Free Genesis: A science-fiction short story. by Jenna Inouye Page B

wasn’t certain if she was scared or pleased. She had always wanted to have a child, but the opportunity had never presented itself. Perhaps, she thought, this was meant to be.
    Five months, two weeks and eight days later she gave birth to a small but healthy baby girl who had her eyes.
    In fact, the child had Kathleen’s everything.
    The child was a perfect clone.
     
    “23,” calls the man on the intercom. “23.”
    Sylvia Rider immediately jumps up in her seat. She had been expecting it, of course, but now that the moment is upon her she feels quite unprepared.
    She waves at the man behind the glass as she walks up, nervously, but he doesn’t look up. Instead, she picks up her pace, navigating through the chairs of the waiting room, and rushes herself to the glass.
    “Sylvia Rider?” he asks, still looking at the screen. In the boy’s eyes, she can just barely make out the reflection of her profile.
    “Yes,” she says, handing over her phone, on which is displayed her identification documents.
    “You are 28 years of age?” he asks. “You are having your third child?”
    “Yes,” she affirms. The young man scans her ID, and then hands back her phone.
    “Please go down the hall to desk 24, to your left,” says the man.
    “Thank you,” says Sylvia, adjusting the strap of her now heavy bag and turning to walk down the long, linoleum-covered hall. She feels slightly ill and slightly dizzy, and she isn’t certain whether it’s the pregnancy or the location.
    At the desk, Sylvia is met by an older woman; she is in her late 50s or early 60s, with gently graying hair. She wears a stern, black suit that is somewhat reduced in severity by her rounded features. She looks up at Sylvia and gestures to the chair; Sylvia sits down.
    “Ms. Rider?” the woman asks, studying the thin silver screen in front of her, turned away so that Sylvia cannot see it. Sylvia looks over at the woman’s plastic name tag; it says Charlene Woodrow.
    “Yes,” said Sylvia. She begins handing over her phone, but the woman waves her away.
    “Alright,” says Mrs. Woodrow. She takes a few moments, raising her hand and scrolling through the data on the screen. “This is your third?”
    “Yes,” said Sylvia.
    “Is there any particular reason you didn’t sign up for the Bulls?” asks Mrs. Woodrow.
    “I didn’t—I didn’t really think about it,” says Sylvia. It’s not a real excuse; it’s just the first thing that enters into her mind. If she had given the truth, it would have been a list of considerations; she had labored over the decision for quite some time.
    “Well, too late now, I suppose,” says Mrs. Woodrow. “My niece is in Bulls, you know. It’s quite fair, what they do there.”
    “Of course,” says Sylvia. She thinks to herself that she probably knows more about it than Mrs. Woodrow does; her research had been quite extensive.
    “Okay, then, I have good news and bad news,” says Mrs. Woodrow, turning away from the screen and leaning over her desk. “Now, the good news is that we aren’t going to opt to terminate. While you have had three children, it looks like you’re over the coverage cap in your class. That said, you’ll need to undergo sterilization after your third; you’re not going to be allowed another dependent.”
    “Okay,” says Sylvia; she had already known that was coming. She takes a deep breath and then continues. “But actually—I was interested in termination. This time. I mean, I was hoping to terminate this time.”
    The woman leans back behind the desk and blinks in surprise, then looks at her screen.
    “You opted for sterilization?” she asks, tapping at her screen again and looking up and down. “I don’t even see the request forms. Were you rejected under medical grounds? When did you opt in?”
    “Well—no—I didn’t,” admits Sylvia , briefly taken aback by the fusillade of questions. The woman’s expression immediately turns from concern to consternation.