MiCHELLE BUCKMAN
FICTION that RETHINKS Life...
Author and Speaker
***
© 2010 Michelle Buckman
All rights reserved. With the exception of short excerpts usedin articles and critical reviews, no part of this work may be
reproduced, transmitted, or stored in any form whatsoever, printed or electronic, without the prior written permission of
the publisher.
Saint Benedict Press
Charlotte, NC
***
DAY ONE
JULY 2, 2042
David Rudder stood over the hospital bed, his weary eyes drawn for a moment to the busy streets outside the Northern
Virginia Public Medical Services Center before settling
back on the patient. He heaved her ample body to one side to
release the IV tube that had worked its way under her shoulder,
then pulled the covers into place.
The woman, Gretta, had been admitted that morning,
but nothing had been done for her yet. He rubbed the brown
bristles on his face and watched her suck in shallow, laborious
breaths as he considered what he could realistically do about
her case. If he protested, they might check his credentials and
discover his false identity, maybe even fi gure out that he was
from the Dome. He couldn’t risk that.
She had everything going against her. Repeat visits. Poor
diet. Failure to comply with mandated weight reduction since
her previous visit. No productivity. She was over 65 and her
heart was failing. The bottom line was a Healthcare Score of a
measly twenty-fi ve out of a thousand.
“Are you coming?” came a deep voice in the hall; Charlie,
the doctor taking over the next shift. There was no avoiding it.
He patted Gretta’s plump arm, then joined Charlie in the Life
Office, where he found a blank space on the wall to support
his tired body. He glanced at the clock. If he could keep his
cool through this meeting, he’d make it through another day
undetected. With any luck, the Healthcare Overseer wouldn’t
even show.
Unfortunately, the man strode into the room right on
time like a soldier and went directly to his data screen. With
a touch, Gretta’s record scrolled up. “Where’s Doctor Brown?”
he asked.
“Right here,” she answered as she slipped in the doorway,
sank into a spare chair, and smiled across the room at David
with a look that said a lot more than merely hello. Elizabeth
used to tell him he looked like a picture of a guy from the
1970s, with his jawline scruff and tousled hair that hung almost
to his collar—a raw, masculine look that modern women found
appealing, almost exotic. But it panged David to see the look
he once loved to get from Elizabeth spring into the eyes of
these women he didn’t even know.
The moment passed. Doctor Brown sighed and turned to
the official with a scowl that summed up her exasperation over
having to attend Health Continuity Council meetings. The
official didn’t notice. “Any challenges to the data I’m seeing?”
he asked.
Charlie played with his cuticles.
Doctor Brown swept a lock of hair out of her eyes and
pushed up her sleeves. “We could give her the IV and renew
her prescriptions.”
“With that score? She’s been back three times this month.
And she repeatedly makes the wrong dietary choices.”
“You think?” Doctor Brown said. “What’s the actual cost
of that new diuretic, anyway?”
The Overseer cast a demeaning glare at the junior med.
“Does she have family?”
None of them responded.
“I take that as a no,” the Overseer said. He looked pointedly
at each of them. “So, no objections?”
A dozen replies rose in David’s head. She’s breathing, for
one. But insubordination would only draw attention, and it
wouldn’t save this woman. He steeled himself against everything
his conscience was urging him to do, mumbled, “No,”
and turned away.
The Overseer nodded and clicked a button. “Okay, she’s
a write-off.” He turned a haughty gaze on Dr. Brown. “That’s
how we’ve earned the state HCC award three years running.
Strictly by the book, right, doctor?”
“Sure,” she replied as she strutted toward the door, waving
David ahead of her and then gliding up beside him so that
she brushed against him in the hallway as she winked. “You
win some, you lose some.”
David wondered when it was possible to win.
He clocked out at the main station and headed toward
the employee exit. Another day with nothing gained.
But he also hadn’t been arrested, and there was much to
be said for that.
It was only midafternoon. He could investigate records,
though that had become tedious. Or he could wander the streets,
browse through stores, or sit in restaurants to mingle with people,
hoping to overhear a conversation that would provide a lead,
but he felt too drained to make small talk with strangers.
He stopped short as an overwhelming sudden urge crept
over him. He changed direction to take the side exit and slip
into the next building over.
He worked his way back past the nurses’ station and down
a long hall that carried him through the main lobby area where
he noticed an old woman, another skeleton in baggy fl esh
dressed in a nondescript pale blue dress stained with dribble.
There was nothing to set the woman apart from the fi fty other
patients seated in the waiting area except that she was probably
the oldest person he’d seen. Her fi ngers, twisted with arthritis,
lay still in her lap until his shadow fell over her. She jerked
involuntarily and pain leapt to her face in narrowed eyes and
furrowed brow. As the pain eased off, her eyes opened: empty
gray eyes revealing a stagnant mind. He imagined sights and
sounds imprisoned inside: dreams, achievements, disappointment,
loss, happiness, and anger. A whole life full of images
and memories. Did she still have memories like he had, of
playing with a childhood best friend? Axyl Houston, now a
senator, a political celebrity, had been his constant companion
in his youth, and the possibility of seeing him again was one
of the things that had intrigued him about this mission. But
he couldn’t just walk into Axyl’s offi ce. He hadn’t seen him
since the Unifi ed Order of the World—the UO—was established,
not since Axyl’s mother and sister were killed by an
anti-Christian mob and he was remanded to a UO Institute
for reprogramming. David didn’t know what that might have
done to his friend’s mind. It could be that he had no recollection
of their friendship, or anything about childhood at all.
David refocused on the old lady. He liked to imagine
she’d had a good life, perhaps been married, with memories of
her husband clear in her mind. That’s what he wanted for himself.
He feared that his memories of Elizabeth were becoming
only what pictures kept alive; the real smiles and laughter and
tears he’d shared with her were starting to fade. He tried hard
to recall things they had both loved, like the night sky, which
had always carried them back to their teen years and their fi rst
fumbling kisses.
The old lady’s face didn’t show any signs of happiness,
though. Maybe all her good memories had faded away, too.
He wasn’t her doctor, but he still had a tongue in his head
that could serve her. He thought to tell her, “God loves you,”
but he couldn’t use Exclusionary Speech here. Hospital surveillance
was tight. Instead he laid one hand gently upon her arm
and leaned close. He pressed a sample pain killer into her palm,
whispered, “Go home,” and walked on without looking back.
He emerged into the quad and paused as the sunlight struck
him full force, so bright that the distinction of details was lost,
like the fuzzy screen of an old television set. After a moment, his
eyes adjusted, and he continued down the sidewalk. He didn’t
know the exact location of the maternity ward but trusted bits
gleaned from overheard conversations as he moved across the
quad toward the east entrance. It would be a relief to examine
things in another ward, to see life at its beginning rather than
making excuses and watching people die. He wanted to wipe
away the memory of patients thrashing or even just whimpering
at the end and to erase the faces of the ones turned away.
Through a door, down a hall and up an elevator. A sensor
picked up his presence and a soft female voice whispered into
the air from hidden speakers, fi rst in English, then in Spanish:
The Good Life Maternity Center is here to serve your community.
For the Good of the Nation, for the Good of the World.
He’d heard the voice echoing in the halls of the medical
center so often that it barely even registered.
The maternity center didn’t have a formal lobby, but
double glass doors led to a counter where three nurses sat
snickering over a date gone awry. One looked his way, but he
turned, hurried down the hallway that veered to the right, and
ducked into the next doorway.
Inside the dingy room lay a woman on a birthing bed.
Dark hair, coffee-colored skin. Spanish? Indian, maybe.
He glanced at the light switch, aching to turn it on. The
constant dimness depressed him, but lights were not permitted
in rooms with windows until after nightfall, and then only for
emergencies.
At least the medical panel lit up. Her record said her
name was Sola.
He checked the readings then sat on a stool and stared at
her swollen lump of belly.
Sola groaned out two words. “Me duele.”
He nodded. “I know it hurts.”
He couldn’t do anything for her. Delivery drugs were kept
under lock and key. Even emergencies required special coding
for release.
As Sola groaned and arched her back against another
contraction, he chided himself. Only a fool would believe
he was there to wash from his mind the deaths in the other
building. He could have done that by walking through the
park where children played, except youngsters brought him
no solace. Today his daughter would have been two. Heavy
footsteps came down the hall and stopped outside the door. He
picked up the computerized medical chart and held his breath.
It beeped and made him jump.
He hadn’t thought this venture through. Of course someone
would come to attend the girl. A med would have to deliver
the baby. He should have gone to the nursery and pretended to
be the father of one of the infants.
Too late. Now he was trapped.
The door opened with a thud, admitting a huge doctor
whose narrow eyes were lost above cheeks that pudged and
sagged in proportion to his belly as he looked from David to
the patient.
David flinched. The small, blue birthing room closed in
around him like a cage. He forced the nervous tension away.
This guy wasn’t likely to suspect anything; David had been passing
as an Outer State med all week. He wasn’t an obstetrician,
and he had delivered very few babies, but his general medical
skills exceeded anything he’d seen in the other ward. Chances
were this guy wasn’t an obstetrician either. He sucked in a calming
breath. His false ID hung nonchalantly from his pocket. He
could pull this off. Lord, David silently prayed, be with me.
Aloud, his voice was deep and even. “Her contractions are
three minutes apart. She’s hurting pretty badly.” He pointed to
the reading on the machine behind him.
As if to affirm his statement, Sola screamed then droned
on in agonized whimpers as she pounded the bed with her fi sts
and tossed around frantically.
The doctor, holding the door open, leaned his head back
into the hall. “Hey Mersrisha, fi ve milligrams of Q2. Pronto.”
“I’ve clocked out.”
He cursed under his breath. “Well, send someone down
here with it.”
“Under what code?”
He cussed. “Get it! I’ll take care of it on this end.”
He stared at David’s back until a nurse scurried in around
him, checked vitals, administered the pain-killer, and left again.
The drug dropped the girl into oblivion almost instantly,
and the cramped room became a monotonous blend of hospital
sounds: the rhythmic beeping of the monitor and the occasional
clicking of the intravenous drip machine mingled with
her quiet simpers.
Only then did the med completely enter and let the door
close. With authority, he took the chart from David, punched
a few keys and passed his palm over the chart scanner, then
watched as it beeped recognition and displayed 1:05 p.m. July
2, 2042, Markus Holmes. His eyes remained locked on it in a
moment of indecision, and then he turned, his gaze moving
over David’s lanky frame, taking in every detail. “Why didn’t
Lui administer anything?”
David played it cool and reached over to a side table
to pick up a hospital pamphlet with big black letters stating,
Know Your Rights! The Unifi ed Order grants all women the right to
two live children. In smaller print below that, Government surrogates
may conceive and bear beyond that number under proper
supervision with Unifi ed Order authorization of approved birthcount
parents. Surrogates were an issue he knew nothing about;
he didn’t deal with them at home. He shifted uncomfortably,
trying to contrive words that might make sense. “Surrogates
weren’t provided for or had to sign acceptance for billing or
something.” That’s what was listed on the chart: Surrogate—no
billing provided.
David tensed on the edge of his seat ready for fl ight.
The med’s steely expression didn’t soften. “Yeah. Right.
Always by the book.” He turned to the bed. Without comment,
he pushed the woman onto her back, pulled her knees
up, and proceeded to check her cervical dilation. “Wow. Didn’t
you check her? We shouldn’t have given her anything so late.
Screwed up my delivery.” He glared at David, then buzzed the
nurses’ station and spoke into the air. “I need a setup, stat.”
David couldn’t sit still under such scrutiny. He moved to
the girl’s bedside, stared at her a moment, then glanced around
the room. Everything was scrubbed clean yet had a worn, secondhand
look about it. An intolerable disinfectant odor was
making him light-headed and dulling his concentration.
“Shift ended ten minutes ago, you know,” the med said.
David’s angled features became tauter as he looked at the
girl and swept the hair back from her homely face. Should he go?
Escape while he could? Or would that raise more suspicion?
He shrugged.
Markus arched one brow. “It’s your life. Don’t expect me
to stay, though. When the clock hits eight, I’m outta here.”
After a moment of silence, the med held his hand out.
“Name’s Markus Holmes. Med III.” David shook it. “Rex Montane.”
He had practiced saying the alias until it rolled off his
tongue with ease.
As their eyes met, Markus was momentarily transfixed.
Jesus eyes, Markus found himself thinking: like in the picture
of the Messiah that had hung in his parents’ den a lifetime ago.
Those same deep brown eyes, full of compassion, that devoured
all there was in a person yet revealed nothing. He wondered
where that picture went. Confiscated and burned, probably.
The monitor whirred. Both men turned back to the
patient as another contraction registered. She only moaned.
“So you’re new here?” Markus asked.
David breathed slowly, desperately trying to exude a calm
exterior as he gave his canned response. “Been at a country
infirmary for two years. Not much action.”
Markus harrumphed, shifted his bulky frame, and went
back to the electronic chart. The guy was no Messiah.
Joanne’s messing with my mind. Last night she gets me to say one
desperate prayer to God, for the fi rst time in twenty years, and
I expect Christ to land right here in a hospital room with me. He
watched puzzled as David examined a tray of instruments.
First-day jitters? Not that Markus cared; he only pulled his
hours and left. Five more years and they would force him
to retire. Nothing but a bunch of political crap; Kim Lui
making all the money and him being passed over again, no
doubt because she was in bed with the Administrator. He
would be glad when his fi ve years were up. The whole hospital
could fall apart for all he cared.
He pushed his straight black hair off his forehead—a habit
he repeated constantly without realizing it—and continued to
watch the stranger. Something about him piqued his interest.
For one thing, nobody stayed past shift end, ever. “You may as
well go back to the country. You won’t last long here. You’ll
see. Too much work for too little pay. Research is the only
place to make money anymore.” He sighed. Times sure had
changed. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his brow. “I
wish they would run the air conditioning.”
David nodded. Some of the wards were stifling hot.
There was no reason for him to get upset about it, though,
because this med was right: he would be gone in another
day or two. He couldn’t risk staying much longer. Someone
or something was bound to catch him if he didn’t move
on. If the ubiquitous scanners and cameras identifi ed him
as a Dominian—a resident of the Cloistered Dominion, the
federal reservation for Christians—he’d be hauled in and
probably imprisoned, achieving nothing for the cause.
As the med stared at him, he realized how careless he’d
been in crossing into another ward. He needed to extricate
himself without complicating things further.
As he took a step toward the exit, the door swung open
again, this time for a nurse who entered humming something
like the tune of a child’s ABCs. She checked pulse and temperature
readings. “Shakita’s on her way,” she said as she left,
and resumed her tune, words fl oating in the air as the door
slowly pulled itself closed behind her. “And praise your liberty
every day; UO deliverance is here to stay. The Unifi ed Order is
your friend; we take care of you to the end . . .”
The last of the tune was almost inaudible, but Markus
bobbed his head back and forth to the beat with a frown that
creased his whole face. “Right to the end all right. Bah.”
The contempt in the man’s voice set David’s heart pounding.
The med had to know that the walls had eyes and ears, yet
he didn’t seem to care. Could God have blessed David with
just the sort of man he needed to meet?
David had illegally ventured out of the Cloistered
Dominion—the “Dome”—to infi ltrate medical centers in
search of medical supplies and life-saving advancements, but
even more importantly, to investigate rumors of a Christian
underground gathering secretly to pray and worship and read
the Bible, of priests preaching and baptizing and saying Mass
in defi ance of the state-run church. Some said there were hundreds
of such groups across the country, all disconnected yet
aware of one another. Silenced by fear. Waiting, maybe, for a
leader. He was supposed to find out if it was true.
Could this man, with his attitude, possibly know something?
David looked from the woman to the door to the med.
If this guy was the link they needed . . . Be not afraid, he
whispered.
The patient groaned and arched.
“Here it comes,” Markus said. He buzzed again for a nurse
and cursed into the intercom.
The room suddenly came alive with activity. Three
nurses jostled around to get trays in place. The bed was shifted
to delivery position. Masks were pulled up and birthing lights
were focused. The sudden brightness refl ected off the shiny
chrome tables and faded into the blue hue of the walls.
“Okay, lady—push,” Markus said.
David moved to the background and watched the woman’s
efforts.
He wanted to love once more.
In his mind, the baby was his daughter Bethany, delivered
all wet and wailing, placed in his arms. He ached for that
quiet time in the dimness of the room after her birth when he
had held her and stared transfi xed by her beauty. He wanted
to see a baby and feel joy again. To look at an infant, think of
Bethany, and not coil inside with guilt and anger.
The girl cried as a fuzzy round head crowned. Markus
continued to bully the girl. “Again. Push. Now! Push.”
The head fi nally emerged. With the next contraction and
one deft motion, the infant slid in to Markus’s huge hands.
Markus’s smile puffed his full cheeks up into his brown
eyes. “Baby boy born at . . . 13:23.”
A nurse filled in the record, then reached for the baby.
He didn’t cry, but mewed like a kitten as if he knew he’d better
state his case immediately. “Hi, sweetie,” she trilled. “Aren’t
you beautiful? Wait till your mama sees you.”
David swallowed the glob of tears in his throat and turned
away.
Markus pressed on the surrogate’s stomach, delivering the
placenta. “Is the mother in the waiting room?”
“No.” The nurse’s shrill baby-talk voice dropped to normal.
“But she’s been called.”
A stern-faced male nurse entered with an empty blood
sample vial and a syringe. After making the baby squall with a
poke from the sharp needle, he left without a word to anyone.
The baby’s whimpers languished, and silence fell over the
staff, all absorbed in their duties. David watched, made some
notes, pretended to be busy.
Markus made fast work of the stitches, glancing intermittently
at the stranger. He didn’t seem to actually be taking part
in any of it. Something was up.
With a nod from Markus, two techs transferred the
drugged woman to a gurney.
“What’d she get?” asked the taller of the two.
“It’s on the chart. Q2. She was endangering the kid.”
“The Administrator won’t like this, wasting funds on a
surrogate.”
“I’ll take care of the Alligator. Get this girl out to recovery.”
The nurse ran a tub of warm water, her eyes on David as
she smiled and shook her kinky curls at him. David shooed
her away and gently cleansed the tiny infant himself. He
marveled at the newborn nickel-sized ears and pursed lips.
He touched the little fi st, uncurled the fi ngers, and stroked
the tiny palm. Bethany had been premature; so much smaller
than this fellow and yet perfect. He had felt so immediately
protective of her. He had loved Bethany more in that fi rst
instant than he had ever loved before. Oh, how he wanted
to be a father!
Markus looked over his shoulder and groaned. “Isn’t that
a shame. It’s a Down’s kid.”
Tears welled in David’s eyes and spilled over. He brushed
them away. “I’ve never seen a case except in text books.”
Markus looked at him suspiciously.
David shrugged. “With gene corrections and terminations . . .”
Markus pointed. “Look here, the single heavy wrinkle
across his palm and the space between the fi rst and second
toe. See? And the slanting of the palpebral fi ssures making
the eyes look Oriental. And the ears are set low and fold over
just slightly. Really a textbook case. Of course, we’ll check the
blood work to be sure . . .”
The intercom phone buzzed. “Dr. Holmes?”
“Yeah.”
“Surrogate 2090, Infant 2090-5?”
“Yeah.”
“The test shows Down’s.”
Markus frowned and sighed. “Yeah. I fi gured. Send the
data up.”
“On its way.”
The machine buzzed out a page of medical jargon.
Then Kim Lui, Head Med, slipped into the room. To
David she looked like a kindergarten teacher, maybe, with her
short stature and soft, brown features. But Markus grew tense,
even as she smiled a dimpled smile at him. “Did you get my
memo about that sonogram machine?”
David could see him physically pulling his animosity into
check as he turned to face her. “Yes. I did.”
She leaned around him and glanced at the newborn.
“What a waste. Luckily, I just saw the Overseer in his offi ce.
Got the documentation?”
Markus handed her the report. She glanced at it and
made a call. “Code four, irreversible genetic mutation on
infant 2090-5. Need the go-ahead.” After a moment she hung
up. “Authorization 9654376. Go ahead and euthanize it.”
David clasped the baby tighter, exerting every ounce of
will to stand still, to not react.
Kim looked David over with a raised eyebrow, then
glanced at Markus’s expressionless face, and turned abruptly,
her generous hips swaying slightly as she walked back out.
Markus clenched his fists. “Death Panels.” He growled it
as if it were a curse but shook off the anger almost as fast. He
turned to the newborn, his fingers almost touching the dark
fluff of hair, but he resisted and busied himself with removing
his protective wear. “As long as you’re sticking around, you can
dispose of it. I had to do two last week.” He smiled weakly. “So
much for them not reaching this far.”
“Two?”
“Cerebral Palsy.” He looked at his watch to emphasize his
next words. “Fetal distress during shift change. Oxygen loss.”
David ignored the implication. He wasn’t worried about
shift change being long over. “And the other one?”
Markus sighed, the weight of the admission hanging on
his shoulders. “They expected a boy and got a girl. Someone
screwed up the prenatal.”
“They killed their daughter because they wanted a son?”
“Well, they don’t look at it that way.”
David stared at him.
He shrugged. “They already had a girl.”
Distress bled through the poker face David tried hard to
maintain.
Markus couldn’t figure this guy out. He looked ordinary
enough, except for those eyes, but he acted like he was from
Mars. “They only get two kids. They wanted a boy.”
Markus couldn’t understand David’s naiveté, but he
could understand his disgust. Unfortunately, the practice was
so commonplace that no one seemed to care anymore. Or if
they did, they were forced to keep silent. Speaking against the
right to choose euthanasia was an Intolerance Crime. “I’d like
to choke those idiots in the Nab Lab. We shouldn’t have to
deal with this so late in the game, but so much funding for prenatal
care has been cut. Well, you know. Let’s get on with it. I
assume you’d rather let the machine do it.”
David looked at the little boy with his wide gray eyes staring
trustingly up at him. Suddenly the fists of miniature fingers
struck out as he wailed.
He wanted to run out the door with this little baby boy,
but instead he stood shaking with uncertainty. As he closed
his eyes to gather his wits, the image of Elizabeth, her calming
smile, fl ooded through him. She had always had such faith in
him. The memory of her fi lled him with courage he could never
possess on his own. She would tell him to look for another way.
Another way? This med already suspects something.
The tiny hand clasped one of David’s fingers. He had to
stall. “I’ve never, uh, done this before.”
“Come on, I’ll show you where to go.”
David swaddled the baby clumsily but tenderly and held
him close, quieting him with a whispered prayer.
This mission was going to test the very core of his faith.
ONE VOICE
Can make all the difference.
