Suffer the children
26 July 2018 14:40![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
skonen_bladesThe badlands are full of unregulated children. They cry in the night while I patrol the walls of The City. My parents were tested for a full year before they could procreate. I have no allergies, no deformities, no glasses, and no congenital jack-in-the-box surprises waiting for me in old age. I’m thankful for eugenics. I’ve heard horror stories of the times before.
Here on the wall, though, I am haunted by the cries. It’s the middle of the night. Wild families in the badlands kill each other for resources, colicky babies cry out for food that might not ever comes. Short lives out there. Such short lives.
If they present themselves at the gate and submit to testing, they can be accepted and re-educated if they meet the gene reqs. Usually, they fail those tests and can’t meet the requirements genealogically. When we turn them back to the cursed grounds outside, they are shunned by their former tribes as a traitor. It usually only takes a few pathetic days for their bodies to be spotted on the plains before it’s taken and butchered and cooked.
They make villages sometimes but usually they’re not prepared for the weather. I think they’re getting dumber out there, not smarter.
We don’t raid or attack. We have everything we need inside these walls. All we do is hoard and protect.
Homo secundus. Second-wave humans. The next rung on the ladder. We have no racial purity here. Everyone is mixed to give us all a leg up on herd immunity. Mix and mix and mix is our motto. Each one of us is a fifty-flavour milkshake, an orchard of family trees so tangled that we have to leave it up to the central computer to tell us who’s safe to mate with productively.
I’ve been courting Renee. We have our samples on file and we’ve submitted our application for children to the central fertility angel facility. Our fingers are crossed. We’ve been practicing a lot during our long nights together. I’m sure once our controls are removed that we’ll be fruitful.
Until then, though, I patrol the walls during my conscripted security shifts and listen to all the babies in the wild. The thousands of the dirty, unwanted babies in the dark, dying by the hundreds every day. Sometimes I see fertility as a curse. Those poor kids never had a chance.
Our children will be loved. Our children will be perfect.
tags
Here on the wall, though, I am haunted by the cries. It’s the middle of the night. Wild families in the badlands kill each other for resources, colicky babies cry out for food that might not ever comes. Short lives out there. Such short lives.
If they present themselves at the gate and submit to testing, they can be accepted and re-educated if they meet the gene reqs. Usually, they fail those tests and can’t meet the requirements genealogically. When we turn them back to the cursed grounds outside, they are shunned by their former tribes as a traitor. It usually only takes a few pathetic days for their bodies to be spotted on the plains before it’s taken and butchered and cooked.
They make villages sometimes but usually they’re not prepared for the weather. I think they’re getting dumber out there, not smarter.
We don’t raid or attack. We have everything we need inside these walls. All we do is hoard and protect.
Homo secundus. Second-wave humans. The next rung on the ladder. We have no racial purity here. Everyone is mixed to give us all a leg up on herd immunity. Mix and mix and mix is our motto. Each one of us is a fifty-flavour milkshake, an orchard of family trees so tangled that we have to leave it up to the central computer to tell us who’s safe to mate with productively.
I’ve been courting Renee. We have our samples on file and we’ve submitted our application for children to the central fertility angel facility. Our fingers are crossed. We’ve been practicing a lot during our long nights together. I’m sure once our controls are removed that we’ll be fruitful.
Until then, though, I patrol the walls during my conscripted security shifts and listen to all the babies in the wild. The thousands of the dirty, unwanted babies in the dark, dying by the hundreds every day. Sometimes I see fertility as a curse. Those poor kids never had a chance.
Our children will be loved. Our children will be perfect.
tags