by Eden Wolfe
Lucy was pulled out of the memory by the awkward seat in the examination room which was now cutting into the underside of her thighs. She was adjusting herself when a pair of legs approached her. She was absorbed in the tingling sensation of her backside when the voice spoke.
"Hi Lucy, I'm Doctor Lydia Easom, of the Easom line. We are procreation specialists," a stately woman of around fifty entered, closing the door solidly behind her. “I am your Accompanier. I understand that you attended the recent rally for Willing Women.”
"Yes."
Doctor Easom looked up from the lenses of her glasses, "And that is how you decided to sign up for the Program?”
"Yes.”
Doctor Easom continued to look at her expectantly. Lucy didn’t know what she was supposed to say next. “I met a very nice Willing Woman there.” Doctor Easom nodded but still said nothing. Lucy felt her neck getting hot. “I found the Willing Women passionate about their status."
"Many are," Dr. Eason finally interjected, but speaking quickly while flipping through pages in the folder in front of her, "It's both a calling and vocation. An advancement of Lower Earth. You're a part of something bigger when you're a Willing Woman. What else do you know about the Program?"
"It's a four-month gestational period and a total five-year written commitment."
"Five years is average. It could be shorter or longer depending on circumstances. The minimum is the gestation period plus six months of mandatory breastfeeding."
"Right, of course." Lucy was starting to feel like she was back at school, and not getting the correct answers.
"Have you ever undergone any fertility testing?"
"No, ma'am."
Dr. Eason semi-smiled. "No need to ma'am me, I feel old enough as it is." She began writing in the folder, then paused, staring at the page.
Lucy couldn’t bear the silence. "Were you a Willing Woman?" she asked.
Dr. Eason looked up at her. Lucy sensed it was a more personal question than she had thought. "No. I wouldn't qualify. My vocation is in medical, they require my commitment here."
"Oh yes, of course." Lucy felt stupid.
"Here are the next steps. First, you go for a questionnaire and testing. Blood, tissue, vitals, a few others that are non-invasive. One vaginal review. From there you have a psychiatric assessment to ensure strength of character and assure that there are no aberrations. Finally, you and I will meet again to discuss parameters. You will likely be faced with some difficult questions. That is intentional. Do you have any questions about this?"
"No ma'am. I mean, uh, no."
"In that case, at this stage, I will move you into an interview room and Rita will be right back to go over the questionnaire. You will have an opportunity to ask questions when you and I meet again. But not in the meantime. I need to make this clear. During the testing and review process, you forego the right to discontinue. You may withdraw only after all of the testing is completed. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Does any of what I have said to you here today give you cause to withdraw at this point?"
"No, no." Lucy shook her head more vigorously than she intended.
Doctor Easom nodded in Lucy's general direction and left the room with her folder. Lucy waited what felt like a long time before Rita came bouncing back and invited her to join in another room, one more like a living room than a clinic.
Rita offered up that glittery smile again. "Would you like a coffee? Tea? I believe we still have some biscuits. They are delivered at fourteen hundred hours every day. I just love working here!"
"No, thanks. I think I'm ready for the questionnaire."
"Well, look at you, getting right down to it! I like your energy! Let's jump right in then, shall we?"
The initial questions were basic enough: name, birthdate, family grouping, blood type, siblings, school results. The next set got more personal: successes, failures, dreams, goals. Then what Lucy thought ought to have been the first question:
"Why do you want to be a Willing Woman?"
But before she could answer, Rita was reading out a checklist.
"Tell me all that apply: to experience childbirth, to keep the population of Lower Earth healthy, to contribute to Lower Earth's future, because you have failed in scholarly activities (Lucy winced at that), because it is your calling, because your Willing Mother sent you, because your friends have joined, to see a reflection of yourself in a child's face - " the list went on a little longer, and Lucy quickly said it was for the future, intentionally leaving out her exam results from the story.
There was a written portion to the questionnaire, which Lucy assumed was used to assess literacy as well as suitability. The essay style questions varied from "What kind of Willing Mother would you want to be?" to "What value do you see in a Willing Woman Program?" and "If you were selected to be a Willing Woman, what would change for you?"
It took the better part of an hour before Lucy could return her completed questionnaire to Rita. It was starting to get dark outside.
"Don't you need to finish up soon?" Lucy had never thought to inquire about opening hours.
"Nope, I work through dinner. I just love this place."
To be fair, Lucy found it a pretty nice place too. People were happy to be there. Those in the waiting room smiled or glowed with their pregnant bellies. The walls were colorful with pictures and drawings, except for the clinical rooms, which each opened onto the luscious green garden. The staff were friendly enough, and all went to extra trouble to make her feel welcome. She understood why Rita was willing to put in the extra hours.
Rita explained that the testing would require her to return the next day. Lucy was disappointed; she'd hoped to get it all done in one shot and then have time to consider if this was the path she was going to take. But the decision would have to wait another day.
In the meantime, she'd have to lie, if only by omission, to her mother.
Her mother had taken good care of her since she’d been moved to her in her fifth year. She’d always been gentle and encouraging, if not overprotective from time to time. Lucy could get irritated by how her mother would tout Lucy's accomplishments like she'd done them herself, but her experience at the clinic somehow put that into perspective and she had more patience than usual that evening.
Except when the topic of summer school came up.
"Mother, there is no point right now, you don't seem to understand. I can't keep up. I want to keep studying, but it can't be this way."
"If you put your head down, you’ll be fine. I'll help you, don't worry about that."
"Advanced geometry, mother? You're going to help me with that? Please."
"I'll keep you motivated. Look, it's only one summer, you'll be caught up in no time and then you can seek admissions for any - "
"You're not listening to me. I can't do it. It's not a question of taking another summer, I need to go a different direction."
"A different direction? What in Lower Earth does that mean?"
"There are lots of options out there. I'm just looking into what else could suit me."
"What could suit you better than a tenth floor Central Tower job! You came to me with this plan, I didn't force you. This has been the plan all along."
"It's not anymore, mother! That's it! I can't talk about this anymore tonight." Lucy flew up the duplex stairs and slammed her bedroom door shut. She stared at the ceiling.
What am I doing? Worse, what else could I possibly do now?
She had no answer. So she closed her eyes and accepted that tomorrow would be the day for answers. Not that she had a choice. She was still in the middle of the review.
The clinic seemed somehow less sunny on her second visit, but Lucy chalked it up to poor sleep. The whole thing had weighed heavily on her in the night, and she felt less sure.
Rita seemed to sense this when Lucy came through the door. She had a more soothing tone for her on arrival.
"Well, hello again. What a
delight to have you back. I'm sure yesterday was a lot for you to take in."
"You know, it was."
Rita smiled. "You're not the first. This is a big deal, a huge opportunity, a major change. It's okay to feel uncertain.” Rita sweetly scrunched up her nose, "You'll know what feels right when you finish going through the process."
Lucy didn't have to wait. Rita ushered her in, passing Dr. Easom, who noticed her going by.
"Lucy, I'm looking forward to chatting with you later. We have some things to discuss, but first, you have to finish the tests."
Lucy didn't know what to think of 'things to discuss', so she just gave a small smile.
The tests were not quite as simple as Doctor Easom had made them sound. Blood was one pint, not just a small sample, and Lucy felt lightheaded. Rita brought her biscuits. The tissue samples were also an uncomfortable trip - Lucy felt like she was being surgically carved in four different places.
"Where are you taking it from now?" with her legs in the air, Lucy couldn’t understand what the nurse was doing.
"Your cervix. It's standard procedure."
She'd never felt anything like it and hoped that wasn't something she'd have to do again.
Lucy realized that while she knew a fair bit about the administrative process of becoming a Willing Woman, she didn't know anything about what would happen to her, physically. She asked herself the questions to distract her mind from the poking, prodding, and scraping down below.
Once I'm planted, will they have to take blood and tissue again? How often will I have to come to the clinic? Will I have to take drugs? Will it hurt?
Still, on the stretcher with her legs in stirrups, Lucy got the distinct impression that this was not what she came here for. Second thoughts flooded in.
Are all women treated the same? Are they planted the same or were there different processes? Do all bodies accept and adapt to the plantation? Just how do they plant it in there anyway?
Lucy was frustrated at how little she'd researched in advance.
How many women go into this blind?
Waiting for her psychiatric evaluation, she sat beside another young woman, who Lucy assumed was going through a similar process. She was reading the "Growing on the Inside" magazine, and Lucy couldn't help but interrupt.
"Excuse me? I'm sorry, I'm just wondering if you know what they are going to do in there?" She gestured to a large wooden door that stood out against the other plastic ones.
"Oh sure, she's going to ask you lots of questions about what you remember from zero to five years old, the health of others who were in the household then, what it was like when you moved into your next mother's house, or if you were in a girls' home, that sort of thing. Nothing too strange, don't worry." The woman smiled.
"You've done this before?" Lucy didn't think the girl was much older than her.
"This will be my third."
"Third! Wow."
"Andrea of the sixth line," said a voice from behind the door.
"Oh, that's me, but don't worry, you'll be great, regardless of your rating." She walked off into the room with the wooden door. Lucy didn't get a chance to ask her what a rating was.
Bruised and bandaged from the tests, Lucy was running through possible lies she could tell if her mother saw them. She would try to keep them covered up, but just in case, she thought a backstory was important. So it would come out naturally.
And then it was her turn.
The psychiatric evaluation was painless enough by comparison. Lucy was surprised by how basic it was, even though she knew the woman was evaluating her every word. She'd been honest when asked if her mother knew she was there.
"That's pretty normal," the psychiatrist had told her, "I'd say about half who come through the recruitment process haven't told their mothers before getting their rating."
"What's the rating?"
"Doctor Easom will explain the process."
And so Lucy waited, six hours into day two of her Willing Woman application, finally at the last step and eager to go home. The free lunch had been good enough, but she was ready for her mother's spaghetti. She needed comfort food.
“Lucy, come in.”
Doctor Easom got down to business before Lucy had closed the door behind her.
"I'm not going to mess around with you here, Lucy. I'm going to get straight to it. It is uncommon for us to see someone from your rating joining the Willing Woman Program."
Lucy was confused, "But my genetic mother was a Willing Woman."
"Yes, but she was a carrier Willing Woman."
Lucy didn't understand.
"You see there are different types of Willing Women. There are Willing Women who are recruited into the program, and there are Willing Women who are carriers. These carrier women are of huge importance to Lower Earth. I don't want you to misunderstand; there are many different elements to how we run the birthing programs. Your first Willing Mother had something in her that called her to the Willing Woman vocation. We could read it in her DNA sequence. All carriers have it. You, however, come from a different line. Different enzymes, for example. Your line has different capabilities, and therefore different callings, different objectives. And so it is surprising to see you here today."
"Called her to this vocation? I don't understand."
"When I say called, I mean that there was something in her genetic code that gave her a strong predisposition to successful birthing. To put it simply, we know that the Mist affected different family lines in different ways. And where we have found strong genetic code for successful birthing, we have also found that these women were drawn into this vocation, usually without needing to be recruited, or even asked. But you are Crynal. That means you have a specific phenotype, an elite group. And your group has other advantages."
Lucy thought of Andrea, being on her third child and still so young. But Andrea was built for it, had the right ‘type’.
This was the most interesting history lesson Lucy had ever learned. And she was amazed that these simple facts were not in the national curriculum. They somehow seemed important.
30
Irene
Irene tapped on the Queen’s bedroom door with her fingernails.
Days had passed since she’d last seen the Queen. While that wasn’t necessarily cause for alarm, Irene had a strange feeling in her stomach and couldn’t shake it.
She put her hand on the door handle. Turned it. Dared to open in a few inches.
She pushed her head through to see the Queen’s sleeping body on the bed. Her skin gleamed in the last rays of moonlight before the sun rose. Her chest lifted and lowered, ignorant to Irene’s eyes.
Irene couldn’t believe it.
In her more than thirty years based at the fortress, she had never seen nor heard of the Queen sleep like this. She waited, expecting the Queen to sit upright at any moment and chastise her for breaking her privacy.
But the Queen didn’t budge.
Irene saw that her arms had rays drawn along them, like new skin cleaving between the old. She craned her neck a little further and saw the rays extend up her shoulders to her neck.
What’s happened to you, Maeva?
Irene had underestimated the impact of the decision to cull the others. Irene had no other name for them. The other queens. Maeva was culling the excess of queens.
This day was one we had expected – but I feel less sure now that we are living it.
Lower Earth relied on the Queen for all direction. If she couldn’t see Lower Earth through the transition to the next Queen, they were going to be in great, grave trouble.
31
Maeva
Maeva dreamed, vivid and palpable. She knew it was a dream, but she threw herself into it with unbridled abandon. It was too captivating to deny.
In the dream, he is beside her, the king of old in this new man's body. Archer’s body. The warmth of him like waves against her skin. They are reclining on stones, dark massive slabs that are cool to t
ouch even in the midday sun.
Rainfields. Rainfields of old. Rainfields, the greeting place of new peoples. Rainfields, the landing place of hope.
When she looks down at herself in the dream, she is nude. Her breasts rise and fall heavily with her breath, and she is covered in a layer of sweat.
She feels ashamed and vulnerable. She tries to cover herself with her hands, to at least preserve some dignity before he turns his head and sees her in this state. In the dream, she prays.
Archer, don't see me this way. Don't turn your eyes.
But though he is in Archer’s body, he is not Archer. She, however, is fully herself.
He is all of them, all the old Kings from over the years, embodied in this moment just for her. She reaches for the lava stone but it's gone, disappeared with her cloak and underclothes. She is only herself before him.
Her breath quickens as she watches his eyes turn.
Her heart is beating in her ears and she desperately tries to hear his blood rushing, his accelerating heartbeat at the sight of her. But he has gone silent.
How is it possible that he has no reaction, and here I am in this condition?
Only then does she see it - he is nude, too.
She takes in the shape of his shoulders, his arms.
How have I never seen him like this before?
The sides of his body, the line of muscle that curves from rib to hip to groin.
He is unashamed of his nakedness, of that part of the man that had been the target of the Mist's attack. The core of their history. There it is, just in front of her. Vulnerable. She feels her power over him; she can finally cast him away, as the queens before should have done, the lament of the voices of ages past. At last, she can make it right. She can make him pay for the many before him and all he has come to represent.
