Eve of Man

  I shouldn’t have opened my mouth.

  ‘I mean, I thought that was how you were feeling but I never really thought it, you know what I mean? I never thought you’d be dumb enough to act on those feelings. To let it start affecting our missions.’

  ‘Okay, okay, forget I said anything!’

  ‘Oh, believe me, I will! I’m going to erase this whole conversation from my memory, then empty the trash,’ he says, while pretending to tip the contents of his brain into the bin next to his desk. ‘I’m going for a shower. Actually, no, you are.’

  ‘What?’ I ask, as he points to the bathroom in our dorm.

  ‘You, shower, now. You need to cool off. Wash off this craziness and come out with a clear head. I want old Bram back, professional Bram, top-of-the-leaderboards Bram. Not this lovesick Romeo zombie that’s going to get us both locked up for the rest of our lives. Shower, now,’ he orders.

  I reluctantly peel myself from the bed and walk to the shower with my tail between my legs.

  Well, that didn’t go so well, Bram, did it, you complete dumbass?

  The shower is cold but I welcome it. I need it. It’s refreshing and instantly clears my mind. The only problem is that it clears away the last fifteen-minute lecture from Hartman and now all I’m left with is a fresh flutter of hummingbirds as the cold water reinvigorates them.

  The thing is, he may know Eve but he doesn’t know her like I do. This isn’t just in my head. Things have changed since she saw my face. She knows what I look like now, the face behind Holly. When she sees Holly, does she see her or me? More importantly, whose face does she want to see?

  I step out of the shower. The water stops automatically and the soft buzz begins of the recycling process that cleans the water and pumps it back into the system. I look at my face in the mirror. My deep brown eyes study themselves, searching for something. An answer? A sign? Jesus Christ, Bram, pull yourself together.

  I know I pushed the boundaries today, I can’t deny that. The rules are black and white: Holly must not initiate physical contact with Eve. Simple as. But when it comes to Eve initiating physical contact with Holly? That is a grey area. Today was a totally grey mission.

  I guess I went fishing with the Cube and Eve took the bait. I can’t promise I won’t go fishing again.

  I dry myself and head back to my bunk.

  ‘Better?’ Hartman calls.

  ‘Much better, thanks,’ I reply. ‘Look, let’s just forget what I said earlier, okay?’

  ‘Forget what?’ he says, not bothering to look up from whatever he’s reading.

  I climb on to my bed with my hummingbirds, place my hands together and get back to staring at the bunk above, thinking of what will happen next time I see Eve.

  22

  Eve

  They might have created this pretty Dome for me to grow up in, but the laboratories of my early years have never been far away. They followed me here. Specially built stark white clinical rooms for me to visit twice a month for scans and blood tests. It’s so routine and monotonous that I’m usually unfazed by having to recline in a hospital chair and splay my legs in stirrups so they can get to work.

  Today is different.

  I’m nervous. I’m tense.

  Usually I’m here so they can observe any changes in my body. They practically held a party when I first started ovulating. Today the room feels even more cold and barren now a serious task is at hand.

  ‘Hold your knee up into your side,’ Dr Rankin says, without looking at me as she adjusts her prodding stick, causing me to wince at the sensation. I’ve had the same doctor my entire life but there is no personal relationship between us, no niceties, even though she’s seen more of me than almost anyone else. I am a scientific puzzle to her, nothing more.

  I wonder what would happen if I successfully had girls and this doctor were to die – she must be in her seventies at least, judging by the multiple folds in the skin around her hazel eyes and the S-shaped curve of her spine. Her white coat hangs loosely over her skinny frame, and her walk has turned into a shuffle since I’ve been seeing her. She’s not ageing particularly well. At some point she will perish like the rest of them. Will my female children be studied like this, exposed to a man? My body constricts at the thought.

  ‘Keep still,’ Dr Rankin barks, her large nostrils flaring angrily.

  ‘Sorry,’ I mumble.

  ‘Thoughts?’ Vivian asks over me. She has been standing silently in the corner for the last few minutes. She doesn’t usually bother coming, but today is different. She didn’t seem surprised when I told her I was choosing not to meet Potential Number Three – in fact, it was the first time I’ve seen something resembling relief flit across her stony features.

  ‘We’re early, but I should be able to retract in a week or so. We’ll need to monitor closely until then,’ Dr Rankin replies, squinting at the screen in front of her through her thick-rimmed glasses.

  Retraction is nothing new. They probably have a freezer drawer somewhere full of my unfertilized eggs, but this time my eggs are being taken on a different journey. Rather than being stilled and preserved, they will be encouraged to live and flourish – to help me fulfil my destiny.

  ‘How many will there be?’ Vivian asks, walking around so that she has a clear view of the screen.

  I never get to see what’s on it. I’m never shown my insides – although I doubt I’d understand what I was looking at even if they pivoted the screen in my direction.

  ‘I’d predict only one or two this cycle,’ Dr Rankin replies, the tip of her index finger tapping twice on the image before them. ‘They’re a good healthy size, though. Exactly what we want.’

  ‘Great.’ Vivian’s eyes are glued to them.

  ‘There’ll be more next month if things don’t work out this cycle.’

  ‘They will,’ Vivian declares, with the forward tilt of her head that I know means she’s demanding her desired outcome. She doesn’t want to think about plan B.

  ‘I can only do so much. There are still some variables, as we know,’ Dr Rankin reminds her.

  ‘Well, limit them.’

  The two women look at each other and, for a split second, it seems they’re about to clash. Then Dr Rankin nods multiple times, conceding to the one in charge.

  ‘I’ll need a fresh sample from the donor,’ Dr Rankin tells Vivian, as she taps at the screen.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Daily,’ she adds authoritatively.

  ‘Fine.’ She forces the word out in a growl. I can practically hear her teeth grind at being given orders to follow. ‘Koa is already here,’ she adds.

  I decided not to look at Potential Number Three’s file, but now I have a name: Koa. I wonder what his background is and where he’s come from, what heritage he’ll be passing on along with his aesthetics.

  The donor . That is what I’ve demoted the possible father of the future to: some swimmers in a cup.

  The rod is moved and I yelp.

  ‘Honestly,’ Dr Rankin hisses, before turning back to Vivian. ‘We’ll fertilize both and pick the one with the stronger grading. If both are outstanding I’d advise against implanting them together at this time.’

  ‘We can discuss that if it occurs.’ Vivian clearly disagrees with the medical advice.

  ‘It’s early days and I advise we take things slowly. There is the risk of it being too much of a strain on her body. Given the medical history of her mother –’

  ‘Doctor!’ Vivian spits. ‘Know your position.’

  Dr Rankin is stunned into silence, her cheeks burning a bright red. She doesn’t utter another sound as she peels off her surgical gloves and leaves the room.

  Vivian gives the screen one last hard stare then, without a glance in my direction, follows her out of the open door.

  I breathe a sigh of relief that it’s over, taking a second or two to stop myself crying, then freeing my legs from the stirrups. I sit up on the bed and take a moment to still my racing heart.


  23

  Eve

  ‘You seem distracted,’ she observes, while we put on our shoes at the end of another dance class. I needed that physical activity. I’ve been transported from my worries and freed as my body bent, twirled and kicked, spinning unwanted thoughts from my head at great speed. Now we’ve stopped, it’s time to interact as the anguish elbows its way back in.

  I’ve avoided talking to Holly the whole session, but this one is never shrugged off without a struggle. She’s persistent, and not in an endearing way. I don’t trust Know-it-all Holly.

  ‘Do I?’ I frown at the floor, letting her know I’m not in the mood for her today.

  ‘Anything on your mind?’ she asks, pushing me further. I understand that she’s meant to seem caring and concerned, but instead she sounds false.

  ‘There’s plenty on my mind,’ I snap.

  ‘Care to share?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I bet you would if we were out on the Drop.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I ask, looking up at her pinched face. I never see the beauty in this one, even though she’s the same aesthetically as the others. She makes Holly ugly, which is no easy feat.

  ‘Nothing,’ she says, a little startled at being pulled up on her comment.

  ‘Right.’ I feel my back prickle in self-defence.

  ‘It’s just you seem to open up more there.’

  ‘Must be the view,’ I retort, leaving the room and slamming the door behind me.

  I shower off the day and throw on a loose-fitting, black floor-length summer dress. I leave my hair to dry naturally, letting it hang over my shoulders, then head barefooted to the Drop.

  I ache to see her.

  It irks me that the special connection with my Holly has been noted, but something within me doesn’t care. We’re currently counting down to a life-altering change that is beyond my control and will imprison me more inescapably than ever.

  This is it.

  The last bit of time for me.

  The end of my so-called youth.

  ‘What took you so long?’ I ask, a few minutes later. I feel as if I’ve been sitting on my own for hours, even though I know it could only have been a few minutes.

  As I ask the question I suddenly feel a pang of fear that it’s not her. It is, and my smile grows in a way it never has before, surprising me. That cements what I already know.

  ‘Nothing.’ She shrugs, giving a subtle frown.

  ‘What are you wearing?’

  She looks down and her jaw drops at the sight of her frilly lace pink gown. It’s awful.

  ‘Just a casual number.’ She laughs, breezily arching her back against the metal pole frame of the Drop and stretching out her arms in a dramatic pose.

  ‘It suits you.’

  ‘You think?’ she asks, a cheeky glint in her eye that causes another smile to form on my lips.

  ‘I’ll have to see if they do something similar in my size,’ I say, through muffled giggles. ‘You’ve always been such a fashion icon to me. Vivian would be so pleased that I’m following your lead.’

  ‘I’m sure she would.’

  I enjoy the easy laughter that descends upon us.

  ‘So how was it?’ she asks, draping her arms over a railing and looking out at the view. ‘As horrendous as I imagine?’

  ‘It was fine,’ I lie. ‘Crazy to think a small part of me is going to be meeting him in some science lab downstairs soon.’

  ‘And that something so tiny has the potential to have such a huge impact on the world,’ she says, not looking at me.

  ‘That too,’ I say, but the thought of what will take place the next couple of times I’m in that room is making me feel uneasy. It’s what I’ve chosen, but that doesn’t mean I want it to happen. It was simply the lesser of two evils.

  ‘Did it hurt?’ she asks quietly, catching my eye before bashfully looking at the clouds below.

  Her question surprises me, mostly because of the genuine anguish on her face, as though any pain I might have felt would affect her too somehow.

  I shake my head, giving a non-committal smile that I know she’ll see through.

  ‘Sorry,’ she says, trying to gather the endless material of her dress behind her knees so that she can sit next to me. There’s so much that it’s not an easy manoeuvre. If it weren’t for the current topic of conversation I’d find her struggles hilarious.

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ I say, tearing my eyes away from her to look ahead. ‘It’s the world we live in. The life I was born into. I should be used to it.’

  ‘Yeah …’ she says. She opens her mouth to say more but stops. She blows out a lungful of air.

  ‘And I was used to it,’ I say thoughtfully, letting my mind wander. ‘There was a proper plan before and I knew what lay ahead of me. I didn’t expect this series of events.’

  ‘No one could’ve predicted it.’

  ‘I guess not.’

  We sit in silence for a few moments. A comfortable one, but it’s a rarity for us nonetheless.

  ‘Do you ever wonder what it would be like to live in a different time?’

  ‘Like when?’ she asks, moving her weight backwards so that she’s resting on her elbows and looking at the sky above. I copy her.

  ‘I don’t know.’ I sigh. ‘The nineteen-sixties when they danced all the time?’ I suggest the first era that pops into my head. I think it was a happier time in our history.

  ‘I bet they didn’t really.’

  ‘Are you saying my history lessons are founded on lies?’

  ‘No!’ she stammers.

  I laugh. ‘Or maybe the seventeenth century where I could’ve been a grand thespian on the stage, spouting Shakespeare in a melodramatic voice,’ I say, swinging my arms around.

  ‘Young boys played girl roles back then. You’d have had no chance.’ She giggles with me.

  I can’t help but turn my head so that I can take in her perfectly sloped upturned nose and pink heart-shaped lips – a boy playing a girl. Fancy that.

  ‘What is it that makes you wonder about those times?’ She coughs, her laughter dying. Sitting up, she scratches her ankle, as though it’s not the conversation that’s made her move.

  ‘I just bet it was simpler.’ My eye is drawn to a little black dot far away in the clouds above. I watch it flicker and hover.

  ‘They all had their troubles,’ she says, turning to me and gesturing for me to sit up.

  ‘And I’m just not told of them?’ I ask, seeing the raised scar on my wrist as I push myself into a sitting position.

  ‘You know more than me,’ she states, which is probably true as she doesn’t come to those classes with me. I’ve no idea what Bram knows about our history or if what I know is even true. We joke, but they could’ve rewritten the whole lot to brainwash me into their way of thinking. There may be huge chunks of our past that I know nothing about because they’ve decided they aren’t right for me, and I wouldn’t have a clue.

  My mum trusted Vivian and the team around her. She’d suffered loss after loss and suddenly a powerful figure was taking care of her, saying they’d do everything in their power to bring her daughter safely into the world. Of course she trusted them. Of course she listened to their advice and did all they asked of her. She trusted their knowledge. She must’ve felt she had no other choice.

  I’ve lived under their knowledge for sixteen years and, although I might not have my mum’s experience of life out there, the manipulation in here has fogged my vision for long enough. It’s time things changed. It’s time to break down that wall and see through the cracks.

  ‘I wonder what it was like back then to fall freely and unequivocally in love,’ I say, my voice shaking. I know where I want this to lead. ‘To follow your heart’s desire, to do exactly as it directs and not hold back.’

  ‘Every generation had rules, Eve,’ she comments, adding flippantly, ‘except the nineteen-sixties – then they seemed to do whatever the hell they liked.’

/>   ‘So I’ve heard,’ I say, although I can’t recall anything particularly interesting about that decade. ‘I wonder what it was like for my mother and father. To find love.’

  ‘Love?’ she asks, her voice soft as the energy around us shifts, becoming charged once more.

  ‘Yeah … To find each other in a sea of thousands,’ I add, forcing myself to continue – because I want to. I want to say these things to him. ‘Don’t you ever feel a grief over that? A loss for what should have been? We should’ve had that right. Love can’t be contained. But they’ve contained us.’

  ‘I …’ He flounders. I’ve caught him off guard. Him. She is only he to me now. I’ve become more aware of it in every conversation we’ve shared, in every thought I have of us when we’re not together. I barely see Holly any more. I just see those dark brown eyes. I see Bram.

  ‘Do you want to know the one thing I’m sad about?’ I ask, my insides flipping.

  ‘What?’ he croaks.

  ‘That I’ll never find out what it’s like to be kissed. Properly kissed. By someone I love.’ That sentence takes my breath away.

  Now I’ve said it I have to wait for him to grasp what I’m yearning for him to do. I keep my eyes low and almost closed, as I turn my face in his direction. My lips prickle at the thought of what’s to come and how desperately I want it to happen. A huge part of me is scared he’ll just disappear before we get the chance. But it can’t be rushed.

  Ever so slowly I’m aware of his face behind hers moving towards mine. The world stops turning. I hold my breath as I lean over, my face edging closer to my best friend. My Holly, dressed in a ridiculous pink outfit, yet looking as beautiful as ever. My lips become fuller.

  I close my eyes to see only him in my mind. ‘Kiss me,’ I whisper.

  Then I feel him.

  24

  Bram

  Connection lost.

  The words blind me as they illuminate the inside of my visor.