Captives (15 page)

“Do I have to speak?” Mason asked.

“No, trigger,” Luella said. “In fact, don’t speak unless you’re spoken to. This is just a facial for you. We want the audience to get used to seeing you on screen.”

“Ten seconds!” the cameraman said.

Mason wanted to ask if Kendall was in labor, but didn’t dare speak after Luella’s instructions. He caught Kendall looking his way, and her friendly smile eased his nervousness somewhat. No wonder Ciddah didn’t want to do this anymore. He already wanted to run out of the room.

“In five, four, three, two …” The cameraman pointed at Luella.

Luella came to life, talking directly into the camera. “I’m live at the Surrogacy Center with Kendall Collin for her very last routine check-up.” She turned and set her hand on Kendall’s belly. “Tell us, Kendall, are you in labor?”

Kendall laughed a little. “I don’t think so. But Ciddah says I’ll know if it happens, so … I guess not.”

“Are you excited or scared or nervous, or all three?”

“Kind of all three,” Kendall said, her smile now looking a bit forced.

Luella turned back to the camera. “Medic Ciddah Rourke is training Mason Elias today in how to listen to the baby’s heartbeat. We’ve heard our boy’s heart dozens of times, but, Ciddah, tell us how this miracle machine works.”

Ciddah’s face flushed a bit, but she lifted what looked like a thick blanket off a table behind her. “This is a mimeo imager, Mason,” Ciddah said, laying it over Kendall’s belly. “We use it to take pictures of the baby and to find the heartbeat. It’s programmed into this exam room’s Wyndo.” She turned to a blue screen of glass that covered half the wall and tapped the word
audio.
“Hear that?” Whirring came from a speaker in the ceiling. “That’s the placenta’s blood flow. That’s good.” A pattering, like a distant, galloping horse, replaced the whir. “There’s our boy.”

Several seconds passed as they listened to the baby’s heartbeat.

“That’s fascinating,” Mason said, smiling.

“Simply magical!” Luella exclaimed, turning back to look into the camera. “Stay tuned for our continuing coverage of Kendall Collins’ delivery week. We’ll be shopping for new clothes, helping her pack her hospital bag, meeting her surgeon, and talking more with Ciddah Rourke about the entire process. Until then, Safe Lands, find pleasure in life.”

“Clear,” the cameraman said.

Luella sighed. “Don’t speak means don’t speak, Mason. I know this is your first day and all, but we’re going to have to work on that mouth of yours if you’re going to be our new medic.” Luella raised her eyebrow at Mason, then strode out the door. “Bye-o, peers!”

Mason’s cheeks burned. He didn’t want to be their new medic. He had work to do, and this, though intriguing, had been a waste of time. The lights, blessedly, went out, which instantly cooled the air. The cameraman started to pack up his gear.

“Now that
that’s
over,” Ciddah said. “How’s our queen?”

Kendall wiped the corner of her eye. “Just a little emotional.”

“I can give you something for that.” Ciddah picked up a CompuChart from the counter and tapped on it. “Be sure and tap me right away if you feel any contractions, Kendall.”

“What will the delivery be like?” Kendall asked.

“The surgeon and I will meet you at the Treatment Center next Monday morning. Luella will be there with her cameraman, as there’s no way they’ll miss the birth. I’ll be the one to put you under; you won’t feel a thing. Before you know it, you’ll wake up in the Recovery Center. And that’s that. Nothing to worry about.”

They were going to film the delivery? “How can the mother be unconscious during labor?” Mason asked.

“She won’t go into labor if we can help it,” Ciddah said. “We scheduled a C-section.”

Mason had read about that procedure. “Is the baby breech? Or is this because of the plague?”

Both women looked at him as if he had twelve eyes.

“All births are C-section in the Safe Lands, Mason,” Ciddah said. “It makes everything easier.”

“But I get to see him, right? After recovery?” Kendall asked.

Ciddah’s forehead wrinkled. “What? Of course not, Kendall. You should know that.”

“The task director promised, when I agreed to do all the shots with the cameras,” Kendall said, her voice growing soft.

Ciddah frowned and shook her head. “I wasn’t informed of this, Kendall. I’ll have to check with his office.”

Tears ran down Kendall’s face, and soon she was outright sobbing.

Mason just stood there, shocked. “Why can’t she see her baby?”

Ciddah narrowed her eyes at Mason, and in a harsh voice whispered, “It’s not Kendall’s baby. It belongs to all of us. And don’t you say another thing that might encourage her to think otherwise.” She tapped on her CompuChart again, and her tone returned to its former pleasantness. “I’ll prescribe you some more meds, Kendall.”

“I don’t want more meds!” Kendall yelled. “I want my sorrow. I need it!”

Ciddah’s face paled. “You
want
to hurt?”

“Better the pain than numbing myself. And I don’t want meds for the procedure. If I stay awake through the delivery, I’ll get to see my baby before you take him away.”

“Now, Kendall, many surrogates experience depression at some level. In fact, what I think would be best is for you to—”

“What
you
think is best?” Kendall sat up and swung her legs off the table. “You’ve never given birth, have you? Have you ever even been pregnant?”

Ciddah inched back a step, her eyes getting misty. “I —My body rejects the process.”

“When I got here, they told me I would be happy, that pregnancy would be a wonderful experience. Well, they were wrong,” Kendall screamed. “I should get to
keep
my baby!”

Ciddah rubbed her eyes. “But it’s not your baby, Kendall. He belongs to—”

“He’s part me. He’s half mine!”

Ciddah chuckled and tipped her head to the side. “You can’t own a human being.”

“He needs me!” Kendall’s bottom lip trembled. “And I need him.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Ciddah walked to Kendall’s side and touched her shoulder. “What good would you do him? Your tasks have primarily been messaging. You’ve had no training in raising—”

“I could manage.”

“If you have an interest in working with children, why not file a task interest form with the Registration Department and retest?”

“Just check with the task director, okay, Ciddah? He
promised
I could hold my baby.”

Ciddah sighed, as if Kendall’s request was a terrible inconvenience. “Okay, I’ll check with him.” She walked to the door, reached for the pad, missed, then turned and opened it. “I’ll leave that prescription with Rimola.” And she left, the door closing softly behind her.

Mason had stayed perfectly still throughout the outburst, and wasn’t sure he dared move even now.

Kendall eased off the exam table, a hand pressed against her swollen belly. She glanced at Mason, her face streaked with tears. “What they do is wrong,” she said, her voice a whisper.

Mason nodded. He could hardly believe what he’d just witnessed.

Ciddah had said,
Once Kendall delivers, they’ll start in with Naomi.
The Safe Lands intended to remove Naomi’s child too—a baby that was definitely not theirs to take. He had to find a way to help her—as well as the women of Glenrock, whether they were pregnant or not.

Maybe he was meant to be in this position. He might be the only chance any of them had.

When Ciddah dismissed Mason for the day, he followed the instructions he’d been given at registration and found his assigned apartment on the fifth floor of a building named Westwall. As much as he hated to admit, the place was incredibly nice, and the idea of living there even for a while excited him. The open room was divided by a partial wall that Mason could walk around either side of. The front half held the entry, living, dining, and kitchen areas. A counter ran along the center wall and had a parallel island. After some initial poking around he discovered the bedroom and bath were on the other side of the wall, and a low, king-sized bed sat against it.

The place had light blue walls, a white marble floor, and black cupboards, black appliances, and black trim. Pictures of black and white trees in black frames hung on the walls throughout the apartment, changing every few seconds like the flowers had in Ciddah’s office. The tables and furniture were light sandy-colored wood. A wall of windows in the living room looked out into the city. Best of all, there were no security cameras.

As much as he wanted to linger inside his temporary home, he went back out and wandered the area the doorman of his building referred to as the Highlands. It didn’t take him long to find the harem, which had been built in the center of town like some kind of fortress.

Getting out of the Safe Lands was going to be a lot harder than getting in.

O
mar found the Registration Department on the second floor of City Hall, but was told he first needed to visit the Men’s Health and Wellness Department on the third floor. There, Omar received a humiliating physical examination and two SimTag implants, one on his right cheek and one on the back of his right fist, which were injected with a gun-like medical device. Both tags showed a number nine, and both itched fiercely. The medic also noticed Omar’s sniffling and gave him an injection he said would clear it right up. Then the medic sent Omar to the Donation Center. Omar had known this part was coming—the requirement had been reiterated to him several times since he’d arrived.

But that knowledge didn’t mean it was something he’d been looking forward to. After an awkward fifteen minutes, he changed into his new enforcer uniform. He stood before the bathroom sink mirror and took in his new appearance. The navy blue fabric was so much softer than his Old clothes, and it had no odor. It was likely made here by machines. And the enforcer hat was better than his Colorado Patrol hat. He liked the way he looked in uniform, even though the number
nine on his cheek seemed to whisper the word
traitor
in the back of his mind.

He returned to the Registration Department on the second floor, as he’d been instructed. A man named Dallin sat behind a counter. To the left was an open space filled with desks. Dallin’s black and yellow hair was amazing, and Omar imagined drawing him with insect wings.

“Have a seat, and I’ll work up your ID,” Dallin said.

Omar sat on one of the metal chairs. He could now see Dallin from the neck up only. “How do they decide what number we each get?”

“Our blood reveals to the Liberators which life we’re in. A number one marks the first life. Nine marks the last. I’m a three, so I have six more lives before I reach
La Vie Dixième.
Most outsiders get low numbers. Your nine is shocking.”

It was? “So I’m in my last life? What does
that
mean?”

“Just that you’re nearly to the tenth life. So you should make this life count. Don’t do anything foolish. Earn as much good fortune as you can. And, according to the Liberators, pairing up with anyone from your own life number angers Fortune—so stay away from other nines so you don’t mess up your future lives.”

Oh-kay. “So the tenth life is heaven?”

“Some call it that.” Dallin slid a handheld computer, like the one Kruse used, on the counter and twirled it in a half circle. A picture of Shaylinn’s fat face filled the glass. “I need you to verify any romantic relationships between these women and men, including yourself.” Dallin swiped his finger across the glass a few times, and the pages turned. “Keep flipping through until you get to the end. Tap each face and type in the relationship.”

Omar picked up the device, which had the word
Wyndo
etched across the top. His mother’s face now stared at him from the glass, looking tired and sad but hard as always. She’d had to be hard to survive marriage to Justin of Elias. He wondered where she was now.

Tears stung Omar’s eyes. “Why must I look at these pictures?”

“We need to know if there are any pairings.”

“This is my mother.” Omar set his finger on his mother’s picture, and a list of letters appeared over his mother’s face. He touched each letter until he wrote
mother
, then pressed the word “Done.” The letters vanished, and the word
mother
was now visible under her picture. He took a deep breath and flipped to the next page, which held Naomi’s image. “Naomi is Jordan’s wife. They’re expecting a child sometime this fall.” He wrote Jordan’s name below Naomi’s picture. “What will you do with the women?”

“Most will serve a term in the harem and, should Fortune bless them, bear children for the Safe Lands. Then they’ll task and play like the rest of us.”

Omar thought of his fifteen minutes in the Donation Center and nearly choked. “They’ll be bearing
my
children? All of the women?”

“Not necessarily. All men donate—it’s Safe Lands law.”

Omar paged back to where he’d left off, but his hand had started to shake. Clenching it into a fist, he reminded himself he had to complete this last thing, then he’d be free to find his new home and go with Skottie to the dance club. He forced himself to focus on the pictures on the screen. Nell was his cousin, as were Penelope and Lucy. Chipeta and Janie were his aunts. Mason was his brother. Jordan was Shanna’s son, Jemma and Shaylinn’s brother, Naomi’s husband.