You wake with a start. The sense of wrongness instantly obvious as you sit bolt upright. Rousing from Hypersleep, is meant to be a slow process. Blinking your sleep crusted eyes open, the white room is blindingly lit. Everything lost to various shades of flesh tone. A blob in the grey uniform colour stands in front of you.
Her voice addressing you is equally hard to interpret. It's as if she or you are underwater, your still groggy brain not up to telling which at the moment. A general feeling of weakness fills your veins, even if that's due to waking from Hypersleep, too. The dust crumbles from your eyes, and you blink as rapidly as you can eager to rid yourself of the feeling of dry eyes.
However, even now your eyes don't moisten as quickly as you'd like. Taking a few calming breaths, fighting your rising panic, the sense of wrongness persists. Stubbornly, the blur remains, even as her voice clears. The tones shifting from muddy and garbled, as if they're being tuned to perfection.
"It's not ideal." she explains, her voice sounding tired and frustrated, as if she's been repeating herself to exhaustion. And she's now bored delivering the same speech to people again and again.
"Here's a glass of water."
She thrusts it into your hand, holding it steady until you get a proper grip on the glass.
"Thanks." you croak, your parched throat ensuring your voice rasps out the words. Taking a deep refreshing gulp, you try again.
"You've got a pretty voice."
Turning on the charm, you hope to start on the right footing. The idea of setting up families, founding dynasties to form the origin of this planet's first families. You give what you hope is a quirky smile, an apology for the grating voice, and the weak delivery.
"I'm Doctor Haslem. And I'll be introducing you to this world."
You can't wait to make your mark, as an engineer, you'll shape the first buildings, leaving a legacy to follow this body, and if you work hard enough earn you a new one when it's old and tired.
Your voice isn't up to delivering that promise, and you feel a damp cloth pressed against your eyes.
"Hold it there."
Her voice is clinical, and you obey. A startled gasp spilling free, as she places a hand on your chest. One hand takes the glass back, while the other gently, but firmly presses you back into the regeneration chamber. Sighing, you allow it. Really, you aren't in the position to resist. The sooner, you're healthy and hale, you can start making your mark on this planet, and it's people.
Already, your routine about diversity in DNA, and so forth planned in your mind. You want to spread yourself as widely as possible. Perhaps, your tone is too obvious, but the note of disinterest or frustration is clear in Doctor Haslem's voice is annoying.
Professional women build their self-esteem on their achievements, and are unused to people complimenting their bodies, their smiles, their voices. It's hardly negging, but you know it works.
Now more awake and aware, your body feels more alert and responsive. Not the same dulled, incomplete muddle that you woke to, just a few moments ago.
Your stomach gurgles, instinctively a hand reaching to pat it. This body won't have eaten since it was synthesised. That sense of unease, and wrongness continue to build.
Allowing your hand to drift up from your stomach, you feel the unmistakable swelling of your chest. Hand reaching to rip away the damp cloth, it brushes awkwardly over your chest. Already confirming the cold dread you feel, setting it rippling and rolling. Ripping the cloth aside, your eyes can now focus. The harsh overhead lighting blinding you to everything else.
Sitting up, you hear the concern in the Doctor's voice. Concerned but not sympathetic.
"You've been put in a breeder body." her tone matter-of-fact, and not to be argued.
"Breeder Designate DD-32, to be precise."
Tossing dignity aside, you grope yourself trying to adjust your expectations for life on this new planet.
https://i.pinimg.com/originals/65/25/f2/...
"B...But, I'm an engineer, I'm more valuable as a man. Not a breeder!" your tone a wail by the end, on the verge of tears, you stop yourself.
"Once you were shipped, it was too late to adjust, or change your hopes. However, a disaster occurred in the first wave, requiring plans to be set back a couple of decades."
Aghast, you don't want to ask "What happened?... What disaster?" The consequences are too obvious, hanging too heavily from your shoulders.
"So you need a bigger population." you add weariness clear in your voice, resignation already filling your veins with dullness.
"Everyone is being woken in female bodies." she assures you.
The lack of prejudice isn't your objection, "Besides, you can still practice as an engineer while you're able. But the challenges might not be what you were expecting."
Your plans for spreading your seed as far and wide as possible seem like a sick nightmare now.... Instead, you'll be spreading your legs.
"Everyone will be a woman?" you ask pointedly.
She shrugs, absently patting her belly. There's no sign of any swelling, but you recognise the gesture all the same.
"Only those of the first wave already granted male bodies will keep them."
Her anger flares briefly as she talks, the same frustrations as you feel. But, the arguments worn out, and defeated.
"I took a woman's body as a choice."
Doctor Haslem gazes through you, as if talking more to herself. Clearly, she didn't plan on this aspect for herself either.
"This society is... " her voice drifts as she searches for the right words, "It's somewhat sexist, our roles are less flexible for the survival of the project."
Her words, 'The survival of the project' sound like a company mantra, and the final justification for every decision.
"But, I can practise my engineering skills?" you try to sound strong, asserting a statement, not asking a question.
Her curt nod, giving you some reassurance.
"I was... We were promised..." your words, arguments coming back, as coherent thoughts start to form.
"You can check the small print, sweetie." The doctor cut off your rising hope like a child hacking at weeds with a stick.   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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