The Past

23 April 2113

Ser

The woman had silver hair, like starlight, but the man looked normal. She couldn’t see the man very well. But the woman, she was beautiful, oh so beautiful, until Ser came to her senses and realized what she was. The gold-toned skin, the starlight hair…she was a Nevron. An alien. And she was looking right at Ser, pointing to the pale streak in her own hair, pointing with an accusing finger. Ser began to scream.

Ser woke, sucking in a gasping breath. She felt her sheets coiled around her neck, and pulled them away quickly. Another nightmare. She really needed to stop thinking about anything remotely strange before bed. Especially the Nevron. They’d been gone for nearly a decade, and she couldn’t even remember the invasion, she’d been a baby. Maybe she should stop listening to her mother’s talk about the Nevrons who still lived among Earthlings, the escaped prisoners-of-war who still supposedly lurked the Wild. I mean, honestly? Dreaming I’m some weird Nevvic half-breed? Ser rolled her eyes, tugging at the single silver lock of hair amidst her nearly black brown waves. It wasn’t from any Nevron blood, that was for sure. Both her parents were full humans—the highlight was from head trauma caused by her brother Tribute pushing her off a couch when they were babies.

Where is Tribute, anyway? Ser thought, looking over at the boys’ bed for her twin. Now that they lived in the City, her family could only afford a two-bedroom apartment, which meant that Ser, Tribute, Promise, and Wolf all had to share a room. Ser was used to falling asleep to the reassuring sound of Tribute’s breathing. Is he in the bathroom?

She realized the answer when she spotted her brother’s tall form in the doorway, looking out into the hall that ran from their room to their parents’, and then down to the small kitchen and living room. He was completely still, but his head was cocked in an alert way that made Ser instinctively stiffen.

“Tribute,” she hissed, flinging off the sheets and slipping across the room. “What’s wrong?”

“Dad’s not back from his meeting yet, is he?” Tribute replied with a question as usual.

“I don’t think so. His shoes aren’t at the door, are they?”

Tribute didn’t respond, so Ser pushed past him to see for herself. He grabbed at her arm in caution, but she shrugged him off and went down the hall, her bare feet flinching at the hard concrete floor. No, Dad’s shoes were not on the tattered doormat. His coat wasn’t on the nail, either.

Ser glanced at the clock. Quarter past one. Dad was never out that late, no matter how excited he was about some new Resistance plot.

“Something’s happened,” Tribute whispered, coming beside her. “He would be back by now. What if—”

“Shh!” Ser retorted, hearing steps on the rickety wooden stairwell outside the double-bolted door.

“He’s coming now,” Tribute said in relief, unbolting the door and moving to open it. But Ser froze. The steps on the stairwell were quick, staccato-like and full of brisk arrogance. That wasn’t Dad.

“No, that isn’t—“ Ser began.

But the door swung open, nearly smacking Tribute in the forehead as a tall, well-built man stepped in the doorway, smiling thinly and pulling out a file. Behind him soon came two Shadows—the secret police! Ser stepped back, while Tribute ran and called for Mom. She was out in a moment, wrapping a robe around her thin pajamas, eyes dead and veiled in fear as she gazed at the official and the Shadows.

“Who is this?” she asked, trying to regain some poise. “Why are you here?”

“Captain Holder of the City 13666 Security Corps,” said the man in a clipped voice, slapping the file folder open and reading robotically. “I am here to inform you that your husband, Patron, has been arrested on charges of high treason and insurgency against the International Federation, and will hereby be publicly executed on 5 December 2113.”

“Treason? Insurgency?” Tribute began, while Ser went numb all over. Dad’s Resistance meetings…the rallies he’d been to, having to wear a mask to hide his identity…his words of freedom from the Fed’s overreach. He was going to die for it.

“Do you deny such claims?” Holder asked, his nose turning up in a slight sneer. “Do you have any confessions of treason yourself to make?”

“N-no,” Mom whispered, her hand still at her mouth in shock. She turned away slowly. “We have nothing to say.”

Ser had a lot of things to say. She was only ten years old, but she had plenty she wanted to say to this stuck-up urban Shadow who treated her father’s life like a toy. Rage built up in her like in a pressure cooker; she sputtered for the words, but could say nothing. The Shadows were already wandering their house, searching disinterestedly through their personal belongings for any contraband. When they pushed her little brother Wolf from his bed to search for weapons, Ser had enough.

“Get out of my house!” she snarled, turning to Holder. “Get out! All of you!”

“Resisting search,” Holder said nonchalantly, writing on his notepad. “Suspicious materials in bedroom. Are these yours, boy?”

He held up illegal Resistance newspapers, shoving them in Tribute’s face. Ser’s brother flushed, but before he could shake his head two Shadows were on either side of him, holding his arms to keep him from struggling.

“I thought as much. Son follows father in seditious footsteps. Probable Resistance member. Contraband found under bed.”

“No—I—” Tribute began futilely.

“Leave them alone!” Ser protested, snatching at the papers Holder held just above her reach. “They’re freedom papers. We have the right to read what we want!”

“Not if it is banned,” Holder replied. “The boy will be arrested. You, girl, had better be silent.”

“No!” Ser cried, throwing herself at the captain as the Shadows pulled her brother through the door. “Please, don’t arrest him. You have my father, you can’t take Tribute too!”

“We can do what we want.” Holder pushed her away. “Burn the building. Turn these brats out into the street.”

“You can’t do that!” Ser cried, and suddenly she was blinded with rage. This man was killing Dad. This man would kill Tribute. She felt a warning tug at her, but she ignored it, running forward. Holder was turning, and didn’t see her until it was too late. Ser flung herself at him. She didn’t really know what she was going to do, but suddenly they were both falling. She saw, as if in slow-motion, Holder reaching for his weapon, and she grabbed his arm, gripping it so hard she heard something snap. No, that shouldn’t have happened. She was ten years old; how could she do that?

The Shadows were screaming; her mother was screaming. She turned, grabbing Holder by the shoulders and slamming him against the wall. Another crack; his body suddenly doubled in weight as he sagged limply to the side. A bullet pounded into the wall beside her. The Shadows firing below missed again, and cursed. Tribute called her name as he was dragged back down the stairs. Mom called her name. Ser would have run to her brother, but her mother grabbed her arm.

“Serenity!” she cried, shaking her. “What have you done? What have you done? You’ve killed a Shadow! We’re all dead, do you know that?”

The words reverberated in Ser’s head. She looked at Holder, slumped on the ground, blood seeping to the moldy carpet from his head. Her brother still calling for her in the distance. Dad, probably awaiting execution in some prison cell. Her mother screaming at her, her siblings crying. She’d just killed a man. She’d just killed a Shadow.

Ser ran.

13 July 2113

Justice

Justice couldn’t bear to see the tractors lying silent in the shed. Dad couldn’t sell them, and nobody else wanted them, so they would sit there until somebody found them and stole them.

“Why do we have to leave?” he asked his father for the fiftieth time. “What about the harvest? The birds will get all the corn.”

“I’ve told you, the government says so,” Dad replied, his face harsh and bitter underneath its tan. “You want to argue with them, go argue with them. Just don’t blame me when you die.”

Justice thought about it, especially as he watched his mother sighing as she carefully packed the trinkets they couldn’t take with them into boxes in the attic. His older brother’s action figures were in there. He wanted to take them, but his mother said, “only the necessities.”

“What if we fought them?” he asked her, leaning against the wall. “We have Dad’s guns in the space behind the cupboard. We could take them.”

“We don’t fight the Fed,” his mother replied, looking at him levelly. “Whatever dumb ideas your father has put into your head, forget them. I doubt they’d hesitate to shoot you even if you’re just a stupid kid.”

Stupid kid. His parents liked to call him that a lot. Justice figured it was because he was stupid, sometimes. Like that time he thought he could drive the truck and then totaled it by sending it to the bottom of the pond. It was lucky he hadn’t drowned, but with all the fire and fury Dad brought down on his head afterwards, he almost wished he had. But Mom was right anyway. He’d seen how the Federal Military worked. They were mean as anything; they nearly broke his family’s door down banging on it.

“What about Faith and Barley?” he asked. “Will they be kicked out of college?”

“Probably,” Dad said grouchily as he came into the room with boxes and boxes of his tools. “I almost hope they are, with all the nationalist baloney being taught there. Knowing your brother, he will be in jail before he pretends that he agrees with them.”

Justice tried to imagine respectable Barley in jail. For some reason the only person in their family he could see in jail was himself. Maybe that was because Mom always said he would do something so stupid that he’d get arrested someday.

“Faith won’t cave, will she?” he asked, changing the subject.

His father only answered with a grunt, heading back down the folded stairs. His mother soon followed, her heavy form shaking the attic as she went down. Justice came last, after taking one more look at the boxes full of their possessions. He would never see his brother’s action figures again, he guessed.

Dad put the stairs back up, and then slid a panel over the attic entrance, effectively blending the trap door in with the rest of the ceiling. Justice hoped it would be enough to keep people out of their stuff when they came back. If they came back.

“Better load everything into the truck,” he said.

It took them the better half of an hour to do this. Mom wouldn’t let Justice keep his shotgun.

“The Fed will take it and arrest you,” she said.

“The Fed can—can go to—,” Justice said.

Mom slapped him, snarling about how she would wash his mouth out with soap even if he was nine years old already. Justice didn’t care; she talked like that anyway herself.

“We can’t afford to be arrested,” Dad said gruffly, tearing the gun out of Justice’s hands. He disappeared with it into the house.

“Get in the truck,” Mom snapped.

Justice listened, fighting back tears. The Fed could all be jettisoned into space. First they took his house, then his tractors, then his gun. What else would they take?

“Why are we even leaving?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “What reason did they give to kick us out?”

“It’s supposed to be for our safety,” Mom replied, a pout on her face as she looked at the mirror. “They want us all together so they can monitor for Void easier, and make sure there are no aliens hiding in the Wild. Besides, the floodwaters are rising. They’re trying to evacuate us.”

“I don’t want to be evacuated! The flood will never touch our farm.”

“Look, that’s their reasons.”

“Well, they’re dumb. We shouldn’t have to leave our land if we don’t want to.”

“It’s not about what we want to do, it’s about what we have to do,” Mom said, and that was that.

But Justice didn’t like what they had to do. He didn’t like having to look back at the narrow, three-story farmhouse with the rickety porch he’d jumped off when he was five, and the steeply sloped roof that sent snow sliding down to land on his father’s face in the winter. Bitterly he turned away when Dad got in the truck, looking instead towards the distant towers of the City.

“Ready to head out?” Dad asked, with a tired sigh.

Justice was suddenly conscious of the many grey hairs sprinkling his father’s shaggy head, and the wrinkles around his eyes. Maybe leaving was for the best after all. Dad was worn out. In the City at least there would be no hard work. The bots would take care of all of that. Still, he didn’t like to think about spending the seasons there. He would not see the apple tree bloom in the spring with sweetly-scented flowers, the green corn in the summer heat, the pumpkins bright and orange in the autumn winds, or the pleasure of a winter bonfire as snow fell around them. No, in the City there was nothing to signal these changes. He felt worse, like a rock had been dropped into his stomach.

“We’re as ready as we’re gonna be,” Mom said, poking Justice. “Buckle up, or you’ll fly through the windshield when your father hits a tree.”

“I’m not gonna hit a tree,” Dad began to object, but Justice was already buckled, even if his parents didn’t bother to follow their own advice.

Dad started the truck, the engine rattling with the old vehicle noise it always made. Justice sighed, leaning back in his seat as they turned around in the yard and made their way down the winding drive. He glanced at the golden corn growing in the fields, rolling down his window and reaching a hand out to brush along the stiff stalks. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the cool early autumn breeze run across his sweaty face and play with the dark hair hanging over his forehead under his cap.

“Put your window up, you’re letting gnats in,” Mom complained.

Justice obeyed, and then he looked forward. Ahead, to the distant sparkle of the floodwaters, and the even more distant skyscrapers of City 13666. He could see a line of cars at the bridge to cross the flood. At least his family wasn’t the only one being kicked out of their homes. Stupid Fed. Thinking they can boss us all around like that. Well, I’m not going to stand for it. Even if Mom and Dad won’t stand up to them, when I grow up, I will. I’m not letting them stomp all over me and kick me out of my house.

He turned back to look beyond their things loaded in the truck bed, beyond to the farmhouse rapidly growing farther.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured. “I’ll come back. Just sit tight, and I’ll come back.”

“What’s that?” Mom barked.

“Nothing. Just thinking.”

“Well, stop it. You’d better learn to keep your thoughts to yourself. We’re going to live in the City now, and that’s a place where you’re likely to get in trouble if you speak your thoughts.”

Justice nodded, leaning against his seat to stare out the window numbly at the passing corn. There was no way he’d be silent for long. Nobody was going to tell him what to do or think, not in that filthy City. He’d show them, show them all. He’d say exactly what he thought, whether or not he got in trouble for it.

7 September 2113

Warden was the youngest of the new recruits, but he was the biggest. At ten, he was nearly the height of the officer tasked with taking the seventy children from his district to Federal Military Base 13. But he knew he was also the poorest of the new recruits, because the rest of them were rosy and plump, while his malnourished body was sallow and thin. Nevertheless, the officer nodded in approval at his quick military gait as he was prodded into the troop carrier.

“Good boy,” he said. “We need ones like you, who listen and are obedient.”

Warden nodded, staying silent. He wasn’t obedient because he wanted to be. He was obedient because he had to be. Ever since his family was sent to City 13666, he’d learned the wisdom of keeping his mouth shut and his ears open to any hint of danger. Maybe he’d learned it too well…maybe that was what got him drafted. Or perhaps it was pure chance. He wasn’t sure.

Mom had been miserable when he’d been taken. She’d sobbed and begged the recruitment officer to let him stay, he was too young. But no, he had to leave, and say goodbye to Locum and Hope and think of the new baby that wasn’t born yet. He didn’t think little Hope would remember him when he returned. If he returned.

“Will my duties be very dangerous?” he asked the officer as the last of the children made it into the large vehicle on tracks that would carry them to FMB 13.

The officer looked down at him, a little surprised. He hesitated a moment before answering. Warden knew that was a very bad sign. “No. That is, they are only the duties expected of a good soldier for the Federal Military. You’ll serve your country well, and bring glory to the International Federation by stopping dangerous rebels.”

Warden narrowed his eyes. The man was lying. Not about stopping the rebels, but about his duties. He concluded he probably wouldn’t make it home again, and tried to accustom himself to this thought. It was hard; he kept getting emotional because he wanted his mother and father to be beside him when he died, and he didn’t think that was likely to happen. The officer saw the single tear that sparkled in the corner of his eye, and bent down so they were eye-to-eye. That bothered Warden even more. He hated it when people were sympathetic.

“Look, kid, don’t cry. It’s not so bad. You’ll be with a bunch of other boys your age, and you’ll get to shoot guns and fight enemies of the International Federation. Maybe you’ll even get lucky and they’ll send you off-planet to fight some aliens in a spaceship. Wouldn’t that be cool?”

No, it would not. Warden wasn’t afraid of guns; his father had a few rifles, and he’d even shot them before they were confiscated. But he was afraid of dying, and he didn’t much care about aliens or the enemies of the International Federation. They weren’t his enemies, anyway. But he knew better than to say what he was thinking.

“Yes, it would be interesting,” he replied, quickly dashing the tear away with a fist. “Will they have a lot of food there?”

“Oh yes,” said the officer, still in that condescending tone that Warden’s teacher used, back when he was in school. He didn’t like school; he used to be taught by his mother before that was made illegal. The teachers all treated him like he was dumb, and that was what the officer was doing now. He figured he should be grateful the man wasn’t barking orders at him.

“There will be lots of food,” the officer went on. “Not very fancy, but better than what you’d get at home.”

The man must have gauged his social status well. Warden flinched, crossing his arms so the man couldn’t see his sleeves that were too short. His shirt was hiked up then, and he could just imagine the man counting his ribs pityingly. So he pulled his shirt back down, but then the sleeves were at his elbows again. So he just put his hands by his sides, like a soldier would. He was going to be a soldier soon anyway, he might as well practice.

“What’s your name, kid?” the officer asked as the carrier bumped along, seeming to hit every rut on the barren path through the Wild.

“Warden,” said Warden. The man grinned.

“That’s good. You can protect the peace of the International Federation. I think you’ll make it just fine as a soldier.”

Warden hoped so. He leaned against the wall and wished he could see outside. He wondered if they were passing by the area where he used to live. He could just imagine the forest and the farmland, all mismatched together like a chess board, with fields between woods, and woods between fields. Justice’s farm might be somewhere nearby. He hadn’t seen Justice in a long time. Not since they moved to the City. Probably by now Justice was in the City, too, but he probably lived in a nicer area. Warden couldn’t imagine a worse place to live than where his family lived; they were crowded on all sides by drug dealers, gangsters, and some strange women his mother didn’t want him to talk to. His mother didn’t like any of their neighbors, but Warden could only shrug and promise to keep away from them. It wasn’t very hard. Nobody paid attention to him, because he was only the quiet kid who didn’t run with the gangs and hadn’t tried smoking yet. When he was drafted, though, everyone felt sorry for him. The owner of the pawnshop next door even came by with an antique coin to give him as a good-luck present. Warden didn’t believe in luck, but he still had the coin. It had some man’s head on it—one of the Presidents’, back when there were presidents and there was a place called the United States of America. That was what it said, so he knew it was from there.

His friends would have liked it. Especially Serenity. She liked old things. Once, when the two of them and Justice and Tribute were playing in a creek bed, he’d found her an arrowhead from the ancient Natives who used to live there centuries ago. She’d turned it into a necklace because she thought it was so cool. He wondered if she still had it, wherever she was.

Warden’s head smacked against the wall as they hit another bump. Then they stopped, and he nearly fell into another kid before the officer caught him.

“Careful, Warden,” he said. “We’re here at the base. Just have to get checked in.”

As if on cue, the truck began to move, slower this time, and it only went for a short way before stopping. Warden heard the barking of orders outside. His heart began to race, and he couldn’t stop the clamminess in his hands. Only a few more moments, and he would be facing his new life.

The door swung open, and he blinked into blinding lights. Instinctively he covered his face, but then he couldn’t catch himself when he was grabbed roughly by a soldier and slammed to the ground. Before he could protest this rude treatment, he was yanked up again and hustled to line up outside a short, squat building made of metal. He could hear crying coming from inside. That was not reassuring. But he swallowed and stood straight and stared over the other kids’ heads as the line shuffled forward.

When he got to the building, yet another soldier almost dragged him to a chair, throwing a scratchy, worn towel around him. Warden got one glimpse of his thin, unhappy face in a mirror before he heard a buzzing sound and felt a tugging on his hair. He looked up, and saw his dark blond locks falling off onto the towel with an electric razor. In another moment his hair was gone, and he was left rubbing the soft fuzz that was left as the barber pushed him out of the chair and called for the next kid.

Then he got his uniform. It was plain, just a pair of khaki trousers and a brown T-shirt with a jacket that matched the pants, and a slouchy beret that he thought looked stupid. He was sent to a locker room to dress, but couldn’t bear to remove a stitch of clothing with all the other boys there.

“Move it!” a supervising soldier snapped, smacking the back of his head.

Warden did move, dressing as quickly as possible and trying to show as little of himself as possible. He noticed that the soldier’s jacket was buttoned up to the neck, so he buttoned his own the same. He was glad he did, for three other boys were smacked for not having their uniforms in order. He couldn’t figure out the beret for a minute, but managed to get it fixed to his head properly before the soldier could come around again.

Then they were marched to their barracks, and after all that dressing he was told to undress again and go to bed. Warden thought the whole process very inefficient, so he went to the bathroom first to get used to his new uniform anyway. He saw himself in the mirror, and noticed that he looked even more unhappy. Or perhaps just serious. And older. Very much older; he would have guessed he was fourteen and not ten. But he decided he had better get used to it. He was in the Federal Military now, so he would have to get used to a lot of things, and not complain about them either.

19 February 2120

River

River didn’t often venture out of her room. Aunt Grace didn’t like it. But then, River didn’t like Aunt Grace, so she did it anyway. Today she knew Aunt Grace was in the lab, and the sitter-bot assigned to watch her like she was a toddler was charging its battery. That made it very vulnerable. River was an elementary hacker, but a sitter bot didn’t have a very advanced security system anyway. Two minutes after tackling the bot and tearing off its brain’s access panel, she had effectively disabled it. She would fix it when she came back, or else blame it on one of her aunt’s numerous cats.

For now, she was just exhilarated to be free, free to wander the sterile white halls of her subsistence for as long as she dared. She hadn’t been able to get outside yet; she couldn’t find a door in the entire lab to get there. It wasn’t as if outside looked that interesting, anyway. From her view, it was all skyscrapers and towers and little vehicles driving on hard pavement. In the distance she thought she could see something sparkling, which would be the Wild. She was most certainly not allowed to go there. Aunt Grace said it was full of microbes from dirt. And the Void. Both of which River would like to see some day. Or, at least dirt. Maybe not the Void. But Aunt Grace said the Void was dangerous and scary, so River thought it would be cool to see, of course.

Today she was going to see more of the lab, though. So she wandered the halls, slipping from one doorway to another, even though the place was empty. She never could understand why her aunt’s scientists insisted on having so much space that they hardly ever used. Of course, some of the rooms had medical records or test results (she had snooped in them), but most of them were just empty. River swore they did it to distract her and keep her from finding anything useful.

But she went down the hall farther than she had dared go before, and then turned down yet another hall, and kept making random turns because she was bored. She knew how to get back. She had a good head for direction, something she guessed she must have inherited from one of her parents. She didn’t remember either of them. Aunt Grace said her father was a liar and her mother was a fool. That was all River could get out of her, though she thought it nasty of Aunt Grace to refer to her own sister as a fool. She guessed her mother had probably had light hair, like her own, and maybe blue eyes. One of her parents must have had a rebellious streak in them. She thought it would probably be her father, because Aunt Grace at least always insisted on keeping with the rules. River didn’t like rules. She figured she would like them if there were less of them, but there were so many she felt stifled by them. Just as she felt stifled in the suite she shared with her aunt—her prison.

Hence her desire to explore the lab. Today she had gotten very far. It was probably because she knew most of the area already and was walking quicker. Her padded shoes tiptoed lightly on the smooth floor, and she could dart through the halls as easily as one of Aunt Grace’s cats. Everything looked the same, though. White door after white door, each with three numbers to the right of the doorknob. 356, 357, 358…but there was nothing important in the rooms. She checked many times to make sure. Only filing cabinets with medical records that made no sense to her.

She had made it to the four hundreds when the numbering abruptly stopped. Then it became letters. A, B, C, D…it stopped at D. So, naturally, she opened the door, slipping in and blinking quickly.

The room was very dark, but without having to see River knew that she was not alone. She felt the presence of another human, another someone. Though not quite someone. She heard a rustling, and for a moment thought of running. But then her curiosity overcame her fear, and she stepped closer, her eyes adjusting to the dim light produced by the covered windows.

“Who’s there?” a voice called, scratchy and rough.

River shrank back, before taking another step.

“Who are you? If you’re another one of those medical people, you can leave. Lemme die in peace already.” And he swore.

Goodness, he spoke like her aunt. But he was probably talking about Aunt Grace, anyway. River felt bad for him. She knew it was a “him” because she could see him well now. She hadn’t seen many men. Sometimes her aunt had other medical personnel to dinner, and then River caught a glimpse of them, but they weren’t as young as this fellow.

“I’m River,” she said.

“River, huh? The name’s Barley. What are you—aw, you’re just a kid.”

“Yes.”

The man was silent, shifting uncomfortably. River saw that he was bound, his arms and legs cuffed to the table he lay on. He looked sick, too. His face sweated uncontrollably, and she could see by the heaving of his chest that he was having difficulty breathing. She hadn’t seen someone sick before. She hadn’t even been sick before herself.

Then the man spoke again, his voice as hoarse as before. “Hey, you one of the lab rats, then?”

“Lab rat?” River was unfamiliar with this term.

“Clones. What’ll save humanity. Nah, they wouldn’t have let you live.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know, the kids they take the cells from that are supposed to kill the Void. Babies. Embryos. Whatever makes you more comfortable.”

“I’m not a baby.” River thought this should be obvious. Did she really look that little?

“Yeah, well, you could be one of them all grown up. Are you? They checking you out for immunity?”

His voice was strained now, and he sounded a little angry. River backed away.

“No,” she replied, and the man laughed hoarsely. “No, I’m not a baby and I’m not a clone.”

He was still laughing, cruelly, almost maniacally. River darted to the door as he began to cough and heave. He called for her, snarling now. By the time she closed the door he was raving. She didn’t know what was wrong with him, but she ran, past empty walls and on and on until she reached a door at the end of the corridor. Panting and afraid, she threw open the door. Another dim room, but this one was lit by an eerie bluish glow emitted from little orbs that seemed to float on the walls. On closer inspection, she saw that they were actually fixed to a greyish machine that seemed built into the walls. Tubes ran throughout the machine, sending pale liquids into the orbs.

When she looked closer, she was amazed at what was inside. Little creatures, little funny creatures with eyes, all curled up on themselves with tiny hand-like bumps over bulging bellies—or what looked like bellies. None of them moved, none of them at all. They must be dead, she thought. She saw writing on the wall next to each orb. Writing next to lights, all of which were extinguished. Heartbeat…Development…Movement…

But her eyes soon turned to the center of the room, where another one of these orbs sat, only the lights by the writing were lit. She went to it, attracted by the light. It was a creature like the others, though a bit bigger. And, it moved! Its little hand-like extensions wiggled in whatever liquid it was in, and what looked like legs seemed to kick a little bit in spasms. River laughed, looking down at the data beside the creature.

Seven weeks. Prototype One.

Prototype? Like a clone? River chewed on the bottom of her lip. Was that what the man—Barley—was talking about? She looked at the creature, and raised an eyebrow. It was—was it?—a baby?

She couldn’t imagine looking like that before she was born. But of course it was. It was a baby, only not ready to be born yet. A wave of warmth flowed through her heart. She pressed a hand to the orb. It almost seemed like the baby reached back to her, its little appendages waving back as its blank eyes stared at her. River smiled.

But then the door flew open. For a moment River could only turn and make eye contact with Aunt Grace before the tall woman rushed forward.

“Get away from that!” she screeched, grabbing River’s arm and tearing her away from the baby. “What are you doing out? I’ve told you to stay in your room!”

She slapped River, dragging her out before she could protest. In the long hustle back to her room, accentuated by Aunt Grace’s harsh scolding, curses, and threats, River kept silent. Usually she would have fought, but now all she could think about was that little baby in the orb. She wondered if it felt as trapped as she did.