She smiled at his reflection, still without turning her head, and waited in silence for the lift to reach its destination. When it did, the doors slid open to reveal a sort of museum. James stepped out, blushing again, and directed people to the first exhibit.

They were looking at the early stages of the development of the baby pouch. It was unrecognisable from where it had ended up. There were none of the friendly additions, soft fabrics, familiar shapes and textures that made the pouch the success it had become. These were the inner workings. Avigail had seen photographs – she’d read all the published papers from before FullLife were involved – but she’d never seen one of the early pods close up, in person.

It reminded her of a rubber dinghy. Except for the colour. It was white and transparent, with an array of tubes attached via valves and pumps. Before the bio-membranes were developed, the outer casing had been plastic. The lid was open in the display, and you could see where the various inserts connected to create the umbilical. If it had been presented to the public in this form, it would have terrified people. No one could feel affection for something like that – it was too alien. It conjured up too many fears of being trapped inside it, of being hooked up to something mechanical. Inhuman. But stepping around the room she could see how each stage had moved closer towards the natural reality of pregnancy, as the plastic casing was replaced by a biological chamber, the rigid technology swapped for smart materials that could grow, flex, respond. The foetus doesn’t lie on its back in a real womb, like a baby in a basket, so why should it lie on its back in the artificial variety? People want to carry their child, not visit it in a lab. It must be portable. It must be huggable. After all, the outside of the pod had no effect on the inner workings, so why design it to be inflexible when it could feel comfortable and soft?