Chapter Eight

Two hours later, Ella was at my bedside, holding an exercise pole. “Good afternoon, Cassie,” she said tentatively, like she was trying to gauge my mood.

I rolled onto my side.

“How are you feeling, sweetie?” she asked, sitting next to me on my bed and setting her hand on my shoulder.

“Like my whole world fell apart all over again,” I said as calmly as I could. None of this was her fault. She was just following the plan.

“A good workout will make you feel better. It’ll help take your mind off things,” she said with puckered lips and her kitty-cat voice.

“Great! Then maybe after today’s session, I’ll be strong enough to break out of this place and become a fugitive,” I said against my pillow.

“Oh honey, don’t even think that way. This isn’t a terrible place. Besides, you’re L-Banded now, so you wouldn’t get that far.” She gave the pole a twirl. “Clones who are overly aggressive are considered naturally violent and genetically defective even when the only thing left wounded is someone’s pride. If you behaved that way, Dr. Little might think you’re a danger to society.” She giggled.

Good! I’ll let them think that, and let them think I wouldn’t get that far.

“The team knows you’re opposed to the plan, so they’re taking extra steps to ensure everyone’s safety, including yours.”

I rolled onto my back. “How do they know I’m still ‘opposed?’ Have they been listening to me? Are they watching me right now?”

“I don’t know if anyone from the team is watching or listening to you or not right now, but if someone is, it’s because the team is worried about you. You were awakened less than two weeks ago. You’re still very fragile.”

Yes—let them still think I’m fragile.

“They don’t care about me; they only care about my eggs.”

“Now that is not true. Life is precious, Cassie, every life, especially yours. How about you do three sets of ten? You’ll feel better. I always feel better after I exercise. Then I’ll send in a SUDS,” she said as she stood.

“Great,” I said sarcastically. A sponge bath by a SUDS bot was uncomfortable to say the least. Having my dull hospital gown exchanged with a white, fitted tunic and pants was the only good thing that came out of it.

“Wow. I didn’t expect to see so much improvement,” said Ella after I completed one set.

Whoops. Time to hide my real strength.

As she jumped and gave me a round of applause, her large breasts jumped, too, shaking a necklace from the folds of her collar.

From a gold chain hung a small, golden egg the size of a jellybean. The egg was shiny and smooth, instead of matte and frosted like the egg on Dr. Love’s ring. When Ella moved, it twinkled, swinging like a pendulum.

“What’s the egg for?” I asked, pretending to be out of breath and letting my arms drop like my muscles were completely spent.

Ella grasped the charm between two fingers, rubbing it lovingly as if it was the belly of a jade Buddha. “Eggs represent fertility, the source of life. Most women wear egg jewelry. Unlike you, it’s the only egg we have,” she whimpered.

“That’s not my fault, Ella.” I wasn’t the one who caused the plague. I was supposed to give everyone hope. I was their genie in a bottle, but with hope came disappointment, and maybe even jealousy.

“I’m sorry, Cassie.” She lowered her head and sobbed, still holding the egg charm delicately. “Dr. Love and I are so sorry we couldn’t tell you about the plan. We wanted to, but we had to do what was best for you and the project. In the end, you’ll understand why your participation is so important to us.”

“I’m not sure I can.” I placed my hand over my stomach and was struck by another wave of nausea with the thought of being artificially inseminated.

“I’m curious about something though, and I want you to be completely honest with me.”

“Okay, I will.”

“If you had a choice of not participating in the program, and could start a new life without any interference from the government, would you? Or would you choose to help us?” There was pain in her eyes, a yearning for a long, fruitful life for her and a future family.

What if our situations were reversed? Would I want the only living fertile female to prostitute herself for the good of mankind? Yeah, I guessed I would, and if the fertile female did not abide, I probably would label her selfish, egotistical, the destroyer of the human race, the catalyst of Armageddon, and sign a petition for her immediate arrest and forceful participation.

“In the end, I guess I would choose to help,” I answered, giving her what she wanted to hear.

She gasped with delight, jumped up from the chair, and threw her arms around my stiff and unsuspecting torso. The hug was clumsy. Her guilt evaporated like a fog hit by the morning sunshine. “I knew you would.”

But would I?

“I have a surprise for you in the hall. I wanted to wait until you’d warmed up those muscles of yours with the exercise pole before I showed it to you. Close your eyes.”

I could definitely use a surprise. The door slid open and closed, but I didn’t hear anything else except her footsteps. “Okay, open them,” she called.

An apparatus of some kind that looked like a small, green chair standing at attention, minus the salute, was positioned at her side.

“Is it some kind of hoverchair?” I asked.

“No, I think you’re beyond the hoverchair. This uses antigravity. It’s called a Standup. Standup on.” At her command, a hum like a muted whisper filled the room. “It’ll hold your body in position, and by reading the electric impulses in your brain, help you use your muscles correctly, so you can walk. That’s why we couldn’t have you use it until now. There’s a minimum amount of muscle control needed for it to work, and you didn’t qualify until this week.”

A light tap from Ella’s hand brought the device to the edge of the bed. “We just need to get you within twelve inches, and then Standup will pull you upright. It’ll work best if we angle your back into position.” She lifted the corner of the sheet and tossed it away from my body.

As I rotated on the bed and aligned myself with the machine, my back caught the vacuum of the antigravity compulsion, lifted me up and off the bed, and firmly drew my limp body against the molded padding. “This Standup has been synched to your L-Band. It’ll only follow your commands and adapt to your body. It has multiple settings, from maximum to minimum support.”

“I definitely need the maximum setting,” I was quick to add.

“Yes, you do, at least for the first week or two, and then maybe in another month you won’t need it at all. Now let me show you how this works.”

Fabulous! After a ten-minute tutorial, I could walk, bend over, and lower into a sitting position using Standup, a slab of limber rubber, to obey my movements. Walking was incredibly liberating, but I was embarrassed by how I must look being adhered to an animatronic chair, wearing hospital clothes, and barefooted. I definitely didn’t want Michael to see me like this.

“Once you’re able to use it on the lowest setting, you can switch to using just the stimulation pack.” As I stopped in front of Ella, my muscles burning and twitching, she pushed on the back of the apparatus. “In three to four weeks, this is all you’ll need.”

Yeah, right. How about in three or four days?

“This is absolutely amazing,” I said after a lap of the room with my new mechanical friend. “I can’t wait to leave this place. It’s so boring in here. I want to go to the botanical garden. That’s the first thing I want to do. Can I get dressed and go now?”

“No, I’m sorry. Due to your condition, your activities are still limited to this room, but you won’t need a NURSE bot anymore. Now you can go to the bathroom and even take a shower by yourself, so no more SUDS.” Thank God for that. “Aren’t you anxious to take a proper shower?”

“Yeah, I’d love to take a shower, but I’d rather see the garden.”

“When you’re physically ready, I’ll take you to the garden. And in the meantime, I’ll keep bringing you flowers.”

“Then what about a window, so I can at least see outside now? You said once I’m L-Banded I—”

“No, honey, not even a window.”

“What about the balcony at the end of the hall? Dr. Little allowed me into the hall once before. Can’t I just—”

“No, you can’t leave this room,” she said sternly after I let my fist drop hard against Standup’s arm. “You’ll see our world soon enough. What you need is a hot shower. Let me show you how to use it.”

“Yeah, right,” I mumbled.

As she approached the bathroom door, it slid to reveal an all-white room with glossy walls and a smooth, milky floor. It looked spotless and smelled minty clean. A round vessel stood on the floor, its lines fluid and abstract like a statue. In the corner loomed a glass compartment with double doors. When she pushed on one side, both doors sprung outward accompanied by a welcoming ding-ding.

After Ella left, I was a naked, semi-invalid with Standup, a giant Gumby, on my back. I drew my arm across my breasts and rounded my shoulders as the shower’s lights, set on “tranquility mode,” exploded and sparkled against the glass walls like the inside of a geode. A melody echoed from the floor like a distant tribal song, its vibrations invigorating the soles of my feet.

As the blood-warm water pulsed down my back, all I could think about was Michael. There was just something especially alluring about a guy who had the power to wake up a girl from the dead. Had he lied to me? Yes. But I couldn’t hold it against him. He had to. It was his job. And due to his job, we couldn’t be together.

When I left the shower, the mirror above the bathroom sink bore the refection of a girl. The image grimaced at the hollows under its eyes and the paleness of its cheeks, but then it smiled, pleased its lips were still plump and red, and that its irises glistened like sapphires. Its brows were thin and perfectly arched and its eyelashes long and full despite a one thousand year sleep of death. It was hard to believe that reflection was me.

Finally—underwear and bra. Both fit perfectly. The silky robe Ella left for me was luxurious and girly compared to my other robe and the plain tunic and pants I had been wearing. It was easy to put on and take off, comfortably slipping between my back and Standup’s green cushion.

Several minutes passed as I walked around my room, taking Standup for another test drive on the lowest setting, and challenging the strength of my muscles before I realized I was crying, not from the frustration at my pale, atrophied frame or for joy in having the artificial ability to walk—but for what would happen if I could escape from here. Could I be a brave girl in a brave new world?

Breakfast was waiting for me along with a service bot that was busy changing my bed sheets. Steam rose from two deep-yellow yolks, the smell of sweet melons filled the air, and all I thought about was Michael again, and how hurt and disappointed he’d be if he came to my room to find I was gone.

As Standup lowered like a handheld telescope, I pressed a button on its right side to keep it at its minimal setting. My liberator rolled away and parked itself against the wall, leaving my back flat on the bed and my legs dangling. Within days—not weeks like Ella thought—I’d be able to walk using just the stim pack, and then I’d try to get the heck out of here. I couldn’t think about Michael. I had to think about my own well-being.

If only there was a magical place called Tasma that I could run to, a place free from the plague’s wrath and government control.