The Carrier doctrine echoes in my head as I push: "Hope finds society through us, and it is our duty to allow an open avenue for it to travel." In a twisted way, that part of the Carrier doctrine helps me focus on anything but the pain. I must be the open avenue for hope to reach us, I think as another contraction hits me.

A doctor dressed in grey scrubs and a surgical mask stands by my legs, and orders, "Push, Carrier 88."

I muster one last push, finishing with a burst of release as I finally deliver the infant for whom I've been a surrogate. Whoever's she will be, we Carriers never know, but in this place where women are only beautiful Comforters for men, Caregivers and maids for all, or Carriers like me, all one can ever hope is that their infants aren't female.

Unfortunately, I know mine is.

When she emerges into the sterile room beneath the ground of our little society, I gasp for air, and so must she; because after a moment of gurgling, she begins to cry.

I don't look at her. Another Carrier warned me not to look at my infant, so I turn my head away and hold out my arms in preparation for the child's first feeding, the next step before the child is given to Caregivers to be raised.

"Doctor, you're needed for an emergency cesarean," the loudspeakers sound.

He huffs and soon after, a warm weight is deposited into my arms. I feel for her head, and gently guide her to eat. The doctor whispers, "A Caregiver will be here soon. Don't move."

The door echoes shut, leaving my mind to wonder while she eats. What harm is there in looking at her?

I open my eyes and turn slowly toward my chest. Blonde fuzz tops her head, and huge grey eyes peer up at me. I'm flooded with warmth, and for reasons I can't explain, I begin to cry. She is so beautiful and innocent now. What will she become?

The door opens, and I snap my focus to the doorway, where a frail-looking Caregiver stands before me. "Get up, go, we can save her," she whispers, rushing to my side and helping me down from the bed.

"What?" I ask, but before I can get my answer, the Caregiver has led me to the far side of the wall. After pushing on the side of one of the wall panels, it opens just wide enough for me and my infant to squirm inside to what looks like an old, mechanic's passageway. The Caregiver tosses me her official baby blanket and snaps the panel closed behind me.

"Someone will return for you two after dark," she whispers from the other side. "Stay quiet."

I hold her close to my heart, anticipating the inevitable alarms. "You'll be Hope," I whisper so only she can hear. "We took you away from them, but now you're mine. My Hope."