No. She wouldn’t. They couldn’t force her to do it.

Lucy fled from the office of the man who had married her, from the man she had once believed to love. Why couldn’t her feet move faster? Why couldn’t she take bigger strides like Bernardo did when he was in a hurry? Why did her thin, ungrateful legs work only to take short steps? She needed more speed. She needed to escape! But where?

Her sandals scraped the ceramic floor, causing a rough sound, and suddenly, the corridor became a resonance chamber that gave away her desperation to put some distance from there.

“I won’t do another surgery like that,” she said and shook her head.

The image of little Broga was nailed to her conscience. The boy appeared as a ghost in the same position she’d seen him in the nursery a few minutes ago: Sitting on the floor and surrounded by papers and crayons, drawing on the plastic table, as if he were a normal four-year-old child and not a scientific phenomenon who’d been separated from his twin brother to be studied day and night.

“His name is Broga, not Binary-C”.

In her imagination, Broga’s huge green eyes sizzled curiously, and every time they blinked, time froze. The boy’s beautiful brown hair, smooth like a porcelain helmet, was at her fingertips, and she was able to touch it. In the oneiric version of that frustrated desire, Lucy dared to caress the boy’s head; she did it tenderly, and he gave her a warm smile in return.

Everything looked so magical and ethereal.

Until Broga’s eyes lost the glow of life and turned into two dirty emeralds; his mouth twisted; his teeth got detached from the gums, leaving dark gaps there; a dense drool peeked through his lips, dripping down his chin; and a red thread descended from his forehead, dividing his face in half. Lucy knew that was blood, and it was coming from a horizontal cut the little one had on his head. She also knew that, if she looked up, she would see the boy’s brain peeking over his skull. She knew it because she’d made that same cut to the other child, Brun.

In her nightmare, Broga became Brun.

That child will never be normal again. You ruined his life.

“Brun…” Lucy whispered, lost in that hideous hallucination.

Yes, Brun is the boy who lacks a piece of his head because you stole it; not because you believed in the project, but because you dreamed of seeing your name in the annals of the history of science.

Lucy’s heart skipped a beat.

“I won’t,” she said.

If you don’t do it, Bernardo will. Broga will end up just like his brother Brun, with or without you in the operating room.

If she did it, the child would live with his conscience destroyed, but if her husband did it, it was likely the child wouldn’t even leave the operating table alive. Well, maybe it was better that way.

No! Broga doesn’t deserve to be damaged, nor does he deserve to die!

Then, an idea struck her: You must take him. You must run away from this building. Don’t quit, and don’t ask for a transfer as a comfort, as Rosa did. Escape. Escape with Broga, and do it now!

Lucy felt the air thinning, and she rubbed her flat breast. The ventilation system was working just fine; she was the one who was running out of air. It was anxiety.

No. She couldn’t do it. In order to take the child and escape from there, she needed courage, and she was a coward. If not, why hadn’t she done such a thing before?

Because you’d never stopped to think about why you couldn’t conceive children. And you didn’t think about it because you never cared. Because you hate your own mother. Because getting pregnant and then losing it might have felt awful, but that was better than becoming a mother. That was better than turning the beast you have as a husband into a father. It was only when you destroyed a child’s life that you knew how much they meant to you. You’ve remembered the previous four attempts, and you feared for the fifth. And now that you’ve learned that one has failed as well, you understand how much you’ve lost.

The thought was enlightening… and chilling; so much so the crying climbed from the depths of her entrails and crawled up her throat. Lucy used her hand as a muzzle to suppress her cry. A sharp pain got buried in her heart, that greedy black heart that had not hesitated to destroy a little boy’s life.

Was she having a heart attack?

Leaning against the wall, Lucy stopped, and she feared she’d fall to the ground. But no. Fate didn’t want her dead. Not yet. The pain slowly subsided. Strength returned to her, and she could resume her pace.

“You may not be a mother,” she said to herself, with the image of her own mother pointing a finger at her. “But at least you can act like one.”

Yes, she would take him.

She entered a new corridor and went straight into the bedroom area.

She walked fast, though she tried not to cause much noise; it was late and most of her coworkers were sleeping; drawing attention would be counterproductive. If at that moment someone peeked through one of the doors, alarmed by her footsteps, and asked her what the rush was about, she wouldn’t know what to answer. She never told lies, she was too dumb to make them up, and she would turn red and stutter, and she hated stuttering!

The difficult part would be when she had to take Broga with her. She could go through Security thanks to her IDs, which were stored in her night table drawer; but beyond that, what excuse would she give to the nursery soldiers? And to those guarding the lab’s exit?

Well, she’d think of something.

The corridor was narrow, its lights were white, its walls were gray, and it was filled with slender doors; her room was at the end. Why the hell did she choose the last room? When they’d moved to this lab, she’d thought it was a good idea, but now, because of that, it was going to take forever to get there.

She heard a noise; she jumped and pivoted to see if there was anyone behind her; Bernardo, maybe. Nothing. Next time, don’t be so obvious and act naturally. Her husband was probably still in his office, studying the files she’d given him, or looking at the building’s blueprints where they would carry on with the project.

The Duane archipelago is a horrendous place, she thought.

Lucy got into her bedroom. She held her breath and turned on the lights. Although she knew it was unlikely that Bernardo was there, for a second she imagined him in his pajamas, lying in bed and reading a book, as she used to find him whenever she came late from her work area. However, the two beds in the room, separated by a night table, were still made; no one had used them since that morning.

Standing in front of the two narrow beds, Lucy let out a smile. What an irony! According to the law, Bernardo and she could be husband and wife, but there, for the people who worked on the project, they were two scientists who shared the same room at bedtime, and nothing else.

Actually, that’s all we share.

Come on! She didn’t have much time! Bernardo might have called it a day and decided to get some rest. Bernardo could be heading there; moreover, it was possible that he would open the door at any moment.

Broga. Broga’s counting on you, she recalled.

She turned to the closet and struck her foot against the leg of Bernardo’s bed; the room was really small. She cursed; then pulled a bag out of a drawer, and when she unzipped it, ready to put her stuff in, she stopped. Her desire to flee was so strong she hadn’t thought about what she would look like by carrying the child in one arm and her bag in the other. That would be the perfect picture of an escape, and it would attract more attention than it should.

What would she say if someone asked her why she was going out with her belongings at that late hour? I’ll take the kid to the movies? No. It was better to leave the bag. She took a small blue thermal blanket, made of a very resistant synthetic fabric; she rolled it and wrapped it with a beige coat of hers made of the same fabric. That would do. It was winter; and it was very, very cold outside.

With her austere luggage under her arm, she opened the night table’s drawer, took the ID that recognized her as a first-rate neurosurgeon of the Binary Project, some cash, and put it into her blue scrubs’ pocket. Then, she groped around in the drawer and found something that would be very useful. Bernardo had brought it from another lab.

“You don’t know when we might need it,” he had told her then. What an irony! Lucy was sure Bernardo wouldn’t have done it if he’d known she’d use it to escape. Hell! It hadn’t crossed her mind to do it until a few minutes ago; why would Bernardo have thought of it?

She closed her eyes. Taking that device with her meant her escape plans were for real, very real. She hesitated for a second and nearly gave up. What if Bernardo decided to look for it today? She gulped.

You’ve already ruined the life of a four-year-old, how will you live knowing that you’ve ruined his little brother’s as well?

No. She took it from the drawer. It was a small artifact, similar to a communicator. She put it into her trouser pocket, turned off the room’s light, and left.

Lucy faced the long, narrow gray hallway full of doors again, and started to walk quickly, though trying not to make a noise.

Damn! Why did she choose the last room? She had almost ninety feet to go before leaving the bedroom pavilion, and that was a lot. What if Bernardo showed up at the end of the hallway? He would ask her what was she doing with that coat, where was she heading to; and she would stutter so much she would sound like the tinkling cover of a saucepan at a full boil; it was even possible she would end up revealing her absurd plan.

And what would happen to her when they found out she’d taken Broga? Worse; what would happen if she was caught while on the run? The Order wouldn’t find it funny at all. Without Broga, it would be impossible to finish the research, which would mean a delay in the project; and these people weren’t fond of delays, let alone betrayals. Yes, it sounded awful, but what she intended to do was treason; treason to her coworkers’ efforts, and the years of dedication her husband and she had invested.

And again: The terrible image of Brun with his skull open and a thread of blood slipping down his small, tender face; the image that had been engraved on her mind like a snapshot since she’d performed the Major Surgery. Broga would not suffer the fate his little brother had suffered. She wouldn’t allow it.

If she was discovered, the least they would do to her would be to take away her license as a neurosurgeon and put her behind bars.

Don’t kid yourself, she thought. The Binary Project is top secret; countless laws have been broken to keep it going. You know a lot about it; those people will be afraid you’ll open your mouth and expose them. They won’t wait for you to rot in a cell; they’ll put you on ice with a shot in the back of the head, and they’ll throw you in a ditch.

Her hair stood on end. If they found out: shot in the back of the head, and ditch.

She thought of Dr. Rosa Tyler, her only friend there. Rosa wasn’t the first one to ask for a transfer; however, Rosa didn’t handle the amount of classified information she did handle. Rosa could resign by signing a confidentiality agreement, and adiós. Of course, those who quit the project knew the rules of the game and knew they would ruin their lives if they ever spoke. But this was different; this went far beyond a resignation.

Goodness! Her heart was throbbing so much; her legs were shaking. She felt like she was walking on clouds, black clouds.

You may not be a mother, but at least act like one, she repeated and continued.

Luckily, despite her negative predictions, she reached the end of the corridor with no one opening a door, no one popping up.

She turned left—Bernardo’s office was to her right—and she kept going for several more feet. She held her breath until she finished crossing that stretch of the hallway. Meanwhile, her mind pictured what she would do if she heard her husband’s hateful voice behind her, asking Lucy, where are you going?

She looked back several times over her shoulder. Bernardo’s office door was at the end of the hall, and it looked smaller with every step she took. It was ajar as she had left it, and the light was on, though she couldn’t tell if there was anyone inside.

Again, luck was on her side, and she heard nothing.

But when she turned into the corridor that would lead her to the nursery, she didn’t run into someone; she hit someone.

Lucy gasped.

“Lucy, honey, where are you going in such a hurry?”

She looked up and found Rosa staring at her with wide eyes.

Her relief was astronomical. She hugged her friend and kissed her on the cheek. The gesture spoke for itself, a gesture that said: Thank you for being you; if it had been someone else… Afterward, she went down the corridor without saying a word.

“Lucy, where are you going?” Rose insisted, worried.

Please, Rosa, don’t ask me again and don’t raise your voice. Please! I’d be busted! Lucy feared.

“If I answer, you’ll stop me,” she whispered, though she was already too far away to be heard.

She took the corridor on the left, passed by the restroom, and remembered the conversation with Rosa. She went on for a little longer and stopped just before the next turn. When she got in there, she would make eye contact with the guards flanking the last door on the corridor: the nursery. Her heart throbbed harder than before, and her entire body trembled as much as her voice would have trembled as if she spoke.

She left the coat with the blanket rolled on the floor. Even when the guards didn’t question her actions, if she was to take Broga it would be better not to be seen with a change of clothes; it could arouse suspicion.

How silly I was. I must have dropped them without noticing it, that’s what she would say if anyone saw the blankets on the floor.

She felt her ID in her pocket; she wouldn’t need it for now. She would keep it for when those guarding the facility’s exit asked. She took a deep breath, cleared her mind, praying fear would not be so transparent in her face, and moved on.

This time, she didn’t hesitate to get into the nursery. The guards remained mute. She came in and closed the door behind her. Broga was still sitting on the floor with a red crayon in his hand, drawing some sort of swirl on a sheet of white paper.

THUMP, thump… THUMP, thump… Her heartbeat was so strong it hurt. She had trouble breathing. She was so nervous.

“Hello,” she said to the little one.

Broga looked up at her, just as calm as in their previous encounter, and his huge green eyes blinked rapidly. ‘You again!’ said that look. Then his little face showed a certain intrigue, and he looked again between her legs in search of that absent someone.

“Brun?” he asked.

“I’ve come for you, Broga,” she replied.

“We’re going to see Brun?” his eyes lit up.

Lucy pursed her lips. She must lie.

“First, we’ll go somewhere, and then we’ll pick up Brun, okay?”

Broga nodded.

“You’ll come with me in silence, okay?” she said, and thank heaven she didn’t stutter. She extended her arm towards him, and with a gesture, asked him to take her hand.

THUMP, thump…

The child stood up with a new smile. He let go of the crayon, and by scrubbing his hands against his white pajama, he gave it some new red stains. How clean his clothes looked was the least of her worries. The good thing was the boy had his white rubber slippers on; there was no time to look for more clothes, and the kid shouldn’t walk barefoot considering the low temperatures outside.

Broga raised the sheet he was drawing on and gave it to her as a present. She took the drawing and smiled, even though the doodle of the red swirl gave her goosebumps; it looked like a puddle of blood. Was that a forecast of the next minutes?

THUMP, thump… THUMP, thump…

No nonsense now. There were similar swirls drawn on the walls and the sheets of paper scattered across the floor, and there were all colors, not just red. A scribble was a scribble; it meant nothing.

Lucy folded the paper and kept it in her scrubs’ pocket along with her ID. She showed Broga a smile that said ‘See? I’ll treasure your work of art right here,’ and then she held his hand. A strange sensation of peace touched her upon contact with the child. Her heartbeat stopped being so violent.

I won’t let them do to you what I did to your brother. I promise you.

However, the feeling of comfort disappeared after taking the first step out of the nursery.

Don’t look at the soldiers. Don’t look at them, and they won’t look at you.

She walked down the corridor, taking Broga with her. She didn’t know if the men in uniform followed her with their gaze; she preferred to think they were not, and they were still by the door, with their heads high and their legs straight, even when there was no one in the nursery room to watch over anymore. ‘I’m taking the kid to the laboratory. More tests,’ that’s what she had to say if anyone asked her. It was a logical lie.

But it was a lie. And she was bad at telling lies.

She turned to the corridor on the right.

She didn’t hear any footsteps; the guards weren’t following her. She picked up the blanket and the coat and moved in a hurry. Her sandals scraped the floor and raised a horrible echo. Making noise while trying to be inconspicuous wasn’t beneficial to the cause, although at that moment it was impossible to contain her cravings. She felt invisible hands on her back, pushing her so hard they could have thrown her to the floor.

THUMP, thump… THUMP, thump…

She glanced at the child, and he glanced back at her. She faked a smile, but he didn’t. It was as if the little boy had realized that picking up his brother Brun wasn’t and had never been part of the plan.

Just keep quiet, please, she asked him in thought.

She looked back. Nothing. She was in luck. She stopped at one of several intersections in the corridor, poked her face to make sure there was no one out there, and looked both ways as if she were about to cross a busy avenue. Everyone seemed to sleep. The road was clear.

“Come on!” she whispered to the little one, and they got into the elevator.

The steel doors closed, and they got isolated from the outside world, confined to a metal cubicle, cold and gray. Lucy pressed the button with the letter G on it. Her car was in the garage. She begged no one would think of going there at that very moment. She glued her small eyes to the door; and as they descended, she put on her coat and wrapped Broga in the blue blanket.

“Hold it tight. Like this,” she said and made a gesture by crossing her hands to teach him how to do it. After that, she felt the need to surround him with her arms to give him the sense of security she actually needed. Her hands trembled, and she stopped; she didn’t want the child to perceive her fear. Even the sound of her own fast-paced breathing disturbed her.

THUMP, thump… THUMP, thump…