by JN Chaney
The truth was that the lounge was always meant to be elegant, its seats lined with different colors—green, blue, purple, red—hardly a hint of the gray murk that infested the rest of the city. There was a reason the older mothers grew tired of this place—it reminded them of all the things they could never have, an echo of another life outside the closed off silver walls of their hidden metropolis.
The whole thing gave Mara a headache.
“Oh, Mara!” called a voice from across the room. “Happy Mother’s Day! I wasn’t sure you were coming.”
“Hello, Rayne.”
“Bring your documents?” She said as she scurried over.
“Of course.” Mara pushed the pad across the table. “This isn’t my first time, you know.”
“Oh, come on.” She snorted. “You know I’m only teasing.” She took the pad and sorted through its files, her eyes widening a bit as she found the right one. “So…this is him?” She showed the picture to Mara, revealing a smiling young boy with dirty blond hair and green eyes. Short for his age. Quick to learn. Quiet. Her son. “He looks quite handsome, Mara. Oh, you always make the prettiest babies!”
“His name is Terrance,” she said.
“Terrance? That’s a nice name. Was he a good boy? I’m sure he was! Oh, but you’ve still got the girl, too, right? Has she been asking about him? Seems like she would be. Oh, it’s always so hard on them when they’re separated, but that’s the way it works, right? Give them attachments when they’re young so they develop into perfect law-abiding citizens.”
“Was there something you needed, Rayne? I have a bit of a headache right now and—”
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Did you hear about the quarantine? I can’t believe all those poor people died! Honestly, you’d think the contractors could do a better job insulating the city, but I suppose mistakes happen when you’re way out in the slums like that. Imagine living that far from Central. It’s no wonder the maintenance crews barely make it out there.”
“If you say so,” said Mara.
“Anyway, I need to get to my table. Just wanted to swing by and say hello to my old friend.” She giggled and slid the pad back to Mara. “Can you believe it’s already been seven years? Just think, both our boys are finally together, going to school. Isn’t it wonderful? Oh, but I’ll leave you to it. Feel better, okay? And let’s get together sometime soon. It’s been so long.”
She left smiling, heading back to her table. Poor, annoying Rayne. The woman was always so happy—so full of that tiring, high-pitched banter that never seemed to end. She and Mara had been close once, a long time ago before the program.
Back when Mara took the AGP tests, she and several mothers were placed into a special bracket of mothers. Each of these women had scored within the tenth percentile, which meant they had first rights to all sponsors and were allowed to produce as many children as they wanted. Mara scored higher than all the other mothers in her age group. Rayne, who was only a few months younger, scored second. A woman’s AGP score became her shield, her authority. A golden ticket.
A few years later, a young officer named Bishop came to them with a request. When he asked to run his tests, nobody argued. When the injections began, they welcomed them. Embryos, part human and part Variant, became the building blocks of the future. “We’re making a better world,” Bishop told them.
Months later, a group of soldiers and doctors took the mothers to an exclusive wing of the hospital and had several of their eggs extracted. The eggs would be frozen for safekeeping.
“No more babies,” Bishop had explained. “Not until it’s time.”
“Why?” Mara had asked.
“We need you ready at a moment’s notice. You can’t be pregnant when the time comes.”
“How long will it be?”
“Not long,” he had said. “Maybe a year. Two at the most.”
So they waited.
It took three years, but eventually a man came to Mara’s door and told her the day had come at last. Mara and Rayne, along with several other women of varying ages, were brought to the hospital and implanted with the seeds of strangers. They had no idea who the fathers were, nor would they ever know.
Mara’s stomach turned at the memory. Why did it have to be me? She pushed the thought out of her mind.
The lights dimmed after a moment. Mara leaned back in her cushioned chair, trying to relax. The ceremony was about to start. The matron would begin with a standard introduction, which would immediately be followed by opening and closing contracts. Today, Mara would present her closing contract to the others for review. Today, she would tell them about her son. Not everything, of course, because certain things surrounding him were classified, but she would give them the fodder they wanted—tell them stories and reflections of a boy she didn’t really know, couldn’t know—and it would be a lie.
A moment passed, and the matron Ava Long stood before the auditorium of whispering youths. She was eloquent, her silver-lined curls bobbing as she stepped toward the microphone. How long had it been since this woman birthed a child of her own?
“Today we meet again,” Ava said. Her voice was just above a whisper. “Some of you are here for the first time. Others are nearing their last. But here we’ve gathered, not an empty seat among us. All of you with your busy lives and schedules and children, you’ve still found the time to convene together to discuss what really matters…the future of the human race. Because isn’t that why we’re here together now? To bring even more living and breathing people into this world so that things go on? And look at all of you, nearly three hundred, isn’t it? I remember hearing stories from my mother of when there were only sixteen.” She took a breath and smiled. “My, just look at how the world has grown.”
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
J. N. Chaney has a Master’s of Fine Arts in Creative Writing and fancies himself quite the Super Mario Bros. fan. When he isn’t writing or gaming, you can find him online at www.jnchaney.com.
He migrates often, but was last seen in Avon Park, FL. Any sightings should be reported, as they are rare.
Check out his dystopian sci-fi series, the Variant Saga.
