"Have you seen Mischa lately?" Quinton asked as he sat down to another supper without her.

Juana and Navjot shook their heads and quickly went back to their rainbow trout and rice. The fish had been a welcome surprise, and Quinton knew Mischa would have been excited at the prospect of actual fish, no matter what strange land or laboratory it had come from.

"We haven't seen her in two days. She's never been gone this long," he tried to elicit another response.

"Maybe she's avoiding you," Navjot said between mouthfuls.

Quinton shot him a dirty look. That comment really had no grounds given that he and Mischa hadn't spoken much since those exams to find breeding candidates. The interview he had gone through passed in a matter of minutes with a few medical history questions. They hadn't even conducted a physical exam. He had his suspicions why, but he really hoped he was wrong. This organization had promised a clean slate, free of the history he had spent over a year running from. If they used it to discriminate, they were only hypocrites, like the rest.

"She could just be overwhelmed by that whole breeding screening," April said.

"She got grilled worse than we did," Juana added. "How bad were yours?"

"Similar to yours, full body exam, history, and an added err donation of sorts," Navjot answered. His face grew red toward the end.

The medical ward had written Quinton off after all. He took a few breaths to maintain his composure.

"You are not your family, Quinton. We don't believe that for a minute. A person is more than the culmination of their environment and their past. Let us show you how valuable we think you really are."

Those words, his motivation for the past six or so months, had been nothing but lies to keep him docile. He knew how valuable they really thought he was now.    

An elbow gently nudged his side. He looked down at April who wore a cautious smile.

"Are you alright?"

"Just a lot on my mind."

"If you're worried about her, you could always go see how she's doing," April said.

"Sorry?"

"Mischa, you could stop by her place."

Not without her father throwing a fit. But that did give him an idea, which prompted him to quickly finish up the fish. He thanked April and took off to the table where Mischa's father and another man in his late twenties sat. At least this could distract him for now.

"Hello, Mr. Hues," he said as the men's conversation hit a convenient lull.

"Quinton, how are you?"

"I'm good. I was, well, we were wondering if Misch -- your daughter is feeling okay. It's been a couple days, and she doesn't usually disappear for that long. I mean she's probably fine, but-"

"Let's take a walk." Mr. Hues picked up his empty plate and glass before turning to the other man. "Have a good night, Edward."

"You too, Nate," Edward said.

Once they left the cafeteria, Quinton spoke up. "Is she alright?"

"You'll have to excuse my momentary silence. It's my belief that private conversations should be held in private residences." Quinton's eyes followed Mr. Hues' gaze to the security cameras. Of course, he would be cautious. He worked on them and probably knew more than he let on.  

Quinton couldn't decide whether to be relieved her father took this seriously or frightened of the absence of witnesses. What if his history had become public knowledge? Maybe Mischa was avoiding him for this reason. He shook off the thought. It was entirely paranoid and egotistical of him to assume his issues had anything to do with her. He was likely overestimating the degree to which she cared.

They continued walking until they reached the Hues' residence. Once inside, Mr. Hues directed them toward the couches.

"I'm glad you came to see me." Quinton's stiff shoulders softened, and he nearly smiled. "Mischa hasn't left her room, probably since you last saw her. I would assume she leaves for basic needs when I'm not around, but she also skipped her apprenticeship duties for the past two days. She refuses to speak or communicate with me, even in writing. I was about a day away from seeking you out myself."

"Why me?" Quinton asked.

"You and another girl in the gardening department are the only two she mentions out here. She's always been a social girl, but coming here had quite the impact. Now, something else has shut her down entirely, and I can't figure out what it is for the life of me."

"And you think she'll listen to me?"

"She's rather attached to you. I think she might."

Quinton swallowed. Her father's tone on 'attached' made him a bit worried, but maybe he was just imagining things. "We're still just friends, sir, to be clear."

"Yes, and as her friend, see if you can coax her out of that room. I'll stay back in the kitchen."

Quinton walked over to her door. The wood barrier stood unmarred by force or time. A dark line in the wood ran vertically down a quarter of the door. It reminded him of a long crack that ran across the door he used to share with his older brother.

"Quinton, you little shit, get back here so we can resolve this."

Quinton slammed and locked the bedroom door, already knowing the consequences of forgetting to do so at fourteen. The knob quivered and clicked as his father assaulted it from the other side.    

"You really think that'll stop him?" Donny said as he looked up from his laptop for a brief moment.

"What are we supposed to do?" Helplessness fit Quinton like an old familiar sweater.

"If you're anything like mom, you'll shut your mouth and pray that he'll stop." Donny dropped his voice just below the frequency of their father's beating on the door. "It's not like we can go to the cops; he is the police."

"Not everyone is like Dad, someone could talk to him."

"Men like him don't listen. They'll find a way to make you wish you hadn't said a damn thing. You have to find another way to make your statement count."

A loud crack echoed as the door split around eye level. It wasn't enough to let anyone in, but enough to stop his brute of a father from another night of drunken aggressiveness. Damaging property left too many questions unanswered in their outwardly normal family. His father had taught them all the importance of keeping up appearances from a very young age.  

His eyes flickered away from the dark line in Mischa's door. He brought his hand up and knocked lightly on the door, nothing like the sounds he remembered. "Hey Mischa, it's Quinton. Are you alright?"

Shuffling came from inside the room, but no answer.

"You don't have to come out. We could just talk." Quinton paused and rubbed his hand together. "We're worried about you." No noise followed. He sat down beside the doorframe as he had done for years. This time he was the one on the outside.

"You haven't missed very much out here. You already know all us guys went for our breeder tests earlier this week. That was definitely weird. On another note, there's fish for supper tonight, the real stuff, not just something they've been saving in a sneaky underground deep freeze for too many months. I'm not sure where they got it.  Maybe we suddenly have mystery aquariums or people are venturing out to fish. Doesn't sound like a bad gig though, getting let out every day to fish."

 The lock clicked, and the door opened up. Mischa took her time to reveal herself. Her eyes were rimmed with red and puffy skin encircled them. She sniffled and wiped her nose with a tissue. She gestured for him to come inside before quickly locking the door behind him.

Fingertips clutched at the fabric of his work shirt as Mischa pressed her body into his. Her hugs managed to envelop every negative emotion he had felt since sitting down at supper and smother out their intensity. He rubbed her back to help her feel half as calm as he did all of the sudden.

"What happened?" he asked.

Mischa choked out a sob, but no words followed. Her arms left his body at a slow pace, and he missed her warmth. She made her way over to a desk, where a letter sat and handed the paper to him. He began to skim through it.

Mischa Emilie Hues,

You have been selected as one of this year's candidates for the motherhood program.

God, no wonder she was devastated. Her whole body trembled as she watched him. He used his free arm to pull her back to him.

"Mischa, we'll get you out of this, don't worry."

"Keep reading," she muttered.

The letter went through some meeting dates, what to expect, diet restrictions, supplements, and at the end, he came to a section that left his hope as high as the ocean floor.

The motherhood program is an essential component to ensure the sustainability of our future. Duties are only to be refused in the event of a life-threatening medical emergency or death.

"It's still okay, we'll just-"

"Just what? Did you read the fine print down there? Based on a tenant agreement, which was signed on my behalf because I'm a minor, my body can be used as their property. I went and looked it up."

"Mischa, just because-" As Mischa cut him off again he wondered if her statements even needed responses.

"And do you know who signed it? My father. That man went up to these sick bastards and said 'here, I give you permission to do whatever you want with my daughter's body, including violating her and taking away her right to chose her future.' What kind of parent does that to their child? I'll tell you what kind, a damn abusive one."

Quinton bit down on his lip. That one hit too close to home. "There's a substantial difference between an abusive parent and one who signed a form without reading it all the way through to get you in here to protect you. Your father asked me to come in here to talk-"

Mischa shook herself out of his grasp. Her eyes narrowed, and she clenched her hands into fists. "Get out!"

"I'm trying to help you."

"I said, get out. You are just like the rest of them."

Quinton's shoulder slumped at the malice bottle up in her icy glare. He was nothing like the rest of them. The rest were respected as human beings, he was just an acceptable risk they'd deal with until he cracked.

"If that's what you really want then fine, I will. I've been bending over backwards for you, for what, to be yelled at when I already feel like shit. I want out of here just as bad as you do, but if you're too offended to work together, then fine. Go ahead and do it on your own." He turned and headed for the door without waiting to see if his words had an effect.

"Quinton, wait!" More tears sprung out of her eyes. Great, the last thing he needed was more guilt. When it came to Mischa, his logic flew out the window.

"Why?"

"Because I'm sorry. I feel so powerless, and I just don't know what to do."

Quinton sighed. "You could start by not taking it out on me or your dad." He continued before she could open her mouth to protest. "Go to this upcoming meeting, we'll figure out a timeline and get us both out of here before any type of conception takes place."

"What if we can't make the deadline or we cut it too close? Quinton, we don't even have a half-baked plan let alone a functional one."

He reached out for one of her trembling hands. "Have a little faith, we can do this. All we need to do is figure out the best route out, gather supplies, and find the right moment to take off."

"What about security? You think they'll let me out the door when my only option to get out of this breeding program is a life-threatening injury or death?"

"Your dad can help with security. He's been working on the cameras and -"

Her face hardened. "No, under no circumstances do we involve my dad. He will shut this down immediately and make things harder. Not only does he think the outside world is incredibly dangerous, but he is also loyal to this place. He spent more time here than with me, even before the disaster."

"What about Navjot then, he could crack into the surveillance cameras without blinking."

"No, he has the wrong motivation."

"What do you mean?"

"Look at what drives Navjot, technology and success. Here, he gets both. He has no motivation to leave, and if it came between betraying our plans and losing his rank in the colony, I think he'd chose the former."

"April, then, at least she's been outside the colony."

"That's it," Mischa said quietly. Quinton raised an eyebrow. "We need to get apprenticeships that take us outside the colony."    

"You want us to take on gardening like April does? I work with electrical circuits for a reason, Mischa, I'm actually good at that. They sponsored me on those grounds, and I doubt they'd approve a transfer."

"Then find a way to make the outdoors electric."

"They won't approve of me installing lighting out there, electric fences maybe, but there'd be so much lead-up infrastructure to run power lines outdoors."

"Then you better get your gardening gloves on, Quint-meister, cause things are going to get dirty."

Quinton shook his head, "I'll let that one go because you've had a bad day."

They figured out a way to mask Mischa's sadness as work-related to get her father onboard with the workplace transfer. Once he saw Mischa come out of her room with a smile, he jumped on board with the teens' solution to her depression. She didn't let a word slip about the breeding program, and he agreed to look into the transfer for her.

As Quinton went to leave, Mr. Hues stopped him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, Quinton. You're a good man." They shook hands, and Quinton caught the hint of a smile on Mischa's face as she watched the exchange. He swallowed hard. If only her father knew what they were really scheming, he'd likely react more like the father Quinton had grown up with.

Back at the apartment, Quinton spied Navjot on the couch with a very familiar looking paper. He threw his keys in his pocket and stood beside the couch. "What you got there, buddy?"

"It's a letter from the medical department. I've been selected as a potential candidate for the sustained growth program."

Navjot and Mischa, Mischa and Navjot. He had to blink a few times for the idea to even try to make its way into his mind. "So that's the politically correct term for it."

"There's a meeting at the-"

"End of the week," Quinton finished.

Navjot cocked his head and gave him a half smile. "Did you get accepted as well?"

"No," Quinton said, running his hands through his hair until the nails brushed his scalp. He really shouldn't have opened his big mouth. Hell, he would find out anyway. "Mischa did too."

"Oh," his eyes went wide. "That must be uncomfortable for you."

Quinton crossed his arms over his chest and stood taller. "No, it's reassuring if anything that she's so worked up about it."

"Reassuring in what sense? I find it troubling, and I won't have to deal with the emotional separation that comes with months of bringing life to fruition and having it ripped away. My contribution will be sitting alone in a dark room if the sample I already provided has an issue."

"Oh, this is a petri dish kind of thing."

"I understand your concern now. This is one of those brotherhood moments, and I get it. Our loyalty comes first, and I will not fornicate with the woman for whom you harbour unrequited feelings."

"You could have just told me you'd act like a friend."

"Oh right, of course."

Navjot's matter of fact nature calmed the situation. Quinton figured he picked up a few of Mischa's grievances when he left her place, and that was why he felt jumpy and nervous. They'd get out of there before she went through any of this. He had no interest in imagining what would happen if they failed.