Visions of the Future (31 page)

But, week after week, all the workers remained safe. No one developed a terminal disease. No one accidentally died. And the time came when Birenda and her father could no longer hide the pregnancy.

“But she wasn’t next on the list to have a child!” said Lucia Boma before the Council. “My husband and I petitioned two years ago. We were supposed to be next.”

With tears streaming down her face, Birenda had been forced to confess the full story, raising herself up for censure—not for immoral behavior, but because she had upset the delicate balance of the colony.

She and Ando Rivera were about the same age, and it was assumed that they would be matched as a couple, since the colony offered so few possible candidates. Every settler had his or her set of duties; she and Ando were often assigned to go outside to set up racks of genetically modified algae webs, testing strain after strain to see if anything could survive in Antorra’s environment.

One day, while returning from their duties, Birenda and Ando had been in the changing room, removing their suits, stripping down to clean jumpsuits as they had done hundreds of times before. They both were sixteen, saturated with hormones, half naked, alone together—and it had just happened. They hadn’t paused to consider preventive measures.

Ando had avoided her for many days afterward, and she hadn’t even been able to tell him when she first knew about the pregnancy…

“She will keep the baby,” her father said to the Council, as if daring anyone to countermand him. “There will be no talk of forcing her to get rid of it, just because this wasn’t in our plans. I know what it means, and I have several months to prepare myself before my daughter gives birth.”

Deputy Orrick looked pleased and self-important; he’d been waiting for his turn as the next administrator, as soon as Walton Fleer was gone. Birenda despised the man. Her father was a long-term thinker who planned for the future of the colony, aware that he would be long gone when the main colony ship arrived in thirty-eight years to save them all; Orrick, on the other hand, considered only his own brief flash of prominence once he became the colony administrator. (He shouldn’t be looking too far forward, Birenda thought, since his name was also on the list, and only a handful of names from the top.)

After glancing at his fellow Council members, the deputy folded his hands and gave a solemn nod. “One life begins, and another ends. Some will survive, or none will survive.”

Birenda’s stomach knotted, and she forced herself not to say anything. When the solution came to her, it seemed so clear and so obvious, she caught her breath.

She would have to kill Orrick.

For the next several months, Birenda concocted and discarded numerous possibilities, all the while hoping that her thoughts of death did not taint the life within her. She felt overwhelmed with love for the unborn baby, a powerful nurturing instinct. She wanted to protect it, provide a home for it.

Dr. Hajid provided basic prenatal care but performed only cursory tests, clearly resenting her for her indiscretion, which had sent repercussions through the fragile equilibrium.

Even before leaving Earth, the bulk of the colonists on the main ship had considered the tough, conservative pioneers to be a little backward; they refused to check the sex of a baby or perform anything but the most rudimentary of prenatal screenings. The colony doctor was even more aloof than necessary with Birenda, though, as if he didn’t care whether the baby was healthy or not. She realized that some in the colony secretly hoped for her to miscarry, or perhaps die in childbirth, so they could get their chance.

Nevertheless, Birenda knew that the baby was progressing well. She studied all the information available in the colony library about pregnancy and childbirth—and she found plenty, because Antorra should have been a place teeming with children after only the first few years.

As she thought of the future, Birenda was sure that her child would still be alive, perhaps even the colony administrator, when the main ship arrived. Thirty-eight years… that wasn’t so much to ask for her son or daughter. What seemed less likely, though, was that her father would survive long enough for the baby to remember its grandfather. The vagaries of the list would shift and change, and sooner or later Walton Fleer would be the one.

But perhaps not now.

When she reached her eighth month, Birenda felt a growing sense of urgency. As soon as the baby was born, her father would be taken away. She was young, and since this was her first pregnancy, she knew she could easily go into premature labor. She had to put one of her plans into practice, before it was too late. She had to get rid of Deputy Orrick, so the numbers remained balanced.

Birenda reviewed Captain Tyrson’s last message again and again, drawing strength from his brave words. All her life she had been taught the realities of the colony. Every person inside the sheltered domes knew the math and the reasons for it. The colony had to survive. Some of them, or none of them.
All
was never an option.

It wasn’t hard to think of a way to kill Deputy Orrick; she simply had to choose which method would be easiest. Since life on Antorra was already so hazardous, a slight tweaking of life-support parameters would do the trick. Perhaps she could loosen a seal in his environment suit the next time he was scheduled to do outside work. Or she could arrange for a leak in his private quarters, allowing poisonous chlorine air to seep in while he was sleeping.

Planning a fatal mishap for the obnoxious deputy did not strike her with any undue terror. She’d seen people euthanized all her life as their names rose to the top of the list, and accidents claimed many more. Only the number 174 remained a constant…

Day after day, Birenda sat for long hours with her father, resting her hands on the curve of her stomach, but she kept her dark thoughts to herself. Back in their quiet quarters, Walton Fleer was preoccupied, his mood bittersweet. He savored every remaining moment he had with his daughter. She didn’t dare tell him what she planned, because then he would feel obligated either to stop her or report her to the Council. Deep inside, she didn’t want him to know.

Walton talked wistfully of her mother, his wife, and the times they had spent together during the long journey from Earth, the plans they had made for their future, and how they had hoped Birenda would be only the first of many children. Birenda remembered the woman, but not well. Her most vivid image of her mother was from Captain Tyrson’s security tape. She had studied her mother’s face, then watched as the woman and eighteen others were sucked out the airlock, sacrificed so the rest of the colonists could survive.

Birenda wished she had known her better.

“We’ll only have a few more weeks together, child,” her father said, then let out a sigh. “It’ll be enough.”

To kill Orrick, Birenda decided to use one of the new mutated strains of algae that, according to preliminary tests, exuded an extremely toxic substance. It was a trivial thing for her to slip it into the deputy’s daily food ration. In a way, she thought, his death and autopsy would provide valuable medical data for the colony’s benefit.

Sitting next to her father, she was distracted, thinking of her plans. Walton Fleer just stared at her, drinking in every detail of her face. “I love you, Birenda,” he said.

Because she had already planned it through, and also because she felt the ticking time-bomb inside her womb, Birenda acted quickly. She did not feel guilty, made no effort to speak with Deputy Orrick one last time. She was simply moving his name to the top of the list, maintaining the colony balance. 174. Her father would stay alive, and the baby would have another loving, nurturing presence for as long as it might last.

She supposed she would have to marry Ando Rivera. After her confession during the bitter Council meeting, the young man had acted strangely around Birenda, as if he didn’t want to see her, as if he blamed
her
for getting pregnant. But that would change after the baby was born—for the good of the colony. Maybe someday their son or daughter would look up to Ando with the same warmth and appreciation as Birenda looked up to Walton Fleer. She smiled at the thought.

When her father came back to their quarters, his sickened expression told her that she had succeeded. “It seems I have been given a reprieve,” he said. “Deputy Orrick just died.”

“That’s terrible.” Birenda needed all of her strength to keep from jumping up with joy. “How did it happen?” The words sounded false even to her ears.

“Extreme allergic reaction to one of the algae strains in his food. They’ll be running other tests, but he’s dead… we’re in balance. 174.” He sank into the hard chair, shaking. “I was ready. I had my mind made up. But I can’t pretend that I wouldn’t like to see my grandchild.”

Birenda clamped her mouth shut before she could reveal what she had done. He must never know.

Then the first hard contractions hit.

In the medical center, Dr. Hajid tended her, fully professional now, though he still didn’t approve. With the baby coming, a new life for the colony, he was the doctor and he took his responsibilities seriously. His face was pinched, his dark eyes intent, but he voiced no criticism. He didn’t really know what he was doing, with little opportunity to gain obstetrics expertise, considering the few births allowed, but he was the best the colony had.

Her father was there in the delivery room—she saw his face watching over her, and she felt comforted. Birenda knew that everything was all right. The delicate balance was kept at 174, thanks to Deputy Orrick’s unfortunate end.

Even when she heard Dr. Hajid say something about complications, as if from a distance even farther away than the main colony ship, Birenda wasn’t concerned. She was hazy through it all. Perhaps Hajid gave her too many painkillers. The doctor’s face looked grave as he said he needed to do a Caesarean, and her father granted permission.

Birenda lay back under the anesthetic, drifting, comforted. As the gray fuzz tightened to a pinprick around her eyes, she had a last glimpse of her father looking worried, but giving her a smile of reassurance…

When she awoke, she had a hard time focusing on Dr. Hajid’s face in front of her. She felt disoriented, tried to concentrate. He was speaking in words as sharp and hard as his medical instruments. “The delivery was successful.”

Her eyes tried to fall closed again, but she forced them open.
Of course it was successful,
she thought. But she didn’t notice her father there, and wondered if he was holding the baby.

She wanted to see him, croaked his name, but the doctor wasn’t finished. “There has been one surprise—fortunate or unfortunate, depending on how you look at it.”

“Where is my father?” she asked.

“I am sorry to say that he is gone.” Hajid didn’t look sorry at all.

Then the doctor and his assistant came close to her at the bedside. He was holding a blanket-wrapped bundle, as was his assistant.

Two babies. Birenda didn’t understand.

“Administrator Fleer surrendered himself right away, while you were still unconscious. He felt it would be better that way.” The doctor gave her a shallow smile. “But he did want to congratulate you on the birth of your twins.”