Page 4 of Brood
My stomach is a tense ball of nerves as I follow the messenger to the council room and walk in.
There are sixteen council chiefs seated around a horseshoe-shaped table. Chief Rosamund—a slim, attractive woman with salt-and-pepper hair and brown skin—is chair and has the central seat. She’s almost sixty, one of the oldest people in the Refuge.
“Come in, Cadence. No need to lurk in the doorway.”
I didn’t realize I was lurking. Obediently, I move closer to the table. There’s no empty chair in the room, so I stand awkwardly, trying very hard to hide my trembling.
“It’s okay,” Chief Rosamund says. “You’re not in trouble.”
I let out a breath, although I couldn’t think of a single rule I might have broken to warrant being called in like this. I don’t know what to say, so I clasp my hands behind my back and wait.
“We understand you’ll be twenty-one on Friday and are preparing for a spousal ceremony.”
That’s a strange way to put it, but I don’t have a chance to process her choice of articles. “Yes. With Danny.”
She glances down at her tablet as if she’s reviewing information presented there. “Your physical exams have been promising. Your hormones and egg production are better than we usually see anymore.”
My nerves break with a flicker of pleasure. “I hope so. I’m ready to have as many babies as I’m allowed.”
“You’ll be allowed as many as your body can handle. Our numbers get fewer every year. That’s why it’s essential to make the absolute best spousal matches—to give us every chance of replenishing our population and perpetuating the human race without dangerous mutations.”
“Of course. Danny and I were tested, and our genes were approved as a match.”
There were only two thousand people in the Refuge when the bunker doors were locked two hundred years ago to escape the ravages of the War. The initiative was funded by a wealthy, forward-thinking, and altruistic recluse committed to the survival of the human race. They say only the smartest and healthiest candidates were chosen by the original council to give us the best chance of thriving down here.
The two thousand were split between two levels. That should have been a large enough population for genetic variety, but that first generation was able to produce very few babies. So numbers declined quickly.
For the first hundred years, the council didn’t supervise marriage and breeding, but people too closely related started pairing up, so it eventually became necessary to assert more control over the process to preserve the quality of our genes and produce the healthiest babies.
“We’ve already seen far too many aberrations. Your hair, for instance.”
Fighting a surge of defensiveness, I raise a hand to touch my long, loose braid. My eyes, eyelashes, and eyebrows are brown like most of the others my age, and my skin is a rosy beige, but my hair is white. It’s not platinum blond like we’ll occasionally see. It’s fully, undeniably white. It’s been that color since birth.
It’s always bothered me to be so different from everyone else, but I’ve mostly grown used to it now. Danny has always said he doesn’t mind that it’s such a strange color.
“I understand.” I still have no idea why she’s rehashing a situation that’s been obvious my entire life.
“Your match with Danny is tolerable, but we’ll always choose the best genetic pairings available.”
I stare at her, my churning nerves clenching into a heavy knot.
“And there is now a better available match for you.”
The room blurs around me. I twist my hands together more tightly.
This is happening. They’re not going to let me marry Danny as has been intended all our lives. They’ve found someone else for me.
Three days from my twenty-first birthday.
“Wh-who is available?” I manage to ask into the tense silence.
Chief Rosamund’s eyes slide to her right. The eyes of the other chiefs all shift in the same direction.
Toward Chief Will.
Chief Will.
Who is seated motionless, as hard and unrevealing as the statues we studied in our classics unit.
