by Mark Souza
Moyer checked the box labeled NO.
“Are you on any medication?”
“No.”
Moyer pulled up a file on his tablet. “I’m going to show you a series of images and I want you to tell me what you see.”
Anna looked cynical. Moyer brought up the first black and white image and turned his tablet to face Anna.
She crinkled her nose. “Rorschach? Does anyone use that anymore?”
“Miss Bonderenko, you are here to participate in testing, not criticize the test methods. Please watch the screen and describe what you see.”
Her eyes blazed and jaw muscles tightened. After a few moments she turned her attention to the ink blot, and studied the blob intently, cocking her head to one side as if more meaning could be garnered from the change in perspective.
“I see it now. It’s a man and a woman. She’s standing over him having plunged a knife into his chest. Behind them is a toilet and it’s plainly obvious that he’s left the seat up again.” She flashed a smile. “I guess he had it coming.”
Moyer stifled a laugh. He regained his wits, put a neutral expression on his face and recorded her response.
Anna’s brow pinched as if she was confused by Moyer’s reaction. “Hey, they’re your pictures,” she said, “I’m simply calling a spade a spade. Kind of kinky if you ask me.” She reached across the table and touched Moyer’s hand. Moyer flinched as if he’d been electrocuted. A sly smile softened her expression. “I don’t bite. I’m just playing with you. It looks like a bird.”
Moyer scratched out Anna’s first answer and let out a frustrated sigh. “Miss Bonderenko, how much time remains on your sentence?”
“Eight years.”
“And how important is the reduction in sentence to you? Do you want out of this program?”
“No, please,” she pleaded. “I’m sorry about before. I’ll do whatever you want. I can’t do eight more years.”
A cold veil fell over Anna. The flirting was over, the fire gone from her eyes. Moyer immediately regretted jerking back the reins so brutally. How long had it been since she’d been able to flirt or be in the company of a man, even a married one? How long since she’d discussed her passion for literature? It was cruel to wield as heavy a weapon as her freedom for the sake of test data.
“You know the real irony?” she said. “They’ll never let me teach again. What kind of life will I have, really? And the truth is I am still the person they arrested four years ago. It’s only a matter of time before they arrest me again for something else. They'll never let me free because they think I'm a threat.”
By day’s end, Moyer had eliminated only two candidates, and Petro one. As they talked, Moyer expressed his surprise at the nature of the crimes the subjects were imprisoned for. “They were so normal. Beforehand, I was terrified. I pictured being alone and defenseless with violent savages. Most of the subjects I saw were in for debts, or contrary political beliefs.”
“It was the same for me,” Petro said. “The one person I eliminated was due to depression related to being imprisoned. Ironic, huh? I felt horrible for kicking him out.”
Monday, 5 February
Robyn leaned against the wall next to Moyer observing the other couples arrive for class. Her back ached from work and Moyer appeared ready to fall asleep on the spot. All the overtime was taking a toll on him.
Mrs. Wagstaff’s face was more dour and determined than ever. She paced at the front of the classroom still clad in her coat while she eyed the clock. Eve Ganz was last to arrive, alone again, as was her habit. She settled in beside Robyn. Mrs. Wagstaff cast a disapproving glare at both of them.
“I don’t expect Mrs. Wagstaff will extend me an invitation to lunch when this is all over,” Eve said. Robyn tried to stifle a laugh and snorted.
Mrs. Wagstaff cleared her throat to quiet the class. Behind her was a screen, a simple metal frame fitted with white fabric. She pushed it aside to reveal a selection of carriages and baby carriers and announced, “We are going on a field trip.”
Couples timidly advanced toward the pile. Robyn hurried to assure she’d get a carriage. She didn’t care what the other couples thought, her back hurt and she’d be damned if she’d carry that heavy anchor of a plastic doll around town strapped to her shoulders.
She latched onto the only Glider model stroller in the bunch and wheeled her prize to the far side of the room. She swaddled her doll and placed it inside. Then she nestled a knitted cap on its head, sure that if she didn’t, Mrs. Wagstaff would castigate her in front of the class again.
“We will be seeing a pediatrician to learn baby first aid,” Mrs. Wagstaff announced.
It was a brisk winter night. The class followed their instructor to the nearest tube station bunched in small groups based on friendships built during classes, with the exception of the Perezes who walked alone. They were laborers taking a class in the wrong part of town. Robyn thought of asking them to join her, Moyer and Eve. They did have being outcasts in common, but she didn’t feel comfortable offering.
She listened to the conversations nearby. A small clutch of women discussed what they had heard concerning infant nutrition from other mothers and documentaries. They blathered on and on about it. Robyn rolled her eyes at Eve, eliciting a commiserating grin.
The three of them sat together on the same bench waiting for the tube to arrive. Moyer nodded off moments after sitting down. Robyn set the brake on the carriage so she could talk to Eve without worrying about it rolling away.
A boisterous group of people descended the station steps. They were young and trendy and looked to be returning from a party in high spirits, happy, talking, and laughing.
Robyn remembered when she and Moyer used to go out on weekends, before the baby stole all their money, before scrimping bludgeoned the joy from their relationship. The group settled onto the platform seemingly oblivious to the presence of Mrs. Wagstaff’s class. They discussed a new band, stole occasional glances down the track.
A woman with an easy smile tapped Robyn on the shoulder. She was tall and blond, wearing the latest fashion, the type of clothes Robyn used to wear. In fact, she could have been Robyn’s twin in her college days.
“Do you know when the next train is coming?” the woman asked.
“It should be along any minute. Say, is your dress a Terrilyn Picci?”
The woman’s smile brightened. “Yes it is.” Her dress had no corporate logos. She was young and free and probably had a good job. Robyn’s blouse carried a small Bixby’s logo. As a result, it was 20% cheaper, and as logos went, it wasn’t so offensive. It told the world she was a mother, or mother-to-be. Sure, pretenders often wore Bixby logos too, but she knew she wasn’t a pretender this time and there were worse advertisements to be branded with.
“I love her stuff. I used to wear a lot of it back in the day,” Robyn said.
Mrs. Wagstaff roared from across the platform. “Mrs. Winfield, what are you doing?”
Robyn froze for a moment then snapped her head toward her instructor. Moyer jerked awake beside her. His eyes fluttered as he struggled to awareness, confused over where he was.
“Where is your baby?”
“It’s –” Robyn checked inside the carriage. It was empty. She searched for the blond woman. She was gone as well, and so were her companions. She turned to face Mrs. Wagstaff, a stunned expression on her face.
Mrs. Wagstaff scowled. “The world is filled with baby thieves. If you won’t care for your child, someone else will.” Mrs. Wagstaff sidled up to Robyn’s empty carriage. “What did Mrs. Winfield do wrong, class?”
“She allowed herself to be distracted,” Mrs. Monroe offered.
“Yes,” Mrs. Wagstaff said. Her face bore a smug grin Robyn wished she could slap away. “A parent must be ever vigilant. Danger lurks everywhere. What else?”
“She used a carriage,” Mrs. Everett said.
“Correct. Carriages are for decoys only. The cautious mother uses a papoose
carrier so her baby is strapped to her body and much harder to steal. Now as many of you may have guessed, today’s class is not on baby first aid. It’s about security.”
The clop of hard bottomed shoes approached, resonating off pallid yellow wall tiles as the same group of revelers descended the stairs to the tube landing. The tall blonde in the Terrilyn Picci dress approached with Robyn’s brown doll dangling from her hand. She unceremoniously dropped the chunk of plastic in Robyn’s lap and kept on walking.
Mrs. Wagstaff continued, “Babies are a precious commodity, expensive and hard to come by. You would be horrified to know how many people are ready to take yours, and to what lengths they will go. I will teach you what to look for, and how to protect yourself and your baby. I wouldn’t want you to become a victim like Mrs. Winfield here.”
Chapter 15
Friday, 12 February
Inside Petro’s apartment, Robyn played with Kelsey’s daughter on the floor while Kelsey set the table for dinner. Moyer and Petro sat on the sofa and talked shop. Brooke had grown so much since Robyn had last seen her. Her eyes were open and wide, drinking in everything. She sat up on her own. When Robyn smiled, Brooke smiled back with her toothless grin. When Robyn put out a finger, Brooke clutched at it with a surprisingly fierce grip. When Robyn feigned shock, Brooke let out a high, rich chortle that melted Robyn’s heart.
“How is baby class going?” Kelsey asked.
Robyn glanced up, “Okay I guess. I think the instructor hates me.”
“Which one did you get?”
“A resentful shrew of a woman named Mrs. Wagstaff.”
Kelsey’s eyes lifted from the place settings she was arranging. “I had Mrs. Wagstaff. I thought she was very good.”
Robyn couldn’t believe it. “Are we talking about the same woman? Mrs. Wagstaff picks on me constantly and I don’t know why. I haven’t done anything to her.” A familiar acrid stench made Robyn scrunch her nose. The brown doll lay beside her, its vacant glass eyes staring into space. “I hate these damn dolls. All they do is poop and choke. Moyer,” she yelled, “the baby’s dirty and it’s your turn.”
Moyer shot her an annoyed expression. He said something to Petro before retrieving the doll. He held its bottom to his nose sniffing carefully, and wagged his head. “It isn’t the doll.”
Robyn cast a shrewd eye on Brooke. “Do you have something to tell me, darling?” The baby cooed and reflected back Robyn’s smile. Robyn rolled her over so Brooke’s bottom faced up. She lowered her nose to the back of Brooke’s diaper and cringed. “It’s yours,” she said to Petro. Petro pretended not to hear.
“I’ll take care of it,” Kelsey piped.
Robyn settled Brooke onto the floor and moved over to give Kelsey elbow room. Kelsey brought a diaper and wipes with her. She sat and positioned Brooke on the carpet in front of her, and spoke to her daughter in a string of nonsensical syllables as she unpeeled the diaper tapes. Brooke stared and gurgled her bubbly reply through a broad grin, eyes rapt on her mother’s face. When Robyn opened the diaper, a shock wave of stench pushed her back. Robyn stood and stumbled away. “My God, that could kill fish. It’s so much worse than the doll. Is this normal?”
Kelsey giggled and nodded at her daughter while she efficiently wiped up the pasty brown mess. Robyn pinched her nose and glanced at Moyer. This was not what she expected. Babies were looking less appealing by the day. What had happened to the sweet aroma of baby talc? In less than a minute, the diaper change was only a memory. Brooke lay on her side entranced in an effort to capture her toes.
Robyn’s eyes drank in all the baby equipment Petro and Kelsey had assembled; the carriage from their visit four months before, the decoy and papoose carrier, the jumping gym, the high chair and Patriot model crib. Robyn did the math in her head and it was quite a sum.
She checked for Moyer. He was busy talking with Petro, which was just as well. Moyer hated when she asked deeply personal questions. “When you negotiated for your baby, did Perko gut your savings like he did with us?”
Kelsey nodded.
“Then if you don’t mind me asking, how did you manage? You’re so well stocked.”
Kelsey’s face bore a pained expression. “It was a gift of sorts from Petro’s father. He elected for euthanasia over a state pension and directed the pension benefit to us.”
“Think your father would do that for us?” Moyer quipped. He’d been eavesdropping. If he was making jokes, her nosiness must have been excused.
Kelsey’s imminent return to work dominated dinner conversation. Her maternity leave was almost over. If she took anymore time off, she and Petro would have to start paying her employer for the loss of Kelsey’s productivity. Robyn commiserated and wondered if she was eligible for maternity leave as a laborer. She made a mental note to find out.
Petro started talking of work and the new test program. The turn of topic made Moyer antsy, but Robyn welcomed it. Moyer was so hush-hush about his job.
“Has Moyer brought up his new girlfriend?” Petro said. Petro gazed at Robyn and grinned in response to her stunned reaction. He glanced over at Moyer. Moyer looked angry.
“Apparently not,” Petro said. “It’s a delicious story.”
“Move on to something else,” Moyer warned.
“No,” Robyn said, “I think I should hear this. Go ahead.”
Petro’s smile broadened. He placed his forearms on the table and leaned forward conspiratorially. “So Berman, our boss,” he said nodding toward Kelsey, “the scary guy I mentioned before, he told us we needed to take over the test program for the new product now that Sasaki is no longer in the picture. They brought us a trainload of prisoners as test subjects. Old Moyer and I were pretty frightened figuring we might have to be alone with some pretty unsavory characters. But instead, they’re a bunch of debtors and dissidents. And sitting right in the front row is this gorgeous brunette. Well, Moyer’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. He jumped right in and took charge. And as you well know, for Moyer, that’s pretty shocking. Before you know it, he’s arranged for what’s-her-name, Anna, to be in his group.
“I checked in her file and she’s some sort of radical college professor, likes to read books, right up Moyer’s alley,” Petro’s eyes glistened. “I noticed he takes a lot longer to interview her than he does anyone else. I kind of wonder what’s going on in there.”
Robyn sensed Moyer’s anger at Petro smoldering. She was angry as well, as much with Petro as with Moyer.
“Stop it, Petro,” Kelsey warned.
“Well it’s true,” Petro said.
“She’s just a test subject,” Moyer assured Robyn. “A prisoner.”
“Not after testing is done. Then she’s a free woman,” Petro added.
Moyer slammed his fists into the table, “Knock it off. You aren’t funny this time.”
The baby flinched at the crash of Moyer’s fists and seemed emotionally confused for a moment. Then Brooke’s mouth turned downward into a frown and she began to bawl.
“Now look what you’ve done,” Kelsey said to Petro. She rushed to her daughter and scooped her up trying to soothe her and quell her crying.
Moyer directed his attention at Robyn. “Honey, there’s nothing to it.”
“Really,” Robyn said sarcastically. “Then why didn’t you mention her before?”
“B-b-because it wasn’t important.”
“We’re going to have a child, Moyer. How could you?” She stood and rushed out of the room.
Petro called after her, “Hey I’m only kidding, just trying to get old Moyer’s goat.”
“Well I guess you were successful. Are you happy?” Moyer said as he raced out after his wife.
Monday, 15 February
Monday morning, Moyer found it hard to concentrate on work. Interviewing Anna again was all he could think of from the time he boarded the tube in the morning. After entering data from the initial interviews, Moyer sent the report to Petro so he could enter his data and cross c
heck the results. He focused on the clock marking out time, tried to will it into speeding up. At 10 a.m. security agents led test subjects into Digi-Soft.
During his initial interview, Moyer was struck by the facial resemblance between Anna Bonderenko and a hologram of his mother he kept at home. The similarities were more than physical. Though he recalled little about his mother’s personality, from the stories his father told, Anna seemed very much like the woman he described.
Anna entered the interview room wary as a hare. The security agent that escorted her closed the door as he exited and Moyer and Anna were alone. She sat at the table and rested her hands in her lap. She mindlessly picked at her cuticles with restless fingers.
Though her posture appeared submissive, her eyes smoldered. She was still angry at him from their previous session. He knew the only reason she had returned was the promise of freedom. Inwardly he wondered if she also craved company, and whether it was that he was male or literate that appealed to her more.
Moyer set his tablet with the new questionnaire on the table. “I apologize for before. I overreacted. I didn’t mean to threaten you.”
Anna’s disposition didn’t change. It was clear there would be no lighthearted banter between them today. The hierarchy had been established as well as Moyer’s means of maintaining it. There was no going back.
Moyer sighed and sat in the chair next to hers. “Let’s get on with it then. I will ask you a series of questions. You will answer with a numeric response between one and five. One means you feel strongly positive. Five is strongly negative. And three is neutral. Do you understand?”
Anna nodded.
“Do you agree with your conviction?”
“Five,” Anna said without emotion or hesitation.
“Do agree with the policies of the Consolidated Board of Directors and the Chief Executive Officer?”
Anna’s mouth drew into a tense line and she turned away from Moyer and glared at the wall.
“Miss Bonderenko?”
