Gregory rolled out of bed at exactly 9:13am, the alarm waking him from his fitful, drunken sleep. It had been a long night, and it would have been a long morning had he not already slept through most of it. His hangover was slight... one of the 'stomach full of wet rags' variety as opposed to the more diabolical 'angry dragon trying to crack his head open from the inside' version that was his usual morning companion.

He stood, took a few minutes to catch his breath and balance, and began running down his list of things he had to do. Unfortunately he couldn't remember any of them. He decided to try again in another hour, and that the time between now and then would best be served sleeping.

The phone rang.

"awwww, dammit..." Greg lurched across the room and pressed the 'receive' button on his PC. The screen lit up, and he saw Ray's smiling face staring back at him.

"What?" said Greg.

"What's the matter with you? Late shift last night?"

"'Nother sixteen hour crush. The usual after that. What about you?"

"Same as always. Hey... you said to remind you of your appointment today."

"What's that?"

On the screen, Ray looked down and shuffled through a pile of papers. He found the one he wanted.

"Clinic. Noon."

"Damn, how'd I forget about that one."

"Too many late nights."

"Gotta keep the overtime flowing. So I can afford..." Greg looked around. "...not all that much, actually."

"Hey... while you're there, ask 'em about that rumor going around."

"Rumor?" Greg had the distinct impression that he SHOULD know what Ray was talking about. But, of course, he didn't have a clue.

"You know," said Ray. He lowered his voice and leaned toward the camera. "The C.U.R.E."

"Oh, come ON, Ray. I'm not gonna-"

"Just ask, okay."

"Sure, sure."

"You'd better get going."

"Thanks, Ray. I owe you. Next time you need to be reminded of something-"

"I'll call somebody else. Since this is Clinic-day I guess you won't be at the party tonight, huh?"

"Not a chance."

"Oh, well. See you at the next one."

"One after that, most likely."

"Okay. Later. And don't forget to ask!"

The screen dimmed suddenly, causing Greg's eyes to squint and loose focus for a second. After a few deep breaths, he went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Four un-opened bottles of gin stared back at him, along with a half-empty carton of spoiled milk, and several packages of lunchmeat... the freshest of which had begun turning brown a week ago. Greg grabbed a bottle of gin and took it with him into the shower.

---

Almost two hours later, a freshly showered and dressed Greg strolled down the street, occasionally stopping to kick at the newspapers and other trash that covered most of the sidewalk. A few healthy mouthfuls of gin had set his brain back to its 'normal' state, and he was ready to face the day. In a way he was actually looking forward to it. The Clinic... he was one of the few who actually got chosen. Hurt like hell, but it was worth bragging rights for a whole month. Who cares if his testicles were the size of cantaloupes when the Rippers got through... at least they were getting used on a regular basis.

The streets were mostly deserted, as they usually were at any time before noon. The Tites and the rape-gangs were the only ones out, and they were too busy with each other to even notice a few loose walkers like Greg.

He spotted Joyce on the other side of the street. She was looking down into her baby carriage and twitching her spandex-clad hips impatiently.

"Hi, Joyce!" Greg shouted.

Joyce looked up and smiled. She adjusted her flowered scarf, making sure to cover her rather prominent adam's-apple. Then she toyed with the frayed ends of her blond wig while looking expectantly at Greg.

"Clinic today," he said. Joyce looked disappointed. "thought I saw a gang around here somewhere, though. Better watch out."

As if on cue, four teenagers tore around the corner on Joyce's side of the street.

"There's one!" shouted the largest of the youths. "Get her!"

Joyce squealed, spun her baby-carriage around and began pushing it in the opposite direction. After just a few steps, one of her high heels snapped, eliciting high-pitched yelp as she stumbled. The youths slammed into her. The carriage toppled over and the little plastic doll that was its only passenger rolled out into the street where it was quickly forgotten. Meanwhile, the four boys had already wrestled Joyce to the ground and were tearing at her cheap clothes. The spandex leggings came away with a loud rip, and Joyce was quickly flipped over onto her stomach while the youths began unzipping themselves.

Greg just shook his head and kept walking.

"Have fun guys," he yelled over his shoulder as he approached the corner.

"Shut up, punk!" replied one of the gang members. Beneath him, Joyce was still screaming.

Greg rounded the corner and the commotion was quickly out of earshot. Just ahead of him was the dull-gray octagonal building that housed the Clinic. It was actually named the Center of Reproductive Science and Population Control. The word 'clinic' didn't appear anywhere on the huge white sign out in front, but that didn't stop most people from referring to it as such.

The automatic doors hissed open at Gregory's approach. It was like stepping into another world. Everything was white. The walls. The floor. The lab-coats that the Reproductive-Technicians... the Rippers... wore as they hurried to and fro down the squeaky-clean hallways. Everything. Even the receptionist's desk, a huge octagonal monstrosity that was supposed to be reminiscent of the building in which it sat, was painted white. The receptionist's name tag had 'Sam' printed on it. Without saying a word, Sam took Greg's ID, ran it through a reader and handed it back to him along with an empty clipboard. Greg placed his palm in the center of the board, which vibrated a little and then chimed. He gave it back to the receptionist.

"Dr. Holderman." said Sam. "Down this hall, third door. He's expecting you."

"And I'm expecting him." Greg smiled. Sam just shook his head.

Dr Holderman was a tall, thin man with a balding head. He was old, probably in his seventies, but he had a youthful air about him that made him seem more like a teenager. When Greg walked in, the doctor was sitting in his chair in front of the computer. He was just finishing off the last of his small flask of vodka while he was checking the records of his next patient.

"Ahhh," he said when he heard Greg's footsteps. "Gregory Franklin."

"Yep. How ya been, doc?"

"Fine and fine. Been keeping yourself clean?"

"Of course, doc. You know me better than that."

"Well, let's just see then. Rules are rules, you know. Roll up that sleeve..."

Greg pushed up the sleeve of his shirt, exposing his forearm. The doctor tapped a few keys on his computer, and then twirled around in his chair to place the small bio-scanner against Greg's skin. Greg jerked slightly from the cold.

"You know you should really warm that thing up before you go slapping it on people."

"Oh come now. A full donor like you complaining about the cold?"

"Heh."

The computer beeped, and the doctor spun back around to check the results.

"Mmmmm-hmmmm."

"See. Told you."

"Well we're good to go then!"

"Hey, how'd I do last time?"

"Three successful embryos. Unfortunately, two of them were female and had to be terminated, which just leaves the one. Brings your total up to One-Seventy-Five. And still counting..."

"All-RIGHT!"

The doctor stood and walked over to the wall opposite the door. He clicked a small button in the corner, and the entire wall folded away like an accordion partition. Behind it was a huge egg-shaped pod. Its metallic sheen was the only thing in the room that wasn't white.

The doctor walked over to the pod and began pushing buttons on the black control-panel. Greg stood behind him until the door unlocked with a *click.* The front half of the pod slid outward, revealing a mass of twitching pink tentacles that pulsed and stiffened at the sudden opening of the door. Nestled among them was a foam support structure bearing an indentation that was roughly the size and shape of a man.

"Strip down and step on in," said the doc. Greg complied. He removed every stitch of his clothing and entered the pod, carefully moving the seeking tentacles that reached out towards him when he stepped in. He settled himself into the foam outline, which immediately shrank down to fit his body exactly.

"We've made some changes since last time," said the doc. "Sperm extraction for full donors isn't nearly as painful as it used to be."

"That's good."

"Course you'll still be sore for a few days... no way around that. Gotta go in and get every last one of those little wigglers."

"Uh-huh." A warm, turgid tentacle stroked Greg's face, leaving a trail of sticky mucous down his cheek.
Greg swallowed and closed his eyes... then opened them again.

"Hey doc, I've been hearing these rumors about a cure."

"A cure? Cure for what?"

"You know... The Virus. Double-X. The one that killed all the women."

"Oh nooo... we stopped working on that years ago. Waste of time."

"Really?."

"Whoever made Double-X sure knew what the hell they were doing. No cure. No vaccine. 100% fatality. Nice job all the way 'round."

"So there's not likely to ever BE a cure, eh doc?"

"Hell no.... Besides, as long as we got donors, pseudo-uteruses, and these impregnation pods, who needs a cure?"

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Oh, well..."

Greg shrugged into the snug foam and smiled silently as the pod door slid closed.