Donors



  Donors

  By James Scot Corprew

  Copyright 2014 James Scot Corprew

  Cover Art:

  Eric Ascalon

  Ascalon Studios Inc, do not recognition wall slideshow, Image00040, used under Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 2.0 Generic License (CC BY-ND 2.0)

  https://flic.kr/p/7MHTQK

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  “Number 37. Number 37, please come forward.”

  Tobias and Mary sat up as the speaker squeaked their number.  Tobias quickly putting away the puzzle magazine he had been working through as Mary tucked her knitting away.  It never failed to amaze him how she had learned to adapt to the hand so quickly.  Her left hand of course the slender, pale hand he had held many times over the last thirty years.  Her right, however, was only a year old.  Two articulating metal fingers settled into a small oval “palm” connected then to the wrist unit.  She fingers responded and articulated as quickly as her true fingers.  The fingers could pivot and twist, enabling her to pinch things with ease.  It has cost almost six months fuel rations, but Tobias felt it was the best money he had ever spent.

  Items tucked away, the two walked quietly but quickly through the long hallway.  Row upon row of waiting citizens, just like them, were involved in any manner of past-times to distract them from the large digital display on the wall, showing a large 37, with constant streaming advertisements for biotic replacements, and the latest Donors.  They arrived at the counter just as the clerk was about to call their number.

  The clerk, a tired old man, only glanced up a moment as he pulled out a cream-colored file folder and pushed it through the slot at Tobias’ waiting hand.

  “This isn’t your first time.  You need a review of the process?”

  “What? Oh, no thank you!” Mary nudged his shoulder with her artificial hand. They walked away from the counter, following a line on the floor around the corner and into a side corridor with four elevator doors.  Each door was a different color: red, green, blue and a cream color matching their folder.  Tobias walked to the cream colored door, hitting the button a few times.  As the elevator doors closed on them, Mary gripped Tobias’ hand.

  “It will be a match, right?”

  “Don’t worry, honey.  We’ve been waiting for a while now.  They wouldn’t call us here for a false alarm again.  Mind you that money is fine.”  Each time an incorrect donor match was made, the people involved received compensation. Tobias, always the prudent saver, had used that money to make sure they had a decent nest egg in case something happened.

  “And cream! The possibilities.” She smiled at that thought, though she still looked intently into her husband's face.  Each of the four colors represented different levels of Donor, and each was offered higher compensation.  Red was the highest, with paychecks of millions of dollars.  Cream, rare, was a mixed bag, but always profitable.

  The elevator doors opened to another long hallway.  Similar to the first; wood paneled with plush carpet and the occasional piece of corporate art meant to sooth the eye.  There were no waiting benches here.  The couple padded quietly along the carpet until they reached the massive glass door that lead to a receptionist.

  The wait here was brief.  The receptionist took the folder, spoke softly into her headset, and lead the couple down a short, narrow hallway into a meeting room.

  “The doctor and counselor will be in to see you shortly, would you care for some water?”

  “No, no thank you, if we’re able to move on this today, I don’t want any delays.”

  The receptionist smiled. “Oh course.”

  She exited the room.  They sat in silence for a moment, holding hands as they waited.  There was no call for it, but for some reason they both felt the urge to whisper.

  “I’ll be glad when this is over.” Mary had never liked this place.

  “It’s the right thing to do.  We certainly don’t want to be like those ... Canadians.” He spat out the last word. Thinking back on last Christmas and their old neighbors Sean and Jean Jackson.  Sean and Tobias had gotten into a heated debate about the Donor Program.  Harsh words had been spoken with Tobias calling them traitors, and Sean uttering “fascist” as he stormed his wife out the door.  The last day Tobias saw them, was just before they left when the border closed.  They had not spoken.

  His musings were interrupted as a door on the far end of the room opened and a man and a woman walked in.  The woman he recognized: Dr. Stephanie Marques.  She had worked with them directly on Mary’s hand.  It reassured Tobias that she would be here as well.

  “Tobias, Mary, this is Richard Lenovar, he is the Assistant Chief Counselor and is assigned to your case.”

  He gripped Mary’s hand.  Assistant Chief!  Surely this would mean that a substantial check would be on the table.

  “Mr. Lenovar; the Bellwood’s.” Assistant Chief Counselor Lenovar shook their hands in turn and sat next to Dr. Marques, opposite them at the table.  He opened a small black attaché case as the Dr. began.

  “I am so happy you came all the way into the city.  Listen, I have some exciting news.”

  “You found a kidney donor match?” Mary’s lip quivered as her natural and artificial fingers fumbled together on the table.”  Dr. Marques paused for a moment. 

  “No. No we didn’t find a match.  The typing is wrong and quite frankly at this point we don’t think we could move forward with that procedure.”

  Tobias and Mary looked at each other, confused.  Tobias leaned over the table, his face almost touch the holo-flag that sat between them.

  “I don’t understand, Doc. what’d you mean not a match?  Why are we here?”

  Assistant Chief Counselor Lenovar arranged a series of documents in front of him, preparing to push a set over to Tobias and Mary.

  “Did you both see the news this past weekend?  The accident?”

  “Oh my yes, so horrible.”  Mary shook her head.  Tobias rarely watched the news anymore, but Mary sat every night, listening intently to whatever that man with the fake tan’s name was.  The Dr. and Counselor, seeing Tobias’ look, filled him in.

  “This past Saturday, the private shuttle with Chancellor Goodwin’s daughter on board crash landed at Clinton International.  While no one died there was a fire.  His daughter’s hands and face were severely injured.”

  “What does this have to do with us?”

  The Dr. began to speak, but Assistant Chief Lenovar was through with small talk and went straight to business.

  “While the system was typing you for a kidney, it spiked on both ocular and dermis matches from you.”

  “Octo what?”

  “He means eyes and skin, Tobias.” Dr. Marques smiled softly at Mary.

  They looked at each other slowly, as the nature of what they were being told sunk in.  Mary cleared her throat.

  “Who. Whose eyes?” Mary asked.

  Assistant Chief Counselor Lenovar slid the documents across the table.

  “Your eyes, Tobias. Is fortunate that you are an exact blood type match to the Chancellor’s daughter.  This is a High Priority Donor Offer.”

  Tobias licked his lips, suddenly needing the water he refused.

  “But, she can’t work.  Look at her hand she can’t work.  How would I take care of us?”

  Dr. Marques spoke to them with ease.  This was not her first High Priority case.

  “Because of the nature of this need, we will make
sure that is not a problem.”

  Assistant Chief Counselor Lenovar read from his copy of the donation contract.

  “Tobias Bellwood.  In exchange of your donation of ocular and dermis grafting procedure to begin immediately, the state will reimburse you both with the following: immediate early retirement status, priority housing in the Bennington Hills Estates retirement community.”

  “Immediately?” Mary’s eyes welled with tears as she looked from Tobias to the two across the table.

  “We must move with haste, the Chancellor’s daughter needs you.”

  Assistant Chief Counselor Lenovar removed a pen from the case and placed it on the documents before them.

  “Can we ... have a moment to discuss this?”

  Dr. Marques smiled sympathetically but didn’t answer.

  “I am afraid, Citizen Bellwood, the state needs an answer now.”

  The formal tone in Assistant Chief Counselor Lenovar’s voice sent a chill down Tobias’ spine.

  “Well. I guess.  We should do what’s right.”

  “Tobias, no!”

  Mary’s delicate fingers gripped his hand tightly.  Tobias looked at it as he signed the papers.  He pushed them back, ignoring the two across the table as he sat staring intently into his wife’s eyes, trying desperately to imprint this moment in his mind.

  The door they entered opened again; the receptionist held it open wide for an attendant pushing a wheelchair.  Tobias glanced at it a moment then returned to his wife’s face.

  “It’s ok, honey. We have to do our part.”

  ***

  About the Author:

  James Scot Corprew is a student of Creative Writing for Entertainment at Full Sail University.