Chapter 1 #2
“Correct.” I remained matter-of-fact. I didn’t need to tell her I hated being a medic and was only doing it because active schooling for a career that preserved life was the only exemption that could push back my child bearing requirements to graduation.
If I hadn’t gone directly into University after high school, I would have been immediately put into this breeding circus.
The longer I could drag out my education, the longer I could avoid the inevitable.
There weren’t any other paths available to someone like me in Protectorate 005, who had no money, influence, nor notable family name, so at least Medella U was something I could choose for myself.
She tapped on her screen a few more times, while muttering something about being ‘smart but undisciplined’ and that demeaning red glow lit up her features, temporarily ruining the illusion of her contouring.
I kept my expression neutral while she did some scrolling and some more reading about whatever information the Territories had collected on me.
I’d filled out some questionnaires and personality tests myself, but the government was never transparent about what they would hold against me later.
A brilliant strategy, really. Punishment without guidelines was an impressively powerful oppressor.
After several moments, Madam Elladena met my eyes again. “Whether you graduate on time or not, your twenty second birthday will still be your mandatory assignment date.”
What? My eyes widened on accident. I forced back a neutral expression with the strain and effort of trying to pry open a safe with a crowbar. “I thought assignment wouldn’t be enforced until after I graduated. Won’t that disrupt my studies?”
“The law allows for four years of schooling. Graduation is irrelevant. Imagine if it took you eight—even ten years to get your degree. Would you really want to wait until twenty-eight to be married and start your family?” The Madam shivered, her whole body repulsed by the idea.
“There was once a woman who didn’t graduate until she was thirty-five, and only one, single suitor was still willing to take her.
Carrying a child to term in her thirties—just imagine the regret she must have felt. ”
“I can’t imagine at all.” I steadied my voice, but I wasn’t able to stop the involuntary swallow. Something told me the only regret that woman felt was that she hadn’t waited for menopause to get her diploma.
“Now if you can find a man to father your first child prior to assignment, however, there are a number of housing and financial aid incentives that will help boost your standing in Mictlan. With a little refinement, you’ll be a fine candidate to find a desirable partner.
” The slight pleasantry to her tone implied I should be grateful I still had the chance to build my prison from the whitest of picket fences.
The fact that “assignment” was a misnomer for “being sold at auction” was all part of the government simplifying my life. Out of love, of course. Love and control only looked similar if you held them too close together.
“When will I have to—” I tightened my loose lips with a clearing of my throat.
“When will I be allowed my first opportunity to meet a suitor?” I rephrased, fortunately to an unbothered Madam.
I would be surprised if I was the first woman to enter her chamber who wasn’t thrilled about the obligation, but I was still doing my best not to be obvious about it.
“We’ll start your etiquette training next week, then we’ll go through your potential matches within the space station at the end of each session.
If all goes well, you’ll be ready for your first meeting immediately following your first lesson.
You should have a fairly large pool of strong options, so it will be quite fun to pick your future husband.
” She continued with a whimsical excitement that could be heard but not seen.
“It’s my favorite part of the matching process: learning your likes and dislikes, so you can have the partner of your dreams. All women should have a man who would move the stars for their family. ”
“I’m looking forward to it,” It was a wonder that my face didn’t crack from how strained my smile was. I knew she was saying that with genuine enthusiasm, even if my own stomach was clenching as though she was explicitly describing my execution.
For those born under the Mictlan flag, who were raised in the customs and culture since birth, maybe this concept wasn’t so bad.
It only felt so abhorrent to me because I’d been raised on the neutrally-aligned research station of Zircon, before it became a Protectorate State.
I had eight wonderful years to form hopes and dreams that were no longer an option.
During the decade long Star Crossed Conflict, the former Democracy of Mictlan—now Democratic Territories of Mictlan—and the Gehenna Empire both realized that taking the fifteen neutrally aligned space colonies, that were strategically dispersed between the opposing Mars and Saturn bases, would be integral to winning the war, and it wasn’t long before every station in the sphere was under attack.
From Emerald to Citrine to Opal all the way to Zircon, each station was claimed and conquered against all conventions of doctrine and decency.
When powers were strong enough to ignore rules of engagement, it didn’t really matter what protections had been put in place for us by the United Galaxy Counsel. Now the Universe was either Mictlan or it was Gehenna, and there was no such thing as ‘neutral’ or ‘unaligned.’
Which was probably why, for the rest of Mictlan—and even a number of Zirconians—this expectation was something to look forward to instead of something to dread.
Most people sought companionship and family, so a law requiring nothing more than I submit to being a wife and mother by the generous age of twenty-two was a reasonable demand.
Children were miracles, and Mictlan was still recovering their lost population after the decade long Star Crossed Conflict, so it was also my noble duty as a contributing member of society.
Only, one person’s happily ever after was my personal hell, and sometimes I wished my heart fit better in the box that had been built for me.
But it didn’t, and my whole soul rebelled against what should have been organic and natural for most people.
Even something well-meaning could feel evil when it was forced instead of chosen.
If I’d ever wanted to find love or start a family, I was repulsed by the idea now.
Thirteen years of occupation had changed that in me.
No, I’d never been interested in that kind of life. It was great for others, but it had never been for me. Any chance that I might “change my mind” as I got older seemed unfathomable as the years went by.
Madam Elladena activated a large projection on the wall in front of me and started showing me my first round preliminary matches.
The number 976 appeared in the corner, and judging by the marginal lift of the corners of her mouth, high enough to express pleasure, but not so high that her face would crease, that was a respectable number.
“By the Star’s Grace. Based on your criteria, you have so many choices.
” She continued scrolling for emphasis. My eyes were glazed over as she showed me a blur of hundreds of headshots.
“And look at some of these resumes.” She highlighted doctors, financial investors, lawyers, and engineers.
“You know what they say—behind every great man is a great woman, and imagine how great you’ll be with such strong prospects to lead you. Such fortune.”
Lead me? Fortune?
Why would I want to be behind someone? What if I wanted to be the great one who people saw and acknowledged? I was so sick of hearing about how proud and gracious I should be for the chance to be the forgotten support to a hero.
She continued as her good news twisted my stomach.
“The Matching Module has been installed on your CHRONO, and I would like for you to start perusing your matches. I’ll pick a few based on my experience, and you can pick some based on your preference.
We’ll start going over appropriate conversation starters and effective flirting techniques during your etiquette training. ”
“I’m excited to start the process.” I stated without even the slightest emotional inflection.
“Additionally.” Her tone was severe again, and my whole spine tensed.
“If you can find a suitable partner soon, you’ll be allowed to continue your schooling at a slower pace for as long as you’d like between your duties as a wife and mother.
Otherwise, I can make no promises that your tuition will continued to be covered by President Sterling’s Scholarship Program if you’re unable to start working towards your first child soon.
While your ambition to work in such a demanding field is appreciated and encouraged by the Territories, a career should never supersede your dedication to fostering the household.
Your training will also include time management and balancing motherly duties. ”
“Thank you, Madam.” I said with a slight bow of my head. “That’s very generous of the Counsel.”
Fuck. I hadn’t realized my scholarship would be on the line, too. I should have expected they’d already come up with fail safes to prevent anyone from gaming the system.
She dismissed me, and I returned to the changing room with an anchor of dread plunging my stomach down to my knees.
It was with near panicked haste and frustration that I changed out of my dress and put back on my black pants and a hooded sweater.
I deactivated the A2 Module, returning to my natural state in all of its colorless glory, then I pulled the pins from my hair, and I eagerly unthreaded my braids, not wanting to look in the mirror again until I had the safety of my thick waves to hide my face.
I fucking hate this.
I took a deep breath to clear the lump in my throat and still the small tremors that shook through my entire body. There were no mental exercises that could sooth the burn of my eyes or the tears that slid down my cheeks though.
In all my attempts to make light of the situation in my head, to pretend I was taking this all in stride and holding it together, the reality hit me with blunt force as my CHRONO flashed green with messages from my first interested matches.
Until now, this had been a concept I was dreading, distant enough that it never felt real, and now it was my inescapable present.
This wasn’t what my life was supposed to be. I had so many hopes and dreams, and none of them included being a goddamn incubator.
I gave myself a few seconds to silently scream, before I tried to ground myself again.
I couldn’t let myself think like that.
If not for Mictlan, I would be dead right now, and I’d have no choices of any kind left to make.
Gehenna was the one who stormed into our home and slaughtered anyone who didn’t surrender to them with total indiscretion, whether it was women, children, or…
Mom and Dad. It was Mictlan’s military who executed our assailants, and we owed them our lives, whatever that looked like.
It wasn’t like I couldn’t live and prosper alongside my conscripted motherhood, anyway.
I was still allowed to have a career, aspirations, dreams, and achievements, so long as I balanced my ambitions with raising children.
Most women have done that since the dawn of time, so to make such a big deal of being required to start a family was petulant at best. These laws were reasonable from a nation that we owed so much.
It wasn’t like we lived in some brutal, famine riddled dystopia. We weren’t forced into coal mines or gunned down in the streets for saying the wrong words.
Even the matchmaker was still trying to give me a choice of whose children I would bear, and if it came down to the auction, my buyer would have to pass background checks and have the financial ability to give me a comfortable life.
My opposition was selfish, while the Counsel was looking out for the greater good.
Be grateful, Fianna, I chastised myself for the last time, before wiping away signs of my distress with the back of my sleeve.
I exited the Matchmaker’s dome, tipping my chin in respect to the two armed Mictlan guards standing on either side of the door.
They were outfitted in the signature metallic armor of the Territories, decorated in swirling stars on the visible shoulder and breast plates.
Black, finely tailored coats with dark purple trim reached mid-thigh, and armored boots shielded them from the knee down.
Neither man acknowledged me. The discipline of Mictlan soldiers was unmatched.
There was a reason why this once small nation was able to overtake the much larger Gehenna Empire in the Star Crossed Conflict—well, that, and the Shinka: the giant humanoid weapons Mictlan developed that far outpaced the destructive capabilities of Empire tanks and cross-winged ships.
Whether I was fond of their policies around my womanhood or not, their military and tacticians deserved my admiration.
I was born during wartime, but for the last thirteen years, they assured I lived in peacetime.
Safety and freedom never overlapped as much as I wanted them to, unfortunately.
I sighed deeply as I headed back toward campus on the usual raised walkways that drew efficient routes throughout the station from one point of interest to the next, where I saw endless speckling of advertisements for the upcoming Shinka Demonstrations on strategically placed illumiboards.
It was an annual recruitment event that showed off the skills of our best student pilots to inspire sign-ups for the military’s famous Astaroth Academy.
I frowned at that, too. I once thought the Shinka were gods when they saved our station from ruin. I used to dream of being a pilot, and being the hero I’d needed when no one else was there.
Then I learned that dreams were childish delusions that pathetic and desperate people clung to in order to ease the pain of reality, and heroes were just sensational clichés in a book.
That’s all they were. That’s all they’d ever be.
It was about time I grew up and accepted that.
I looked away from the bright lights and smooth animations of those colorful humanoid weapons moving through action sequences, and I waited until I was as far from the guards’ earshot as possible before I called up my brother on my CHRONO.
I needed to let off some steam.