BIRTHRIGHT

Based on an Original Idea by Stan
Slavutsky  © 2009 all rights
reserved

 

The man was
old.  He could have been 70 or 80 –
maybe even older.  He kept looking
around the crowded restaurant and shaking his head with disgust.   At first the girl watched him
from across the room with morbid curiosity.  She was the only one who paid any attention to him.  Every so often he would see something
that forced him to talk aloud to himself.  Mostly he would say things like he was glad his daughter didn’t live
long enough to see what the world had become. 

That the old man
kept mentioning his daughter struck the girl as odd.  For nearly a century the Government had been introducing
chemical contraceptives into the water and food supplies to effectively force a
zero population growth.  As the
girl understood it, every January a random drawing called The Birthright
Lottery – based on a complex mathematical matrix that factored in, among other
things, the number of deaths the previous year – would determine who would be
eligible to attempt procreation during the coming year.   Once a person was selected, the
Department of Human Husbandry gave the chosen ones a prescription that
neutralized the contraceptives.  Candidates were then enrolled into social networks designed to match
prospective mates in regard to genetic compatibility and other factors.  Nothing was left to chance.  As soon as a woman was “with child” she
was sequestered in a Government facility through the term of her
pregnancy.  At birth the child
became a ward of the state.   No one was allowed any contact with his or her own children.  Being raised by parents was a thing of
the past.

The girl closed
her eyes and tried to imagine what life must have been like at the beginning of
the 21^st Century.  She
had read about the failed attempts at the re-tribalization of Europe.  She was familiar with the famines and
epidemics that ravaged Africa.  In
college she even wrote extensively on the causes leading up to The Great War
that left the world under the control of a single, although, at times,
dysfunctional, parliamentary government.  But now, nearly 135 years later, she couldn’t help wondering how it must
have felt to walk into a small boutique and pick out a new dress or buy a pair
of high-heel shoes and walk out feeling pretty.  And going out on a date with a boy
eager to “get to know her” – what must that have been like?  Not to mention
being lucky enough to have a baby.  Convinced that none of this would ever happen to her, the girl’s childhood
was filled with vicarious experiences triggered by the few old movies and books
that had survived the purge.   If the girl thought about it too much she was certain it would break her
heart.

Uncontrollable
population growth had given way to negative population growth soon after the
World Government was formed.  At
first it was a controversial decision.  Scientists had concluded that if something weren’t done to stem the tide
of overpopulation, then civilization would simply collapse into chaos.  Voluntary birth control did not work –
census figures proved that point.  And even with all the various wars and widespread famine the planet
would soon produce an unsustainable population.  At the time, many world leaders were convinced that drastic
measures had to be adopted in order to insure the future of humanity.  Barring any sort of major catastrophic
pandemic, the global call to action had to be swift and, for the most part,
irreversible. 

 

The girl thought
she knew both sides of the argument.  Battle lines were drawn between the Pragmatists and the
Naturalists.  In theory, what the Pragmatists advocated
made sense.  But in reality the
choice to radically control population went against nature.   In the end, the Pragmatists’
point of view won out, and the World Government put into effect a program of
forced birth control that stopped just short of complete sterilization.  Most people didn’t care – so long as
they could still have sex, what did it matter.   Those that didn’t agree were branded “enemies of the
state”. And their grassroots’ movement was quickly silenced.  The few that survived the purge had no
choice but to go underground – to simply drop out of society and try to live a
normal, natural life.  It had long
since failed to be an issue.

For her part, the girl’s choice to
eventually find a way to go off the grid was not some spur-of-the-moment
decision.  As long as she could
remember, the girl had heard rumors of an underground society that had dedicated
itself to living a natural life.  She didn’t know if the rumors were
true, but somehow the idea of an independent, feral existence – free from the
constraints and regulations imposed by The Government in its vain, bureaucratic
attempt to stem the overpopulation and general malaise that characterized the
current state of global politics – seemed strangely attractive to her.

It was hard to know whom to trust.  She was sure there were people out and
about who felt the same way as she did.  The trick was finding them.  The way things were, everyday life didn’t allow much opportunity for
casual conversation.  Too many
people meant too much time waiting around just to get the simplest things
done.  But the more she thought
about it, the more she kept coming back to the same conclusion.  It was quite simple - while waiting
around in line at the grocery store or the pharmacy she trained herself to keep
an ear out for any code words that she might overhear – any sort of sign that
there was some dissatisfaction with current Government policies.  When she felt comfortable that there
was common ground she would approach the person and broach the subject of
slipping off the grid with subtle innuendoes.   It took her nearly thirteen months and several false
starts, but after watching the old man at the restaurant for a few minutes she
was certain he could help her drop out of the system.

When he finally left the crowded
lunchroom, the girl followed him from a discreet distance.  She didn’t want to draw attention to
herself on any of the public surveillance monitors.  However the old man moved swiftly; so much so that at times
the girl thought she had lost him.   The girl knew that as long as she had the galvanic microchip embedded
under her skin, near her
left shoulder blade, her
whereabouts could be tracked.  If she
strayed too far from her normal routine she ran the risk of being flagged, and
from that point on her movements would be closely scrutinized.  The girl hoped that the old man truly
was in contact with the Naturalists.  That way, once she convinced him of her desire to drop out of society,
she could finally have the chip taken out and replaced with a random
transponder.  From then on it would
be as though she never existed.  That would be the easy part.  But she was getting way too far ahead of herself.  She still didn’t know if the old man was
a legit anti-establishment drop out or just plain crazy.

 

The
old man lived in a shabby tenement in the lower Eastside.  It wasn’t fair to call the area a slum
– for that matter the entire city could be considered a slum.  But the neighborhood he lived in was
one of the worst the girl had ever seen.   She watched as the old man dropped down a flight of
stairs and entered a basement apartment.  She waited for a few minutes and then followed after him.

She
discovered there was only one apartment on the lower landing.  The girl couldn’t decide whether to
ring the buzzer or leave.  Circumstance made the decision for her.  The apartment door swung open and a hand darted out, grabbed
onto the girl’s arm and pulled her into the darkened room.

“You followed me from the diner,
right?”  The old man said after he locked
the door and turned on the light. 

“Yes.”

“Anyone
follow you?”

“No,
I don’t think so.  Why?”

“I
think you know why.”  The old man pulled
out a small buck knife and held it against the girl’s abdomen.

“You
a cop?”

The
girl grinned.

“This ain’t no laughin’ matter, missy.”

“Sorry.”  The girl was starting to get
frightened.  “I just thought you
might be able to help me.”

The
old man ushered her deep into the cramped studio apartment.  “That all depends.”  He paused to size the girl up.  “I’ll give you two minutes, because you
kinda remind me of my daughter.  But don’t try anything funny.”  He pushed the tip of his knife into her stomach to make his point crystal
clear.

“Thanks.”

It
took the girl more than two minutes to tell him her story about wanting to drop
off the grid.  But the old man
didn’t stop her.  They talked
together the rest of the night.  The girl felt good being able to finally tell someone her darkest
secrets.  Even if the old man was
crazy, at least she had found the courage to put words to her feelings.

The
girl was relieved when the old man told her he was a member of the
Naturalists.  Yesterday he had let
his guard down because it was the anniversary of his wife and daughter’s
death.  They had been gone for
eight years now; and every year since then, the old man had taken this one special day to grieve over his loss.  He knew it was dangerous, but at his
age he could well afford to be reckless if only for 24 hours.

The
old man had been a doctor until his life was turned upside down by the untimely
death of his family.  So getting
the microchip out of the girl’s back was no problem.  Once he was sure the girl was serious about dropping out, he
replaced it with a random transponder the very next morning.  He told the girl that she would still
give off a signal, but if anyone monitoring her movement tried to pull up her
vitals the system would throw out an error message.

As
an added bit of irony the old man told her he planned to embed the girl’s
original galvanic identifier onto the backside of one of the sewer rats he kept
for just such an occasion.  He
joked that it was his way of thumbing his nose at the Pragmatists who, in his
opinion, had ruined the world.  If
left to fend for themselves, these rats could live for years in the fetid
tunnels that crisscrossed the city.

 

The girl never returned to her
apartment.  The old man took her to
a nondescript building in the old warehouse district.  He called it “the dorm”, and told her
that the Naturalists had several safe houses like it scattered around the city.
 She was amazed at how adept the
Naturalists were at finding loopholes in the system.   When she took up residence there, the place had nearly
two hundred inhabitants.   There was one computer terminal in the place that was manned
around-the-clock by a staff of experienced hackers.  The girl realized that the Naturalists were
anti-establishment, but she came to learn that they were not stupid.  As one of the more ominous hand-drawn
posters strategically taped on the wall near the dorm’s exit cautioned, “One
false move will expose the entire network.”  The girl knew instinctively that the sentiment expressed in
that simple warning was correct.  Say something to the wrong person, and that would be the end of it.

At first the girl wasn’t comfortable
interacting with the others who had made the same the choice, like she did, to
drop out of the life they’d known.  It all seemed like a dream.  But, once the girl had healed up and the old man became a less frequent
visitor, a profound sense of isolation and loneliness had begun to set in.  To combat these feelings the girl made
it a point to personally engage the people that lived alongside her in
conversation.  Before all this,
small talk was luxury.  Now it was
all there was.  Those that stayed
there were not asked to do anything - no chores, no work, just live.  And although a few of them would dip
back into the mainstream to forage for provisions and supplies, everyone at the
dorm had their news and information about the outside world filtered by the
hackers.  One of the first things that
the girl learned was that anything the top brass felt was pertinent – like
significant events or specific warnings – would be scribbled on bulletin boards
located at various points throughout the dorm.

 

After a few months living at the dorm,
the girl had almost forgotten what her life was like before.  She had found it easier than she had
first thought to make friends with the people living there.  For the first time in her life she was
genuinely happy.  The main reason
for that was obvious.

She met a man
there who had become her lover.   They had spoken to each other on several occasions during the communal
meals provided for them.  He was
one of the food servers.  The girl
thought he was attractive, but was surprised to learn that he was also very
funny.  In fact, the very first
time in her life that she had ever laughed was because of him.  She was explaining to one of her new girlfriends, while waiting in the food line,
that she had begun to menstruate a few days earlier.  The server overheard only part of the girl’s conversation as
he was lamenting the blandness of the gruel he was serving to anyone who would
listen.  He told her that many
people had been known to pee their pants with laughter at some of his jokes,
but no one had ever bled as a direct consequence of one of his puns.  The short snort just came out of her
nose without warning.   The
server took the girl’s reaction as an invitation to expand on his elegant
description of the thin porridge he had been plopping on everyone’s plate.  In no time at all, everyone in the mess
hall was laughing.  It was
infectious.  The girl couldn’t
believe how good it felt to laugh. They started seeing each other on a regular
basis soon after that.   The
girl was surprised at how quickly she became pregnant.  And she wasn’t the only woman at the
dorm who found herself with child.  The girl’s lover joked that it must be going around.

 Once the pregnant women started to
“show”, they were forbidden from leaving the dorm except to deliver the
baby.  When the first child was
due, the expectant mother was taken away.  She never returned.   Everybody was hesitant to talk about it.  But when the same thing happened to the second and third
mother, the girl started to get worried.  She asked the computer techs to see if they could figure out what had
happened to them.   They were
no help at all.

The last time
she saw the old man who had introduced her to the Naturalists, it was almost as
if he didn’t recognize her.  She
was near term and he had come over to check up on her in his capacity as a
doctor.  But he seemed distracted
by the news that the terraforming efforts on Mars were finally paying off.

“It won’t be
long now before the Pragmatists start relocating their ‘ruling’ class to Mars.”

“That’ll take
years, right?” The girl asked.

“It won’t happen
during my lifetime. But it might in your.  If not, your child will certainly be a witness to humanity’s expansion
to other worlds.”  

After he
examined her, he told the girl that she would be leaving with him.  That meant the baby would be born in a
couple of days.   In all the excitement, she forgot to ask
about the other women who had been taken away to give birth.

But as soon as
the girl was wheeled into the panel truck waiting for her at the loading dock, she
knew something was wrong.  She
tried to scream but the Pragmatist EMT inside quickly put her under with a
cloth soaked in ether.  When she
woke up in the government’s maternity ward, she knew the whole thing had been
an elaborate ruse.  It was so
obvious.  She couldn’t understand
why she didn’t figure it out earlier.  The people she’d lived with for nearly a year were not Naturalists.  And odds were that the Naturalists
never existed in the first place. The dorm was just an intricate scheme set-up up by the Government’s Department
of Human Husbandry to lull the people that lived there into a false sense of
security.  There was no lottery in
place.  There may have been one at the
beginning, but now it was just a matter of the Government fishing for the right
candidate willing to put up with all the inconveniences associated with
bringing a child into the world.  When
she took the bait offered by the old man’s rants she had become “randomly” selected
by the system to procreate; and the dorm was merely a clever way to keep people
who stayed there off guard instead of off the grid.  Volunteers were always better candidates that draftees.

 

The girl’s labor
was chemically induced.  After
giving birth the girl was cleaned up and sedated.   She never knew how long she was out, but when she
finally regained consciousness she found herself in a small cubicle.  Aside from the cot the only other thing
in the narrow, rectangular space was a pressurized toilet-sink combo.   The door was locked from the
outside.  The girl noticed that
there was a narrow window above the bed.   If she stood up on the cot she could just see
out.  It was night and the clear
black sky was filled with stars.  There was an emptiness inside her that was indescribable.  Much of it was probably due to the
hormones still flooding her body, but some of it had to be psychological.  The girl couldn’t believe that someone
had ripped her child out of her body without ever giving her the opportunity to
see it, even for a split second.

To them she was
nothing more than a disposable baby-making machine – a means to an end.  She wanted to cry.  She needed to cry.  She needed to scream at the monsters
that felt it was right to manipulate her into giving birth.  But most of all she wanted hold her
child in her arms and smell its breath, see it smile and feel its tiny heart
beat with life.

When dawn
finally came and she saw the Earth rise over the horizon she knew that would
never happen.  The Pragmatists were
smart.  They found people who
wanted to make babies and fooled them into a false sense of security.  Then once the child had been born the
birth parents were shuttled off to the moon so there was no possibility that
parent and child could ever be reunited.

Over the years
as the girl looked out at the perfect desolation of the moon and the thick
crescent-shaped Earth a quarter million miles away, she drew comfort from the
fact that every time her child looked out on a nighttime sky she would be up
there looking back from the moon.

 

by cfmacek

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