brain into the bin next to his desk. “I’m going for a shower. Actually, no, you are.”

  “What?” I ask as he points to the bathroom in our dorm.

  “You, shower, now. You need to cool off. Wash off this craziness and come out with a clear head. I want the old Bram back, professional Bram, top-of-the-leaderboards Bram. Not this lovesick Romeo zombie that’s going to get us both locked up for the rest of our lives. Shower, now,” he orders.

  I reluctantly peel myself from the bed and walk to the shower with my tail between my legs.

  Well, that didn’t go so well, Bram, did it, you complete dumbass?

  The shower is cold but I welcome it. I need it. It’s refreshing and instantly clears my mind. The only problem is that it clears away the last fifteen-minute lecture from Hartman, and now all I’m left with is a fresh flutter of hummingbirds as the cold water reinvigorates them.

  The thing is, he may know Eve, but he doesn’t know her like I do. This isn’t just in my head. Things have changed since she saw my face. She knows what I look like now, the face behind Holly. When she sees Holly, does she see her or me? More importantly, whose face does she want to see?

  I step out of the shower. The water stops automatically and the soft buzz begins of the recycling process that cleans the water and pumps it back into the system. I look at my face in the mirror. My deep brown eyes study themselves, searching for something. An answer? A sign? Jesus Christ, Bram, pull yourself together.

  I know I pushed the boundaries today, I can’t deny that. The rules are black and white: Holly must not initiate physical contact with Eve. Simple as that. But when it comes to Eve initiating physical contact with Holly? That is a gray area. Today was a totally gray mission.

  I guess I went fishing with the cube and Eve took the bait. I can’t promise I won’t go fishing again.

  I dry myself and head back to my bunk.

  “Better?” Hartman calls.

  “Much better, thanks,” I reply. “Look, let’s just forget what I said earlier, okay?”

  “Forget what?” he says, not bothering to look up from whatever he’s reading.

  I climb onto my bed with my hummingbirds, place my hands together, and get back to staring at the bunk above, thinking of what will happen next time I see Eve.

  22

  EVE

  They might have created this pretty Dome for me to grow up in, but the laboratories of my early years have never been far away. They followed me here. Specially built stark-white clinical rooms for me to visit twice a month for scans and blood tests. It’s so routine and monotonous that I’m usually unfazed by having to recline in a hospital chair and splay my legs in stirrups so they can get to work.

  Today is different.

  I’m nervous. I’m tense.

  Usually I’m here so they can observe any changes in my body. They practically held a party when I first started ovulating. Today the room feels even more cold and barren now that a serious task is at hand.

  “Hold your knee up into your side,” Dr. Rankin says without looking at me as she adjusts her prodding stick, causing me to wince at the sensation. I’ve had the same doctor my entire life, but there is no personal relationship between us, no niceties, even though she’s seen more of me than almost anyone else. I am a scientific puzzle to her, nothing more.

  I wonder what would happen if I successfully had girls and this doctor were to die—she must be in her seventies at least, judging by the multiple folds in the skin around her hazel eyes and the S-shaped curve of her spine. Her white coat hangs loosely over her skinny frame, and her walk has turned into a shuffle since I’ve been seeing her. She’s not aging particularly well. At some point she will perish like the rest of them. Will my female children be studied like this, exposed to a man? My body constricts at the thought.

  “Keep still,” Dr. Rankin barks, her large nostrils flaring angrily.

  “Sorry,” I mumble.

  “Thoughts?” Vivian asks over me. She has been standing silently in the corner for the last few minutes. She doesn’t usually bother coming, but today is different. She didn’t seem surprised when I told her I was choosing not to meet Potential Number Three—in fact, it was the first time I’ve seen something resembling relief flit across her stony features.

  “We’re early, but I should be able to retract in a week or so. We’ll need to monitor closely until then,” Dr. Rankin replies, squinting at the screen in front of her through her thick-rimmed glasses.

  Retraction is nothing new. They probably have a freezer drawer somewhere full of my unfertilized eggs, but this time my eggs are being taken on a different journey. Rather than being stilled and preserved, they will be encouraged to live and flourish—to help me fulfill my destiny.

  “How many will there be?” Vivian asks, walking around so that she has a clear view of the screen.

  I never get to see what’s on it. I’m never shown my insides—although I doubt I’d understand what I was looking at, even if they pivoted the screen in my direction.

  “I’d predict only one or two this cycle,” Dr. Rankin replies, the tip of her index finger tapping twice on the image before them. “They’re a good healthy size, though. Exactly what we want.”

  “Great.” Vivian’s eyes are glued to them.

  “There’ll be more next month if things don’t work out this cycle.”

  “They will,” Vivian declares, with the forward tilt of her head that I know means she’s demanding her desired outcome. She doesn’t want to think about plan B.

  “I can only do so much. There are still some variables, as we know,” Dr. Rankin reminds her.

  “Well, limit them.”

  The two women look at each other, and for a split second it seems they’re about to clash. Then Dr. Rankin nods multiple times, conceding to the one in charge.

  “I’ll need a fresh sample from the donor,” Dr. Rankin tells Vivian as she taps at the screen.

  “Fine.”

  “Daily,” she adds authoritatively.

  “Fine.” She forces the word out in a growl. I can practically hear her teeth grind at being given orders to follow. “Koa is already here,” she adds.

  I decided not to look at Potential Number Three’s file, but now I have a name: Koa. I wonder what his background is and where he’s come from, what heritage he’ll be passing on along with his aesthetics.

  The donor. That is what I’ve demoted the possible father of the future to: some swimmers in a cup.

  The rod is moved and I yelp.

  “Honestly,” Dr. Rankin hisses before turning back to Vivian. “We’ll fertilize both and pick the one with the stronger grading. If both are outstanding I’d advise against implanting them together at this time.”

  “We can discuss that if it occurs.” Vivian clearly
disagrees with the medical advice.

  “It’s early days and I advise we take things slowly. There is the risk of it being too much of a strain on her body. Given the medical history of her mother—”

  “Doctor!” Vivian spits. “Know your position.”

  Dr. Rankin is stunned into silence, her cheeks burning a bright red. She doesn’t utter another sound as she peels off her examination gloves and leaves the room.

  Vivian gives the screen one last hard stare and then, without a glance in my direction, follows her out of the open door.

  I breathe a sigh of relief that it’s over, taking a second or two to stop my crying, then freeing my legs from the stirrups. I sit up on the bed and take a moment to still my racing heart.

  23

  EVE

  “You seem distracted,” she observes while we put on our shoes at the end of another dance class. I needed that physical activity. I’ve been transported from my worries and freed as my body bent, twirled, and kicked, spinning unwanted thoughts from my head at great speed. Now that we’ve stopped, it’s time to interact as the anguish elbows its way back in.

  I’ve avoided talking to Holly the whole session, but this one is never shrugged off without a struggle. She’s persistent, and not in an endearing way. I don’t trust Know-it-all Holly.

  “Do I?” I frown at the floor, letting her know I’m not in the mood for her today.

  “Anything on your mind?” she asks, pushing me further. I understand that she’s meant to seem caring and concerned, but instead she sounds false.

  “There’s plenty on my mind,” I snap.

  “Care to share?”

  “No.”