Fred Aiken Writing

Hubert waited in the lobby for his wife. He had never met her before. The government had assigned her to him. He didn’t know yet if she was organic or an android.

Despite being born and raised in a lab, Hubert always pictured himself as a father, or at least a father figure. Unfortunately, he didn’t have an active choice in the matter. The government randomly assigned spouses in an effort to curb population growth and control food supplies, pandemics, even global economics. Somehow one child too many might tip the scale into all out war, sickness, death.

A door slid open and a svelte, red headed woman two inches shorter than Hubert and who had toned muscles covering the highway of blue coursing through her appendages stepped out and approached Hubert nonchalantly. He would never be able to tell the difference between an organic and android. Though that was the point.

“Nice to meet you,” she said. “My name is Jaime.”

“Hubert.”

They got married within the hour. Hubert learned that the red-headed Jaime hailed from Sacramento, loved horse-drawn carriage rides, and happened to have an extensive vinyl collection passed down from her parents, though her record player broke a few years prior. 

Hubert assumed she was an android, and he resented her, the government, and the world for spiting him, and took it out on Jaime by never consummating the marriage.