"Changing Order" by Connie Chen— Our December 2024 Bronze Medal Winner
Connie is our third place winner from the contest posted in our December 2024 issue!
What the judges had to say:
“Deft use of conflict without overdramatizing.”
“...a very interesting and thought-provoking concept and a strong conflict...”
“...a compelling near-future setting...”
Meet Connie
Connie is a retired physician learning to write in her spare time.
Changing Order
the unedited story by Connie Chen
The warning from the Old Ones rattled in Jason’s brain like the videos of pinball machines he’d seen as a kid. Flashing lights with every hit—don’t cast away the old ways until you’re sure the new one is sustainable.
He’d laughed with the rest of the world—so sure the machines would fulfill their needs forever. Only Rachel hadn’t laughed, but he put that down to the fact that her mother was one of the last of the Old Ones. His wife was so easily influenced by her mother—the old crone.
Jason met his mother-in-law shortly after the wedding. She refused to come to Neoden for the ceremony since the New Order took control. The teleporter did not travel to the outer region, so they made the long journey by mule. It was his first ride on a live animal and he hoped his last. Her village consisted of rectangular buildings with triangular roofs—structures he’d heard about from his father. The old ways, when life was inefficient and wasteful. There were a few hundred of these homes left, housing less than a thousand Old Ones. They refused to give up the mysticism of the old ways. They still grew the spices and herbs needed for their spells.
His father had warned him of these elitists who once ruled society—until people like his father rebelled using machines. New Order, new machines. The advances came at light speed, the only unexpected result being the loss of children. Live births were near extinction. But his ministry would change that with new technology—Jason’s specialty.
Walking into his mother-in-law’s home, Jason’s attention was caught by the white wall filled with ancient apothecary bottles. Most were empty—a few on the bottom shelves contained liquid and some with wisps of dried leaves. Each bottle was labelled with writing that looked vaguely familiar. He wondered how many old homes contained bottles like these.
“Not many. We’re almost all out,” his mother-in-law said, reading his mind.
“Jason! You up yet?” Rachel’s voice sounded momentarily like her mother’s whine. Last vestiges of sleep. “Dr. Burd doesn’t like to wait.”
He threw on his uniform, smoothed his wayward cowlick and put on his matching cap and ran down the stairs taking two steps at a time. There, at the bottom of the staircase stood his wife, tapping a foot like a metronome counting the seconds to his arrival. She too wore the uniform of the New Order, but it had been altered into a smock to make room for her growing belly. Rachel was in her last trimester of pregnancy.
“We can take the teleporter.” Jason grabbed his wife’s hand and opened the door. A large metallic sphere stood in the centre of the road, just ten metres away, where a line had formed.
“It mightn’t be safe for the baby,” Rachel halted. “Let’s walk. The clinic’s not far.”
“You never shunned technology before the pregnancy.” Jason tried to grab Rachel’s hand, but she easily slipped his grasp. “It’s your mother, isn’t it?”
Rachel hurried away with the purpose of a race walker. “Arguing will make us later.”
Jason raced to keep up, noting the stares Rachel was getting from passersby. If Rachel wasn’t his wife, he’d be staring as well. She was the first pregnant woman he’d seen in years. Natural pregnancies became scarce within ten years after discontinuing the old ways
They arrived at the clinic—Rachel with barely a hair out of place, and Jason gasping, like he’d run a marathon. Maybe reliance on teleportation was limiting. A nurse appeared in reception.
“You’re late. Dr. Burd’s waiting. You’re not his only patients, you know,” the nurse tugged Rachel’s hand, hurrying her into one of the clinic rooms. Jason followed as he surveyed the empty reception.
“Yes,” Jason said, “he must be busy these days.” his voice trailed when he saw Dr. Burd at the end of the examination table.
Dr. Burd turned to face them as a ray of sunshine glinted off his metallic head, blinding Jason for a moment.
“Sit down, Jason,” he said in his stilted, robotic monotone voice. “Rachel, lie on the table with your feet in the stirrups.” Dr. Burd (Birthing Unit Retrieval Device) stationed himself at the end of the bed, his body a screen, a probe instead of a hand already prepped with jelly waited to perform an ultrasound on Rachel’s belly.
“Do we have to?” Rachel asked.
“We ultrasound at every visit to determine the ideal time for retrieval,” said Dr. Burd
“What if I want a traditional birth?”
“That method is out of date.”
“How many retrievals have you done?”
“None—my unit is new, but I have the collective data of all birthing units. We’ve done hundreds.”
“How many were successful?”
“All were.”
“No, I mean how many survived?”
Silence ensued—longer than Jason liked.
“Ten.” Dr. Burd continued his preparation and placed the probe on Rachel’s belly. “Let’s have a look at your baby.”
Dr. Burd finished the ultrasound, wiping off the gel. “Good, the baby’s ready. Retrieval can commence.” His metallic arm opened and the probe retracted. In its place was a small teleportation device.
“I’m not ready,” Rachel protested, pulling her smock down. “I’d like to have a word with my husband—in private.”
“Jason, go find my mother. She’s made a potion to help my delivery.” Rachel said, before losing consciousness.
Dr. Burd hastened into the room. Robot hearing pre-empted privacy. “Pregnancy induces hysteria, so a mild sedative in the gel works well.” He continued, “Shall we start teleportation?”
“Not without my wife’s consent, even if she’s being a hypochondriac.” Jason stroked his wife’s limp hand.
“I understand, but imminent retrieval is advised.” Dr. Burd’s hand changed back to a probe. “Want to see the baby’s sex?”
“Can you show me?” Jason dropped Rachel’s hand. “I’ve always wanted a boy.”
“Of course, by ultrasound or teleportation?”
Jason hesitated. New Order. New ways. Rachel would understand. He wants the perfect picture, not marred by my existence.
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