She got up and sighed. “I’ll leave you to it. Speak later.”
The job still had to be done. It wasn’t all about her personal feelings. Twenty women, humans, needed their welfare checking.
Croatoans streamed out of the door ahead of Layla. Outside it was raining.
They circled around, taking off their gloves and jiggling their fingers. She hugged the side of the building to keep dry, and headed for the breeding lab.
Livestock still had sex. One of the remaining human instincts or urges that hadn’t been stripped away by the croatoan regime. It was a daily occurrence in the paddock, embarrassing at first, but she’d got used to it.
At least the croatoans had stopped finding human intercourse a source of interest. They’d often gather around the paddock and watch, pointing at the male’s penis and clicking loudly.
The novelty wore off after a few months. Layla thought it was childish, like her former student colleagues who’d giggle at clips of animals having sex.
A tractor rumbled across the square. Alex, wearing her bright yellow waterproof, drove it from the meat factory toward the paddocks. She stopped when she saw Layla and called, “I took one in yesterday. Give me a shout if they need any more food.”
“Will do, thanks,” Layla said, holding her thumb up.
The tractor rumbled away, cutting a dirty track across the damp ground.
Any female exhibiting a bump would be identified, usually by Alex, during feeding time, and they’d be sent to the breeding lab. They were fed slop, kept inside and monitored until they gave birth. Alex played midwife, Layla would assist if she were around. She hadn’t been required lately, although a couple of women were only a matter of days away.
Layla took a deep breath and opened the door.
Inside, the roof echoed with the sound of a single woman’s quiet sobbing.
Symptoms of stress were common. Women would bite their nails, refuse to eat and often shake. The paddock was their natural environment, unlike the enclosed walls, a single bed, and waste bucket. Layla had given up trying to offer comfort. It had a scaring effect. And when one started crying, others in adjoining rooms would often join them.
She walked along, glancing through small square windows on individual doors.
The layout inside was quite simple. A long corridor running along the middle of the warehouse, with brightly lit, sparse cells on either side. Forty in all. At the moment they had a fifty percent occupancy rate.
The inhabitants were identified by room numbers, which Layla had painted on the doors.
One woman sat hugging her knees, rocking backwards and forwards. Another pressed her hand against the plastic pane as Layla passed. The majority of the twenty placidly lay on their black plastic mattresses.
In the second to last room near the end of the corridor, on the floor, a woman lay spread on her front. Layla took a sharp intake of breath. She knocked on the window and received no response.
She twisted the circular locking mechanism. It opened with a clank. Layla pushed the door, forcing it the last couple of inches with her shoulder, to move rigid legs out of the way. Creating enough space to enter through a narrow gap.
When she reached down and grabbed an arm, it was pale and stiff. Too late. Rigor mortis had set in.
Next to the woman’s outstretched hand was a small humanlike figure, crafted from twisted dry grass. A charm or keepsake. The first she’d seen created by livestock.
“Oh my God,” she breathed.
Layla hadn’t witnessed a death in the building before, she’s only heard about it occurring. The procedure was to hit the green call button by the entrance. Layla hurried along the corridor with her head in her hands.
She depressed the saucer-sized button. It flashed and let out two soft electronic beeps.
A minute later, two croatoans walked across the main square carrying a gray metal slab, heading straight for the breeding lab. They didn’t move with any great urgency, and stopped to talk to a group of aliens by the hover-bikes, before finally reaching the building.
The first one bumped through the swing doors and looked at Layla. She led them along the corridor, and pointed into the cell. The croatoans briefly paused. One clicked and they both jerked forward.
They placed the slab on the floor, grabbed the body by its hair and robe, and rolled it on. The front area of the woman’s clothing was stained dark purple. Layla closed her eyes tightly and put her hand against the corridor wall for support.
The patter of alien feet passed her. She opened her eyes and watched them bounce along the corridor.
Faces started to appear through the little windows. One woman wailed. Then another. As the croatoans carried the body to the entrance, the whole place echoed with crying and moaning.
Layla followed the aliens, watched them bump back through the doors. They crossed the main square, around the hover-bikes, and straight into the meat-processing warehouse.
She leaned with her back against the wall. The wailing continued, penetrating deep inside her. She wanted to run, but didn’t know where. She clasped her hands around the back of her head, bringing her elbows together in front of her face. Her back slid down the wall until she ended up in a crouching position.
A woman peered through the closest window, sobbing. Layla shuffled sideways toward the door, out of view, gulped and took a deep breath.
She couldn’t hold it in any longer, and joined the cacophony of weeping.
LAYLA COMPOSED herself in an empty cell. Took a few deep breaths and wiped tears from her face with her sweater sleeve. Something had to change. It was impossible to carry on at the farm now.
Perhaps it was time to find Charlie Jackson.
The breeding lab’s door banged open. Footsteps ran along the corridor. Vlad flashed past the open cell door. She heard him skid to a stop. He hurried into the cell.
“Layla, you’re wanted at the monitors. You need to come with me.” He fidgeted with a pencil, scraping his thumbnail against the sharpened end. “Layla. You have to—”
She sniffed and looked up. “Wanted by who?”
“Hey, are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine. What’s happening?”
Vlad held his hand toward her. “Augustus. He wants to speak to you. Says it’s a matter of great urgency.”
Augustus never spoke to Layla on an individual basis. She’d talked to him at meetings with Gregor, and he’d made the odd passing comment to her around camp. This was first time he’d directly requested her presence.
“Why me? Did he say anything else? Was he angry?”
She grabbed Vlad’s hand and hauled herself off the bed.
“He specifically asked for you. As for angry, who knows?” Vlad shrugged. “He wears a mask and I struggle to understand his accent.”
Augustus’s accent was a mystery. He spoke with the fluency of a native English speaker, but didn’t sound like any Layla had previously heard or met. Gregor asked him where he was from a few years ago. Augustus replied, Earth.
The rain had abated outside and surveyors crowded around the chocolate factory table. They ignored Vlad and Layla’s entrance, more interested in a tablet that was being passed around like a hot potato.
She could see the outline of Augustus’s head on the main monitor, surrounded by color, waiting for her.
“Do you know where he’s transmitting from?” Layla said.
Vlad pointed upwards.
When she reached the desk, Augustus leaned forward. He stroked his mask. The wall behind him was decorated with a series of bright rings. The largest outer circle was light pink, the inner ones different shades of blue.