The Unnamed Child

The planet was dying, and Ward Ad1 welcomed it. She longed for it, especially in the evening when consciousness returned to end her drug-induced slumber. She fumbled for the eyedropper next to her bedroll, opened the face shield on her helmet, and winced as the moisture coated the lens of her eyes. Pink tears slid down her cheeks as she sat up and took her first painful breath of the day. The oxygen from her tank pierced her lungs. She sipped stale air, eventually gathering enough strength to sit up, the sharpness of her breathing slowly subsiding. She nudged the lump in the bedroll next to hers and elicited a soft but unmistakably angry grunt. Ward Ma3 cracked her dry, dust-encrusted eyelids open just enough to glare at her bunkmate.

Ma3 took her first conscious breath too quickly and immediately began to wheeze, gasping for air. Ward Ad1 curled up beside her, helped her into a seated position, and slowly rubbed her back, whispering for her to slow down, take small sips. Coughing fits were often deadly for Wards of The Facility. They expended a lot of oxygen, often using up their daily ration in just minutes. Ma3 and Ad1 had comforted many fellow Wards as they suffocated in the darkest morning hours.

Ma3 recovered quickly, and the women silently and slowly unhooked the IVs that delivered their medications and fluids and crawled out of their bunk into the small plot of desert that had been home for more than a decade. Arising before sunset meant a harsher, hotter walk to the refill station, but also a few minutes of autonomy and a brief glimpse of the world of light. The women were too young to remember when humans lived and worked during daylight hours, but the sun called to them just the same, an evolutionary instinct impossible to override even with the powerful mandatory medications the Keepers employed to manage their sleep patterns.

The sun haunted and enthralled Ad1. In her dreams, she waited for it to consume her, to fill the void under her skin with fire and transform her body to ash.

As the bunkmates lumbered through the dunes to the northside of The Facility, they concentrated on keeping their breath measured. The soot and sand blew fiercely this evening, severely limiting their visibility. Ad1 welcomed the reprieve from the sight of the hideous camp. She knew the monochromatic landscape by heart. Hundreds of airtight, windowless box tents covered in dust and pitched in circular precision around four mammoth, concrete buildings at the camp’s center, each installation indistinguishable except for the name carved in black stone on the southside entrance: testing center, meal center, refill station, mortuary.

Ad1 used the twenty-minute walk from their bunk to the refill station to think about her children. Against the demands of the Keepers, she had secretly named all but her last child. When she held the impossibly small, colorless corpse in her arms, something fundamental, something essential broke free from inside Ad1. She felt the essential thing leave her body as she stared at the infant, her eyelids thin like the wings of an insect and patterned with blue veins. That was the first night she had dreamt of the sun.

She named her third child, born on a full moon, Diana. Diana lived for nearly six months, the best Ad1 had spent at The Facility. Infants who lived and their Wards were allowed to bunk in the testing center, their precious lives tended by the Keepers. Bunking at the testing center meant unlimited access to oxygen, IV fluids, and food pouches. Unlimited access to oxygen meant Ad1 could speak to Diana at will, sing to her, blow bubbles on her toes and her tummy, and delight in the bright smiles Diana elicited in response.

When Diana was five months old, she stopped eating. She was gone less than a month later. Many infants in The Facility died this way. The Keepers called it “failure to thrive.”

Mia, Ad1’s second child, was born with a diseased heart and lived for just three days. Mia’s fate was common amongst the children of the Wards.

Mostly, Ad1 thought about her firstborn, Sam. She remembered the way his auburn curls tickled her chin when she held him and the sweet tenor of his voice when he called for her. Mommy. An invisible force gripped her throat and squeezed, the strangling pain familiar and comforting. The pain was a weapon she could wield, something she could control in a world in which all of the elements that kept her alive were regulated by the Keepers, all her actions were monitored, and all of her children were dead.

Ad1 went further into the pain, letting it radiate from her heart to her gut by recalling the last day she spent with Sam. They had arrived at The Facility three months prior, near death from lack of water and poor air quality. At first, they found solace in the meticulous regulation, the daily rations of fluids and oxygen and food, and the safety from the wild the Keepers provided. She found it strange that the Keepers called the Wards by a code - Ad1 for her and SM4 for Sam - but rules and regulations seemed a small price to pay for survival. One policy at The Facility did give her pause - adults and children bunked separately due to different oxygen requirements. Her instincts told her to keep Sam close, but she knew she could no longer protect him in the wild.

She’d last seen Sam during an evening trip to the refill station. Though all the Wards dressed in the same khaki suit, oxygen tanks, and helmets, she recognized him immediately as he waited in line. It was the way he carried himself, with more confidence than was due given his short stature and thin frame. The Wards’ oxygen regiments were too small to allow for conversation, but as Ad1 approached the line she squeezed Sam’s hand three times, a secret message they crafted in their first days at The Facility. Sam pressed a peace sign to his heart, signifying, “I love you, too.” Then he crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue, a silly gesture, aiming to make his mom laugh. She remembered feeling a glow in her belly as she made her way to the meal center for morning rations, a soft, orange ember sparked by the knowledge that her son was safe and happy.

Later that evening as Ad1 arrived for her final round of tests, she found a crisp, white envelope on her gurney. The sight of it startled her. Researchers at The Facility were meticulous with their experiments. Each day Ad1 reported to the same white-washed room, laid down on the same gurney, and waited for the same Keepers to enter the room and wordlessly begin their work. She was rationed the same amount of oxygen, food, fluids, and sleep medication. Irregularities, as Keepers called them, were not allowed.

Uncertain about how to proceed but unable to resist temptation, Ad1 opened the envelope.

SM4 expired during evening testing. Due to this irregularity, Ad1 will be excluded from testing today.

Ad1 had no memory of what happened next. She woke up three weeks later in a new bunk with a new bunkmate: Ma3. Without Ma3, Ad1 would not have survived. In the early days after Sam’s death, Ma3 would arise well before sunset, haul Ad1’s oxygen tank to the refill station, and carry it back for her. She made sure Ad1 arrived in time for testing and finished her food pouches. She showed Ad1 how to moderate the effects of the sleep medication administered nightly through their IVs so they could arise earlier than the other Wards.

Since then, Ad1 and Ma3 had created other irregularities at The Facility. They shared their oxygen with new Wards who were less skilled at sipping air and expended their quotas too quickly. They ripped out the lining of their Facility-issued khakis to store the protein pouches they swiped from the meal center and delivered them to the children’s bunks. These small acts of resistance revived something in Ad1.

The women arrived at the refill station before the other Wards as planned, but the thrill Ad1 used to get from defying the Keepers dissolved the day her unnamed daughter was born. Nothing stirred her anymore. As their tanks neared full, Ma3 turned towards her, winked, and kicked her boot, their private message for “one more day.” As the women parted, Ad1 cleared the dust from her face shield and watched the furnaces at the mortuary roar to life. The first time she passed the mortuary, she had vomited in her helmet. Now the smell that seeped through the hinges of her face shield barely registered as she hustled to the meal center, consumed her rations quickly, and plodded to the research center.

Upon entering, Ad1 removed her uniform, helmet, and oxygen tank and deposited them in a bin to her right. She grabbed a crisp hospital gown, tied it loosely around her back, and took her first unencumbered breath of the day. As the pure air filled her chest, she felt her mood lighten and immediately resented the relief it provided. A decade of life at The Facility tinged every sweet moment with bitterness. Pleasure was a false promise. Hope was dangerous.

As she approached her room, a sense of eeriness greeted her. The door, usually completely open, was only half ajar. Cautiously, she walked down the hallway inspecting the doors of her fellow Wards. Hers was the only irregularity. Her heart rate skyrocketed as she returned to her room and gently pushed the door. A glimmer of green caught her eye first, the color so alien Ad1 gasped. Glancing behind her to ensure she was still alone, Ad1 approached the gurney and picked up the unfamiliar item waiting for her just as the crisp, white envelope had ten years prior. The object was heavy, made of some metal Ad1 couldn’t identify, and heart-shaped. She held it in the palm of her hand, reverently running her thumb over the emerald in the center. The cold, smooth surface seemed so out-of-place, so ethereal, so unlike the harsh edges and dry heat of The Facility.

Ad1 opened the locket and a small piece of paper floated to the floor. The sounds of fellow Wards entering the testing facility drifted into her room; the Keepers would arrive in moments. Instinctively, she grabbed the slip of paper in one hand and attempted to slide the locket in the lining of her khaki suit only to remember she was in a hospital gown. Her eyes searched for a hiding place in the stark room. Footsteps echoed down the hall. Ad1 laid down on the gurney, tucking the locket under her leg. She exhaled heavily, trying to slow her heart rate so as not to alarm the Keepers. A moment passed before she remembered the paper. She opened it slowly, some part of her knowing the contents were meant for her.

Her name is Luna. Bring the locket to the arboretum. Ma3 can show you the way.

Love, Sam