“’68,” the woman said without looking up. “Right after we lost France.”
The doctor’s glare indicated he preferred no further interruptions. “Then in 2076, all of these horrific surgical abortions were banned.”
“Four million,” the woman muttered the mantra.
“Yes.” Dr. Watt grimaced as if he personally knew each of the chlldren who died in the war.
“May I ask a question?” Zelda asked hoarsely.
“Anything.”
The woman turned around in case her knowledge was needed.
“You said it’s horrific.”
Dr. Watt held up his hands. “Not what we’re doing to you, Zelda. This is a simple procedure. We can give you general anesthesia, where you’re asleep, conscious sedation, where you’re awake but sleepy, or local, where the area’s numb. No pain. I prefer the suction aspiration. Something soothing about the sound.”
He smiled as if Suck Out My Fetus were a #1 hit on the vidrad.
“I mean…” Zelda, just close your eyes and don’t interrogate the man. “Why are you doing this if you think it’s so horrible to kill a baby?”
Dr. Watt rested his strong hands on his lap; clearly he’d answered this before. “I would never do this if a woman were married or engaged. But why should a single woman be punished? With no contraception, mistakes are guaranteed. Look what happened to you after an innocent night of drinking with an attractive man.”
Or seven, she smiled nervously.
“Why should you suffer because monsters slaughtered our people?”
“They’re not monsters anymore,” the woman said.
“I forgot,” he sneered. “No nasty words anymore. Forgiveness.”
“Four million,” the woman mumbled.
“That’s why I don’t accept payment. That’d violate Grandma’s Twenty-First Insight, money corrupts good.” The doctor impatiently glanced at his watch. “We should get going, Zelda. The surroundings aren’t the best, but we must be careful. Any more questions?”
Zelda slowly undressed, the clothes glued together to her sweating body. Dr. Watt washed his hands in the sink.
“The tube will be inserted through your cervix and into your womb and then we go thwip.” He made some such sound of suction.
“I don’t need the details.”
“I’m only trying to make it all seem routine,” he said cheerfully.
“Like buying groceries. Apple goes bad, get another.”
“Not quite that coldly.” Dr. Watt considered her. “Katrina did say you have an unusual mind.”
She nodded dully, fingers hovering over the last button on the blouse before she quickly stripped down to her panties, eager to get it done; the woman gleefully gave her a shot.
“Just a local,” Dr. Watt explained.
Her mind tilted, left to right. Right to left. She’d had a local before, when Pablo broke her finger because she wouldn’t show him her breast; fourteen percent of a nipple.
“You sure this is a local?” she mumbled.
The woman smiled smugly.
“But Katrina speaks highly of you,” Dr. Watt continued. “Said you’re an attentive pupil. Lie down, Zelda.”
“S’not a local.” She resisted the woman’s tugs.
“I adore Katrina. We know each other a long time.” Dr. Watt picked up a shiny instrument that looked like a sword and Zelda frantically swam into the fog to hold the waves together. Long time? No.
“We go back to the University of Pennsylvania.”
She stood, unsure where her feet were.
“Oh yes,” he smirked. “We partied a lot.”
Zelda grabbed her clothes, staggering to the door. The woman laughed and dragged her back.
“Changed my mind.”
“It’s a little late for that.” Dr. Watt gently gripped her elbow.
Zelda figured the vagina would be the same on anyone else. She kicked and the woman howled onto her knees. Something pulled Zelda’s arm from her body, but it was fastened pretty tightly; she whirled, slicing her bitten fingernails across Watt’s eyes. His screams faded once she stumbled out of the building, swimming back into her clothes. No one was there to watch.
32
The Black Top scowled through the glass door as if this boring job were Pablo’s fault. “It’s all paper records that far back.”
“That’s fine.”
The BT yanked up the black reflective visor. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, uncomfortable about being an asshole, but he had to live up to the uniform. “Not for me. I have to lock down the front door, go up three flights and pull down how many boxes.”
Pablo managed an apologetic look. The BT grumbled and, amid beeps and flashing lights, led Pablo inside the musty warehouse.
“Be careful.” The BT pointed his Tompkins 340 machine gun at the broken tiles.
“Guess not a lot of care goes into keeping up the building.” Pablo followed the BT up the narrow slippery steps to the edge of a dark concrete hallway.
“The name is Dead Past Warehouse. Got the dead part?”
“There has to be something important here.”
The BT grudgingly switched on a light. “Shit. Whole floor of computers. Rusted shut. All them cellular phone instruments. You can have your pick if you’re willing to fight off the rats. Probably some rats on four. They prefer paper.”
The BT was disappointed by Pablo’s indifferent reaction to the possibility of fighting six-foot high rodents for his annoying records. “This way, this way.” His snapping gloved fingers cracked like rocks being splintered as they turned a dark corner and walked single file up an even narrower staircase.
“What’re you looking for anyway?”
“That’s a privileged Cousins matter.” Pablo paused. “But since you’re so cooperative, I can tell you.”
“I’m glad someone tells me something so I don’t lose my mind.”
“Well, Lieutenant…”
“Private.”
“Lieutenant someday.” Pablo smiled faintly. “I’m trying to make a splash into the Cousins program by looking at the lack of really interesting new restaurants.”
“That’s making a splash?” Pausing before the thick black door, the BT fumbled for the correct key on the chain.
“You’d be surprised. Somehow I want to combine my science background as a dentist with my love of eating.”
“Like food for healthy teeth?”
“Exactly. Clearly you have time to think about things.”
The BT snorted and opened the door. Stacks of cartons climbed to the twelve foot ceiling, barely giving them space to prop a huge
