The Invasion of the Tearling

The guard peered into the back of the car. “Open her window.”


Jonathan rolled down Lily’s window and she leaned forward, presenting her left shoulder. The guard had a cheap portable scanner; he had to wave it over Lily’s shoulder several times before her tag registered with a small, cricketlike beep.

“Thank you, Mrs. Mayhew,” the guard said, and gave her a smile with no warmth. He went up to scan Jonathan, and Lily settled back into the leather seat as the car proceeded smoothly into the garage.

The body scanner beside the elevator buzzed loudly as Lily went through; she’d forgotten to take off her watch. It was a big, chunky thing, nearly solid silver with a diamond face, and her friends always eyed it covetously when she wore it to the club. To Lily, a watch was a watch, but like so many things Greg had bought her, she wore it because she was expected to. As soon as she made it through the gate, she stuffed the watch into her purse.

The elevator beeped as it read the implant in her shoulder. The tag would show her location, if Greg should check, but what of that? To the outward eye, Dr. Davis was a perfectly respectable doctor, and many wealthy women consulted him for their fertility troubles. Still, Lily felt a guilty blush spreading over her cheeks. She always got caught when she lied, and she had never been able to keep a secret. Only this one, the biggest secret of all, and the longer she kept it, the more frightened she became. If Greg found out …

But she didn’t let her thoughts go too far down that road. If she did, she would turn around and run out of the building, and she couldn’t afford to do that. She took a deep breath, then a few more, until her pulse slowed and her nerve came back. When the elevator doors opened, she turned left and went down a long hallway carpeted with deep, rich green. She passed many doors advertising various specialty doctors: dermatologists, orthodontists, cosmetic surgeons. Dr. Davis’s was the last door on the right, a thick walnut slab that looked exactly as it should, with a brass nameplate that advertised “Anthony Davis, M.D., Fertility Specialist.” Lily place her thumb against the pad and waited a few seconds, looking up at the pinhole camera fixed to the side of the door, until the tiny red light turned green and the lock clicked.

The waiting room was crammed with women. Nearly all of them were like Lily, white and well dressed, holding high-quality handbags. But a few were clearly from the streets, betrayed by their hair and clothing, and Lily wondered how they had gotten past Security. One of them, a Hispanic woman, perhaps five or six months pregnant, had squashed herself into a chair just beside the door. She was gasping for breath, clutching the arms of the chair, her face pale and frightened. When Lily looked down, she saw that the lap of the woman’s jeans was soaked with blood.

Two nurses came hurrying out of the back office with a wheelchair and helped the woman slide into it. She clasped her swollen belly with both hands, as though trying to hold something in. Lily saw tears trickling from the corners of her eyes, and then the nurses pushed her through the door, to the examining rooms beyond.

“Can I help you?”

Lily turned to the receptionist, a young brunette with an impersonal smile.

“Lily Mayhew. I have an appointment.”

“Wait, please, until we call you.”