A door slid open and Romy focused on the rise and fall of her chest, attempting to calm her breathing.

“Which one’s playing up and making all the racket?” someone asked in bored tones.

Romy inhaled and then went limp, keeping the movement of her ribs shallow and even.

Footsteps approached. “This one,” another voice answered.

“You wouldn’t think it, would ya?”

“What?” the second man grunted.

The man whacked Romy in the leg.

“That this one could cause so much trouble. Don’t know why they just don’t put her down. It’s not like there ain’t three thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine others, ya know?”

The second made an exasperated sigh. “How about because they cost three billion dollars to make?”

“Yeah, I know. But they can afford it, right?”

Romy’s mind raced beneath her motionless state. She’d been shoved in the vehicle; they’d knocked her out. The Mandate were going to keep her alive? What for?

“Guess so. But waste not, want not. That’s New Earth,” the second man joked.

“Take less than you need!” the two chorused, then chuckled.

“Plus,” the man continued, “I heard they’re not sure whether this one’ll make it, anyhow. Said she might’ve gone loop-the-loop.”

Romy felt twin pinpricks where the men stared at her. She desperately wanted to wrench upwards and take them by surprise. But she had no idea where she was. A lab, maybe? Or a hospital? They’d said, “Which one’s playing up?”. She took that to mean there were others in here.

Please not my knot.

The sound of swishing water caught her attention.

Where on Earth was she?

The more intelligent of the two made an awed sound. “I never met a crazy one before.”

“Bert from Collections said he’s heard they keep the bonkers ones on Orbito Four. That’s the research orbito, you know.”

“They’d do better to just use their parts to make useful soldiers.”

“Expensive times. Expensive times. More cost effective long-term to observe and study them to try and eliminate the fault in future batches.”

“Did Bert say that, too?”

“Why do you always say that? Maybe I thought up those words my own self,” the man said angrily. He sighed. “Anyways, I think it’s right they try to get rid of the nutter gene. That’s all we need, looney soldiers protecting our kids.”

“You don’t have a kid. The Mandate won’t let you reproduce. You’re too dumb.”

The answering voice was indignant. “I told you, the results were wrong! I was sick on the day of the I.Q. test.”

“Yeah, yeah. Well, I’m just not sure about all this nonsense. Seems too tricky to me.”

“Obviously, the top people know more about space stuff than you do.”

“And a lot more about everything than you.”