When the lead expires, the bulls will
flank us—they almost always do, so we don’t want to be in the very back.
They’ll cut us down. But I think we make a play toward the northwestern
quadrant of the field. There’s cover there, and lots of different terrain. My
information indicates there’s an angel in those woods as well. Now, if we can
just get to him...”
Bryan made a second appraisal of
his new friend. The man might be slight, but he was razor sharp. Despite the
sleepy eyes and quick grin, he had a bit of timber wolf in him. Bryan could
only guess what kind of man he was outside of all this madness.
“Jesus,” he said reverently. “An angel .”
“That’s what my contact said,
anyway. We’ll see if we can find him. The bulls will try to cut our number in
half in that first hour. If we make it to 3:00 p.m., we just might have a
chance.”
Men were beginning to assemble
near the entrance to the field. Fausto and Bryan cut into the crowd and worked
toward a position near the back of the throng. The junior cadets had finished
processing and were locking down the chutes.
“Welcome,” a voice said, booming
over the landscape from a pair of speakers on either side of a digital
jumbotron, “to the miracle of the birthing process.”
A groan rose from the crowd at
the sound of the Chancellor’s voice. The most vocal supporter of Equality
Enhancement and Population Control yet, Adrian Carson was anathema to the men
forced to wager their lives for the chance to raise a family. Her severe
features—sharp, angular nose and Patrician cheek bones, filled the screen. She
had icy blue eyes; Bryan thought he detected a hint of glee in them.
“You have been chosen today to
experience the sacrifice and struggle of what it means to become a parent. For
the last nine months, your spouse or partner has devoted herself to the
health and development of your child. She has forsaken many of the
comforts of our modern existence and endured great physical pain and transition
for the singular purpose of bearing your child.
“Now, it’s your turn to join her
on this journey.”
Another groan.
“Go fuck yourself!” someone
shouted. Bryan watched as one of the bulls raised his head, scanning the crowd
for the perpetrator.
“You have my sincere
congratulations on making it this far. For twelve months, you’ve avoided
caffeine, alcohol and tobacco. You’ve gone without comforting medications and
you’ve subjected yourself to the Authority’s most realistic equality technology
to date—the sleep interval disrupter.”
“Jesus. That thing,”
Fausto muttered; Bryan merely nodded in agreement.
“As you are well aware, the
world’s population has expanded beyond our planet’s capacity to sustain a
healthy global community. America, in concert with the New Global Initiative,
is a foundational participant in the Darwin Culling Process.”
Carson paused there in her
recorded speech, no doubt aware that the largest protests would follow her
statement.
“It is time to return to the
principles that made this country great,” she continued, that smile expanding
on the screen, her perfect canine teeth impossibly white, “ survival of the
fittest . It is time for you to share in the pain and the euphoria of
a successful Labor process.
“The Darwin Culling Process has
met with great success. Our society no longer takes its children for granted.
Our culture is no longer scarred by the residual effects of children whose
parents have little use for them. Parenthood has taken its rightful place at
the forefront of American life. Only the strongest may have children.
Only the strongest survive Labor.”
A hush fell over the crowd as the
words found their mark. Men turned to regard each other—allies in an ordeal
that would mark them for the rest of their lives. Bryan knew the statistics
showed that about 5% of those assembled were trying for a second child. The
enormity of going through Labor twice was
flank us—they almost always do, so we don’t want to be in the very back.
They’ll cut us down. But I think we make a play toward the northwestern
quadrant of the field. There’s cover there, and lots of different terrain. My
information indicates there’s an angel in those woods as well. Now, if we can
just get to him...”
Bryan made a second appraisal of
his new friend. The man might be slight, but he was razor sharp. Despite the
sleepy eyes and quick grin, he had a bit of timber wolf in him. Bryan could
only guess what kind of man he was outside of all this madness.
“Jesus,” he said reverently. “An angel .”
“That’s what my contact said,
anyway. We’ll see if we can find him. The bulls will try to cut our number in
half in that first hour. If we make it to 3:00 p.m., we just might have a
chance.”
Men were beginning to assemble
near the entrance to the field. Fausto and Bryan cut into the crowd and worked
toward a position near the back of the throng. The junior cadets had finished
processing and were locking down the chutes.
“Welcome,” a voice said, booming
over the landscape from a pair of speakers on either side of a digital
jumbotron, “to the miracle of the birthing process.”
A groan rose from the crowd at
the sound of the Chancellor’s voice. The most vocal supporter of Equality
Enhancement and Population Control yet, Adrian Carson was anathema to the men
forced to wager their lives for the chance to raise a family. Her severe
features—sharp, angular nose and Patrician cheek bones, filled the screen. She
had icy blue eyes; Bryan thought he detected a hint of glee in them.
“You have been chosen today to
experience the sacrifice and struggle of what it means to become a parent. For
the last nine months, your spouse or partner has devoted herself to the
health and development of your child. She has forsaken many of the
comforts of our modern existence and endured great physical pain and transition
for the singular purpose of bearing your child.
“Now, it’s your turn to join her
on this journey.”
Another groan.
“Go fuck yourself!” someone
shouted. Bryan watched as one of the bulls raised his head, scanning the crowd
for the perpetrator.
“You have my sincere
congratulations on making it this far. For twelve months, you’ve avoided
caffeine, alcohol and tobacco. You’ve gone without comforting medications and
you’ve subjected yourself to the Authority’s most realistic equality technology
to date—the sleep interval disrupter.”
“Jesus. That thing,”
Fausto muttered; Bryan merely nodded in agreement.
“As you are well aware, the
world’s population has expanded beyond our planet’s capacity to sustain a
healthy global community. America, in concert with the New Global Initiative,
is a foundational participant in the Darwin Culling Process.”
Carson paused there in her
recorded speech, no doubt aware that the largest protests would follow her
statement.
“It is time to return to the
principles that made this country great,” she continued, that smile expanding
on the screen, her perfect canine teeth impossibly white, “ survival of the
fittest . It is time for you to share in the pain and the euphoria of
a successful Labor process.
“The Darwin Culling Process has
met with great success. Our society no longer takes its children for granted.
Our culture is no longer scarred by the residual effects of children whose
parents have little use for them. Parenthood has taken its rightful place at
the forefront of American life. Only the strongest may have children.
Only the strongest survive Labor.”
A hush fell over the crowd as the
words found their mark. Men turned to regard each other—allies in an ordeal
that would mark them for the rest of their lives. Bryan knew the statistics
showed that about 5% of those assembled were trying for a second child. The
enormity of going through Labor twice was
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