A Life Worth Living

“And just as a captive who in sleep enjoys an imaginary liberty, when he begins to suspect that his liberty is but a dream, fears to awaken, and conspires with these agreeable illusions that the deception may be prolonged, so insensibly of my own accord I fall back into my former opinions, and I dread awakening from this slumber, lest the laborious wakefulness which would follow the tranquillity of this repose should have to be spent not in daylight, but in the excessive darkness of the difficulties which have just been discussed.”

– René Descartes, Meditations on First Philosophy

Huh Yunjin wakes up with a start. The screen on the alarm clock beside her lights up, bathing her face in a sterile blue glow. Though the room is kept dark by blackout curtains, Yunjin finds it useful to begin her morning following a circadian routine. 

She washes up quickly, slipping on a simple white coat after drying her hair. Most days when she looks into the mirror, she finds a stranger staring back at her. Their skin a sickly pallor, dark circles round their eyes, a permanent hunch to the shoulders.

But today is different. A hint of light sparkles in those irises of brown and gold. Yunjin pulls out a silver locket from a drawer. Flipping it open, she gazes wistfully at the portrait and kisses it gently before placing it in her pocket. 

Breakfast is usually a dull affair. A block of nutritionally enhanced tofu placed neatly on a small dish, and a cup of water. Catching up with the news without really hearing the drone of the presenter’s voice. Scrolling listlessly through the slate with eyes glazed over.

But today is different. Yunjin savours the cold slickness of the tofu on her tongue, chasing it down with a gulp of water. She even bites into a square of milk chocolate, a rare treat for her these days. —

Yunjin pauses to listen to the news reel playing on her slate.

“... another attack last night, this time targeting three districts simultaneously. The anti-technology group known as ‘Ellipse’ has claimed responsibility for…”

Yunjin’s heart clenches at the mention of the terrorist group. Her hands immediately find solace in the cool metal of the pendant, squeezing it gently to soothe herself. She will not let herself be overwhelmed like this. Not today, of all days.

Because today is different. 

In the dying light of the thirtieth century, today marks her first day working in the Nursery.

“New girl, hurry up!”

Yunjin exits the lift from the central column and scrambles to keep up with the woman ahead of her. Despite being noticeably shorter, there is an urgency to her gait that leaves a permanent gap between them. 

“Miss Kim, please slow down,” Yunjin pleads, but her partner keeps the pace. 

“We need to be there in time. The mech-aids are waiting on us. And for goodness sake, call me Jiwoo.” Mercifully, she halts for a beat, turning back to urge her junior on.

They reach an archway, one of many that encircle the central column. Beyond it are two walls that seem to stretch lengthwise forever but they rise to just above the tip of Yunjin’s head. The archway and walls form a corridor. Green light shines down from way up high, bathing the interior in a sinister glow. Within each wall are three rows of alcoves, spanning the length of the corridor. Glass orbs, each the size of a basketball, lie nestled within each alcove. 

Yunjin follows Jiwoo inside.

“As you know, the Nursery is all about cradles,” she states, tapping a glass orb with the tip of a pen as she walks by. Yunjin winces at the carelessness of the action.

“There are about a thousand employees and ten thousand mech-aids,” Jiwoo continues. 

“We–” she emphasizes with a wave of a hand, “are in charge of cleaning the cradles. Every single one of them.”

“And the mech-aids?”

“They deal with everything else. Facility maintenance, administration, nutrition management, the works.” Jiwoo stops abruptly, and Yunjin almost crashes into her.

“This Nursery is completely self-sustaining, like all the other government facilities.” The woman turns around and squints at Yunjin. “Have you never worked before?”

Yunjin brings her hand to the nape of her neck, rubbing a phantom itch. “Um, I was a writer. Before – well, before I stopped.”

“Figures. Time to contribute to humanity, then.” A sharp bark of laughter escapes Jiwoo’s lips. Yunjin winces again, her eyes flicking to the many orbs surrounding them. The older woman notices the look in her face and softens her tone.

“You know they can’t hear us, right? The cradles,” she points at one of the glass orbs, “are insulated from the outside world.”

Yunjin nods slowly. It makes sense. 

“May I ask you something?” Yunjin ventures. Jiwoo nods in reply. “How many peo– how many cradles are there in the Nursery?”

“Five million.” Yunjin’s eyes widen at the number as she mouths it in disbelief. 

“But that’s not what you want to know, is it?” Jiwoo places a hand gently on Yunjin’s arm.

“I –”

“If you have the credentials, you can look up their location in the Nursery and see them now.”

“But don’t we have work to—”

Jiwoo lifts a finger to silence her. “Go. Before I change my mind.”

Having sprinted the length of the hallway and back, Yunjin’s lungs burn as she slows to a stop in front of a particular column of alcoves. Her gasps cut through the monotonous hum of the corridor. 

Her eyes search for a name plaque. There, in the middle row, a name she can never forget even if she tries. Not that she wants to. Yunjin reaches out tentatively, but her hands stay themselves halfway. Guilt gnaws in her stomach as she remembers the day her wife was ripped apart in the—

A harsh sob escapes Yunjin’s lips as she sinks to her knees, the dull thump echoing against the walls. By instinct, her fingers search blindly for the silver locket, and the pain in her heart eases just a smidge as she feels the cool metal in her grasp.

Steeling herself, she lets go of the locket and cups the sides of the cradle. 

The glass is cold and unyielding, her fingers sliding against the smooth surface. A dim light pulses from within the orb, allowing her a glimpse of the outline of a brain at every interval, the organ suspended in liquid the colour of amber.

“Hi Chaewon,” Yunjin whispered. “You’ve been waiting for me, huh? 

“How have you been? I hope you didn’t miss me too much. You always knew how to pout and get things your way, you cheeky girl.”

“Do you remember our favourite cafe? The one with the croissant you really liked? You’d steal my portion when you thought I wasn’t looking. But I knew, you know? Always did.”

“I’m sorry it took so long. I’m here now.”

“I still remember our honeymoon at the bay. I bought you those fruits you loved so much. What were they called? Oh yes, blueberries. You ate so much of them your tongue turned blue!”

“I’m here now. And I will protect you forever, okay? So please forgive me, my love. Please?”

The only response comes from the hum of a mech-aid passing by.

Cleaning the cradles is a dull affair. Employees work in pairs, followed by a mech-aid who dutifully sweeps the floor and walls in their wake.

Yunjin has been working with Jiwoo for almost a year now, but they never really talk to each other. The older woman usually gives Yunjin an amiable nod each morning before getting on with their task.

Wipe with a sponge dipped in antiseptic, dry, polish. Ad infinitum.