Date: Thu, 1 Oct 1998 08:20:17 -0600 From: Robyn Herrington Subject: HALLOWEEN CONTEST SUB: Enceinte WRITER'S FIFTH ANNUAL HALLOWEEN CONTEST Halloween contest: FICTION Word count 3,500 Two subs per person, max. ==> PLEASE SEND AS TEXT OR ASCII if you're attaching the document. Send to ME rmherrin@ucalgary.ca Critiques to ME rmherrin@ucalgary.ca Dates: October 1st - 15th for submissions ====================================================================== ==== Enceinte "The uterus is roughly eight weeks in size." Dr. Hammon's voice was matter of fact. His eyes focused on the wall over Gena's head as his fingers (how many of them did he have in there anyway?) prodded and manipulated her woman parts. A bored looking nurse indifferently jotted his words onto a notepad with a troll-topped pencil. "It seems slightly boggy, not exactly comparable to a two-month pregnancy, but I find nothing to be alarmed about." The doctor patted her bent knee with the hand that wasn't buried inside her snatch, then wiped his dripping nose with its knuckles. "Nothing to worry about," he repeated. He didn't look into her face, his hands rolling and kneading her works like fleshy dough. Gena wanted to believe him. After trying to get knocked up for the past eighteen months, a third miscarriage would mean the end of everything. Dr. Hammon slapped her knee again, with an air of finality. "Get dressed, Ms. Rodas, I'll be back in a few minutes." Gena waited until the muff doctor had left the carelessly draped cubicle, then rolled off the examining table and pulled on her black leggings and baggy purple sweatshirt. She'd liked to have just got the hell out of the South Street Clinic, but she knew this time she'd have to have a written confirmation from the doctor that she was pregnant if she was going to see a dime. With her reputation she was lucky that anyone even used her anymore, but she always managed to squirt out fat, healthy nipple-gnawers and that was a point in her favor. She dug a pack of cigarettes out the denim backpack that she always carried with her and was searching for a book of matches when the doctor flipped back the shabby gray curtain and shuffled back into the cubicle. "That's not allowed," he said, lighting his own cigarette and then hers, with a gold-plated lighter. Gena whistled under her breath. She wondered who the doctor had blown to get that beauty. "Yeah." Gena blew gray smoke toward the ceiling and sat down on the wooden stool that her clothes been laid on. "So, what's the deal?" The doctor flipped through the chart that the dull-eyed nurse had left on a metal stand in the corner of the room, his thin lips moving as he went through her history. Gena knew what was there. She'd been in the business for seven years, delivered five healthy brats, and gone amiss twice. This would be her last chance. If she didn't carry this one to term-- "Were your last two incubations custom orders or did you freelance?" Gena bristled, though she knew the question was coming. "Uh...does that matter? They didn't--I mean, they weren't--" "Yes, I know," the doctor nodded. "You went amiss. That's why I'm asking. Your first three incubations, according to your chart, were custom orders." He flipped back through the dog-eared sheets of paper, pausing occasionally to read something. "The purchasers provided the sperm, as well as an apartment and medical attention. The results were notable, with all three couple returning to you for another shot." He ruffled the pages again. "You performed adequately with two of the couples, but the third...it would seem that was your first miss. The second miss appears to be a new consumer." "Yeah, I advertised for them." Gena scratched at a scab on her forearm, beneath the sheath that held her switchblade. "After the first miss I kinda lost business. You know how particular they are." She grinned saucily at the old doctor. He ignored her attempt at humor. "Be that as it may, you've got two marks here." He scrutinized Gena with dark blue eyes. "Surely you're aware of that." Gena torqued the cigarette butt into the filth-filmed linoleum with the toe of her workboot and sat up straighter, looking the cunt- jockey straight in the eye. "Look Doc, it's a hard fucking world out there. Ya do what you gotta do to survive. The Goddess gave me a body that squirts out healthy little rug monkeys. It's your job to pull 'em out in one piece. Don't lecture me." She got up and threw her backpack over her shoulder. "All you need to know is that this one is sold and all I need to know is whether I'm coming back here next month." She paused at the entry to the cubicle, looking expectantly over her shoulder at the worn out old man behind her. "Well?" The doctor made a notation on her chart with a chewed up pen and snapped it shut. "Four weeks from today, same time," he said curtly. "If this doesn't take..." The warning trailed off. Gena nodded, satisfied, then strode down the curtain-lined corridor. Confirmation would be sent by courier to the customer by day's end and tomorrow morning Gena would be sitting pretty. The clients already had documentation of the freelance sire's superiority. She had her eye on a cute little apartment overlooking the clean end of the Wolf River and grocery service was set up to start the day after. Gena had a good feeling about this incubation. Up ahead Gena could see that one of the stained cubicle curtains had been negligently left open. Curiosity drew her eye as she passed and she got a glimpse of familiarly pale, stringy-lean thighs hoisted into the metal stirrups of an examining table. The doctor, who was crouched like one of those old-time baseball catchers between them moved, and Gena caught the eye of the girl who lay on the table. Gena cocked her head toward the street. The girl nodded and Gena went on her way. Gena carefully counted out ten administrative chits to pay for the appointment, set up the next one, then pushed the heavy glass front door of the clinic open and stepped outside. On the sidewalk, the smelly, swarming crowd of humans and 'Noids threatened to suck her in. She tucked her chin to her chest and walked, left hip and shoulder scraping the brick wall of the clinic, til she reached the corner of the building. She glanced around quickly, then slipped into the darkness of the alley that ran between the clinic and Xerses Illustrious Stripping Emporium. It was quieter there, and the air less stifling, though not by much. Older 'Noids gave off a nasty stink. The idiot who'd designed them had screwed up something in their sweat glands that made them smell like rotting corpses. The newer ones didn't stink at all. Which, of course, made them harder than hell to detect. Gena closed her eyes and leaned against the brick wall of the building, breathing deeply. Seconds later, heavy footsteps approached from the other end of the alley. Gena didn't open her eyes, but her hand automatically tightened on the blade attached to her forearm. "Relax, bitch, it's me." Gena opened her eyes. Moira, the girl from other curtained cubicle leaned in, lips puckered for a kiss. "Get the fuck offa me!" Gena swiped the top of her hand across her lips, even though Moira hadn't made contact, and pushing the other woman away. "How many times I gotta tell you I ain't that way?" Moira guffawed, black tinted mouth wide, head thrown back. A dingy white cut-off T-shirt barely held her jiggling titties. "Fuck you, Gena," she laughed. "You that way every time you wasted and you know it." The other woman's blue-white eyes sparkled in the darkness of the alley. Gena wiped her mouth again and shook her head, dismissing Moira's remark. It was any hole in a storm and if Moira couldn't tell the difference between that and sexual preference, Gena wasn't going to waste her time explaining it to her. "Whatever...how'd it go in there?" Gena cocked her head toward the clinic. "You catch?" "Nah." Moira walked up to the mouth of the alley, glanced both ways as if looking for someone, then came back, her hips swaying beneath the white cheerleader's skirt she wore. "Came for something else." Gena shook her head, uncomprehending. "What?" Moira dug in her purse, studiously avoiding her friend's eyes. "Having a wash-out." She crouched down on the dirty alley floor and pawed through the suede-fringed purse. "Where the fuck did I put my stuff?" "What the hell are you talking about? You so fucking rich you can just blow off a catch?" Gena hunkered down next to Moira and snatched the purse away from her. "Gimme that." She grubbed through the contents of her friend's bag until her fingers came into contact with the little silver compact that held Moira's jack. She pulled it out and flipped it to the other woman. "Now tell me what the fuck is going on." Gena looked Moira in the eye, refusing to be rebuffed. Moira shrugged, then busied herself with the swing. She opened the compact, stroked her fingertips across the surface of the iridescent substance, then rubbed a dab of the glittering stuff behind each ear. In seconds her eyes rolled back in her head. Gena grabbed her before she could collapse onto the filth-limned asphalt. Moira quickly returned to her senses. Her pupils were pinpricks, despite the dimness of the alley and Gena could feel the thud of the other woman's heart against her own chest. Moira pulled away from Gena and tugged the dirty white cut-off T-shirt down over her phony tits. "Lemme go, bitch, I can handle it." Her voice was slurred though, and Gena stayed close, ready to catch her friend if she started to fall again. Moira bounced back quickly, shaking her body like a dog, and grinning at Gena. "It wasn't human." "What wasnít?" "The catch--it wasn't human." Comprehension dawned and Gena shivered lavishly. "It was a 'Noid?" Un-fucking-believable. Moira'd aborted a 'Noidís brat. Leave it to her to not only do something illegal, but something that was almost sure to get her electrified if the Administrators ever found out. The same pisswad that had screwed up the 'Noid's sweatglands had also slipped up in the reproductive department, and they hadn't figured out yet how to fix it. Male 'Noids had an ample amount of viable sperm, but the females couldn't catch. So they hired broodies, like Moira and Gena, to carry their offspring. Shitty job, but it paid pretty fucking good. "What'd you tell the doc?" "That it was an unknown catch." Moira was nonchalant, but Gena saw the uneasiness in her eyes. If the authorities found out Moira'd falsely reported a violation-- Well, Gena didn't want to be in her shoes. Catching a human kid was illegal without special permission, but aborting a 'Noid was a capital offense. "What if they find out?" Gena grabbed the other woman's frail forearm. "What if they examine the shit and find out it wasn't human?" "What if they do?" Moira's white eyes were glittering marbles. Gena read the truth of what she'd done in them. "You didn't--you stupid bitch!" Gena spat on the ground at Moira's feet and turned away. As much as she loved her friend (and she did, in spite of the other woman's proclivity for drugs and illegal--and weird--sex), it was just too risky to be caught associating with her. "Gena...please." Moira's voice implored her. Gena kept walking. She couldn't afford to have the authorities scrutinizing her too closely. Especially since she'd finally caught and already had the little sucker sold. It was all she could do, though, to keep herself from turning around for one last look at Moira. # Gena lay in the deep oval-shaped tub, her eyes closed. Hot, soapy water, set in motion by her labored breathing, lapped gently across her chin. She squirmed restlessly, trying to get comfortable in the fragrant water, but the bulky shape of her distended stomach made it impossible. Only two more weeks of this shit and she'd be free. It had been hinky for a while there, but she'd made it through that one shaky month when it looked like she might miss. Now the little bastard was almost due. The tests showed that she'd caught a perfectly normal 'Noidie, and its parents were nearly drooling with anticipation. Two more weeks and she'd be able to take a break. She sure would miss the apartment and the steady meals, though. Maybe she'd score some of that good shit that was on the streets these days to help her get over her loss. Thinking of swing invoked Moira's memory. Gena was surprised and a little embarrassed to find herself sobbing into the now-tepid bath water. She glanced at the contract camera mounted in the corner of the bathroom, and fought back an urge to shoot it the finger. It wouldn't do any good for her to piss off her customers at this stage in the game. She got out of the tub as quickly as she could and positioned herself directly below the camera, out of its range. No sense in alerting whatever was monitoring her every move. The fucking cameras were supposedly put there to monitor the health o f a broodie, but any kind of behavior that was out of the ordinary was recorded and commented on. Gena was goddess-damned if she was gonna go through some kind of interrogation when she was this close to being free. She just couldn't quit crying, though, thinking about Moira. Gena wished the bitch hadn't been so stupid, then immediately wondered if she had been. Down deep inside, had Moira really known what she was doing? # A week after her confirmation appointment at the clinic Gena had been watching the morning news on VS. After running through the usual Worldwide Catastrophe Report, the reporter's three eyes barely flickered as she segued into the local news. "In today's top story, a human broodie was put to death when evidence of an apparent sovereign deceit came to light. Moira Kellogg, a breeder registered with the State, was destroyed in a routine electrocutive after admitting to deliberately having a Humanoid embryo aborted." The reporter's voice became conspiratorial as she continued. "As you know, it became illegal for humans to have sex for procreation without authorization in 2010, when Congress passed bill number 417, declaring it unlawful to bear any young that were not Humanoid. Ms. Kellogg, fifteen, was born in 2011, at the Waukena Brood Facility. She had, up until this aberration, been a model broodie, with four healthy catches to her favor. It is not known why she suddenly turned rebellious and had the fetus aborted." The reporter shuffled her papers and went on. "The felony was discovered almost immediately and Kellogg was taken without incident at a hut on Christian Lane." Gena had slapped off the VidSet and never again mentioned Moira's name. # Now Gena turned to look at herself in the mirror over the vanity. The clear, poly-stomach had again been surgically attached after she'd made it safely through her third month. Pulsing gently, it protected the fetus that slept within. ================================================================ Robyn Herrington, Editor rmherrin@ucalgary.ca New Currents in Teaching and Learning InfoServe www.ucalgary.ca/~rmherrin University of Calgary Phone: 220-2561 Leadership lifts a person's vision to higher sites, raises a person's performace to higher standards and builds a personality beyond its normal limitations -- Peter Drucker =================================================================