Robyn's Egg (6 page)

Jack scowled at Moyer as he scooted down the pew because they were late again. It was always Moyer’s fault. Jack perceived Moyer’s tardiness as a lack of devotion, and had said so more than once. Of course, Jack rarely had anything good to say about Moyer, reading something negative into his character from even the most insignificant transgression. Moyer let Robyn pass down the pew first to be next to her mother and to keep a respectful distance between himself and Jack.

The topic of the sermon was the fifth commandment;
Thou shalt obey those in authority
, during which, images of the CEO of the Americas and the Consolidated Board of Directors appeared behind the minister on a giant vid wall. Reverend Meaghan preached that, for good Christians, obedience at all levels is required, from obedience to management at work, to obedience to parents. Jack glanced over at Moyer with a broad grin and winked.

“You must all ask yourselves,” the reverend said, “have I been obedient enough? Am I obedient to my core? It is not enough to be outwardly obedient if within you lay a kernel of resistance, a place where you hide doubts and contrary opinions. For it is written in the book of Matthew that
the obedient and productive shall inherit the Earth
.”

After service, Robyn dragged Moyer over to join her parents in the plaza. Lines into the church were queued down the stairs again for the next service. The Begat protesters still marched, their chants drowned out by amplified hymns. Moyer reminded Robyn they were having guests for dinner in an attempt to keep it short. Her father was a toxin he could only take in small doses.

The first question out of Jack’s mouth, as usual, was
when would he be a grandfather
? He had to shout to be heard. Moyer cast a look at Robyn, sure this was her doing. He thought of responding,
once your daughter stops spending our accounts down to the last rubber band and coin wrapper
. Instead he said nothing.

“When was the last time you had an advancement?” Jack asked. “I’d had four by the time I was your age.” Moyer didn’t respond. “Look at him, Jane. There's no fight in him. He has no ambition.”

Moyer had had enough. He left for the tube and checked back over his shoulder for Robyn, hoping she was behind him. She remained with her parents, a noncommittal expression on her face as she watched him leave. Her father said something Moyer couldn’t hear and she turned away.

Moyer sat to himself on the tube ride home. Huddled a few seats over were a husband and wife returning from service. They held hands, fingers interlaced, cords in a knot. Her head pressed against her husband’s shoulder. Moyer laid his temple against the cool glass. He gazed outside the car at the concrete walls rushing past. Images had been painted in a long series, and as the cars sped past, they flashed into motion joined by a trick of the eye into a continuous moving image – an advertisement. The ads changed every week. A machine sprayed the images on the wall while it simultaneously cleaned the tracks and inspected for damage. This one was an ad for Global Brands toothpaste. A young attractive couple leaned close and kissed. As they eased away, they both broke into broad smiles exposing gleaming teeth.

Moyer turned his eyes away. When he sighed, his breath condensed on the window. He listlessly drew a pair of horizontal parallel lines, an equal sign, and then another set vertically. Now it was the frame for an ancient game his father used to play with him, a game that couldn’t be won if both players had any experience. It struck him as ironic how quickly equality could be turned into futility. Depression settled over him.

He and Robyn were drifting apart. He’d felt it for months yet didn’t do or say anything, hoping instead that time would restore their relationship and return the old Robyn to him. But who was the old Robyn? And for that matter, who was the old Moyer? Things were so perfect and easy when they dated. But maybe that was the problem. The parts of themselves presented during courtship were only the best each of them had to offer. She didn't speak of children then, and neither did he. He assumed because it didn't come up, children weren't that important to her. And at the time, maybe they weren't.

Now she seemed distant and moody, often flying into a rage at the smallest provocation. In response, he spent more time at work, and more time reading. His attention settled on his reflection in the glass and the passive expression on his face. A coward peered back at him. Why couldn’t he approach Robyn and talk things out? Why couldn’t he summon the courage? But he already knew why. Confronting her might bring things to a head, and if pressed, she might leave.

He wondered these days if he meant anything more to her than a good apartment in a fashionable part of town and a means of attaining a baby. What would his role be after the baby was born? Would there be any room left for him once Robyn had what she wanted? Would there even be the pretense of love?

He looked over at the couple again. The woman appeared to feel the weight of Moyer’s stare and moved tighter to her husband. Moyer contrasted her behavior with Robyn’s. When faced with adversity, Robyn didn’t cling tighter to him, she became more distant. Perhaps that was the difference between love and whatever it was he had with Robyn. Love not reciprocated is not love; it’s obsession.

The woman’s husband glared at Moyer. He was protecting his wife. Moyer smiled a little and turned his eyes away.

Whether he and Robyn could salvage a relationship was something Moyer needed to figure out. And he needed to make a decision before they threw every credit they had into buying a baby.

He wondered whether Robyn would show up for dinner with the Martinezes or remain at her parent’s house pouting. Then he remembered. Kelsey was bringing her baby. Robyn would never miss that.

Robyn was quiet when she came home. She spent most of the afternoon on the couch avoiding eye contact and giving Moyer the silent treatment. What right did she have to be angry? She had picked her side, and it wasn't his. He supposed this was better than the alternative, an all-out, knock-down-drag-out fight.

As six o’clock approached, Robyn went to the kitchen and started angrily rattling pots and pans, an announcement that dinner was in progress and she was still upset. When she emerged a while later, she set the table for four without a glance toward Moyer. Plates, glasses and silver were placed with the speed and precision of a card dealer at a casino. Moyer attempted to help, but at her frenetic pace he was merely in the way, more a hindrance than a help, and she made sure he knew it. She still exuded a tensely restrained rage prickly as razor wire. Moyer busied himself in the kitchen carving the soy loaf in an attempt to look useful at a respectful distance.

Robyn’s voice floated in from the other room. “You and Petro started at Digi-Soft at the same time right? And you both hold the same position?”

Moyer knew where she was going. She must have dwelled on this for weeks. “Yes, but I…”

“While they’re here, I want you to find out how they managed a baby,” she said.

A sweet aroma wafted from a pot Robyn had boiling on the stove. Moyer checked inside.
“Fresh corn? Where did this come from?”

“I have my sources,” Robyn replied.

“How much?”

“Don’t worry, it was barter.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? What are you giving in trade?”

“Sexual favors,” she joked.

“I’m serious.”

“I’m writing an encryption program.”

“To encrypt what?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care. We have fresh corn, and Petro and Kelsey will be impressed.”

“But —”

“No buts, I’m being careful. No one will be able to trace it to me.”

Moyer said nothing, but he resented the blithe way Robyn put herself at risk whenever she wanted extra money. A shiver tingled his nerves as he recalled Hugh Sasaki after the mind-cleanse, perched at his desk in his newly purchased clothes.

They say rehabilitation isn’t that bad because you don’t know what you’re missing. But those close to you do. Sasaki was married. His wife's hologram sat on his desk. Moyer imagined his role as Robyn’s caretaker, making Robyn’s wardrobe choices, dressing her as Sasaki’s wife had dressed him. He remembered Sasaki’s relentless flow of drool and shuddered again.

Moyer sometimes thought of Sasaki’s wife and how her life was stolen away the day security agents dragged her husband out of Digi-Soft. Her role of partner reduced to default caretaker. Rehabilitation was not legal grounds for divorce. She was stuck with no outs.

“Kelsey and Petro are getting off the elevator,” Moyer said.

“Is that your twinkle, or are you guessing?”

The doorbell rang.

“How do you do that?” Robyn asked.

Moyer slid the sliced loaf onto a platter. When he peeked around the corner, Robyn was in the hallway stooped over a carriage cooing at Petro and Kelsey’s baby.

Moyer dried his hands to welcome his guests. “Petro, Kelsey, please come in. Mow her down if you have to.” Kelsey grinned, she understood. Robyn remained rapt on the baby, following as Petro pushed the carriage across the threshold.

“Can I hold it?” Robyn asked. Kelsey nodded. Robyn reached into the carriage and hesitated. “How do I do this?”

Moyer shook his head. “You had domestics class in high school. You should know how.”

“That was years ago, and I wasn’t paying attention,” Robyn said. “As I remember, I was infatuated with a certain boy at the time.”

Kelsey patiently positioned Robyn’s arms into a cradle across her chest and placed the baby against her breast. “Support her head with your hand,” she instructed, “That’s right.”

Robyn’s mouth hung agape as she gazed down at the baby’s face. “She’s so tiny. What’s her name?”

“Brooke.”

“Oh, what a pretty name.”

Moyer glanced at the stroller. “Aren’t you afraid someone might take her? Some people would do anything for a baby,” he said, subtly nodding in Robyn’s direction.

Petro reached under the carriage and withdrew a life-size doll. “In public, this is what we put in the stroller.”

“It looks so real,” Robyn said.

“It’s supposed to. Out on the street I carry our baby in this.” Petro opened his coat exposing a support harness lashed around his chest and shoulders. “If anyone snatches the stroller, they’ll only get the decoy and take us for
pretenders
.”

“Did they issue a decoy when you got your baby?” Robyn asked.

“No,” Kelsey said. “We had to pay for it. I got it at a pretender’s store.”

A baby was supposed to be a happy event, some crowning achievement, but it all seemed a horrible waste of money to Moyer. The cost of a baby alone was tantamount to bankruptcy, and then there were all the things that went with it: cribs, carriers, strollers, decoys. Money, money, then more money. How could anyone manage it and why would they want to?

“How did you afford to —”

“Robyn,” Moyer interrupted, “didn’t mean to pry.” He gave Robyn a scolding glare. How dare she after they had discussed this very matter? “Questions can wait till after dinner.”

Robyn edged next to Moyer. “Do you want to hold her?” she asked, leaning in with Brooke.

Moyer stiffened. He wanted nothing to do with the child. He knew what Robyn was hoping, that he would hold the baby and somehow have a change of heart. “I think the corn might be done,” he said.

Kelsey turned to Petro, an odd expression on her face.

“You have real corn?” Petro asked. Moyer could have kissed him. No wonder the man had so many friends. He had an amazing ability to sense potential conflict and knew how to swoop in at the nick of time to defuse the situation.

“Robyn got it. She knows someone.”

“The loaf smells terrific too,” Petro added, “Is it flavored?”

“Beef and herbs,” Robyn said, rocking the baby in her arms.

“Beef,” Petro snorted. “That reminds me of my great grandfather. He was alive before cows went extinct and had eaten real beef as a child. He stayed with us for a while until a retirement apartment came available. He wouldn’t eat beef flavored loaf at our house. ‘
Don’t piss on me and tell me it’s raining
’ he’d say, ‘
I know the difference
’. He blamed everything on Hogan-Perko.”

Moyer came from the kitchen carrying a bowl filled with steaming corn on the cob. “Hogan-Perko?”

Petro nodded. “He said Hogan-Perko started as an agricultural supply company, cloning farm animals and seed. It wasn’t until after the Chinese plague wiped out human reproduction that they transitioned to babies.

“According to my great grandfather, Hogan-Perko manipulated cattle genetics to maximize beef yield. Once that was accomplished, they made millions of copies of essentially the same cow. Anyone raising anything else couldn’t compete. Hogan-Perko cows yielded more meat on less grain in a shorter time. Soon, Hogan-Perko had the entire cattle market. And because of it, when the new strain of anthrax hit, all cattle had the same genetics, and none of them had any resistance. Inside of four months, not a cow remained on Earth. At least that’s the story he told.”

“Leave it to Petro to bring up pestilence at the dinner table,” Kelsey said. “The loaf smells lovely.” Kelsey set her baby in the stroller. Brooke lay on her stomach, head turned to the side sucking her thumb. Moments later she was asleep.

During dinner, Petro mentioned offhandedly, “I got the skinny on Hugh Sasaki.” Moyer’s head bobbed up from his plate. This wasn’t what he’d consider a proper dinner topic. In fact, their wives shouldn’t be hearing it. “They caught him trying to sabotage the Worm.”

“Who is Hugh Sasaki?” Robyn said, “And what’s the Worm?”

“Something from work we’re not supposed to talk about,” Moyer said.

Petro smiled as if it was no big thing. “I’ve already told Kelsey,” he said. “It’s just us here. Can’t you trust your wife?”

“Moyer never talks about work,” Robyn said. “I have to pull it out of him.”

“The Worm is a program Moyer and I are working on,” Petro said. He leaned close. His smile broadened. “It allows data to be loaded into the brain through the net-chip.”