Chapter 7

AVIGAIL ACCEPTED THE cup of tea that was being offered. It came with a plate of custard creams and chocolate bourbons. They were making an effort.

‘So few people consider adoption these days,’ the manager was saying.

Avigail hadn’t told her that she was not considering adoption herself either. She was here for research. It was a new way in, a problem people hadn’t started talking about yet. And to FullLife it was nothing but a way to placate their opposition. The new biotech and the old religions working together, now there was a contradiction.

As far as she’d been able to discover, FullLife were donating used pouches and managing the birthing process on the condition that various churches and some of the more progressive pro-life groups covered the cost of care for the children. That wasn’t where it had started though. To begin with, FullLife had needed to run clinical trials to test their early-stage transfer process and women considering abortion had been offered a new choice.

‘We don’t like to call ourselves orphanages,’ the manager continued. ‘That implies a tragedy, where there has been none.’

‘I see.’

‘We are saving lives, as you know. And we are called care homes, because we offer home and care.’

Avigail was planning to get some photos, find the saddest, scrawniest child and make sure the scandal of the care homes was plastered on the front page of every newspaper. Surely people would start questioning the pouch if they knew FullLife had been producing these children then leaving them out here to live where no one would have to look at them. Surely people would see this was wrong.

‘Would you like to have a look round the dormitories, and see the canteen?’

‘Absolutely.’ Avigail stood, leaving the biscuits untouched.

‘Let’s start with the nursery.’

She was surprised, but shouldn’t have been – of course they would be delivered here as soon as the birthing process was finished. Still, she gasped when she saw the room. Flooded with light, painted pale green, and the music …

‘The synthetic milk is an absolute godsend,’ the manager was saying. ‘FullLife provide the various mixes – each variety has everything the babies need – and you’d be surprised how quickly they develop a taste for their favourite type. Marvellous, when you think about it.’ She chuckled, picking up one of the babies, who was awake and wriggling, then offering him to Avigail, who shook her head and stepped away. She didn’t want to hold these pouch babies – she wanted to stop this from happening. But she hadn’t found her angle yet.

‘What about the older children?’ she said. ‘How do you feed them?’