The Loneliness of Distant Beings

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I don't stop thinking about it. I can't. It just sits there, making laps of my head. They're going to kill him; they're going to kill him; they're going to kill him. This is why I can't eat when they bring in our lunch. There is a physical ache in my throat as I try chewing and swallowing, tasting nothing. This is also why I end up losing it at Sandra when she tells me she is taking me up to Fertility.

'But why am I going there?'

She bites her lips from the inside so that they turn all thin and then sighs. 'Seren, you know what, they don't let me into every little secret here. All I know is I got a docket on my pod that says ship you up to Fertility pronto, and to be honest, that's about all I even want to know.'

'What does that mean?'

'Nothing at all – now let's get moving.'

And she takes hold of my elbow and I yank it away, yelling, 'Don't touch me!'

She shakes her head at the floor with her hands on her hips. 'Now, Seren, come on, we've done all this before. You know that if you fight me I'll just have to dose you. Especially since I've already had to mark you down with a missed meal today.'

She watches me, waiting for me to relent, but I'm not in the mood. 'I'm just not doing it.' I shake my head, which is when she pushes me against the wall and doses me in the leg.

Things unravel slowly once you've been sedated. It's not like you're this drooling wreck or anything, it's more like you just don't mind about anything any more, even the things you normally mind about a lot.

This is the state she delivers me to Fertility in and of course they take one look at me, all skinny and dead-eyed, and basically draw back in horror. They're also doing the kind of loud, freaked-out talking people do when they think they're addressing a crazy person. There's a guy and a girl, both in Med uniform, and they keep making these faces and these little comments to each other that they think I'm not noticing but I am.

'We're going to take you in there now, Seren, check how you're doing for implantation.' This is all enunciated as if maybe I can't understand English.

'I'm not even in my Union though – how can I . . . ?'

The woman takes over now. 'We won't actually perform the implantation today. There's just a few things we need to do to make sure you're ready, OK?'

All sing-songy, like this was all something perfectly OK, rather than the most horrible thing in the world. Like they weren't talking about impregnating a sixteen-year-old against her will. Looking at the woman, I find I'm wondering whether it was her who did my egg harvest, the masked woman who almost wore a hole in my leg with her so-called soothing hand.

Cut to me in the lab, treatment room – I don't know. Whatever you call it, this hideous place comes down to the same thing. I lie there while they examine me, while they tell me, by looming into my field of vision, that they're going to put me on a course of drugs to 'ready my womb' in the run-up to the implantation which should take place just after the Union, which they understand will be a private ceremony in the next few days.

In a way, you know, I thank the stars that I am sedated at this point because I just let all this information wash over me.

I'm behind their dirty piece of curtain, struggling back into my overalls, when I hear the door buzz open and a voice I know too well. I tear back the curtain and Ezra looks at me, hands on hips.

'You,' I say.

'Last time I checked,' he says, smug as ever, but something about his face gives away that he's almost as unnerved as I am.