food processors growing vat meat in their stinking factories all reminded her just how lucky she was to be a breeder. The simple fact that she had a working uterus had saved her from the horrors of the lower levels, and every day she thanked God for that. It made the morning sickness more tolerable.
She looked across her large, dark room and saw her medal swinging from its ribbon. She proudly wore it every day, and looked forward to earning many more, but she knew they weighed heavy on the breast of Amanda. She knew those three pot metal discs reminded her of the two children she'd lost, and the three she'd never meet.
The sobbing resumed through the vent. Sam knew the poor, broken woman wouldn't stop until morning, and she pulled her pillow over her head to try to block out the sound. As she closed her eyes she thanked God once more that she'd had no children to lose, when it happened. Her one child, and the many who would hopefully come along, would all live to see the birth of a new civilization.
With a little luck, thought Sam as she drifted off to sleep, it would be a civilization that had learned from its mistakes.
Chapter Two
The alarm call roused Sam early, and she blinked away her sleep through blurry eyes. That was something she'd have to readjust to. In the three months since she'd given birth she'd been allowed to sleep as late as she liked, but now she was back in the program there were a hell of a lot of 6AM wake up calls ahead.
Before, in her old life, Sam had been a lady of leisure with a husband on Wall Street, and despite the poor economy the money had been more than good enough to allow her an enviable lifestyle. She'd been a late riser, allowing the day to build up a head of steam before she joined it for brunch. Not since she'd graduated college five years earlier had she needed an alarm to wake her, and those first few months in the program had been difficult.
That was the one thing she hadn't grown accustomed to in the two years she'd spent in the complex: the militaristic mindset. What did it matter if she woke up at 6AM or 10? It wasn't as if there was any sunlight down here, so there wasn't even a need to work by a 24 hour day. Why not sleep ten hours each night and just get going when everyone was good and rested?
The rules were set by the commanders, though, and they only seemed able to operate according to alarms, orders and rigorous, unyielding routine. There was a reason for it, of course. She knew that. She knew that without the rules the complex would quickly descend to chaos and anarchy. It was only the rules that kept the farmers from abandoning the hydroponics levels, the waste management crew from refusing to process tons of human waste each day, and the breeders from closing their legs.
It didn't make 6AM and more pleasant.
Sam showered quickly, listening to the pump beneath her feet that recycled the drain water back to the shower head. Shampoo dripped in her eyes, and she had to fumble around blindly to find the switch that shut off the recycled water and gave her a quick, ten second blast of clean water to rinse.
She drip-dried for a few minutes, enjoying the feeling of cool, conditioned air on her wet skin before dabbing away the excess and slipping into her clothes. As she pulled on her skirt she noticed a faint orange stain near the hem, and wondered for the hundredth time why all the clothing had to be white. It was a ridiculous choice for a dirty underground facility, impossible to keep clean for more than a few hours.
The screen by her bed beeped its alarm, and Sam rushed across the room excitedly. This was the moment she'd been waiting for since she was re-upped. All her weariness was forgotten as she switched on her computer and found the login details in her inbox.
The controllers of the program were strict, but even in the aftermath of the war they hadn't lost so much of their humanity that they demanded a
She looked across her large, dark room and saw her medal swinging from its ribbon. She proudly wore it every day, and looked forward to earning many more, but she knew they weighed heavy on the breast of Amanda. She knew those three pot metal discs reminded her of the two children she'd lost, and the three she'd never meet.
The sobbing resumed through the vent. Sam knew the poor, broken woman wouldn't stop until morning, and she pulled her pillow over her head to try to block out the sound. As she closed her eyes she thanked God once more that she'd had no children to lose, when it happened. Her one child, and the many who would hopefully come along, would all live to see the birth of a new civilization.
With a little luck, thought Sam as she drifted off to sleep, it would be a civilization that had learned from its mistakes.
Chapter Two
The alarm call roused Sam early, and she blinked away her sleep through blurry eyes. That was something she'd have to readjust to. In the three months since she'd given birth she'd been allowed to sleep as late as she liked, but now she was back in the program there were a hell of a lot of 6AM wake up calls ahead.
Before, in her old life, Sam had been a lady of leisure with a husband on Wall Street, and despite the poor economy the money had been more than good enough to allow her an enviable lifestyle. She'd been a late riser, allowing the day to build up a head of steam before she joined it for brunch. Not since she'd graduated college five years earlier had she needed an alarm to wake her, and those first few months in the program had been difficult.
That was the one thing she hadn't grown accustomed to in the two years she'd spent in the complex: the militaristic mindset. What did it matter if she woke up at 6AM or 10? It wasn't as if there was any sunlight down here, so there wasn't even a need to work by a 24 hour day. Why not sleep ten hours each night and just get going when everyone was good and rested?
The rules were set by the commanders, though, and they only seemed able to operate according to alarms, orders and rigorous, unyielding routine. There was a reason for it, of course. She knew that. She knew that without the rules the complex would quickly descend to chaos and anarchy. It was only the rules that kept the farmers from abandoning the hydroponics levels, the waste management crew from refusing to process tons of human waste each day, and the breeders from closing their legs.
It didn't make 6AM and more pleasant.
Sam showered quickly, listening to the pump beneath her feet that recycled the drain water back to the shower head. Shampoo dripped in her eyes, and she had to fumble around blindly to find the switch that shut off the recycled water and gave her a quick, ten second blast of clean water to rinse.
She drip-dried for a few minutes, enjoying the feeling of cool, conditioned air on her wet skin before dabbing away the excess and slipping into her clothes. As she pulled on her skirt she noticed a faint orange stain near the hem, and wondered for the hundredth time why all the clothing had to be white. It was a ridiculous choice for a dirty underground facility, impossible to keep clean for more than a few hours.
The screen by her bed beeped its alarm, and Sam rushed across the room excitedly. This was the moment she'd been waiting for since she was re-upped. All her weariness was forgotten as she switched on her computer and found the login details in her inbox.
The controllers of the program were strict, but even in the aftermath of the war they hadn't lost so much of their humanity that they demanded a
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