Amalene settled on the park bench to wait. Her stomach was queasy with excitement and fear at the decision she had made. Today she was scheduled for her vocational assessment, guidance and upper-level evaluation. Her VAGUE, as it was more commonly known, was overdue. The newly clipped lawn spread lush and dappled with shade did little to relax her. She stood, wanting to catch sight of her friends. She saw lots of smiling but unfamiliar faces. She sat back down allowing her feet to swing freely. She checked her wrist – no new messages.
It didn’t help that her friends had teased her about her decision. They called her a rebel. Amalene didn’t think of herself that way. She loved peace after all. Besides, if she was, what could the authorities do to her? She was far too young to be vaporized, wasn’t she? With that thought, Amalene stood. She reached upward until even her tippy-toes were stretching. Ahh! That felt better. Looking around, she spotted Tina and waved. As her arm flapped she noticed her baby-fat bouncing. She stopped abruptly, checking around to see if anyone else had noticed. She then sprawled over the bench on her belly. Checked her wrist. She wished her parents had allowed stereo on her wrist implant. Today, she needed the distraction. Swaying shoulders and head, she tapped out an air-keyboard beat in tempo with her restless energy. Checking her wrist, she found it was now time, finally. She needed to be ladylike though and not rush. She stretched once more, spun around in a happy pirouette, then ran up the stairs into the granite building to find Ms. Willz’ door.
When Amalene tapped lightly, the lock released and the door swung ajar. There were no windows in Ms. Willz’ office. Ms. Willz waited behind her clear glass desk, the ever-present movie-screen-sized, two-sided monitor to her left. A single chair of the kind that adjusts to your body as you sit, awaited Amalene. Ms. Willz smiled. “Come in, come in, Amalene. It is so good to see you again.” Her voice always sounded slightly after her lips moved. Amalene was sure Ms. Willz was a robot, but no one she knew had ever proved it.
As Amalene turned to sit, she noticed Ms. Willz’ face sag then smooth into a bland mask. She looked down, noting that her uniform appeared dingy. Her weight caused the uniform to stretch around her body curves and even cling. Amalene slumped into her chair allowing her body to sprawl over the seat and her limbs to fall wherever.
Ms. Willz cleared her throat and sat taller. “Let’s see now, yes, I have your records. You’re from an older traditional family, correct?”.
“Yeh, sure.” Amalene hung her head over her knees then flipped back her hair, then slouched once more.
“Well, let’s get to your assessment then, Amalene. I have your records here before me including your interests survey, but I usually like to start with you telling me your initial preferences. Have you thought about what you’d like to do? Do you have some occupation in mind?”
Amalene sat upright. “Oh, yes. I’d like to have babies.” She was happy her voice sounded sure, even grown-up.
Ms. Willz looked her in the eyes, her lips forming a circle. “Oh. I see.” She tapped a few commands on her panel. A yellow light went on at the edge of her desk. A cloud of vapor whooshed from a panel and hit Amalene straight in the face. Amalene coughed as her eyes watered. She was blinking rapidly when Ms. Willz was sprayed in her face. Ms. Willz continued to smile back at her without blinking either eye.
Shivers ran up Amalene’s arms. She shifted her gaze to the wall behind Ms. Willz. She rubbed her forehead. “Is there…some problem?”
“No, no problem. Not really. The computer determined you were hormonal and took action to control your pheromone emissions.” Ms. Willz shook her head. “You know how it’s been since that sad event two years ago in Fredericksburg.”
“I do?” Amalene selected a strand of hair and wound it around her finger.
“The riots after Angel Loomis infected eighteen men! That woman cost hundreds of lives and shut down production for two weeks.” Ms. Willz’ eyes seemed to bulge. “All because of a strange hormonal balance.” Ms. Willz shrugged.
“That’s right!” Amalene widened her eyes. This might happen to her. Her heart jumped and she patted at her throat. “It broke my heart when Joe Budd killed himself and poor Angel. Us girls plan to visit Angel’s memorial if Ms. June will take us.”
Ms. Willz’ eyes narrowed. “Good person, Ms. June.” She tapped on her keyboard. “Babies though, are you sure?” Ms. Willz cleared her throat, then paused a moment. “You are aware that you’ll have to leave all your friends and emigrate to India?”
Amalene wondered how Ms. Willz could type and smile at the same time. “No, I hadn’t thought of emigrating, whatever for?” Amalene’s eyes moved to the sudden bang as a single steel bead smacked into a row of still beads and sent them up in an arc. She’d heard of these mood-momentum toys. She wondered why Ms. Willz had one on her desk.
Ms. Willz gazed deep into her computer screen. “I see you’ve had world history. I suppose this grade of two point eight was the result of cheating. Does the term Population Limitation Treaties sound familiar?”
“Huh?” Amalene met Ms. Willz’ gaze. “Well, yes. I didn’t cheat. I thought there might be exceptions.”
“No exceptions. The contract for population development was out-sourced to India for a reason. Come now, tell me why it is that India has the contract? You can’t expect to go there unprepared.”
“Well, wasn’t it because of, oh I remember now, they have superior competency.” Amalene clapped her hands, happy she knew the answer.
“That’s correct. And the same treaties enforce one-time extraction of reproductive cells at puberty. ”
“I’m supposed to have surgery soon.” Amalene smiled, then bounced in her seat.
“Yes. I can see you understand.” Ms. Willz shook her head. “Someday sperm from a suitable mate will be used to create an ovum. That ovum will be borne by an Indian woman in the child-bearing profession.”
“So why can’t I carry my own baby to term and raise it? That’s what I want.” Amalene’s heart was beginning to patter. Her dream was coming closer.
“You may select that profession, but it would be highly unusual.” Ms. Willz tapped her fingers on her desk.
“Well, whatever.” Amalene shifted her weight from her left hip onto her right. This wasn’t going well. She hadn’t expected a test. Put off, she gazed at her feet. She daydreamed about her golden-haired child. A beaming laughter-filled child like the one sleeping against her on the mass-tram. She remembered the warmth of his body pressed into hers.
Ms. Willz coughed.
Amalene’s heart lurched. She wanted…
“Is there someone you’d like as father?” Ms. Willz’ steely grey eyes exactly matched her steely gray hair and her perfectly coordinated suit.
Startled from her daydream, Amalene shook her tresses around her shoulders. “No. No one specifically.”
“But you daydream about someone…?”
“Sometimes. But no, no one really.” Amalene liked several of the males in her class. She didn’t let them get too friendly as it was much too soon for her to have a sexual relationship.
“Is it the coupling that provides the interest? There are many mega-pleasure palaces that are willing to take apprentices, those in New Hong Kong focus on exotic appeal, or those in Juneau that focus on extraordinary talent…?” The corner of Ms. Willz lip twitched.
Amalene felt her cheeks getting warmer. “No. Not that. Really!”
“Well, that’s good. Although time has made the job safer, your intelligence quotient really isn’t high enough for placement as a courtesan. Some of the so-called sex toys do have a fairly comfortable life…?’ Ms. Willz pursed her lips.
Amalene covered her warm cheeks with her sweaty fingers. “No. I just want to, you know, create something, bring something new into the world.”
Ms. Willz closed her lips with a smack. “Well, small crafts could be the answer. Are you good with your hands?”
“Not just some…thing! I want to make something alive, growing, someone that loves me. Don’t you know what I mean?”
“Well, if you head into agrarian fields there’s veterinarian or herd tender. Do you like to garden? That’s another possibility.” Ms. Willz stared intent at her computer screen like she had a list there. Her voice sounded strained.
“Like pets and stuff?” Amalene glanced behind her chair. The steel door was now locked. She gulped.
“Or training. That works for either animals or humans. Have you had pets or worked with children before?”
Amalene rubbed her now sweating hands on her legs. “No, we weren’t allowed to have pets. We didn’t have the money. I was the only child in our household.” Amalene thought her home had a queer silence about it. She was never sure anyone was home.
“Well, what do you think?” The mood-momentum beads’ rapid clacking drew both of their attention. Ms. Willz took a deep breath. The beads slowed.
Amalene stroked her hair off her face. “It’s not really the same as having a child of your own, is it?”
“No. The agrarian and medical fields have unpleasant aspects. I need to inform you fully. I can provide film clips for any career. Contact with waste materials and illness occur in the latter mentioned professions, for example.” Ms. Willz stared down her nose at Amalene.
Amalene felt her control over her temper slip. “You just don’t get it, do you? And how could you? I bet you never feel anything. I want to hold my child. I want to feel my child’s warmth and his tiny heart beat under my fingertips. I want to love my child. I want to be part of my child’s life. I want to…to love!” The tears welling in Amalene’s eyes overflowed, spilling down her cheeks. She turned her face aside.
Ms. Willz’ voice hardened into clipped tones. “Because of your hormonal condition I will not seek charges against you for sexual harassment. Try to control yourself now!”
Amalene gave a shocked gasp. She noted Ms. Willz’ face had flushed. Her mood-momentum toy clicked tick tack-ity tick again and again.
Ms. Willz spoke through clenched teeth. “If you want to connect with your emotions, you should consider the entertainment field. But you will have to face facts, your physical aptitude will not fetch you anything special in that arena.”
“I just want to have babies!” Amalene broke down sobbing into her knees.
Amalene could hear Ms. Willz typing, eventually her sobs quit pulling at her belly. When she rubbed her eyes and sat up, Ms. Willz met her eyes. “Okay. Are you feeling a little better? Why don’t we watch these films about motherhood, okay? The first depicts the general tasks and the second shows a mother giving birth. To be a mother, you will need a physical exam certifying perfect health, classes on child development, early life rearing and the like, as well as classes in an agrarian or small craft field, and as I mentioned before, you’ll have to emigrate to India. Not to put you off, most other careers also require additional schooling.”
“I’d have to have another job, not just be a mother?” Amalene’s arms hung limp. She wanted life easy and joy-filled, not a bunch of tedious extra work. Her gaze shifted around the room restless.
“Everyone must contribute productively to the economy in order to guarantee their retirement security. Okay to show the tapes?”
Ms. Willz was so cheery Amalene felt like spitting. She looked around the room at the lush blue carpet. Examined the walls delicately shaded from white at the ceiling to gray near the floor. Examined the lights casting their sickly glow at the ceiling. Felt the breeze from the air conditioner cooling her cheeks. She felt wrung out and didn’t really want to make a decision. She eventually looked again at Ms. Willz.
“Okay?” Ms. Willz was staring down her nose again.
Amalene flailed her hands in circles. “Okay.” The lights dimmed and suddenly the monitor screen was visible to both Amalene and Ms. Willz. They watched both films in silence.
“Giving birth hurts, doesn’t it?” Amalene liked the babies in the screen, but pain… that was different.
“Yes. Despite all our advancements in medicine, we still lose one mother out of ten thousand and one child under three out of ten thousand. It is actually a high risk career and pays accordingly.”
“Under three?” Amalene clutched her arms tightly.
“Yes, you saw that children are taken from the mother at age three.” Ms. Willz’s lips spread into a line.
“Permanently?”
“Yes. Do you recall your birth mother? Any of the events prior to age three?”
“No. ” Amalene stood up as if to run then sat down again. She twisted her hands in her lap.
“I don’t either. I, personally, chose training because it allows contact with children when they are more aware. If you get the right age of children…training can be quite satisfying.” Ms. Willz’ smile stretched taut against her cheeks, the lines over her upper lip prune-like and strained.
“Taken away at three years.” Amalene’s stomach swirled with nausea. “How could they?” A warm flood of outrage swept through her at the idea of this bureaucracy taking what was hers away.
“Well, the treaties. And India is competent in dietary planning due to their varied use of grains. It’s their responsibility to raise vegetarian citizens. They are competent in early and pre-life training and in the use of electronic media. Mothers establish the early patterns of class behavior. And the Indians raise very happy children, you saw that didn’t you?” Ms. Willz rushed through this speech.
Amalene stared open-mouthed throughout wanting Ms. Willz to understand her disbelief. “Yes. I saw.” She clenched her hands as she controlled her rage.
“Well? Any more questions?”
Amalene shook her head feeling tears building. “I couldn’t give up my own baby. What a stupid policy. I want to love and raise my own baby. How can they take our babies away from us? This is so unfair.” Amalene sobbed barely gasping enough air.
Ms. Willz eyes watered. “Did you really want an answer?”
“Yes. Yes I do. Don’t I have rights in this matter? I’ll fight this!” Amalene slammed her fist into her other hand, rubbing away tears.
Ms. Willz twisted her hands. “Computer, please show the film on the Second Class War.” A haze built in the room as Ms. Willz settled back in her chair.
Amalene was surprised. This was going to be a sense-around film. She gripped the arms of her chair. She watched as thirty billion people lost their lives. Her nose wrinkled as the blood flowed. Her tears ran freely while she watched the anguish in people’s eyes as friends, family, children all lost their lives. She smelled death and nearly puked, clutching her stomach. By the time the air tasted of burning flesh and she felt herself swallowing rancid foods, she was frozen. Her eyes were locked in place as another ten billion people died of starvation brought about by the disruption of the war. Her breathing sucked air in gasps. She even heard Ms. Willz groan.
The film finished in minutes. Ms. Willz’s hands shook as she retrieved her keypad. “Yes, Amalene, you do have rights. At the end of the war the rights of the individual were upheld but they were also restricted.” Ms. Willz swallowed several times. “Before the war each individual had the right to have children and they kept having them until the world burst. Not everyone helped to stabilize civilization. Each class, each religion, each ethnic group, each economy believed they had a superior right to populate the earth at everyone’s else’s expense. During the war, each and every class, religion, ethnic group, everyone lost someone they loved.” Ms. Willz continued to watch the blank screen as she made her speech.
“Oh my god, that wasn’t really real, was it? It couldn’t be, could it?” Amalene clenched her hair in both hands. Tears streamed down her face.
“You still want to fight it?” Ms. Willz tapped several strokes. Tissue issued from the innards of her desk.
“Oh no!” Amalene grabbed several tissues and blew her nose again and again. Then with a pile of tissue in her hands she looked around wildly for a place to put them.
“Since the Second Class War each person may choose to have one child or not. Each person is a product of the world economy. We control the genetics of our children so that such a war will never happen again. No one is purely a member of any one class, religion or race anymore. Your right to be an individual has been upheld.” Ms. Willz tapped her keyboard again and this time a tray appeared.
“But love?” Amalene deposited her tissues on the tray, pulling them off her fingers when they stuck. The tray disappeared from view.
“Everyone is loved. Weren’t you? You need to make a choice Amalene. Help me with this please. Quit making it so hard.” Ms. Willz’ beads were clacking again.
“It’s not fair!” Amalene jerked her head repeatedly, her hair flying and slapping her head. She didn’t want to be here anymore. She certainly didn’t want to come back. “There’s really no other way for me to have a baby?”
“None.”
“Okay. Training, I’ll try training.” Desperate for a solution, Amalene rushed to give a choice that would end this interview.
“Shall I mark you down as requesting a child?” Ms. Willz smiled again.
“Yes, please.” She sniffed with relief.
“Very good, Amalene. We’ll continue this discussion next week at the training labs. I’ll get you started on your course-work. You can learn to be a trainer right here.” Ms. Willz extended her hand. “See you Monday at three. I’ve also scheduled you for surgery on next Tuesday. It’s an easy procedure. In no time at all, you’ll be as professional as me.”
“Oh.” As Amalene stood she heard the lock on the door click open. Her eyes were unable to focus on concrete objects as she walked out. She ignored Ms. Willz’ outstretched hand. As she left the room she wondered if she needed to buy a suit like Ms. Willz’ yet. And was she really seeing tears streaming down Ms. Willz face?
By Sheri Fresonke Harper