The Separation: Mechanized, #1

By Wendy MacGown

In a world where procreation is a chore and addiction is killing the population, Franny Murphy is forced from the only home she's ever known upon her youngest daughter's eighteenth birthday. The Separation, whereby those bearing and raising children are sequestered from the rest of the population, is the Law.

She becomes addicted to quench, a deadly and readily available depression medication, and then fights to recover. It takes years to build a life for herself and her lover, Matt. Rooted on Earth Satellite One, she struggles with a jilted lover and her estranged older offspring, who'd chosen child-free lives.

The High Council President grooms her as his successor, yet seeks another successor among her children and her jilted lover.  She takes a one-way trip to the Moon Colony hospice, to care for Matt, who'd only pretended addiction recovery. Granted all-access as a resident, she broadcasts her plea for change as Athena, the voice of the Resistance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wendell Mack
• Release date: Aug 29, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223820529

Wendy MacGown

Wendy MacGown, a long-time resident of Massachusetts, worked in tech for more than four decades, 20 plus years as a tech writer. She moderates the Witch City Writer's Workshop Meetup and works with multiple peer edit groups and individuals. She's an active member of Boston Sci-Fi/Fantasy Book Club meetups. She's won multiple awards for short-stories and self-publlished novels, and Society of Technical Communicator (STC) awards for excellence, distinction, and merit.

Book preview

Database: Dark Times Report [to be deleted] Earth 10, SEP 2361

In 2056, five greedy families gutted Social Security in the US, precipitating a worldwide stock market collapse and mass starvation. In a few generations, the few willing to bear and raise children wanted no interference from elders. A habitat was set aside for them in the Shanghai Sphere called the Project for Progeny (Pro-Prog), where humans mated to strengthen the diminishing gene pool. At eighteen, children raised in Pro-Prog chose to stay and mate, or leave for one of the many Real World habitats. Likewise, parents left when their youngest child turned eighteen and aged-out, their job complete. Thus, began the Separation between Pro-Prog and the Real World.

Sao Paolo Sphere - 2361

White candles crouched like fat pillars across the low-ceilinged room. Franny counted fifty as she lit the final wick with a match. She’d found the box of matches a few months back at an Auckland Sphere market. She smoothed the skirt of her pale blue gown, the color of an Elder. Her feet were bare for grounding to Earth, as her mother had taught. Ancient murals covered walls illuminated by flickering candles. Slivers of brilliant colors and dark human faces spoke in fragments of a world forever lost. Like the couple she’d just autopsied, who’d raised five children and died alone.

Nkosi and Haru had been their names, their faces kind, intelligent, their bodies turned toward each other in every picture. They were ordinary people, maybe once in love, who’d shared a passion for plants. They’d dug their fingers deep into mineral rich soil, preparing it, watering it, carefully clipping brown spots and suckers, watching their seedlings grow. They’d given up plants for quench and food for sex, becoming part of the Real World’s drugged machinery, letting their students down.

Franny had sliced and weighed what remained, cataloging their grief and shame, searching for reasons why. Who would run the Sao Paolo Aquaponics Center now?

The windowless room lay deep inside the Hotel Sao Paulo in the Itaim Bibi section, facing north. It was important to get the directions right; energies were key, at least on Earth. She might not be as talented a high priestess as her mother had been, or have as much potential as her daughter, Jane, but she needed to glimpse what lay beneath the surface of human experience; she needed to touch the Divine.

What better place than the Sao Paulo Sphere, with its deep connection to the Earth? Despite colonization by Portuguese enslavers, the land never forgot its people. Though once the financial center of the South American continent, Sao Paolo had also been one of the most creative and culturally diverse cities in the world. Before the Dark Times, Sao Paulo was the thirteenth most populous Earth city, housing 2.3 million people in 2020. Full of hope, it bustled with industry and entertainment on the shores of the South Atlantic. Today, Sao Paolo was an agricultural center with only a few hundred residents. Losing even two of them was a disaster.

A white-draped table stood at the center of the room. Beneath it lay her mother’s precious box. The altar was simple: a clay caldron half-filled with water flanked by black and white candles, with a small blue candle in front. Pink and purple tulip petals floated in the water. She set her Athame, a ritual dagger, on the table’s edge, and beside it, a small brass hand bell.

Finding the right room had taken time and credits, the global currency for almost three hundred years. But it was what she needed to speak to the Divine.

Religion was such a personal thing. After the Dark Times, and the sphere builds, and the population decline that followed, a faith-based war was last thing humans wanted. Discussing it was taboo. Even staunch atheists kept their mouths shut. Religion, however, still existed in pockets here and there. Families like hers passed on traditions that extended for centuries. That Jane still practiced was her greatest joy. If she still did, as Pro-Prog fertility pressures mounted.

Franny would never know. She could only focus on the here and now, hoping her aged-out children would someday take her calls. While Matt had become a dear friend and a tender lover, and her work colleagues more than acquaintances, she missed the solidity of what she’d had in Pro-Prog. She missed being part of a family. She’d traded badly for a grand passion that sputtered out in the day-to-day of ordinary life.

Her Athame sparkled, snagging her attention.

In her left hand, she raised it high.

I cast this circle to protect me from all forces that come to do me harm. She turned clockwise.

I charge this circle to allow only the most perfect energies for this work, and to block out all others. She turned again, her legs rooted and strong.

I charge this circle to create a space beyond space, a time beyond time, a temple of perfect love and perfect trust where the highest will is sovereign. She turned again, then set the Athame on the altar.

Earth and water. She lifted the caldron in both hands, took a sip, then set it down.

Air and fire. She struck a match and lit the black candle and then the white. She blew out the match and dropped it into the caldron.

She closed her eyes. Then she raised her arms and held them wide, absorbing and emanating power.

I call upon the God and Goddess and the Great Spirit to aide me in this work. I call upon the Divine in all forms and forces most perfect for this service. I call upon my highest spirits, guides, angels, elementals, and the powers of the north, east, south, and west. I ask for your guidance and protection on this day.

On the screen of her mind, she saw foliage—red, yellow, and orange—drifting on a cold breeze, balanced and perfect. How apt that she was in the southern hemisphere, balancing the Vernal Equinox of the north. Life and death were part of the same. If only she could see the Earth in body as in the spirit. How she longed to walk barefoot across a wind-whipped meadow, inhale the scent of soil and rain, hear birdsong, and spy a deer hidden in the trees. How fast would she die from the pollution? Would experiencing temperate zone changes in their full glory be worth that risk?

I ask that you bless my transition from Mother to Crone, a wise woman, an Elder. I ask that you gift me with a challenge and the will to achieve it.

She pictured the Earth, a blue and white orb, spinning, spinning in space.

Gaia, help us! She opened her eyes to take a match. She struck it, lit the blue candle, then dropped the match into the bowl.

Eyes rolled up in her head, she hugged herself and rocked forward slightly, the Spirit of Gaia filling her and pushing her essence aside.

Peace, honor, and love, her mouth intoned. I grant this day. I grant this gift. That you have the power to make it so.

I will make it so.

Awaken now, and take Us into your blessed arms, her mouth said.

She spied a glimpse of blue and white, skirts swirling around sturdy thighs. Graceful and lovely, Gaia moved into the mist; dark caramel smooth skin, laughing cinnamon eyes.

Gaia, Goddess, orb of blue and white, we give you honor! Franny cried, falling to her knees.

Images flashed of people she’d known: her parents, her sister, smiling and laughing; Pedro, sick and gaunt, his gaze soft with love. Was this his future? Tears rolled down her face.

The Separation is killing us all, came the words inside.

Pro-Prog, where humans were conceived and raised in controlled nuclear families, must end! her mouth cried. Splintered families, a declining population, the Earth damaged by human choices—when will you get it right? When will you stop treating all nature, including yourselves, as little more than an experiment?

When?

Only you can start the cascade—one small event leading to another, whispered the voice.

Suddenly, Franny was floating across the planet, leaping from sphere to sphere over glorious foliage of many colors, catching glimpses of animals, rivers, and streams, seeing crumbled buildings and broken bridges. She saw creeks running to streams, pebbled streams to rivers, rivers to tributaries that lead to vast oceans, and rain sheeting down.

A man stood on glistening rocks amid a trickling stream. He was slender, his hair white. Stooped over, he wore a woven coat and pants of the same material. Suddenly he turned and pulled a gleaming silver fish from the water. His eyes met hers, tender and kind. Slowly he winked. Who was he and how did she know him? Was he a remnant or her imagination? How could anyone survive the pollution?

Tears streaked down her face.

Time to go out and see, whispered the voice. Just open your mouth and speak, beginning the process. Will you claim it?

I must. Franny swiped at her face, her vision shifted to the image of a thick dark forest. What did it mean? No one in the last century had gone Outside, not even to test the environment. People had grown so accustomed to habitats; they’d lost interest in the world outside the spheres. Was it even possible to leave an Earth sphere? And what did it have to do with the Separation?

Suddenly, a tree fell, toppling the one beside it. Then another tree fell, and another in a cascade of cracking sounds and dust and branches thrown high. What destruction would she initiate with her action?

The image blinked out and she was back in the room. The last of the candles sputtered out.

Athame in hand, she thanked and closed the quarters in reverse order, then raised her Athame high.

I humbly thank the God and Goddess and the Great Spirit for being here today and helping me with my work. I thank the Divine in all its forms. I thank my highest spirits, guides, angels, and elementals, and pray that my requests are heard.

She plucked the hand bell from the altar and rang it.

Merry meet and merry part and merry meet again.

She sank to the floor and wept, yearning for the love she’d seen in a stranger’s eyes, remembering the day she’d walked away from all that she’d known in Pro-Prog, toward a sure Real World future, toward the love of her life, toward hope.

Chapter 1 - Age-Out - 2360

Saying goodbye

Franny smoothed down her daughter’s pale coral dress, needing to touch and fix—to be needed one last time. Jane was her baby, her last. She was such a little thing, shorter than she was by six centimeters, with the slimness of youth. Her lovely bright face beamed with joy. Just eighteen, she was about to mate with the boy of her dreams.

Franny eyed the sitting room’s unimpressive furnishings, and sniffed in disdain at the sofa and chairs arranged around a plain coffee table, the Sissle rug that framed it, and the unremarkable pictures on the walls. It was a small but serviceable space used as a staging area, the same room they’d used when Austin, their eldest, aged-out to the Real World. He and his sister Naulis, their second child, had chosen that path, as most young people did. Few eighteen-year-olds wanted to be stuck raising children.

Franny had wanted to—so badly. At eighteen, she’d chosen to stay. She’d focused on her children when they were little, setting aside a career until they’d become independent. As Jane had grown and matured, Franny had furthered her education, becoming a respected research scientist, with much more to learn. She’d have no limits now.

I’m fine, Mom, Jane said, her bright blue eyes filled with tears. She clung to her father’s hand, and leaned against his shoulder as she’d done since she was small. Please stop fussing and just hug me, already. We don’t have much time.

Uttering a cry, Franny threw her arms around Jane and Pedro, then closed her eyes, wanting to savor the moment, wanting to grab them both and run. But there was no place to go. She and Pedro had to leave. Their parental role and mating contract were over.

She fingered the fine fabric of Pedro’s tuxedo, memorizing the feel of him.

It will be okay, my darling, he murmured, his usually calm voice now choked with emotion. Whether he’d spoken to her or Jane, it didn’t matter. We’ve hoped for this day for a long time, he continued. Jane honors us with her choice. We are so blessed that our genes will live on.

Gaia’s blessings, Franny said, earning a comforting squeeze from him. Though he didn’t share her faith, he’d come to respect it. With a watery smile, she studied her daughter, seeing smooth skin, innocent, hopeful eyes, a life stretched ahead of her. What would she do with it? The possibilities were enormous for a girl of her intellect and drive. She was proud of this child, for whom she’d fought and cared for since recovering from a birth injury that left her sterile.

Thank you so much for agreeing to stay, Franny said softly. Make your own choices, Jane, no matter what the experts around you say. Be careful, my love. The doctors don’t always have your best interests in mind. Her infection after Jane’s birth was from total incompetency.

Not the time, Franny. Pedro tapped her arm gently. She’ll figure these things out. We all did.

They shared a sad smile, him the first to look away, and turned up their smiles as they moved apart; Jane held on to each of them. 

Let’s just enjoy the party, Jane said. You’ve worked so hard to make this happen, Mom. And look at you .... so pretty, just like I said you’d be. Jane fiddled with her skirt.

Franny chuckled, as she looked down at the lovely green dress of Jane’s choosing. It was perfect. Usually keen on her own fashion sense, she’d given her daughter full control. It was time for Jane to start making choices.

You both look lovely. Pedro beamed.

Daaad... Jane jerked on his arm, her eyes sparkling.

Franny was dying inside, yet kept her face carefully neutral. Even as Pedro took her hand and kissed it like a courtier, she smiled, her heart breaking into a million pieces. She had to tell him her plans, but not now. This was Jane’s time.

A bell rang, and they looked at each other.

We go first, then you. Franny cast a worried look at Jane, wishing she could help her, wishing she could stay.

"I know, Mom. Jane rolled her eyes. We rehearsed this so many times. I think I know what to do by now."

Make a grand entrance, Janie. Pedro beamed at their daughter and she grinned back. Show ‘em what you’re made of.

"I will, Dad. You just watch. She raised her chin and straightened her spine, looking strong and assured. The Pro-Prog Administration will initiate me soon. I’ll climb through the ranks just like you did, Dad. I’ll make you proud."

I’m sure you will, Franny and Pedro said at the same time. They looked at each other and chuckled.

The bell sounded again, the final warning.

They hugged Jane briefly and kissed her on both cheeks, then hand-in-hand, they strode out the door, not looking back.

Mating ritual

MUSIC SOARED IN THE drab, gray ballroom. Faded pink and white streamers flowed from the ceiling. Against the far wall, a band played the old classic, Running with the Night, by Lionel Richie. Elbows flared as violins sang. Vocalists crooned throaty words. Bots flit about toting glasses and appetizers snatched by greedy hands, the only hitch in the picture, caused by the server’s strike.

Pedro danced Franny across the parquet floor, and smiled down at her, looking dreamy and loving, making her wish things could have been different. Damn him! Why did he have to look so handsome, cracking her heart wide open? She had to tell him about her decision soon. It wasn’t his fault he hadn’t been her first choice for mate, but he’d been the best choice, all considered. How young they’d been on their mating day, so filled with hope. Twenty-seven years had flown by like a few months. 

She focused on the gowns of all colors and styles that sparkled like jewels amidst the dark-suited men. Most gowns were form-fitting and flared at the skirt, with matching shoes peeping out. She closed her eyes as Pedro spun her around, the song’s lyrics filling her head. If only she could get out before the magic got away, as the lyrics said.

She’d contracted with Pedro soon after her eighteenth birthday, him a few months older. After clinkers carted away her first prospect, she’d barely made eye contact with the ones that followed. Pedro, with his calm demeanor and kind eyes, had taken her hand ever so gently, making her feel safe. Three years passed before Austin’s birth and then Naulis came along, their smart little girl. Two years later, her pregnancy with Jane had been a surprise. Following Jane’s birth, however, she’d suffered an infection, rendering her infertile. Every step of the way, Pedro had been there for her.

Love and like, however, did not equate to passion. She had another love, a great love, someone other than her mate. They’d been careful. A single bad-timed intimacy would have meant immediate expulsion for both of them, and reassignment of all their children. Pedro was careful, too. He had his own side-friends; most people did.

Pedro pulled her closer as if hearing her thoughts, and she lay her head on his broad shoulder for the briefest of moments, a mute apology. Loving another man didn’t make her a bad person. She’d kept her part of their mating contract.

We’re too young, she whispered in his ear, breathing in his smoothly fragrant scent. They were only forty-five. In all their years together, not once had she turned away from him in disgust as many of her friends did with their mates. She scanned his dear face, feeling the seconds click past, wanting to speak. She opened her mouth and couldn’t.

He smiled, his eyes on their daughter across the room, who was dancing with Renato, her soon-to-be mate. Jane looked like an exquisite satin and lace confection. Only a mother would notice the slight droop of an eyelid, indicating how hard she’d partied the night before. Such behavior was atypical of staid little Jane, who was quick to lecture her older sister in similar circumstances. Gone were the days when she could impose a curfew or scold a hung-over child. Jane became an adult a few weeks ago, and Renato turned eighteen a month earlier. Today would mark the beginning of their mating contract.

Franny willed Jane to look at her. She had to speak to her soon, too. It broke her heart that this stranger would take her place in her youngest child’s heart. Small changes—a loose baby tooth, a toddler learning to run, and a little girl learning to read, play a flute, and put on makeup—merely sweetened what would become the well-remembered past.

It was more than letting go of a beloved child that caused concern. In her role as a shaman, delving ritualistically into the mystical world of gods and goddesses, she’d learned that Renato would make Jane cry. The when and how she didn’t know. Jane’s pain would become deeply emotional; she’d be broken even before his betrayal. She’d stand alone.

That she and Pedro produced three progeny was Franny’s biggest regret. She’d always pictured five children as prescribed by the Diversity Rules: the first child a year or so after mating, then the other four in easy four year intervals. One plus four times four, plus eight had been her mantra. It was every parent’s mantra—at least those with a five-quota. A five-quota would have added at least eight more years to their stay.

It didn’t matter now. Time passed in a blur when raising children. The last time they’d all been together was at Austin’s age-out party, in this very hall. They’d worn traditional Chinese formal wear, males in Zhongshan suits, females in cheongsams.

He hadn’t stayed in Pro-Prog. He hadn’t picked a mate. He and his friends had been so excited to leave for Real World pleasures and opportunities. Habitats were opening up on Mars and Triton, the largest of Neptune's thirteen moons. She had no idea where he’d settled post-age-out.

While he’d left amidst great fanfare, Naulis’ leaving had been abrupt and hurtful. She’d gotten pregnant and had a miscarriage. While the first part was illegal, Naulis hadn’t produced a child. She shouldn’t have been expelled. Yet on the day before her eighteenth birthday, the authorities had taken her.

Franny longed to see her children all together again, to bask in the love they had for each other amidst jokes and teasing, to feel their solid warmth beneath her trembling hands. She could hardly stand to think about chubby cheeks and chirpy baby voices without crying. Her arms ached for the babies her children had been. That neither aged-out child appeared at their annual vid call hurt deeply.

She glanced at Pedro, her throat constricting. Not an hour ago, she’d received her job and housing assignments. Had he received his.

She swirled in the dance, her footwork automatic, trying not to cry. Though stocky and broad-shouldered, Pedro was amazingly agile, moving her stick-thin body through the throngs of people as if she were a premier dancer. Glancing around at friends and neighbors dancing and eating, oblivious to her anguish, she wondered how many of them would continue their mated relationships post-age-out.

Today, thinking about her lover hurt. Would he meet her in the Real World? Had his feelings changed? A year ago, they’d spent a few hours in each other's arms the day before his youngest child’s age-out. It had been furtive, fraught with the fear of discovery. They’d adored each other all their lives. How would teenage promises hold up against decades of raising children with other people?

And what the hell was the Real World like?

She faltered a little, the room’s vibe smacking like a wet towel. She was leaving this place for good and nobody cared? The conversation no longer seemed light and teasing, and the laughter spontaneous. She swallowed, allowing herself a brief moment to drown in her feelings, the urge to scream overwhelming. She looked up and froze.

Clinkers lined the fringes.

She hadn’t seen them come in. Their buzz-shaved heads, tight uniforms, and grim expressions spelled the truth: this so-called party was serious business. Clinkers, or enforcement officers, as Jane was constantly correcting her to say, kept order in every habitat, answering only to the General, who reported to the High Council President. Clinker was a trite nickname for an important role. The Ministry of Public Security was forever citing administrators for using the slang. During the first sphere-build, a clink sound reverberated as hordes of enforcement officers made the final push to encapsulate.

She glared at a few of them in turn, thinking they’d be more useful breaking up the server strike, now in its sixth month. She looked away and sighed. Parental age-outs were the foundation of society, and not everyone complied. Having sacrificed their lives to bear and raise children, parents got too comfortable. A mating ceremony like this was a spectacle everyone wanted to watch. Would the parents exit cleanly, or would they scream and cry as the clickers dragged them out?

She refocused, willing the clinkers to the backdrop, like gremlins on an ancient church, watchful statues, incapable of action. She turned to the buffet that spanned utilitarian tables on either side of the massive main doors. Guests lined up to gobble her food, spilled out into the lobby of what had once been the Waldorf Astoria on the Bund, Shanghai, China.

She breathed in the clashing smells—expensive perfume, body odor, curry, and cinnamon—as if on her last unpleasant breath. The Shanghai Sphere, one of twenty-two encapsulated Earth-based habitats, was the only habitat set aside for bearing and raising of children—and had been for more than two hundred years.

Spheres were circulars orbs that cut deep into the land, protection against Earth’s toxicity. Population per sphere ranged from fifty people for factory or food production habitats, to millions for housing habitats such as Beijing, Shanghai, Boston, and others. Three satellites circled the Earth, two for education and commerce, the third a prison. The Moon Colony was a hospice for the terminal. Mars was home to two spheres, with plans for more; while engineers were busy sphere building Triton, one of Neptune’s moons.

The Shanghai Sphere was the only habitat she’d ever seen, at least in person. After today, she’d breathe its air no more. After today, she’d be a citizen of the Real World and able to traverse via pod to and from any habit she chose—except home. How would she cope?

Be here and now, Franny, Pedro said with a slight smile as he steered her to the edge of the dance floor. She tried to smile back, and then laughter burst beside her.

It was Jane, dancing in Renato’s arms. Light and dark they were, so young and full of hope. While Jane was petite and fair, Renato was dark and tall. Entwined and slow they moved: her in virginal pink, him in innocent white. Jane’s flushed face and adoring smile sent shivers down Franny’s spine. In her time, such flagrant interest was unthinkable, and mating with the one you loved an extravagance.

She pictured six-year-old Jane’s cheeks stuffed with sugar balls, shaking her head, flaxen hair flying. No, she’d said in her tinny baby voice. "I didn’t choose to eat them. My new grown-up tooth made me do it ‘cause it’s a sweet tooth."

Franny loved all her children, but today Jane was her favorite—the only one she could be with.

Jane laughed at something Renato said, and Pedro winked at Franny, bringing her back. They looked at each other and laughed, their joy in the familiar a rope to cling to.

I pity the man, they said together; and grinned, savoring the shared moment.

The baby of the family was used to getting her way—like with Franny’s dress, upon which Jane had insisted. Floor-length and strapless, the shimmering green cloud had cost a small fortune. That she’d dispose of it by day’s end didn’t matter.

Anything for Jane.

Beauty comes first, Franny’s mother had said on her own mating day—and her parents’ age-out, since Franny, like Jane, was the youngest. A week post age-out, Mom died from a virus ... or so Franny had been told in a one-line report. After Austin’s birth, she’d lost track of her father. A comm call had reported his death.

Pedro tightened his grip on her waist, snapping her out of her funk. She grinned back, playing the part.

She gasped as her ankle turned. Then she missed a step, bumped into a pregnant woman, and crushed a man’s toes.