Chapter 7

The bell rang as Rain slid down the slick hallway, her shoes losing traction, her hand reaching for the door just as Mother Swan went to lock it. Everyone knew if you didn’t make it into class before the mother locked the door, you’d be barred from entering for the entire period, and since this was a lab, that meant Rain would miss the entire day. Luckily, Mother Swan was feeling lenient this morning. She narrowed her wrinkled gray eyes slightly and said, “Good morning, Rain. Cutting it awfully close.”

“Good morning, Mother Swan. Yes, I apologize. It won’t happen again.” Rain waited for a nod of agreement from her instructor and then hurried to her seat next to Cloud, trying to catch her breath. She held her lab coat in one hand, her bag that contained her tablet and the other tools she’d need slung haphazardly over her shoulder where it had fallen in her desperate race to beat the bell and reach the door before it became impenetrable.

Cloud raised an eyebrow, but Rain would have to wait until after Mother Swan was done with her opening lecture to explain. It was just as well. She couldn’t tell Cloud everything that had almost gotten her high marks cut in half from one silly mistake, but she could probably tell her enough to satisfy her curiosity. Rain settled down on her stool, glancing over the tools they had displayed in front of them and tried to hear the instructions over her pounding heart. Lab day was always a bit nerve-racking anyway, and she hadn’t set herself up to make it any easier.

“What you see before you is an incubator,” Mother Swan was saying, placing her hands on either side of the clear glastic container in front of her. Glastic, a substance created right before WWIII, was a product that contained the strength of plastic with the clarity of glass, and it was Rain’s understanding that there was nothing known to womankind that could shatter it.

Mother Swan continued to go over the different parts of the incubator, including the thermostat and the warming and heating components, where the life cord was inserted, how it hooked up to the nourishment system, which they also had on their tables, and a few other mechanical pieces Rain wasn’t aware of before. While she had seen an incubator at some point in her life, since she’d been nourished in one before she was deemed worthy of life and taken to the nursery facility, she certainly couldn’t remember any details about it. But having one in front of her now was fascinating. She took everything in with interest and made some notes on her tablet, hoping today was the day they actually visited the incubation room in the hospital building. She’d caught a glimpse of it once before when they did a tour of the facility last year, but she had never been inside.

Once they were given some instructions about how to log into the nourishment system and explore the settings, the women were given an opportunity to talk. Rain and Cloud took turns putting in different commands to see how their actions affected the nutrients fed through the life cord. It was hard to imagine they may someday be in charge of monitoring a fetus’s quality of life. Holding that sort of power in her hands seemed somehow both enticing and revolting at the same time in a way Rain couldn’t quite put into words.

Cloud made a few more adjustments so that the machine changed its ratio of specific nutrients necessary for a fetus to thrive. While most fetuses needed basically the same components, the medical personnel had discovered that with some slight changes to the nutritional support, what may have been a fetus once deemed unworthy of life could potentially be salvaged, so it was important to understand the nuances of the program completely.

The machine was designed to simulate the forty-week incubation period in a matter of moments, so the girls would find out soon enough if their fetus would thrive or potentially be taken to the Bridge. Rain hadn’t set any of the levels, but she agreed with Cloud’s figures and was eager to see the outcome. Cloud had done this once before, earlier in the semester when Rain was still in her former group, before her promotion, so it made sense to let her take the lead.

“Why were you almost late?” Cloud whispered near her ear. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Rain assured her, watching Mother Swan as she walked through the rows, studying the settings on each pair’s monitor. “I just forgot my lab coat and had to go back for it.”

“You might want to put it on then,” Cloud said, eyeing the garment Rain had tossed over the back of her chair.

Rolling her eyes at her own stupidity, Rain did just that. In actuality, she’d forgotten her lab coat, earlier and just now, because she’d hardly slept at all the night before. Mist hadn’t said a word to her since they’d come back from the woods, and whatever it was she’d brought from the house, she’d managed to hide it somehow when Rain wasn't looking. So she had no idea what it was or where it was. And her friend wasn’t talking. Now, her head was as foggy as the weather her roommate was named for.

Mother Swan came over just as their simulation was ending. The screen flashed a few times with the word, “Calculating.” Both girls held their breath, praying their pretend fetus was nourished enough to thrive and be deemed worthy of life. In a few seconds, the screen went green. “Congratulations,” Mother Swan said, a corner of her mouth pulling up into a smile. “Not only is your fetus worthy of life, you’ve gotten a 9 on the health scale. Well done, you two. If either of you is considering a career in NW, I think that would be highly suitable.”

“Thank you, Mother Swan,” Cloud said, smiling at the instructor.

“Thank you, Mother Swan,” Rain echoed, relief still rolling off of her. As soon as Mother Swan turned and walked away, she grabbed both of Cloud’s hands in hers. “You did it.”

“We did it,” Cloud corrected, but she didn’t seem quite so happy now that the teacher had walked away. She glanced over her shoulder and then back at Rain just as a different pair of students across the room had their screen go red and a robotic voice announced, “Failure to thrive.”

Rain shook her head. At least it was just a simulator. A few more students got a similar message, and Mother Swan announced, “This is not an easy task, students.”

“Can you imagine?” Cloud whispered, taking a step closer to Rain. “Can you imagine losing one, after, say, seven or eight months?”

Rain’s eyes widened. “No,” she admitted. She’d tried not to think too much about losing a fetus, even though she knew that would be part of the job she’d have to accept. That… and the rest of the darkness associated with the Bridge. “But… it’s just a fetus. It’s not a person.”

Cloud stared at her for a moment. “Do you think you’ll still feel that way when you’ve fed it and kept it warm and watched it dance and swim for eight months only to be told it has failed to thrive and must be taken to the Bridge?”

A lump formed in Rain’s throat as she considered what that would be like. While her lips didn’t form an answer, they didn’t need to. She was sure Cloud could tell by the look in her eyes. No, she couldn’t imagine that. Not at all.