Authors: Mark Souza
“Diapers should be changed five or six times a day,” Mrs. Wagstaff said as her beady eyes swept the class.
A hand shot up. Mrs. Perez asked, “How will we know when it’s time?”
The instructor smiled. “Smell your replicas. By now they should be fully functional.”
Robyn sniffed her doll and was immediately repelled by the odor. After another try she thrust the doll into Moyer’s arms. “Oh my God! Is this how they really smell?” she asked.
“I’ve heard it’s very accurate,” Mrs. Wagstaff replied. “Except in most cases, the smell from real babies is more intense.”
“How can that even be possible?” Robyn asked. “What happens if the babies aren’t changed?”
“They develop a rash that may require medical care,” Mrs. Wagstaff said. “And as you all should know, three trips to the doctor for diaper rash and your child will be reassigned. Thousands of eager couples are desperate for a child and very willing to treat them well.”
The doughy woman standing next to Robyn whispered, “Seems a little reactionary and excessive if you ask me.” It was as if she’d read Robyn’s mind. “Eve Ganz,” the woman said.
Robyn smiled, “Robyn Winfield. I don’t remember seeing you in the first class.”
“That’s because I wasn’t here. I’m retaking. I received notice that I flunked my first attempt too late to make the first class of this session.”
“You can retake the class?” Robyn asked astonished.
Eve smiled warmly. “Of course you can. As many times as you need until you pass. Well, up until your baby is born. I missed passing by two lousy points. Can you believe it?”
“How many months do you have left?”
“I’m down to four. I have to get it right this time. How much time left for you?”
“Seven months.”
Eve slapped her on the shoulder, “You have plenty of time to screw up. You’re golden. Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have notes from the first class would you?”
“Sure.”
“Ladies,” Mrs. Wagstaff barked, “I’m so sorry our class is interrupting your get-together.” Wagstaff’s normally placid eyes flashed with anger. The other mothers-to-be pursed their lips or snickered. “Now why don’t you show the class how to change a baby? It’s a pity you chatted through the demonstration.”
Mrs. Wagstaff tossed a pair of disposable diapers at them and waited with hands on hips while they removed the dirty ones from their dolls. Robyn’s was filled with a gooey, greenish-brown paste. The smell hit her in the face like a toilet brush. She spotted a box of baby wipes on a round table and fetched them along with a small trash can. At first she carefully dabbed at the mess, gagging and trying not to dirty her fingers.
Eve kept her doll at arms length, her nose high in the air, frowning in disgust. Robyn laughed when she saw Eve’s feeble attempt and instantly regretted it. The stench of artificial feces rushed up her sinuses. Enough was enough. Robyn changed tactics. Taking the doll by a leg, she moved hastily to wipe up the mess as quickly as possible. Soiled wipe after soiled wipe went into the waste bin. The stink seemed to diminish, though she wasn’t sure if it wasn’t her nose adapting to the smell much the same as cat owners who can’t smell the stench of the litter box.
When her doll’s bottom was clean, she unfolded the fresh diaper and laid it out on the floor. She folded it around the doll in a fashion similar to what she remembered from the dirty one she had removed. When she finished, she held her doll up with pride.
“Done,” she said.
Eve struggled but soon she too had managed to get a diaper on her doll. She stood and held the doll up.
“What did they forget, class?”
In unison the women replied “Global Brands Drying Ointment with corn starch.”
“That’s right,” Mrs. Wagstaff said. “Drying ointment keeps babies dry and helps prevent diaper rash. Maybe if you had listened, you would know that. Please join the line and keep quiet, ladies.”
Moyer patted Robyn’s shoulder as she took her spot in front of him.
Wednesday, 14 December
The call had come from Fredrick Duncan that he had finalized what was termed a gallery — a limited selection of the possible combinations of their DNA, hopefully the best possibilities. Moyer sensed anticipation dammed up in Robyn at breakfast. It would do nothing but grow as she tried to pass the time until the appointment at Hogan-Perko later that night.
Robyn pushed her cereal away unfinished and readied herself for work. The fact that she couldn’t get the day off from her job and had to wait gnawed at her. As Robyn quietly closed the door behind her and headed for the tube, Moyer knew it would be a very long day for her.
Big Mona decreed it was time again to dust the bookshelves and books in the Judge’s apartment. “No one goes home till they’re all done.” And the chore fell to Robyn and Serafina, the little dark-haired girl whose name meant angel.
Dozens of floor to ceiling shelves, and thousands of books filled a pair of cavernous rooms within the massive apartment occupying the top floor of the Capital Arms. Or perhaps it was tens of thousands. It was a dauntingly hopeless task. Robyn tried not to dwell on it and started in. Sooner started, sooner done. She stripped the books from the first shelving unit and set them on a long oak reading table. She and Serafina fell into their work without discussion. Robyn was a head taller and assumed the job of climbing the library ladder to retrieve the books beyond Serafina’s reach, and dusted the shelves while Serafina started in dusting the books. When the shelves were dusted, Robyn helped Serafina with the remaining books and began the chore of loading them back on the shelves. Then it was on to the next.
They were primarily books of law, each volume weighing perhaps a kilo, and an armful perhaps ten. Robyn cracked one open and read a single paragraph. How could anyone read volume after volume of something so joyless? To be a judge, the apartment owner must have read every one of them. What a waste of life.
By afternoon, Robyn’s back and arms throbbed. The sunlight filtering in through the windows faltered as the shadowy fingers of the CapitalCity skyline stretched long across Freedom Circle. Robyn found herself watching the clock.
She and Serafina were barely half done when Robyn realized she wouldn’t make the appointment at Hogan-Perko. She tried to tough it out, telling herself it wasn’t that important and she could reschedule. An ache bloomed under Robyn’s eyes and she swore she wouldn’t cry. Tears brimmed against her lower lashes and threatened to cascade onto her cheeks while she loaded books into yet another shelving unit.
Her arms were too sore to hoist more than three at a time. It wasn’t until Robyn snuffled to keep her nose from running that Serafina looked up from the books stacked on the table. Her face went slack as she took in Robyn. “What’s the matter, honey?”
“Nothing, I’m okay.”
“Then why are you crying?”
“I’m not crying. It’s nothing.”
“Please don’t shut me out. Something’s wrong. Tell me what it is.”
Robyn pulled a tissue from her purse and dabbed her eyes and wiped her nose. Serafina watched, her own eyes welling with tears, her tiny mouth made smaller by her puckered frown. “I have a baby underway at Hogan-Perko,” Robyn said. “I’m supposed to pick out my daughter tonight from something they call a gallery. It doesn’t look as if I’ll make the appointment. It’s not the end of the world. I can reschedule, I suppose.”
Robyn carted a handful of books up the ladder and set them back on the shelf. Serafina scampered for the door calling for Mona. “Please don’t,” Robyn said. “She hates me enough as it is.”
It was too late. Big Mona sauntered through the door, hands on hips, cheeks blotchy red and dewy, mouth set in a scowl, eyes flitting around the room warily taking in the situation. “What seems to be the problem?” Carla and Linda drifted into the room curious over what was behind the commotion.
Serafina approached Big Mona, her forehead creased with concern. “Robyn has a problem.”
“I should have guessed,” Mona moaned. “It’s always about the princess, isn’t it? What is it this time?”
“I’m fine,” Robyn said. “Serafina’s overreacting.”
“No,” Serafina said. “She has an appointment at Hogan-Perko tonight. She’s supposed to pick out her baby girl.”
Carla and Linda glanced at one another, surprised.
“She’s going nowhere until these shelves are done, am I clear?” Big Mona said. “They won’t do themselves.”
“I’ll pitch in,” Carla said.
Linda raised her hand. “Me too.”
Mona shook her head, eyes cast up at the ceiling. “What time is your appointment?”
“Six,” Robyn said.
“Okay, get out of here. You can still make it. Me and the girls will finish up.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Thank them. Now get out of here before I change my mind.”
Moyer waited for Robyn inside the Hogan-Perko lobby. Duncan sat silently next to him working on a digital clipboard. When Robyn arrived, her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She looked weary and her eyes puffy and red.
She sagged into the open chair beside Duncan and flashed a quick smile. Moyer could tell it had been a trying day and the only reason for the inkling of joy inside her was the purpose behind their meeting: selecting her daughter.
Duncan tapped his clipboard with a stylus and handed it to Robyn. Photographs of young women cycled every few seconds, each numbered. “These are the composites I put together covering potential variations for your daughter.”
Robyn’s eyes misted over. Moyer realized it was the first time their baby had been referred to as their daughter, and the impact of those words hit Robyn hard. She stared at the clipboard. “My God, she’s a real woman,” she said.
“It’s merely a projection,” Duncan said, “But the programs have been greatly refined the last few decades and tend to be very accurate.”
Robyn tipped the clipboard toward Moyer. “I like four and thirteen,” she said. “What do you think?”
Moyer cycled through the images and nodded.
“Which one do you like?” she asked.
Duncan took the clipboard, and with a few taps of his stylus, positioned the images of four and thirteen side by side and handed it back. Moyer studied the two. Robyn watched anxiously, her mouth pinched down into a tight frown. He worried that she already had a favorite and he might get it wrong. “Thirteen,” he said. “She looks the most like you.”
Robyn took the clipboard for a closer look. Robyn’s cheeks flushed pink. “Thirteen,” she said to Duncan as she handed back the clipboard.
“Have you signed up for parenting classes yet?” Duncan asked.
“We’ve already started,” Robyn said, gazing at Moyer.
The phone on the reception desk rang. Duncan stood to answer it. His posture straightened when he put the receiver to his ear. He cast his eyes at Moyer. “It’s Mr. Perko; he wants to talk to you.”
Duncan handed Moyer the receiver. Perko’s hoarse voice greeted him. “Do you remember our deal, Mr. Winfield?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you made contact with Begat?”
“Yes, sir. Uh, no sir. I made contact but couldn’t set up a meeting.”
“Well get to it, Mr. Winfield. My patience has limits.”
Moyer heard a click and the line went dead.
On the tube ride home, Robyn slipped her arm under Moyer’s, leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed. It was a sigh of joy, and also relief. Moyer understood because he felt it too. Something that seemed all but impossible weeks earlier was becoming reality. The emotion of it overwhelmed him and Moyer covered his face. Robyn asked what was wrong and Moyer shook his head. She stroked his hair and asked again, “What’s the matter?”
Moyer smeared the tears off his cheeks and composed himself. “I’m all right, I swear. When I was young, I was teased endlessly in school about my appearance.” Moyer’s throat tightened with emotion again and he sucked in a couple breaths to steady himself. “My parents had screening done to assure I would be healthy, but nothing else. They couldn’t afford more. It was new technology then and costly. As you know, both of my parents were blond and light skinned. Being born dark skinned and dark haired, kids used to tease me saying—
Hey Moyer, someone forget to wash your test tube?
— right up to the day my mother died.
“And then the last few weeks, you picking my skin and hair color as things
you wanted
to see in our daughter, and then seeing the construct, it’s a bit overwhelming — but in a good way, I swear.”
They rode in silence after that, arm in arm. As the train rocketed through the tube, Moyer’s mind drifted back to his arrangement with Viktor Perko. His daughter wasn’t paid for yet.
Robyn protested as Moyer hustled her from the tube station to their building. “You have been pushing and tugging me along since we left HP. What is the rush?”
“I don’t want to be on the streets at night. It’s not safe.”
“We’ll be fine.”
As soon as they entered the apartment, Moyer rushed for the bathroom.
“Oh,” Robyn said, “why didn’t you just say so?”
He closed and locked the door behind him and looked into the mirror. As he entered the net, his image in the mirror faded, replaced by the dingy interior of a living room somewhere out in Labor Housing. The image jerked to the side as the host sensed someone was watching.
“Who is this?”
“This is Moyer Winfield. We spoke before. I’m trying to contact the giant.”
“What makes you think he’s here?”
Another voice, deep and smooth said, “Relax, brother, it is all right.” The giant albino stepped into view. He wore a brown robe as he had that day in the Circle. The hood was down, exposing a shock of short, white hair and a pair of mesmerizing, blue eyes. They were the color of a high, summer sky. “What does he look like?” the giant mumbled to his host.
“Olive complexion, longish dark hair hanging into his eyes. Slender, average height, a bit mousy.”
The giant nodded. “I did not expect to hear from you so soon. What has happened?”
“Uh,” Moyer hadn’t planned for this question and had no lie rehearsed. He struggled for an excuse. “Th-th-they changed the terms on me. It looks as if we won’t be getting a baby after all.”