by Eden Wolfe
But she didn't.
The past day had alit too much in Leadon's heart; she felt a magnet calling her to follow the Keeper of the Chief. She didn't know why, but she heeded its message.
Out into the night, Leadon kept her distance, only the lookouts in place, facing out to Lower Earth, not in to Gana. No voice was allowed to speak this night, no movement in the village. It was the safest of all nights to be out in quiet isolation. Batrasa walked.
Through and out of the village.
To the river and across it at the rope bridge.
Leadon followed.
An hour's walk and they were at the sea's edge. Batrasa removed her shoes and let her feet stand in the small wake of a gentle wave. Her garb floated on the water's surface, swirling around her feet like a cloud.
Batrasa took another step.
Leadon stood between trees on the grassy knoll before the beach began, the sound of her breath inside the sound of the waves.
Batrasa took another step.
And another.
Leadon watched in passive acceptance as Batrasa took one step after another into the sea, the moonlight washing over the old woman's white hair, until her last step when she disappeared from view entirely.
7
Carole
Carole crossed her legs and sat back in the chair. In her right hand, she held up the statistics of lodgings for the past four waves of incubation births. In her left was the list of anomaly reports made. She looked from one to the other.
There must be a pattern in it. It can’t be as widespread as that.
But all the evidence showed that the behavioral anomalies were in nearly every phase, nearly every sequence, nearly every lodging type, and nearly every career channel.
Carole dropped her hands to her desk with a thud just as a knock came on her door.
“Yes?”
The woman held a large-format envelope in the air, “Another one, Carole.”
“Detailed or single input?
“Detailed.”
Carole sighed. “Fine. At least we’ll get more data points from it.” She beckoned with her hand and the woman entered, passing the envelope across the desk.
“Thanks.”
The woman nodded and left. Carole stared at the envelope, not ready to read its contents. When she’d joined the team managing the Willing Woman program nearly fifteen years earlier, she couldn’t have imagined that she’d find herself overseeing an essentially anti-Willing Woman program. Incubation births involved no women in the reproductive process at all. In her new role, the only Willing Women she saw were those who took over the infants once they'd reached weaning age. It was a far cry from where she'd started: recruiting women, training women, campaigning for more women. Her heart and soul had been in the Willing Woman program since she was first channeled into genetics in her fifteenth year.
She’d welcomed the challenge five years earlier at the announcement of the incubation program. She’d grown tired of the Willing Woman campaigns, even if she still fundamentally believed in everything it stood for. It was exhausting to start anew with each season as new women came in. Carole grew older, but the Willing Women remained the same age. Always the same. Young.
Some were too young, but the policy had changed over time. Seventeen became acceptable. Carole had told herself that if the Queen had declared it so, then it had merit.
But with age, she became less sure.
When Uma offered her the opportunity to be at the helm of a new approach to sustaining life on Lower Earth, the offer was too good to refuse. She'd always been dedicated to their reproduction and continuity. So what if the means were different?
Now she knew. The means mattered.
I was hasty. And ambitious. And now look where we are. These are the consequences for mass incubation births; they are finally coming to light. So much for glory and fame, more like failure and infamy if we don’t turn this around.
She grasped the lava rock dangling from her neck.
Imagine what the settlers would have to say about this.
With that, she tore open the envelope, wanting to get it over with. She scanned the cover page; it read the same as the others she’d received.
Uncharacteristic independence. Depressive episodes. Withdrawal.
Suicidal tendencies.
And all the subjects were five years old. Or younger.
This pattern is beyond all acceptable markers. Suicidal tendencies? They're not even five and they’re throwing themselves off bridges, into fires, over cliffs. Something is horribly wrong in the sequence for the suicide rate to pass two in a hundred thousand. And this current rate? It's...
Carole turned the page and dropped the folder on her desk.
Suicidal tendencies in nearly a third of subjects. There’s no precedent for this. It’s worse than the pre-Mist period.
Carole grabbed the amulet tight enough that it left marks in her palm.
I have to get through to Uma. This isn't sustainable. We’ll have a population that offs themselves before Upper Earth even gets here.
She stacked up the reports and marched to Uma’s office, pausing before knocking. Uma would be infuriated, but Carole would just have to take the heat. Otherwise, they would lose the very women they were counting on to save Lower Earth when the enemy arrived on their shores.
8
Uma
Uma thought back to the blowout in Cork Town the night before.
The beating of the drums.
The bodies, undulating bodies. Faceless, soft bodies. How they rolled into each other. Deviants. Women from the outer counties.
And Uma.
No one would recognize her there. She was unknown, anonymous, nameless.
But the sound of the drum, the smell of sweat and skin, the smoothness of skin with flying hair as bodies danced into the night consumed Uma’s memory.
She was sitting at her desk but her body relived each moment of it. The buildup, the tension, the physical need to move into, against, and along other bodies…
She caught her breath.
Someone was outside her door.
She turned her eyes back to her desk where the brief for the Queen waited for her. There really wasn’t time for the distraction of memories. Otherwise, she’d lose hours in daydreams. Daydreams that were intoxicating.
And forbidden.
The door creaked open. “Uma?”
“Not now. I’m working on the Queen’s brief.”
“It has to be now.”
Uma looked up. Carole had one hand on her hip, the other holding a thick folder.
“Cut the dramatics. What is it?”
“The suicide rate is through the roof.”
“Even beyond the second phase births? You know we expected it up until the second phase-"
“Way beyond second phase. We’ve gone way beyond it now.”
Uma rubbed her forehead. “Leave me just those reports which indicate suicidal tendencies or fulfillment, take the rest with you, I don’t have time for all those.”
Carole entered, laying the thick file on Uma’s desk.
“I said, only the suicides - "
“They're all suicides, Uma. All of them.”
Uma looked at the folder, thicker than the file on West Field viruses.
“All of them?”
“All of them.”
“I see.”
But she didn't. It didn’t make sense; they’d identified signals in the second phase, they'd adapted for it.
Uma flipped through the pages. “But the adaptations in the second phase -"
“They delayed it. By half a year. No more.”
We’d wiped out that whole series of code. There was no other indicator for it. That should have been enough.
“Do you need me for anything else?” Carole asked.
“No, I'll take a closer look and let you know. Actually, wait.” Uma considered whether Carole might have tracked the correlation to the enzyme production, but then s
he remembered that Carole was only in implementation. She’d have no more insights than anyone else. “Sorry, go ahead.”
Carole nodded and closed the door behind her.
Uma stared at the pile of reports.
How can the children want to kill themselves? Where does that impulse come from? We already removed the conflict between the stac1 gene and the malonase enzyme. That should have done it. But it’s only delayed it? There’s nothing left to remove, no indication.
Uma shook her head; they’d gone through all this before. First phase and second phase. That should have done it. It should have fixed it.
But it hadn't.
And now there was nowhere left to go.
If only Lucius were here. He’d see it. He’d see what we’ve missed. But Roman will never hear of asking him back.
Uma opened her top drawer and popped a cough drop in her mouth.
He’ll have to hear of it. There’s no way around this. Even Roman has stretched beyond his limit.
“Miss Uma?”
“What? Who are you?”
“Ma’am, I’m Loala of the fifth line. From the cleaners, I mean, I’m a cleaner.”
“Yes, I see that.”
The woman straightened her uniform. “Ma’am, we’ve been waiting for your review.”
Uma looked at her watch.
“Damn it.”
“Would you prefer I dismissed the cleaners?”
“No, no. I’m coming. Get back to your station.”
“Yes, Ma’am. Sorry, Ma’am.”
Uma grabbed her clipboard. Her mind was not working as she needed it to. Hundreds of staff would be waiting for her around the Tower, and meanwhile, she was trying to stop a catastrophe.
I’ve got to find Roman this afternoon. This can’t wait.
Uma rushed to the ground floor to start with the Guard assigned to the Tower.
“Hello, Miss Uma, all set here for your review,” Luo Gillard lifted a stack of papers onto the counter in Reception. “The entry forms are here for non-cardholders.”
“I’m not looking at those today Gillard, I’ve got limited time. Just hand me the log.”
“Oh, alright, Ma’am. I did get them all ready for you though. That’s what you usually like, right?”
Uma closed her eyes. The Gillard line remained the most effective in Guard capacity, but Luo missed a few cues.
Someone was getting sloppy in the redesign.
Uma looked at Luo, her large eyes wide and sad, like a twenty-five-year-old massive child. Her shoulders were almost double the width of Uma’s, her chest firm and legs thick with muscle.
I do miss Jan Gillard though. Shame she only made it to forty-two years old. We have to balance better. I’ll only have just gotten Luo trained up as I want her and then she’ll be the next to degrade.
“Usually, yes. But today is not usual.” Uma dropped the logs back down. “That’ll do. Back to work.”
“Yes, Miss Uma. Thank you, Miss Uma.”
Uma felt panic rising in her throat.
I’d really don’t have time for this.
She opened the door to Logistics; Laure had the women already lined up. Uma nodded and Laure brought over the contingency plans developed over the past month.
“And for the East Fields?”
Laure snapped her fingers and another woman brought over a file. Uma flipped through it. “Irrigation contamination?”
“We’ve almost got it under control.”
“Like the last time?”
Laure cringed, “No. Not like the last time. We’ve included additional controls.”
“Such as?”
“Tests both at source and in delivery channels. We’re dumping the first thousand gallons after each treatment.”
“A thousand? That’s a bit excessive.”
“Unfortunately, not. We’ve found evidence of the bacteria in the second five hundred gallons which is why we’ve doubled it.”
“Second five hundred. Well, then you’re right.” Uma closed the folder. “Anything else?”
“Some warning signs from Rainfields, but nothing worthy of reporting yet.”
“Such as?”
“Radiation. But thus far it’s still within natural levels. Even so, we should track it.”
“Yes, fine.” Uma looked up at the women, who suddenly each snapped taller. "Where are your amulets?"
The women fumbled to pull out the pendants from under their uniforms, each holding it up in the air.
"Good. Remember. The work you do here is a blessing from the settlers' time. We owe it to all those who came before that we have the lives we have today. Now carry on.”
Laure nodded and Uma pushed through the swinging doors into the service hallway. She leaned against the concrete blocks, a sinking feeling growing into a rock in her stomach.
This is such a farce. Review Day. None of this matters. I've got to get this news to Roman.
But then Uma remembered the value of routine, the principles she'd spent the last almost thirty years building. After the complete mess of five years earlier, the crackdown on backroom men and betrayers from their midst, Uma was even more convinced of the need to sustain discipline across the Tower. She was feared and she was respected. The Review Days reinforced it across the staff.
She stretched her arms high and then took the stairs two by two to the next floor.
Sequencing technicians, bioinformaticians, various specialists, she flew through the next five floors without fuss. Opening the heavy service door to the fifth floor, she immediately saw Sara in the hallway.
What's she doing here?
Sara looked up from the paper in her hands and saw Uma. She dropped her hand to her side, a little too quickly, Uma thought.
"Uma." Sara gave a quick nod.
"You're far from your office."
"Just checking in with the lab. They owe me structure on 7531."
"So you make house calls?"
"They don't always prioritize well. I have a deadline."
"Right." Uma gave a quick, inauthentic smile. "In that case, I'm sure I'll see you again back on the sixteenth."
"I'll be there."
Sara turned on her heels and walked away.
Something about her. She says everything right. She never missteps. But there's something about her that I just don't trust.
Uma's instinct had served her well over the years; though when it was wrong it was very, very wrong.
I never saw it coming with Adam. I had thought he was too dedicated to the Male Program, but I never would have guessed he was plotting behind the Queen's back.
Former Queen. I don't know if I'll ever get used to Queen Maeva being former Queen.
Uma continued the review across the lower floors, but only half her mind was in it. She went through the motions, watching the staff startle at her arrival and freeze at her questions.
All was as it should be.
Maybe we haven't been comprehensive with the incubation phases. We need more samples. We'll have to conduct more intrusive analysis if we're going to be able to save any of them.
Uma felt a sense of satisfaction knowing she could bring an action plan to Roman alongside the reports. She tried to stay solution-focused.
If we can identify the outlying features, then perhaps there's a therapy to address it. Perhaps it's only surface after all. We can recalibrate with drugs -
The knot in her stomach started to settle. They were far from a solution, and the drugs would still have to target a specific part of the sequence that they had so far failed to identify. But it wasn't impossible.
She took the stairs, two at a time, gathered up the charts, and headed straight for Roman's office. She took the elevator. It was important that she be seen after a Review Day. That would keep the staff on edge, right where Uma liked them.
9
Roman
Uma wasn't telling him anything he didn't know already. The concept of further samples was interesting, but they stil
l needed the capability to read what they gathered. And so far they hadn't found a way into the data.
Roman looked over the report. "Have you consulted with Carole?"
"No, but she'll implement as we see fit."
"Still, she may know something about the social arrangements the subjects are in which would affect this plan. Bring her up."
"Fine."
Then again, Carole will botch this up if we're not careful. She's the least subtle of all of them.
"Uma, wait."
Uma turned, an eyebrow raised.
"Bring Sara too."
"Sara? Why?"
"To begin, because I asked you to. But also because she has certain… skills. We will need those skills if we are to move forward with your idea."
"I really don't see - "
"I wasn't asking your opinion."
Uma nodded and stepped out the door.
She may not like it, but Sara will be able to access the children without causing widespread chaos in the Homes. Carole risks throwing the Homes into total disarray. The last thing we need now is a wave of staff transitions. Those housemothers have it hard enough as it is.
Uma opened the door without knocking. Roman knew it was her way of protesting.
She still hasn't gotten over the fact that I used to be her subordinate. But it was her own fault. She’s the one who rides the edge a little too closely. I hadn’t intended to catch her in Cork Town, but clearly she’d been up to something she shouldn’t have.
Roman had thought at the time that it might have been the opie drugs, but more than ten years later she showed none of the telltale signs. Perhaps it had been something else entirely. Whatever it was, it was enough for Uma to lay low and Roman to speed ahead of her in the Tower.
Sara stayed near the door while Carole stepped forward. "I just want to reiterate that the data is clean. We wouldn't have raised this without a thorough secondary review."
"I'm not challenging the data," Roman felt his trousers sliding below his waist. He tightened his belt.
