It was a Wednesday night, two and a half weeks after his eighteenth birthday, and everything was going wrong even before anything could happen. Michael was more than nervous already when he finally reached Seventh City Wife factory. His fathers old hydrogen car had had some trouble starting, so in the end he had had to walk there all by himself, in his best suit. Cars were not that reliable anyway in this day and age. Luckily it was not that far from his home, in the old part of Seventh City on the other side of Square Plaza, so he didn’t lose too much time. Even though cars were more manly his legs served him well too.
He looked at the building, which was impressive and ugly, with its name in big letters on the front, together with a smiling cartoon girl in a bikini that probably was supposed to be sexy, but mostly looked fake and unconvincing. He slid through the main entrance and followed another man to a big hall where several groups of boys were listening to a man with a microphone. From the words and the fact that he was more than ten minutes late he concluded that he had still managed to get in during the first speech of the Ceremony of Partner Choice. And only a few words of the man in his grey suit were enough to convince him that he hadn’t missed much.
‘In the old days, before the dawn of The Nation and our Glorious Constitution, there was chaos everywhere, which resulted in bad marriages and unhappy men, and a lot of wifeless men. Women were in charge in society and men were discriminated against. That’s why we had the Magnificent Revolution, to bring Man back on track.’ Michaels breathing relaxed a bit, he had heard all of this so many times before. ‘And to end the anti-male discrimination, and to give every man a fair chance to acquire a wife, the new government of The Nation instituted the Wife Schools, so that a happy marriage shouldn’t depend on the superficial choices of women. No man in The Nation will have to worry whether they look good enough or be subjected to the silly whims of girls.’ No, he thought, but your parents having money still matters, and the whims of the grading system are quite inhuman too. It was hard to not be cynical about it, whatever had gone wrong with women being able to choose their own partner before the Magnificent Revolution. ‘So today we can make everyone happy, and every young man who enters here today will go home with the guarantee of a Quality Wife and a satisfying marriage in every possible way.’ Michael looked at the other boys. There were around thirty of them. Most of them looked expectant, excited, although a lot of them were nervous too. Some looked greedy and hungry even. And then, suddenly out of nowhere, another thought came to his mind: what about the girls? How do they feel right now? How do they experience this stuff. It was a question he probably couldn’t get an answer to, because talking to the other sex was taboo. It was discouraged, indecent, wrong, he had learnt that from a young age. But still his impulses told him that what he needed now was talk to the girls to find out what was really going on here, and about what they wanted. Was that an indecent thought? Was he an oversexed pervert? Or was that just his way of trying to get information from every angle before making a decision? How could he ever make a decision like a choice of a life partner without knowing anything about women in general, and about the persons that he could choose from? If a happy marriage didn’t depend on the superficial whims of a woman, what did it depend on?
His train of thoughts was stopped when another man stepped up to the microphone. His voice was even more monotonous. ‘Welcome to Seventh City Wife Factory, where the best Real Wives are available for all Real Men who are at least class 4. Today at our two-weekly day of partner choice we will bring you all to the right place to find your own grade of wife. You can now all come to us here at the administration table and we will help you along in finding the perfect bride that you can fulfil your wildest dreams with.’ Michael moved on to a queue, suddenly wondering whether it was a good thing that his father couldn’t come with him here or not, and decided that it was a good thing that boys had to do this alone without their parents present. Whatever would happen today didn’t need his simplistic complications and useless advice about being a Real Man. The official who was telling to the boys where to go blinked when he saw Michaels badge, and looked at his papers to check before he said anything. ‘Gamma-1. That means you can have any woman from class E through class B according to this list.’ It was clear that the man wasn’t very happy with what he was saying, and Michael knew should have been very enthusiastic now, but he couldn’t even smile. It was known that class A wives were reserved for high class alpha males only. He hadn’t expected that class B wives would have been an option for him, but it seemed that great privilege came with his new class 1 status, even more than he had expected. The official handed him a paper, and summed up the information it contained as if he wasn’t able to read such an easy text.
‘Our girls get the best training available to become a suitable Wife for a Real Man of Class. They are taught all important skills, like house-keeping, cleaning, cooking, simple math for home economics, child-raising, fashion and beauty, modesty outside the home, and from the right age they also get classes in how to sexually satisfy their husband too.’ The official let out a nasty grin which Michael didn’t respond to, so he went on. ‘They also learn how to tend a garden, take care of animals, and how to bring their husband all the emotional support he needs. Our wife candidates are graded according to their physical beauty and health, skills, submissiveness and personality, as well as the family she comes from. There are five categories available from A to E in this Wife Factory, and every man can choose a wife from a category equivalent with his own grades.’
‘Yes, I can read too,’ he muttered, irritated. His brains worked at full speed, but he had no idea what he should do now at all. If parameters like submissiveness were factored in too, a high grade wife from Seventh City Wife Factory would be some kind of brainwashed sex slave zombie that probably looked pretty, but with which he would never be able to even have a conversation. A rebellious girl that disliked this place as much as he did would be his only chance on something like a relationship, but then he had a problem, because those girls would never end up in B grade, and it seemed he was expected to go choose a B grade wife now.
‘So you can go to the fourth floor and check out the B grade wives, and pick the one of your choosing.’ The official said impatiently when Michael gave no reaction. Michael still stared at him, horrified, and then made his decision. 'Just show me the girls of the E class,' He said. He was feeling nauseous now. The man protested. 'But you as a class one male, even if you’re just a Gamma, you could have a wife from the B class,' he mumbled, clearly not understanding the strange brainie boy in front of him. 'I don't care. I didn't even choose to be here. And I don’t think my ideas of the qualities a life partner would need to have are in line with those of this establishmen...' He said absentmindedly, and walked away to an arrow that said ‘E Class Wives department’ which was on ground floor just like the welcome hall. That meant that he didn’t even have to take the elevator.
He followed the hallways until he saw a door with ‘Class E wives’. From everything here he could see that the E-floor was not the department that Seventh City Wife Factory invested in much. The furniture and everything was old, and the wallpaper was almost falling off the walls. Entering he noticed a short line of boys had gathered already, most of them a few years older than him, and almost all of them low-class Epsilons according to their badges. They were looking quite excited, and were loudly exchanging innuendos and obscene jokes among each other. He stopped in his tracks and held his distance, trying to be invisible for them but it didn’t take long for him to get noticed anyway. An Epsilon-6 with a scruffy beard noticed him and yelled at him. ‘Hey brainy weakling. What are you doing here? Wives are only for Real Men. Would you even recognise a woman when you see her? Would you even know what to do with her?’ He didn’t respond, but feared that the boy had been right, at least with his words even if not with the intended meaning. How did he know what to do with a girl? The only woman he ever saw was his mother. Men and women really lived completely separate lives in The Nation. He knew the other boy was only thinking about sex, but that was the least of his questions now when it came to the other sex. How should he talk to a girl? What was he supposed to do if he met one?
A distracted-looking official came and looked at the badges. He was a Beta-3. He wanted to say something when he saw Michaels badge, but could easily be stopped with a warning look. ‘So, all the young men eligible for a wife in the E-class for this month are here now?’ He asked. The boys before him nodded eagerly. ‘We have 28 young women of your level that are yet unpartnered here for you today, who have been trained to be the perfect wife that will fulfil all your needs and more.’ He said. Michael looked at him in disbelief. Who was that man even kidding? Everyone knew that E-class meant that they had low scores, that there was something about them that made them less desirable for a Real Man. Which could be everything, from bad school results on the classes they had to take to become a good wife over physical flaws to poor parents, or even a ‘rebellious outlook on life’. That last one could downgrade a person very easily in The Nation, as everyone knew well. And it was why he was here and not on the B-floor. It was a gamble, but it seemed like a good reason to end up in the E-grade, and a completely unfit rebel girl was what he was looking for now. ‘Within minutes, all of our quality wife candidates will enter the room, and you can look for the one you want. You can ask to look at them more closely if you want, and if you have picked one you will get more details about her here. If these details appeal to you you can take the paper home, and contact their father to make more arrangements. If that has been settled normally we can arrange a first meeting with your new fiancee within two weeks.’ He looked at the door. Had he understood it right? He had to select a wife on looks alone? What idiot had come up with such a stupid idea? How could he sort them out? Could he go read every girl's description paper? He felt nauseous again, as if he was at a slave market or something like that. But slavery had been abolished centuries before The Nation was founded, and taking a wife was something completely different. Or at least, it should be something completely different, a life partner shouldn’t be considered some kind of slave he found. But it seemed a lot of people disagreed with him on that if he went by the practises of this place.
‘And here are our fine Wives-to-be!’ The official said when a line of girls dressed only in bikinis entered the room. ‘Shit’, he said again. He certainly wasn’t ready for this.
