Courtney Summers - Defy the Dark

But a party?

Maybe this is normal.

We’re surrounded by surprisingly attractive people gathered around tall tables that are just the right height to lean on while standing. Munchies are set out, and I feel a little sick when I catch sight of a tray of cream puffs drizzled with chocolate. I should have eaten something decent at dinner.

There are a good number of pregnant women, many reclining in comfortable chairs set around the perimeter of the enormous room. I admit, not as many as I thought there would be. I guess I expected everyone to be waddling around with swollen bellies. But there are only a handful of those, maybe one in ten.

But they look good. Weirdly. They’re swathed in colorful clothing that makes them look chic and sophisticated, smiling and chatting with one another—not merely fulfilling a biological process that any female could potentially do. Prior to being initiated as a Laborer or Nurturer, anyway. Only Natures have children.

I’m trying not to stare when a shout from the front of the room mercifully pulls my attention from the women. It takes me a few seconds to locate the source of the noise, and by the time I do, he’s done talking and he’s raising a glass high in the air. Higher than everyone else. I crane my neck as those around him raise their own glasses in response and realize he’s sitting on one of the tall tables.

A grin full of straight white teeth fills much of his face, barely leaving room for his straight nose and pale blue eyes. Messy curls top off a look that could have come straight off the cover of a pamphlet about the Natures.

I admit, I take a moment to notice his long torso and broad chest.

Oh.

Broad chest. That’s the big score adjuster for males. Not only because a broad chest is indicative of both strength and virility, but because the male Natures need to be attractive to the female Natures.

So it works. So what? It’s built into millions of years of my DNA.

But that’s as far as it goes. This virtual god is clearly happy to be here, wants to be here. Probably always wanted to be a Nature and was thrilled when his chest pulled him up from Laborer.

I turn away.

I don’t like him.

Islap the dough down on the floury countertop to force the air bubbles from it. I’m making a yeast-based confection called bienenstich from a country that vanished in the Bust. Allemagne, it was called in some places. Germany. Deutschland.

I admit, I was surprised when I saw baker’s assistant on the list of job openings suitable for a Nature, but I soon discovered there’s more to the position than making cakes and bread. You oversee the regular Laborers, create new recipes, file paperwork. Marie, the current head baker, needs someone to manage the bakery when she births and then spends six months focused on breast-feeding.

Seeing as how Marie has already birthed four times and is not yet thirty, I suspect it will happen somewhat often. I look at her wide hips and wonder if they were once the same measurement as mine.

The dough. I have to think about the dough.

I’ve only been doing it for three days, but I like this job. I do paperwork with Marie at night and I’m picking it up pretty quickly.

After all, I am one of the highest-scoring Natures. I won’t forget that.

Sometimes Marie looks at me with a strange desperation in her eyes and asks how I like the work. I get the feeling she’s had a lot of Natures rotate through here—clearly none of them chose to stay. New Horizon won’t force us into a job. Another freedom.

I’m happy I can honestly assure her that I’m enjoying it. The yeasty scent on the air, the feel of dough in my hands, watching a simple lump turn into something beautiful and mouthwatering in the oven . . . and cooking is a lot like chemistry, which I was leaning toward when I thought I would be a Nurture. Baking’s not exactly lab work, but it has a similar charm.

It’s satisfying work that, surprisingly, helps me understand Laborers more than I ever thought I would. Do they feel the same satisfaction in creating something with their own hands? In putting forth physical effort—even to the point of making their muscles ache—to be rewarded by everything turning out just so? The Laborers I oversee seem to.

Except that when their shift is finished, they go home. I stay with Marie and learn the management of the bakery. I don’t mind that, either. It adds variety.

Nonetheless, at the close of my third day I’m tired, and when the bones in my spine crack as I stand, Marie reminds me that I don’t have to work so hard on the bakery floor—that I can leave the mixing and kneading to the others.

To the Laborers.

“It’s important that you learn not to overtax yourself,” she says. “When you’re carrying a little one, you’ll have to listen to your body and know when to stop.” With a smile she adds, “Your role as a child-bearer is much more important than your career. Don’t forget that.”

Like I could. It’s in my face every day.

Our government would never force anyone to have a child. Or to have sexual relations. But their encouragement is everywhere, reminding us not only about the biology but also that New Horizon is counting on us, that we are the guardians against another Great Collapse. Already my shock is fading and I’m growing numb to the encouragement of “coupling” in the Nature Building.

Nothing is segregated by gender, and while changing stalls are available—and you can practically gauge how long a new member has been living there by whether or not they still use them; I still do—you can’t expect everyone else to use them. Each night and morning I am surrounded by beautiful, virile bodies in various stages of undress. There’s nothing sexual about it, for the most part, but it’s so different .

Just as the strength of males makes them ideal Laborers, resulting in more male Laborers than female, the birthing capability of females is needed among the Natures, so every year there are far more girls than guys. And because that ratio isn’t conducive to strict pairings, promiscuity is also encouraged.

It’s still hard to accept.

I wouldn’t call myself a prude, but, if nothing else, finding that one perfect someone has always been a dream of mine—a dream much better suited to a Nurture, where the ratio of males to females is a nearly even split.

But even with their sometimes carnal encouragement, the governors have tried to be sympathetic to people like me, and there is a long wing full of more private rooms where . . . well, where anything can be done. I like to take some snacks from the large gathering room and get some quiet time.

Alone.

I’m balancing a bottle of apple juice and some soft snickerdoodles (the eggs are the secret to perfect cookies) on a plate when I reach the end of the hallway. Even in this quiet, private area, I try to get as far away as possible.

I reach out a pinkie and manage to push the door handle down and kick it open.

Too hard.

It hits the wall behind it and I bite off a shriek when someone stands up from a pile of pillows on the bed.

“I’m so sorry,” I apologize, throwing my arm up over my eyes.

The arm holding the plate of cookies.

They hit the floor with dull thuds, crumbling to pieces around my feet.

“My fault,” a deep voice says. “I guess I didn’t throw the lock all the way.”

I chance a peek and the first thing I see is a completely clothed torso.

Thank goodness.

I peer behind him and don’t see anyone on the bed. There’s a rather high pile of pillows, but not big enough to hide a tryst partner.

My breath escapes from my lungs in a loud sigh before I realize it and I blush at the sensitivity that marks me a newbie.