“It would benefit you because the treatment protocol would significantly reduce the risks,” she says. “Based on everything in these files, carrying King Lix’tuk’s child should not kill you. I doubt you would have any complications at all. Human wombs weren’t built to endure what orc wombs can, but with this treatment protocol, yours would make most orc wombs seem fragile.”
I’m scared to have hope. Especially if it’s some sort of clinical trial ordered by President Highton’s administration. I’ve seen the results of their cruelty. They were obviously using this to profit off second-borns. Owning them wasn’t enough. They also wanted to turn a profit by selling their children.
But if the clinical trial was a success, how can I ignore it? Not only could King Lix’tuk and I finally be intimate, but I might also be able to give him an heir.
“Are there any risks with the treatment protocol?” I ask hesitantly.
“Every form of medical treatment has risks,” she says. “But during the clinical trials, the serious complications they anticipated simply didn’t happen. No miscarriages. No stillbirths. No maternal deaths. No emergency removals. The protocol did what it was designed to do. Would you like to see the statistics? I have them right here.”
I’m still concerned, but there’s a flicker of hope inside me.
“Yes, I’d like to see them,” I affirm, trying not to get excited.
Dr. Zill is the best reproductive surgeon in Concord City, so if she believes this could help, then I need to know more. She links her tablet to the screen on the wall and starts showing me all the data from the clinical trials. There’s a lot I don’t understand, but the numbers support everything Dr. Zill says.
“There were hundreds of participants,” I say, still scrolling through the information. “Not a single miscarriage. Not a single stillborn. Every pregnancy was a success?”
“That’s correct,” she confirms. “Most of these pregnancies would have been extremely high risk outside of the clinical trial. Some would have been completely impossible, especially the women who had a half-dozen or more children at one time. They didn’t even require bedrest during the pregnancy, and they were able to deliver the babies naturally with no complications.”
For a second, I forget why I came here. All I can think about are women in white rooms, women with names no one bothered to write down properly, women whose bodies were treated like fields someone else owned.
“Officially, this was called the Gestational Exploitation Project. They didn’t even bother pretending it was benevolent,” she sighs “I’d hoped to one day go through the research and adapt it tohelp couples in Concord City. At least get some good out of everything those poor women went through.”
“That’s a terrible name,” I gasp, still thinking about all the women who were brought here against their will. Every new thing I learn about the Highton regime appalls me more than the one before.
“Yes, I agree,” she says. “But the name doesn’t matter as much as the data.”
As much as I hate it, that part is true. The data proves it works. I go through every single patient’s file, searching for anything that would concern me, and I can’t find anything at all. The first three patients had a few issues, but they made several adjustments, and that turned a horrifying experiment into yet another way for wealthy people to profit off the futures of second-borns.
“So many children. They didn’t even name them. They just made the mothers give birth and sold the children,” I sigh. “Just when I think I’ve seen the worst of President Highton’s administration, I find out it’s even worse than I imagined.”
“Yes. President Highton destroyed most of the data for projects like this when the revolution got to the Presidential Palace. Luckily, the data for this one was archived on a different server, so I was able to download everything before it was wiped.”
After I finish reviewing the patient files, I lean back in my chair. It’s a lot to take in. A lot to consider. If it works, then there would be absolutely nothing that would prevent King Lix’tuk and I from being intimate. And if it results in an heir, then the orcs will no longer be restless about his bloodline ending. They won’t go to war over a prophecy as soon as their king is gone.
“As you can see, the treatment protocol is even less risky than a hysterectomy,” she says. “It won’t require surgery at all.”
“One injection. That’s all?” I ask, reviewing some of the notes.
“It wasn’t like that in the beginning. It used to require daily treatments for several weeks. But as the trials progressed, so did the treatment protocol. Now, everything is handled by nanobots,” she explains, pulling up charts and pointing out several things while she does.
“How long would it take you to prepare the treatment protocol?” I ask hesitantly. “I know medical supplies have been scarce since the revolution.”
“Yes, it’s been a struggle, but it’s getting better now,” she replies. “Thankfully, I won’t need anything for this. There are still several vials locked in storage.”
“And after the treatment protocol, how long does it take to work?” I inquire with composure I don’t feel, daring to let some hope bubble in my stomach.
“It takes a week for the nanobots to finish the protocol,” she replies.
“A week? Wow! That’s really fast,” I exclaim, sucking in a breath.
“Yes, you would be getting the benefit of many years of research and clinical trials,” her voice reveals the lingering sadness she feels on behalf of those victims. “It’s not something you have to decide now. If you need to think about it, I understand.”
“I’m definitely rethinking the hysterectomy,” I admit. “Especially if there’s another way.”
“Would you like for me to do a blood test and an ultrasound?” she asks. “Just to make sure there are no issues before you get your hopes up?”
“I guess there’s no harm in that,” I respond with what sounds like optimism. Me? Optimistic? “That would at least tell me if it’s possible, right?”
