More than a hospital wing, more than a shelter… Pietà was almost a city within Ceres.
Rumors said it had its own streets, gardens, dormitories, hospitals, classrooms, recreational centers. An artificial womb belonging to Mother Ceres herself, welcoming those chosen to carry the city forward.
There, the “mothers” were treated as national treasures — cared for, fed, instructed.
And, as the whispers also said, devoured, in the end, by the very machine that protected them.
It was a destiny both envied and feared.
Kat felt the weight of that myth settle upon her shoulders as she crossed the courtyard, with every gaze fixed upon her.
Gene, meanwhile, felt like an intruder in that procession. A mere spectator to a rite he did not belong to.
Beneath the shock and confusion, he wondered: would she still be the same Kat after this? Would she still be my Kat? Or was she hers now?
When they reached the main gate, Ceres stopped, turned toward Kat and, without stopping her smile, murmured:
— Pietà will welcome you. Do not be afraid.
Kat swallowed hard, but for the first time that entire day, she managed to smile back.
And, for an instant, she thought she heard a distant echo, coming from somewhere deep within the city, like a whispered chant:
Mother Ceres… who feeds us… who educates us… and who devours us…
The Sociological Indoctrination classroom was full that morning. All the students were present, even Cora and Tycho, who rarely appeared together for anything that wasn't mandatory. The projector hummed in the corner, spilling a cold light over the white screen.
The teacher walked before the class with an almost theatrical air, her arms crossed. Then she interrupted the murmuring with a question:
— Do you know who humanity's first great thief was?
The silence was absolute. No one dared answer. She smiled with disdain, as if she had expected it.
— It was the human being — she shot back. — Who one day took a piece of land, fenced it off… and said it belonged to him.
Some students exchanged uncomfortable glances as she continued, her voice heavy with sarcasm:
— And there they were, hiding inside great palaces, surrounded by the purest marble, where vegetation fed no one. It wasn't there to feed anyone. It was there to decorate.
The teacher clicked the remote, and the screen lit up with old images of opulent cities.
— Here in Ceres — she continued — we learned the lesson. The trees we plant have a purpose. They are fruit-bearing, they are medicinal. Nothing in Ceres exists merely to decorate. We know… how to control — she repeated the word with cold scorn, casting a hard look across the room.
She paused.
A nearly cruel smile appeared on her face.
— Ironic, isn't it? — she said, almost in a whisper. — Mother Nature, the one they worshipped as a goddess… was surpassed. Mother Ceres defeated her. Mother Ceres abandons no one.
Her tone became more professorial, with open pride:
— Our educational system is efficient. Ninety-five percent. And you are lucky, because three examples of this success came from this very generation… and two of them are sitting here in this classroom.
She pointed at Theo, who raised his eyebrows without moving, his hair divided by the unmistakable white band.
— Look at him — the teacher said sharply. — With that skunk hair…
The entire room burst into laughter, echoing through the sterile space. Tycho, in the back, laughed too, even knowing what was coming next.
— Yes, Theo used to be like his brother, Tycho — the teacher continued. — Chubby… shy. And look at him now.
More laughter, more amused looks.
Theo showed no reaction.
The teacher raised her hand, drawing everyone's attention back to the screen, where a photograph appeared: Major Tomas, in ceremonial attire, being greeted by a crowd.
— And the third example… Major Tomas.
The classroom exploded in applause and cheers.
Everyone knew who he was.
He was a living legend, the brother who had gone beyond.
— Major Tomas — the teacher said solemnly — will be the thirteenth astronaut to occupy the Ceres II space station.
Eyes gleamed.
The applause took a long time to die down.
The teacher's expression hardened and, finally, she concluded with the same cutting solemnity that had marked every word:
— This is Mother Ceres's system. She feeds us. She educates us. She devours us.
And, in unison, the entire classroom murmured the mantra, as if it were a prayer:
— …feeds us… educates us… and devours us.
The projector changed the images, preparing new photographs while everyone kept their eyes fixed on the screen, ready for the next lesson.
The teacher paused for a long moment before the class, the projector still humming behind her, the light pulsing across the white screen.
— Now — she said, with an almost forbidden gleam in her eyes — I'm going to show you an image you shouldn't be seeing this soon. An image… that is forbidden.
The room fell silent, the students' breaths caught in their throats.
She clicked the remote.
The new image appeared slowly: the famous Carrara marble statue, Pietà.
On the screen emerged the monumental figure of Mother Ceres, dressed in white, the fabric billowing like a mantle of heavy clouds.
The oval face, without visible features, like a polished shield, concealed the Mother's true face — just as everyone saw her every day without ever seeing her completely.
Upon her head, a translucent crown made of crystals circled the absent face.
Even beneath the dress, her shape was visible: generous breasts, heavy as ripe fruit; a high, firm belly, suggesting life growing inside her.
In her arms, two babies slept peacefully, wrapped in the white mantle.
At her feet, two other little ones, awake and hungry, stretched out their hands, begging for the Mother's milk.
The base and surroundings of the statue were made of black marble, creating a hypnotic and almost disturbing contrast.
It was the only monument in the city with faces.
The only one.
Everyone there knew: this was Pietà, the heart of the city of the Mothers of Mother Ceres.
Kat, sitting in the back of the classroom, held her breath for a moment.
She was still waiting for the results of the tests, but the suspicion that she was pregnant weighed upon her like a stone.
The teacher then stopped the lesson.
She stared intensely at Kat and, with a solemn gesture, pointed toward her:
— Highlight Kat.
The entire class rose in applause, faces turned toward her, smiling, celebrating the possible new miracle.
Gene, sitting beside her, was completely ignored, as if he were merely a dispensable detail in that story.
The teacher walked across the front of the classroom as she spoke:
— All of you belong to her. You were all born there. That's how it works. Our children stay with their mothers until they are ten years old. During those years, we educate them, feed them, and, finally, we place our children here.
Suddenly, she pointed toward a boy in the corner of the room, who was staring fascinated at a small spider descending the wall.
— Look at that boy over there, Turk. He's not even paying attention, he's watching an insect. — The class burst into laughter. — That idiot is my son.
The laughter died.
A shiver passed through the classroom: everyone knew that, after the age of ten, no mother ever saw her child again.
— Do you know why I can see my son until he's twenty years old? — she asked, her voice icy.
No one dared answer.
— To watch him be devoured by Mother Ceres.
The classroom remained silent.
The projector changed the images, but no one looked at the screen.
— In Ceres — the teacher continued —, by luck and by misfortune, the most sought-after positions are those of cleaning assistants, maintenance workers, and school teachers. Do you know why?
She raised her hands, as if revealing a secret:
— Because they are the only ones that allow parents to remain close to their children. And the children are proud of them. Much prouder than they are of an astronaut like Major Tomas. And do you know why?
She slammed her fist against the desk, her voice echoing:
— To stay close to you. To stay close to you, you ingrates.
Cora smiled in the front row, proud.
— Look at Cora — the teacher said, pointing at her. — Even though she takes care of the flower beds in front of the school, her mother is a public maintenance engineer, in Ceres urban planning. She is the one who takes care of the vacant lots around the city.
More discreet smiles.
— Mother Ceres's system is perfect — the teacher said, lowering her voice, almost to a whisper. — It reaches every horizontal layer of the city. We are all equal. But each of us has a function. We have men and women. We have parents and children.
Gene, in the corner, swallowed hard when the teacher's gaze fell upon him.
— Of course — she continued, with slight contempt — we do not prioritize teenage pregnancy. But we want to improve the human being. We want to develop every adolescent who passes through our hands.
She raised her chin and her voice, making the classroom repeat:
— Mother Ceres… who feeds us…
— …who educates us… — the students echoed.
— …and who devours us.
The sound of the final word reverberated against the white walls, like an inevitable mantra, before the projector changed to the next image.
Gene slowly raised his hand, as if he wasn't sure whether he should be heard.
The teacher, arms crossed, stopped before the projector, the shadow of her oval face projected onto the white screen.
— Teacher… — his voice sounded firm despite the knot in his throat — and what about freedom? Our system… doesn't it suffocate us? Doesn't it suffocate our children?
The entire classroom turned toward him, like silent waves sweeping across a beach.
No one seemed hostile.
Quite the opposite: everyone was curious.
It was like watching a rare spectacle.
Kat, beside him, looked at him with tear-filled eyes, perhaps from pride, perhaps from fear.
The teacher smiled.
A slow, sadistic smile.
And without saying anything, she clicked the projector remote.
The new image tore across the screen: a naked, thin three-year-old child, skin clinging to bone, lying in a desert beneath an unforgiving sun.
In its shadow, a vulture waited for death, patiently.
The air seemed to disappear from the room.
Kat let out a loud sob, covering her mouth with her hands.
Several students recoiled in their chairs, as if they wanted to escape from what they were seeing.
Gene's heart beat so hard that the image itself blurred before his eyes.
The teacher finally spoke, her voice low, almost sweet:
— Gene… I understand. You're young. Handsome. Full of collagen in those bones. You'll have many years to live. You'll have children. And you think freedom is a beautiful gift to give them? Is that what you want? The freedom… to watch your child die of hunger?
She pointed at the photograph.
A heavy silence fell over everyone.
— Do you know who took this photograph? — she continued. — A citizen of Ceres. A man who knew the “free world.” He killed himself after taking this photograph. Because of the misery he witnessed. And even so, Mother Ceres forgave him. Mother Ceres… who does not forgive suicides. Nor rapists. Nor men who beat women. Nor… traitors.
She walked slowly down the central aisle, her heels echoing sharply against the cold floor.
She stopped before Gene, almost maternal.
— Think carefully… what kind of father do you want to be? The one who gives his child the freedom… to starve to death?
Gene couldn't hold her gaze.
The teacher straightened, returning to her calculated tone:
— You can have these questions, Gene. You can keep them to yourself. But do you know why Mother Ceres triumphs?
The classroom, like a choir, murmured:
— Because it works.
She raised her arm and commanded firmly:
— Repeat it.
And the entire room echoed the mantra, solemnly, almost like a prayer:
— Mother Ceres, who feeds us, who educates us, who devours us.
The teacher looked at everyone with a slight smile before saying:
— And those who still desire freedom… and dare to fight against Mother Ceres? Good luck.
With a sharp click, the projector light went out.
The lesson was over.
The applause came immediately afterward, intense and unanimous.
Gene remained seated in silence, his ears ringing.
Kat squeezed his hand beneath the desk.
And, for an instant, even he was afraid… of thinking differently.
The sound of applause still echoed through the corridors as the class began to leave, one by one, in orderly footsteps, as though obeying an ancient instinct not to fall behind.
Gene remained seated, staring at the white screen that had already gone dark.
The image of the starving child remained there, burned into his retinas, even as the light slowly returned to the room.
Kat didn't let go of him.
Her small, warm hand still squeezed his tightly, like someone holding onto a person standing at the edge of an abyss.
— Come… — she whispered.
He nodded silently.
When they stood, he noticed a few looks in his direction — they weren't hostile, nor contemptuous.
They were… curious looks, like those of people who had watched a daring spectacle and were waiting to see what would happen next.
The corridor was illuminated by cold lamps.
The distant sound of other students echoed, along with the mantra repeated in almost childlike voices:
“Who feeds us, who educates us, who devours us.”
Kat walked beside him without letting go of his hand.
Gene felt divided: his stomach churned from the horror of the photograph, and there was a knot in his throat from the weight of the answer.
But also, deep down, a thread of doubt, discomfort and… shame.
Shame at himself for asking the question.
Shame because, perhaps, he had been convinced by the answer.
When they reached the inner courtyard, Kat finally stopped, still holding his hand.
The wind gently moved the flowers planted in the planters, white and red, perfuming the air.
She took a deep breath and let out, almost as a lament:
— You scared me, Gene…
He looked at her, not knowing what to say.
The voice that came out was low, hoarse:
— I just… wanted to understand.
She smiled sadly, her eyes still wet from crying in the classroom.
— Don't ask questions like that out loud… don't you understand? People don't want to hear different answers. We… — her voice faltered for a moment — …we just want to believe that Mother Ceres takes care of us.
Gene closed his eyes, feeling a hot pain in his chest.
He didn't answer.
The mantra continued echoing in the distance, as if the entire city were murmuring at the same time:
“Who feeds us, who educates us, who devours us.”
And, as they walked together toward the outside of the building, hand in hand, Gene wondered — without daring to put it into words — whether the real vulture wasn't the hunger outside…
…but something inside here, that no one wanted to see.
When they reached the staircase leading to the main courtyard, the sound of the other students was already dispersing through the side corridors.
Gene and Kat continued in silence, until a figure was waiting for them near the central fountain, sitting on the stone wall.
It was Turk.
Turk drummed his fingers against the stone, distracted, his eyes fixed on something in the night sky between the city's illuminated domes.
When he saw the two of them, he gave them a crooked smile.
— You were brave in there — he said, without beating around the bush. — You, especially, Gene.
Kat squeezed the boy's hand harder, almost as a warning not to answer.
But Gene merely raised an eyebrow.
— Brave? I just… asked.
Turk laughed, a dry laugh.
— In Ceres, asking questions is already brave enough for a lot of people. — He pointed toward the fountain, where the water fell calmly, reflecting the white light of the lamps. — I stay here every night. Know why? Because from here you can hear the machines down below working, pumping water, grinding corn, turning the entire city. And still… — he lowered his voice, as if confessing a secret — …still, I'm afraid that one day they'll stop turning.
Kat looked at him strangely.
Gene, on the other hand, felt less alone upon hearing that.
Turk didn't seem crazy — he simply seemed tired.
— Do you think… — Gene ventured, his voice low — …that we really should be grateful for all this? Even knowing what it costs?
Turk raised his eyes toward him, and for a moment the smile disappeared from his face.
— Grateful? — he repeated, slowly shaking his head. — We don't choose to be grateful. We only choose to survive.
Kat finally let go of Gene's hand and crossed her arms, uncomfortable.
— You two are idiots. — And she added, her voice wavering — You don't talk about Mother Ceres like that. You don't think like that…
Turk didn't answer.
He simply went back to looking at the sky, his mouth curled into an almost contemptuous expression.
Gene, meanwhile, felt a dull anger mixing with the knot he had been carrying in his throat since the lesson.
— So that's it? — he asked, almost to himself. — We are born to be fed… educated… and devoured?
Turk raised his eyes again and smiled.
— Welcome to Ceres.
Gene remained there for another moment, feeling the irony of that final sentence reverberate through his mind.
He didn't know whether he wanted to laugh, cry, or scream.
All he could do was breathe in the metallic scent of the fountain water and promise himself that, if he couldn't change anything…
at least he wouldn't stop asking.
Kat was already walking away, looking back, waiting for him to follow.
Gene cast one last look at Turk, who had already returned to staring at the sky, motionless as a statue.
Then he turned, shoved his hands into his pockets, and walked after her, the echoes of the mantra still repeating in the distance:
“Who feeds us, who educates us, who devours us.”
But this time, Gene did not repeat it with them.