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A löngu síðan á Íslandi ..... [7]

 
Silja Henningsdottir's picture
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((  So sorry it has take so long to bring you this chapter of Silja's story, you may have to revisit the previous six to bring yourselves back up to speed..  anyway,, enjoy part 7


Silja Henningsdottir sat in her knickers on the edge of the examination bed, jaws clamped tight shut and a grim determined look on her face. She glowered across the room at the white coated Dr. Phillips who was now running her finger under the cold tap, watching the small teeth marks turning purple from where Silja had bitten her finger, hard !. Silja did not know what the swab was for that horrible lady wanted to put into her mouth, but she wasn’t having any of it.

Silja folded her arms tightly across her bare chest and scowled as much as a cute seven-year-old can. Her thick curly blonde locks formed a curtain behind which two icy blue eyes stared daggers. If looks could kill.....

“Ég vona andlit þitt fær falla í blettum og þú augu vaxa grænn slim, og tennurnar falla út og þú getur ekki fundið þá alla vegna þess að tröll stal þeim”, Silja grumbled through clenched teeth.

Dr. Helen Phillips, who unlike here clone-sister Margaret, had not taken the time to learn Icelandic, just heard the growling. She sighed impatiently as she looked at the bruises rising on her finger. She decided the hair clipping she took from Silja would have to suffice as a DNA sample, although the mouth swab would have been far better, but that damned kid..... huyy !

Blood pressure and heart rate and all the other measurements she had taken... externally.. showed Silja to be a healthy if slightly underweight child. Perfect, in fact. The best so far. Unlike that damned mongoloid who came with her. No future for those in our brave new world. Perfect specimens only.

Dr. Phillips placed Silja’s clothes on the bed beside her. There was an unspoken but vicious exchange of glares between them. Phillips pointed at the pile of clothes and snapped “Dress” at Silja.

“Kýr”, came the tearse reply. Dr. Phillips didn’t know any Icelandic. But she got the drift.

Ten minutes later, the casually uniformed “assistants” lead a reluctant, scowling Silja back to her mother.

For Björk Mortennsson however, Things had not been quite as pleasant or as comfortable. She now sat in the room which bore absolutely no resemblance to the apartment-like photographs which she had been shown by the Army Sergeant back at her farm.

She sat weeping, head in hands. Her mind spun with guilt, terror, fear of not knowing exactly what would come next.

She cried for her daughter, her ears still rang with Silja’s screaming as they dragged her away to god knows what.

She cried, because half an hour after she entered the examination room with the white coated Doctor Malansky, she was informed that they had made her pregnant. All scientifically done, but pregnant she indeed would be. And in six months time she would deliver that child, and become pregnant again. And so on and so forth.

 “All in the name of research, Frú Mortensson. You have no idea how important Life-Net’s work is to humanity. You should be proud we selected you,” she was informed by the self-important Dr. Malansky as he dropped the used pair of surgical gloves into a bin.

She looked across the room at Frú  Jeppesson. Frú  Jeppesson was rocking inconsolably on the low wooden bed opposite, nursing a heavily bandaged face where the “assistant’s" truncheon had struck her jaw. She groaned and muttered away to herself, she may as well have been alone, she had not acknowledged Björk at all since her return.

The sound of a key in the door-lock interrupted Björk Mortennssons waking nightmare.  Thankfully it was soon followed by Silja’s shrill voice..

“ Mammaaaaaa !”  Silja hurtled across the room with Teddy, leaped in to Her Mother’s arms  and hugged her as tightly as a scrawny seven year old can. Her mother smothered her tiny daughter with grateful kisses, even gave a few to Teddy, he too had become involved the long embrace also.

The reunited pair were so wrapped up in their joy they missed what happened next. Frú Jeppesson had crossed the room to the two “assistants”.

“  Wheer  ....  issss  mai   sone ?”  She asked in poor English.  One guard looked at his colleague and shrugged. The second simply looked into the eyes of Frú Jeppeson and coldly informed her , slowly, loudly in the way English speakers tend to do when speaking to ‘foreigners’

“Don't you worry about your son anymore, He was surplus to requirements, him being imperfect and all, you know, not right in the head..? “.

The guard tapped the side of his head indicating ‘mental case’.

“ He was of no use to the program....  they disposed of him”

It was at that point Björk Mortennsson became aware of a long pathetic quiet scream, and the sound of Frú Jeppeson falling to the floor. The two “assistants” simply looked down at her, shrugged and left the room, locking it firmly behind them.

Comments

Joe Spivey's picture

((Gripping stuff. Sad and yet un-nerving at the same time. It does not take much for a good person do evil things if they think that their goal is noble and 'for the greater good'.

Stick with me kid and you'll be farting through silk.



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