The Life Givers

“The Terran Federation Colony of Usonia promotes life: life-giving measures in all instances. ‘Everyone is their neighbor’s keeper.’”

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Redmond blinked and reread the parchment letter’s heading. Office of Noble Identics. 206-X Independence Avenue, SW. Uson, Usonia. The platinum logo and address were correct. “Congratulations, most Noble Redmond Ashford. You have won the Identics lottery. You are hereby required to present this letter to the Usonian Lifegivers’ clinic no later than 17:00, September 8, where you will be given further instructions. Please make arrangements to cover your employment for up to twenty (20) days. You will not be compensated for this time; days off must be taken from your employment’s existing vacation or sick days.” The letter included a copy of the document he had signed years ago—and the regulation.

“Life-giving is everyone’s responsibility. All citizens are expected to be personally productive and contribute to the lives of their neighbors. Citizens are expected and required to relinquish personal ease—up to and including life-threatening measures—to contribute to the life, population expansion, and general welfare of Usonian society. In addition to ordinary neighborliness, these contributions specifically include blood supply, birthing, disaster relief, armed forces, and organ donation.” Constitution of Usonia, Amendment 39, post diaspora year 133.

“I ‘won’ the Identics lottery. Must be a living organ donation, what else could it be? But I don’t remember the Draft saying that was possible,” mused Redmond. Panic threatened. His mandated Usonian registration for the Lifegivers Draft, five years ago, loomed. He had willingly made his first blood donation; it was a rite of passage for every eighteen-year-old. He had no uterus, so not a question. Disasters were rare, but sure, he’d do what he could. Armed forces? Usonia hadn’t ever gone to war. Donate blood biannually? Of course. Let them harvest organs from his corpse? He wouldn’t need them anymore, why not? Assured that being called up for any of the possibilities except donating blood was rare, Redmond had signed. He hadn’t had any choice, not really. Everyone signed, or absconded to Vesperia, Aotearo, or one of the other colonies. Fingerprints, blood tests, genetic profile, and retinal scan were standard procedure; his, along with every other Usonian eighteen-year-old’s, were indelibly stored in Identics’ records. Now that he had “won,” they would be watching. It was too late to escape: nothing to do but contact his job’s human resources office.

The clerk at Rubicon Incorporated human resources glared at him. “Really?” she growled. “We finally fill your job, and now this? What did you do, volunteer to be a donor so you wouldn’t have to work?” she spat. “Blasted lazy young people,” she muttered, audibly.

“No, Ma’am,” Redmond answered. “This was a complete surprise. If I’d volunteered, I would have made much better arrangements.”

“You know Rubicon doesn’t offer paid time off for Lifegivers’ requirements, especially with your limited employment time? Rubicon’s policy doesn’t allow missing work for any reason, not during the first three months of employment. I ought to fire you immediately.”

“I remember,” Redmond replied, hoping for another way. “Are you going to fire me?”

“No. Firing new employees requires too much paperwork, and we’re on Job Guarantor’s black list already. If we fire any more recent hires, they’ll refuse unemployment compensation and cancel our coverage.”

“Well, there goes that option,” Redmond thought unhappily. “Now what? I suppose I could just skip out on Lifegivers and let them send me to prison. At least they’d have to feed and house me.” But then he remembered, “But who would take care of Pricilla’s kids? She certainly can’t when her meds run out. Firnella and Barton don’t have anyone but me, not for school pickups, not for meals, not for being there, next door, at night. And then there’s that other bit: prisoners also have to donate body parts and they’re not nearly as careful about pain control or making sure the donor survives. There’s still a week to September eight, but might as well get it over with.”  He sighed and got on a bus toward Independence Avenue.

Lifegivers was barricaded behind a razor wire-topped, thirty-centimeter-thick four-meter-high R-crete wall. Armed guards with weapons in hand paced the perimeter, not quite aiming at anyone who even looked toward the building. A carved hand pointing directly at him and the ancient slogan “You are your neighbor’s keeper” graced the lintel. The familiar virtuous slogan now felt like a threat. Redmond took a deep breath and walked toward the door, prominently holding his summons.

“Excellent! You’re early, Redmond Ashford,” the electronic voice greeted him. “Please enter identification booth and follow instructions.” He placed his hands on the hand outline for fingerprints and a bloodless genetic test, stared into the retinal scanner and waited. It seemed like an eternity, but was probably only a few minutes.

“Welcome, Redmond. Thank you for presenting early,” a deep baritone startled him. “We had almost decided to come find you, as your match has taken a turn for worse. Are you able to start your procedures today?”

“Starting time without pay a week early, why not? One week’s pay won’t fix anything and  Rubicon won’t suddenly become helpful in a week,” he thought.

Redmond looked up as the brawny nurse continued his spiel. “Your match, who is almost your genetic twin, is going downhill. If we can manage it, he needs both a kidney and some liver. Transplants from more than one individual could kill him. It’s a good thing you’re young and healthy,” the nurse paused.

The enormity of what he was being asked to do almost didn’t register. Redmond sat speechless as the nurse listed possible adverse effects: pain, anesthesia reaction, severe bleeding or clots, wound infection, bile leakage, hernia, abnormal scar tissue, liver or kidney failure, death… The list was too scary to comprehend. “Two organs!?! They don’t seem to be checking my health. And where’s the doctor?”

The nurse continued, “Except for the liver’s longer recovery time, the kidney is the most serious, as it doesn’t regenerate. The liver is expected to regenerate within eight weeks. Initially, however, it will put a much greater load on your remaining kidney. We will keep you in the hospital three weeks and you’ll need to be off work at least eight weeks. When you resume work, it must be light-duty: no lifting more than ten kilos, less if lifting is frequent.”

“Eight weeks! They said three. Regenerate my liver with only one kidney? Live with only one kidney forever? Eight weeks with no pay? Rubicon will fire me for sure. I can’t pay my rent without pay. I’ll be out on the street with no food and no money. . And if I let them know about Pricilla’s mental health crises, they’ll take her kids away and then she will give up and overdose.” The panicky thoughts swirled through Redmond’s brain. “There’s no way I can do this now,” he protested. “My job is too new. Rubicon didn’t want to give me three weeks, let alone eight. And they don’t have a light-duty version of my job: lift, place, and test a fifteen-kilo component every thirteen minutes all day long.” “And they’re already furious with me,” his thoughts added.

“Nevertheless, you did sign on for this. It’s no worse than going to war, in some cases, better. Your wounds will be precise and under anesthesia.” Redmond shrank back as the nurse leaned in much too close, his muscles bulging. “You will be charged with murder if you refuse,” he threatened. “You will go directly home and return before 15:00, ready to stay three weeks. And no, Lifegivers doesn’t offer compensation; we don’t traffic organs. Your monetary support is Job Guarantor’s responsibility.”

Redmond’s heart pounded. “Maybe I’ll have a heart attack and die. . . Wait, that would just give them all my organs.” He took a deep breath. “Yes, sir,” he conceded. His head spun as he stood to leave. “Charged with murder” rang in his ears. “Who is this person whose life is more important than mine?”

He saw the bus leaving as he exited. “I only had four hours before they charge me with murder,” he muttered.

“There’s another bus in ten minutes if you walk up to Greene Street,” a guard offered, motioning the direction.

“Thanks. I’ll head that way.” The razor-wire topped wall soon gave way to flowers and dense shrubbery.

“Hey there! Are you as upset as you look?” Redmond turned toward the soprano voice but the speaker was hidden. The young woman emerged from the shrubbery and matched his pace. “Hi. I’m Valerie, Valerie Nova.” She extended a hand and Redmond shook it.

“Redmond Ashford.”

 “Are you being coerced to donate body parts?” Valerie hadn’t wasted any time on small talk.

“Well… I did sign the Draft, so not quite. But it’s a disaster for me. Why are you asking?”

“Well… I have some really good reasons, but the biggest one was that my mother insisted that I not sign the Lifegivers Draft. I agreed with her. Guess Identics realized I was a fertile female and would eventually have children so they decided not to drag me in. I avoided making close ties with men and enrolled in law school. But, enough about me. Maybe I can help you. Tell me about it.”

“They’re taking both a kidney and part of my liver. Today. Because my match is already dying. And Rubicon will probably fire me because the recovery time is eight weeks; they were mad about three weeks. I won’t be able to do my job after this, probably not for months. And Jobs Guarantor refuses to cover Rubicon’s new hires. There’s no way I can even feed myself let alone pay rent for eight weeks of no pay.”

“You don’t have family, do you?”

“How did you know?”

“They don’t pull this stunt nearly as often when the match has family to support—or complain.

“I don’t have an official family…” Redmond hesitated. “Can I trust her?” “I’ve been taking care of my neighbor’s kids—filling in when her anti-depressants run out. They won’t give her more—not enough to get her through every month. If I let Identics know about the kids, they’ll take her kids away. And she really would end it all if they took her kids away.”

You can refuse.” The Greene Street bus stop was empty.

“No, I can’t. I signed. Five years ago, and I didn’t understand the living donor bit, but I did sign. I thought I’d do my biannual blood donation and be done.”

“Did they threaten you?”

“They said the match would die if I refuse and they’d charge me with murder.”

“But this can kill you, especially if you end up homeless. And this doesn’t allow anything for your de facto kids. Lifegivers isn’t even letting you choose the timing.”

“I know, but I signed the draft.”

“You know coerced donation is illegal?”

“It’s not coerced. We all signed the draft at eighteen.”

“But that law requiring the Draft is coercion and it’s against Usonia’s charter. Old Earth has strict bodily autonomy laws, which were supposed to apply in all the charter colonies. No one could force anyone to donate the use of their bodies, not blood, not uteri, not organs—not even after they were dead.”

“Really?”

“The bodily autonomy clause of Usonia’s Terran Federation charter was ‘temporarily’ suspended during that huge solar storm when so many developed blood dyscrasias and we needed a lot more blood donors. And the founders were terrified our population could decrease to unsustainable levels. So, they included everything they thought they might ever need. Those emergency measures have long since expired. Identics has ‘conveniently’ ignored it.” Valerie’s mouth twisted sardonically. “If Old Earth knew, they’d revoke our charter for violating bodily autonomy. Identics wouldn’t like it, but they’d have to change to avert interstellar war.”

Hope blossomed in Redmond’s thoughts. “How?”

“We could sue: class action. I’m part of a political litigation group. And class action suits automatically go to Federation headquarters on Old Earth. You’d be a perfect test case.

“Also, we’ll find someone to fill in for the kids.”

“But what about the match? He’ll die. Doesn’t that make it murder?” The bus arrived, the door opened, and the bus driver stared questioningly.

“What about your life, and your neighbor’s and ‘your’ kids? They want two organs? You have no way to support yourself; it’s not mere convenience. You are literally being required to risk your own life—body, health, lodging, food, family—for an unknown match, a dying stranger who might not survive the procedure anyway. Also, trading your life and health for an unhealthy recipient isn’t really increasing Usonia’s population—or well-being.”

Redmond vacillated, then squared his shoulders. He shook his head toward the bus driver. “I don’t have anything to lose. I’m in.”

The bus left. Redmond followed Valerie toward her office.