Hello!
A few days ago I started to serve at the Artificial Fertilization Center as a second punishment
given to me by my mother.
The Center is gigantic, actually a real neighborhood.
This is because it is here at Alma Mater that most of the children on the continent are conceived.
It is also the most avant-garde Center, with the most capable professionals and the least scruples
in ethical issues.
Many babies born today are in fact chimera creatures, but there are also many hybrids.
The central government turns a blind eye to these things because it is necessary to experiment as much as possible considering that non synthetic genetic material is increasingly rare.
Both men and women become completely infertile around the age of 22, if they are not already
infertile at birth.
Young people my age are not infrequently driven to serve in the Centers to donate their sexual
gametes in the hope that they may be useful for the continuation of our species.
Unfortunately, and despite our young age, the gametes are still found to be severely
compromised.
In any case, this magnanimous service earns a lot of “Good Civilization Points,” 2,000 per day to
be precise.
An abnormality.
I’m obliged to undergo this assignment for free. Lucky me.
In addition to seeing my precious gametes analyzed and collected, there are many other things I
have to do: welcoming prospective parents, for example, providing them with all the necessary
documentation, and keeping the Center’s storerooms tidy and clean.
It is not a boring occupation.
I’d be happier, though, if I could take care of newborns and babies waiting to be born, although I
know very well that it’s forbidden: that’s only taken care of by the androids, as well as
breastfeeding and any other aspect of caring for the little ones.
The reason for this is rooted in the past, when synthetic womb technology had not yet been
developed and surrogate mothers were used.
It was a method used even before 2030, but back then there were few women who chose to carry
a pregnancy for others, and relatively few “clients.”
The great demand and consequent large supply exploded in the years following the rebellion,
however, brought to light dark critical issues and problems never before highlighted: many women in fact suffered greatly from being separated from the children they had been raising in their wombs for 9 months, and were even willing to give up their fabulous fees in order not to be
separated from them.
Others rebelled openly, going so far as to flee the clinics to hide with their babies.
Sometimes, unfortunately, it was the babies themselves who languished after being torn away
from their biological mother, and not infrequently the poor babies died.
Those that survived developed strange mental disorders, which were later traced back to the
premature separation from the parent. In short, it was clear that the bond that united the fetus to
the mother was off such a deep and exclusive nature that mass use of the method was prevented,
on pain of possible new rebellions and the risk of having offspring incapable of surviving.
Fortunately (?) The synthetic uterus and in vitro fertilization had achieved such accuracy and
functionality that surrogates were quickly abandoned.
They were literally wiped out, as was the promise made to elevate their status, thus allowing them to live within the Fortress Cities.
Not infrequently they even “forgot” to pay them.
Lonely, exploited and deprived of all contact with the children they had given birth to, many
committed suicide.
Those who survived had to adapt to living as best they could in “Purgatory.”
Having solved the problem that these women represented, the government decided that to avoid
any possible future complications, from then on the artificially born children would not experience any human contact until they met their adoptive parents, to protect them from dangerous attachment to non-reference figures.
I will tell you: it is one of the saddest stories I know, and I also feel terribly bad for all the babies
being born today.
They are, WE ARE, necessary beings, but we are not PEOPLE.
Do you understand?
We are raised to feed and consume a perfect world that thrives on the backs of millions of
struggling slaves, anxious not to rebel but to become part of this world that consumes them in turn.
From time to time I also wonder if my biological mother is alive, or if she has allowed herself to die.
I try to imagine her happy, or at least safe, despite everything.
I would like to know who she is, and if she happens to think of me now and then, and if she does
so with love, or with sadness and regret.
See you soon, I have to run off to work.
Projekt ☆M@rlene☆ 