Biological imperatives

After a nice shower in the common yard, Martin and I visit the chicken polly's stores to restock our utilities. Martin requests and receives four eggs, which he wraps in protective gauze and places carefully in one of his front satchels. "I saw how much you liked them boiled," he says to me, winking. "I think you'd go mad for my secret 'eggs over easy' recipe. If we can find a good stove."

I confirm with Auto that we are fine to proceed redward. We hit the path before the sunstrand has even waxed by a fourth. Kayem by kayem, the redward hills approach, towering above us and to the sides.

"Marissa," says Martin as we walk. "There's...There's something I've wanted to ask you for a while, and I'm not sure I'll get another chance. I've been reluctant to broach the subject because...well, I don't know. It might be sensitive, even taboo."

"That intrigues and worries me at the same time," I say. "Go ahead with your question."

"Do you know who your parents are? Your mother and father?"

"You mean genetic donors? You don't need to worry. That is not a particularly sensitive topic." I think for a moment. "I know my genetic mother was one of the matrons in the polly where I was weaned, up until my thirty-fifth hundred. Carla. My father...I asked Auto once, out of curiosity. I suppose I could do so again. Auto, who is my genetic father?"

"Marissa, your father is Dan, who currently resides in the fourth woodland polly, slightly redward and sixty-three degrees spinward of Lakepolly," says Auto.

"Aye, what he said."

Martin is muttering again under his breath, too faint for me to hear. "So Dan and Carla--were they mates, the way you described it last night?" he finally asks.

I shake my head. "Not at all. That hardly ever happens. Matters of procreation are left strictly to Auto, to ensure there is no inbreeding."

"Right, of course. The population is so small--can't be more than about ten thousand? Enough to ensure genetic healthiness indefinitely, if carefully managed." He thinks some more. "And I imagine the size also can't be allowed to grow or shrink too much either."

"Aye."

"So...You will be expected to give birth at some point, breed with the man Auto specifies?"

"If I go off the patch, aye. I may not. Many women choose to keep the patch, and the matrons make up the difference."

"When you were growing up, did your mother treat you special, different from the others she was raising?"

"Not that I could tell," I say, "but I was young. The matrons love all the tykes, and the tykes love all the matrons. Was it different for you?"

"Well...yes. We talked about families earlier. You equated them with pollies, and in a general sense that's true. But there was also a more specific meaning in my time--a mother and father, living together by themselves, married--love and procreation in a single relationship--alongside the children they created. At least, that was often considered the ideal. It is how I grew up."

"Did it work?" I ask softly. "Were you happy?"

"I was. For a while. Then my parents drifted apart during my teen years, eventually separated--no longer living together. That damaged the love I felt towards both of them, watching them argue over the pettiest things, tear each other down, neglect their kids. And my younger brother--well, I told you how he fucked my fiancée. There was no coming back from something like that. So in the end, I guess I had no one, really."

I reach for his hand, holding it in mine. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Thanks. Most of those wounds are healed over now. And I wouldn't say my own experience was representative." He shakes his head. "We come from very different backgrounds. Hard to say which is better. I'm trying not to make assumptions about anything. I've been trying ever since I was awoken."

We fall silent again. I try to imagine myself living in the world Martin describes, living with a man, my mate, my sole sexual partner, the father of all my children. I imagine standing beside him, holding a little girl in my arms, a tyke, my own creation, to be loved and raised as I see fit. It is terrifying, that weight of responsibility and obligation, and yet...I feel a slight pang, deep in my heart, for something I never even knew I might want.

Around full waxing, we stop for a moment to eat some rations from our utilities and to visit a nearby shit station. A stench pervades the air, something beyond mere human feces. I see that someone has thoughtlessly designated a compost pile only a few dozen ems away. Those are usually placed deeper within the fields, at least out of sight of the paths.

Oh, well. I wrinkle my nose slightly and take a seat at the shit station, readying myself to poop. Martin's reaction is far more dramatic. His face goes white, and he keels over on his hands and knees, vomiting onto the grass before him.

"Martin!" I cry, alarmed, standing and rushing to his side.

"F-Fuck!" he gasps, one wavering finger pointed at the nearest decomposing corpse. "Fuck!" He laughs mirthlessly. "I shouldn't be surprised. Closed system, right? Nothing organic can go to waste." He closes his eyes and shudders once more. "Fuck!"

"Will you be alright?" I ask him. "Please be alright!"

"Y-Yeah, Marissa," he says. "I just...I just need a moment." After a while, he allows me to guide him over to the shit station, to sit down on the one of the seats.

"No assumptions. No assumptions," he mutters over and over to himself. I sit down beside him and wrap my arms around his torso, holding him tenderly until we've both concluded our business. By the time we're back on the path, he seems fully recovered, though reluctant to talk about his reaction. I do not want to press, so we walk in silence as the redward hills grow to dominate our entire view.