Steady

“Inferts and Repros together, in pursuit of a better world!” The Supervisor’s tinny voice echoed off the compound walls, where men with guns looked down over the crowd.

Mike Bertran had heard similar words as a boy, when the anti-aging nanotech was first revealed, and then again a few years later when they announced the sterilization shots. A third time from the P.A. system when the chain link walls went up around his neighborhood -- and then at every Pairing since. He’d long wondered when that better world was coming.

He wasn’t wondering any more.

To his left, Jack O’Clare muttered, “A better world... I’ll show ya a better fuckin’ world,” and spat yellow to the concrete. Thin, with ratty hair matted flat to his head, Jack had one hand stuffed into the pocket of his filthy pants while the other clenched and unclenched at his side. His eyes kept skittering up the Warden’s Tower, up to that row of windows at the top, and when they got there he would shudder and wrench them back down to the Supervisor.

“Steady,” Mike said, laying a hand on Jack’s shoulder. Jack nodded, but Mike noticed he kept forming that fist; open and closed, open and closed.

The moon was a pocked crescent in the black sky, and any stars behind it were summarily drowned in the glare of floodlights. The air was pregnant with expectation. Mike’s hand kept drifting into his pocket, caressing its contents, and his heart thudded like a jackhammer.

Off to his right was the fencing that separated the Repro women from the men. Things were getting stricter, and he hadn’t seen Libby since last month’s Pairing. Hadn’t had the chance to tell her that tonight was the night. He prayed she had the sense to keep her head down.

“As codified in the 2048 Reproduction Restriction Act, the All-Hub has selected this week’s ideal Pairing from the registry of eligible candidates. Remember, if your name is called, please proceed to the security checkpoint at the base of the Warden’s Tower for sanitation.”

Silence descended. It was no more than a glint of gold from where Mike stood, but the great monitor screens hanging from the Warden’s Tower focused in as the Supervisor raised the locket. He’d heard that shape called a heart, but he’d seen a fellow’s heart when the meatfarm machinery ripped his ribcage half-off, and it didn’t look anything like that.

The Supervisor pried open one half of the locket, revealing a name etched within. The entire compound seemed to hold its breath. “Jack O’Clare!”

Mike turned to Jack with a heavy sigh. They’d discussed it together, and everyone agreed. Had to be somebody. Mike folded Jack into a close, brotherly embrace. “You know what to do,” he said, pushing the contents of his pocket into Jack’s hand, hiding the exchange between them. “At the top, if you can, but the base will do. Give ‘em hell, O’Clare.”

Jack looked him in the eye, and there was a wild light burning there. “Hold that woman of yours tight, you hear? Make it worth it, Bertran.” Then other arms were tugging him away, hands slipping into his pockets, voices offering him their gratitude and encouragement.

That was that, then. Had to be somebody.

Now he just needed to find Libby.

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“Inferts and Repros together, in pursuit of a better world!” The Supervisor’s voice was crisp and clean as it emanated from the monitor in the corner of the Warden’s office.

“How exciting.” Marietta found she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the spectacle below her. So many people. So many Repros. “Look at how they listen to him. They must live for these Pairings, don’t you think?”

David snorted into his scotch. “I try not to put myself in the mind of those brutes, my dear.”

“Oh, don’t be such a drag. Look at how hopeful they are. I do hope the All-Hub chose a decent-looking couple. I couldn’t stand the embarrassment if my sponsorship photo turned out like Priscilla Anderson’s.” She shuddered a little at the thought.

“The All-Hub? My dear, I thought you knew.”

Marietta glanced back at the Warden, baffled. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Tell me, have you ever been fishing?”

She blinked. “Fishing?”

“That’s right. Pretty thing like you can’t be older than what, seventy? Not eighty? You really must try it before the last rivers dry up. My father used to say that nothing does the soul better than a day on the river, God rest the old bastard.”

“David, I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Not to worry, my dear, just a little tradition we have with our sponsors.”

And to Marietta’s surprise, one of the junior officers pressed a small fishing pole into her hands. She gaped down at it, then over at David, who had risen from behind his desk and was opening the lid of a wide chest stashed along one wall. “Is now really the time? The Supervisor is about to -- Oh, my.”

A sea of heart-shaped lockets filled the chest to the brim. David scooped one off the top, held it up to the fluorescent lighting so that it shone dully, then opened the little doors to reveal unfamiliar names etched within. He grinned, as if letting her in on a grand secret.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Marietta said. “The All-Hub… prints the lockets out in advance?”

“Oh come now, you’re smarter than that. You really think we’d waste All-Hub resources sequencing Repro DNA?”

She looked from the locket, to David, to the fishing rod in her hands. She saw that the hook at the end of the line had been replaced with a small magnet. Her eyes drifted back to the chest full of metal lockets. “But you can’t mean…”

“What did you think your money was sponsoring, Marietta? Not an actual child, surely?” He snorted again, as if it were the most preposterous thing he’d heard all day. “We’re out of room, my dear. There is no Pairing. You’re paying for the spectacle. For the game. I thought they told you this when you signed the forms.”

“They did not,” Marietta said, a bit put out. She was supposed to be doing a good deed today, after all. Using her wealth and status as an Infert to help those in need. The sponsorship photo was a nice bonus, of course, but not the point.

David put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, my dear. It’s our little secret. Everyone will see the photo, and they’ll know how generous you are. And we can touch up the photo for you, too. Now, let me see your grip. That’s it. How about you decide who will be called for the next Pairing?”

On the TV, the Supervisor was opening the second door of the locket.

“Libby Bertran!”

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“...in pursuit of a better world!”

Doug watched a ripple of discontent pass through the crowd at the Supervisor’s patronizing tone, and he tightened his grip on the stun baton, saw the other boys down the security line do the same. He’d told Andi this was the safest job he could find. He was starting to think he’d lied to her.

They’d never believed that Repros were all that bad. Sure, the world was filled up -- but it was the rich Inferts who’d stopped dying, right? Hard to make room at the bar for new faces when the old ones never leave. And you can’t blame folk for being thirsty, can you? Hell, there was even a time, before they got their shots, he and Andi had dreamed of having a baby girl. Surely the Repros weren’t all that bad.

But the two Repros chosen for the Pairing were making their way toward the security line now, and neither had that happy look he’d been expecting. Behind them, the crowd seemed restless, uneasy. Weren’t they here to celebrate a new Pairing? New life? Wasn’t that what the Repros were all about? So why did it make Doug feel like he was back in the army again?

“Eyes up!” Captain Rickard’s voice came through the earlink, and Doug saw why. A big man, head and shoulders above the crowd, had started pushing his way forward at the announcement of the female name. He was bellowing something that was lost in the growing unrest.

“Get those two in the elevator!” Rickard commanded. Doug stepped aside to clear a space for the two chosen Repros, shoved the woman toward the elevator when she hesitated, then quickly closed the line again. There was more movement out there now, more men pushing forward, and Doug felt a familiar line of sweat roll down his back.

“Should we sanitize them?” someone else called.

“Forget about it -- deal with the big fucker!” Rickard snapped.

Doug’s sweaty thumb hovered over the activator switch on his baton. His heart thrummed in his ears like chopper rotors, but he could pick out what the big man was shouting now.

“Jack, wait! Libby! LIBBY!”

Behind him, Doug felt the vibration of the elevator as it shot off the ground, toward the Warden’s Tower. “Shit,” he muttered. He had a feeling the big fellow’s woman had just been Paired with another man, and now the fellow was charging forward like he was going to tear the elevator down himself. Perhaps Doug would have done the same if it was Andi in that elevator, but she wasn't.

“Steady,” came Rickard’s voice.

Didn’t they have guns up on the walls? Why weren’t they shooting the bastard? Doug had told Andi this was the safest job he could find. Repros were supposed to be happy at a Pairing.

They didn’t seem happy now.

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“Oh, my.” Once again, Marietta found she couldn’t look away. “Is that… a riot?”

“What did I tell you? Brutes. Use your damn batons!”

It all happened so fast. A hulking Repro slammed into the security line, ripped the baton from a guard’s hand and jammed it into his neck. The guard jerked, convulsed, was flung aside.

Marietta swallowed. “David...”

“Steady, my dear. We’re safe up here. Savages. Where are the guns, goddam--”

The ding of a bell cut him off, and they turned to see the elevator doors glide open. A thin man stepped out, clothing ripped and filthy, hair matted flat. He licked his lips as his eyes flicked across the room. A pale woman cowered behind him.

“Not now," David barked. "Somebody get them the hell out of my office.”

Marietta's first thought was that she wouldn't get her photo. Then she noticed the Repro man was reaching for his pocket.

“David… what’s he--”

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It was too late before the elevator doors even closed, and Mike knew it. Didn’t stop him from killing that security guard.

Maybe it had been too late months ago, when they first thought of the plan. He’d always known there’d be sacrifices. Been willing to do it himself. He’d just never thought it would be Libby.

It was no surprise when the Warden’s Tower exploded. The concussion slammed him to the ground, replaced the screams with a dull ringing. Then came the masonry, a truck-sized chunk on his left, a six-foot iron rod on his right, dust in his eyes, in his nose. He gagged, coughed, rolled over to all fours and spat bloody gravel to the concrete.

There was something gold by his hand. He left bloody fingerprints across its polished surface as he picked it up. A heart-shaped locket, the doors blown off, the names within charred beyond legibility.

He heard distant booms. The sound of other towers, in other compounds. Other Repros, rising up.

A better world.

Mike closed his eyes as golden lockets rained down around him, and he thought of his Libby.