"Chances Are" (2006)

It was nearly dawn when they began to draw blood. An hour later the sedatives would set in, the body slowly becoming heavy and still. It was the same routine day in and day out, without fail. Even still, their numbers continued to dwindle.

It was by no means an accommodating pen, only about nine feet square, with a bed and basin provided. The walls were made of soundproof glass to block out the screams of those soon to give birth, perhaps even right on the hard concrete floor of their cells. Those who did were the lucky ones.

She sank into the cot as though it were quicksand, hoping they would pass her by this time around. The young nurse was due in the room any minute now, now with the needles. Look at the chart, mark off the dosage. Decide it was time and off you would go. Simple as that. Most of the others were too drugged out of their minds to notice anything going on. 

Following fertilization, there would be no further procedures done on the unborn child. Like spun glass, the product of the whole delicate operation was not to be handled until finished. Once born, the child became public property, available to anyone at the highest offer. Childless couples paid dearly for what they could not create themselves. This statement, of course, was kept out of the donor contract. 

She'd been seduced by the Perfect Child Campaign long ago, their images of happy, smiling infants with their families plastering nearly every wall of the city. Of course, it was done anonymously, and the real mothers would never see their newborns again -- but it was for the cause of a greater good, she'd been told.

The pamphlets were left in nearly every doctor's waiting room in town, leaving anxious young women with uncertain futures to wonder: "The Perfect Child...is modest, intelligent, and above all, a model citizen. Never again will you see a delinquent festering in the streets, decreasing the value of everything around him. Nor will you ever hear tales of parents neglecting their children -- those unfit for candidacy have been humanely put down. Only those with slightly below average intelligence are deemed fit for Parenthood. Sterilized, but properly able to care for a child financially and emotionally, they provide a loving home and low expectations so as not to make the child feel intellectually rushed. Studies have proven that students who are pushed too far academically early on in life are more likely to burn out and fail to complete their education. With reduced pressure, they are able to cope better socially and educationally..."

The child inside her was stirring, sensing its time was near. To deliver naturally would mean slow, painful death. But that was it anyway, wasn't it? Serving a one-time purpose only to be replaced. Simple as that.

She could hear the nurse scurrying down the hallway, making up for lost time. A stretcher rolled out from two rooms ahead. The doctor followed shortly behind, his heavier footsteps hitting the floor. Laughter interspersed with the screaming.

The due dates for each birth were determined by ward. Whether slightly off by a day or an hour, the women were slowly brought to birthing rooms one by one, and the process was finished. Rooms thus emptied, repeat ad nauseam. 

The lights would be dimming shortly. Few procedures were performed at night, despite the fact that it made things so much easier. The women were calmer and less likely to act out, coupled with the extreme dose of sedatives administered in the blood. But after that last attack on a young nurse, it was too much to risk.

She waited until the footsteps grew louder as another nurse approached into the next room. The stretcher creaked under the weight of its occupant, though the hallway was oddly silent. Night was usually a quiet time around the high-security ward, but this was different. No screams, no struggles, even though she had never heard them close enough to her room. The doctor and nurse were the only ones stirring, it seemed.

"Thank God that one's over. How much longer do we have to take care of them?"

"Eight hours, unfortunately."

"Damn. Let's just give her an overdose and call it an accident."

"You really think that's allowed?"

"Of course not. But who cares? They all die off quicker than we're able to keep up, anyway."

So that's what they'd been doing. Though each of them had built up a certain tolerance to the chemical, there was only so much that could be done before the damage was irreversible. Fatal, even.

"What happens when they die, anyway?"

"Simple. You're new around here, aren't you?"

"I know enough not to care too much."

"Once the IV's in, heart starts beating faster and faster as the contractions speed up. By the time the kid's out, she's had a severe heart attack and by then it's too late to save her. Body gets cremated; kid gets shipped off to a loving home, end of story."

"Nice way of putting it."

It was a known fact that the medical staff cared little about the mothers' fates. There was little use for any intelligent woman outside of passing on her ideal traits to the next generation. Anything above one-forty was considered danger-level; high IQs were more capable of breaking out of the center than others. She'd tested at least one-sixty on the mandatory test given before she was put into service as a vessel. If she'd lied about her results, she could have faced execution right there on the spot before even being prepped for in-vitro.

Their footsteps drew even closer. By now, the occupant of the next room over was dead, same as she soon would be if she didn't take action. Arching her back to move as quickly as possible, she craned her neck towards the door. They'd be coming any time now.

The nurse's high-pitched laughter rang out in the hallway. Under the fading light, she could just barely make out the whiteness of their uniforms, glaring obscenely as her eyesight began to fail. Almost as if on cue, the tranquilizer was taking effect. They were getting closer. 

Summoning what little strength she had left, she tossed herself onto the floor. The stretcher rolled into the room just as she managed to crawl under the bed.

"Did we already take care of this one?"

"They're supposed to be in order. I don't think so."

Spying the white ankle only a few feet away, she reached out and grabbed it. With a shriek, the nurse came toppling down.

"What the hell?!" 

The doctor ran through the doorway, sidestepping his fallen assistant.

She sunk her teeth into the nurse's ankle, albeit slowly, so as not to draw blood. 

"Do you really want to do this?" the nurse whimpered, looking under the bed. 

Growling, then a loosening of the grip. She backed away as the mother recoiled, her arms drawn to the height of her abdomen. The infant was stirring again; it was nearly her time. With a final shudder, she let go.

He returned moments later. Tracing a path under the bed, he could hear her growling. The nurse jumped to her feet. He put his arm around her shoulders, and they quickly exited the room.

By the time they managed to get the other side  of the ward, it was nearly too late. He had locked the door to the room, and in a rage, she had thrown herself against the glass.

It couldn't wait until morning. Though the nurse sat there shivering, watching nervously through the glass, he wasn't convinced. The mother lay under the bed, her head lolling around. Unrestrained, she was more of a danger to herself, but what did it matter? She'd be dead soon, anyway.

"Do you really know what you're getting into? You could get yourself killed..."

She shuddered, the coffee mug placed down on the table. He tapped on the glass.

"Don't you see? Over time, this experiment will lead to the number of super-intelligent children born that will exceed that of their averagely intelligent parents? Every bit of damage the human race has done to itself will slowly be reversed. We can't afford to let her die. The child she has would be worth too much on the market to pass up. She was tested as what, one-eighty? Sure, they may look all the same when they're on the verge, but think of the possibilities. It's worth the risk."

"Did you see the way she was thrashing? No child could survive that. Chances are, even if it does live, it wouldn't survive the night."

"That makes it even better. Any infant that strong would be worth ten of me any day."

The ward had nearly been emptied by the time they returned. She was asleep, the sedative finally taking its effect. Though it had been dulling her sensory perception the entire time, it was only at this moment she'd finally succumbed. It took the both of them to pull her out from under the bed, and a third had to be called over to get her onto the stretcher. Moments later, she was strapped to the bed.

"There now, isn't that better?"

Sticking the IV into her arm, he nodded to the nurse to lift her feet into the stirrups. Her eyes half-open, she stared up at the ceiling, expecting death to come swiftly.

"She's stable, Doctor. Forty milliunits per minute and rising."

Her heart was beating incredibly fast now. Her temple were throbbing as she strained to keep focused, the two of them standing over her. Barely able to struggle, she looked straight up at the ceiling. 

There was no epidural. The nurse watched steadily as she began contraction.

"Dilation should begin any time now."

Within minutes, the woman's body was wracked with pain. Her head thrown back, chest heaving, she screamed. Straps fastened around her wrists, she undulated wildly in the middle of the bed. 

Finally, the nurse reeled back as she reached her hands towards the birth canal. Pounding against the table, she saw as the infant crowned and slowly reached forward.

"It's a boy."

The mother gave one final push to expel the umbilical cord and was still. 

He threw his mask down. She swabbed his forehead as the body was taken away, the child taken off to the side.

"Mark time, twenty-three hours, fifty-seven minutes."