by Pam Uphoff
"I hope they don't expect you to miss any school." Mom was in full cooking mode now, green apron clashing with maroon kitchen, three pots on the stove. Chicken, green beans, potatoes.
The twins came tearing through the door, laughing and talking about something that had happened at soccer practice. They were his parent’s real kids. Some of the first ever vat grown, because of the problems his mother had, but still ninety-nine point nine percent genetically theirs. At least they'd chosen the same two standard suites of improvement genes that he had, so the twins were sort of barely related to him. They hadn't gone for the special suites, which, no matter how much he wished he had someone he could talk to about it, he did understand. Thirteen years ago the test kids with those special suites had become political hot potatoes.
If only the sensation seeking media hadn't started calling them "gods" it wouldn't have been so bad. Or at least the foaming-at-the-mouth churches wouldn't have taken them up as the latest thing to try to have destroyed.
Which wasn't fair to most churches.
Like his own. Pastor Nelson, when challenged publicly had said he left the judging to God, and perhaps his questioner ought to spend more time attending to his own soul, rather than making ignorant guesses about the state of other people's, eh?
If only society weren't so anti-children. World-wide, the reproduction rate was well below replacement level, it was crashing in most of the West, but still people carried on about overpopulation.
His father followed the twins through the door; he always picked them up after soccer practice, and Tilda after piano lessons and Markly and Wolfgang after karate . . . He had the best parents in the world. Hands down. No matter what names the "child free" called them when they were out in public with three children. "Breeders" and "Parasites."
His father glanced through the mail and tossed half of it. He read through the letter from Doctor Winston. "Well, we shouldn't begrudge them a bit of blood now and then. They did a damn good job on you. But you must be sick and tired of all this."
"Oh, well, yeah, but the talk about frankensteins is back again, and the President's speech last week . . . We need to demonstrate that we're dedicated to helping everyone." Wolfgang shrugged, trying hard not to show what a shock that speech had been. He said that being made artificially, that having animal genes, we didn't have souls. Right. Two or three genes out of tens of thousands . . . a gene complex for a pigment. Blue pigment from a freaking bird, so with a bit of tweaking with some other genes they can make kids with blue or purple hair.
His father squeezed his shoulder. "You're taking it better than I ever would have. That man just lost a hell of a lot of votes in the Milwaukee region."
Wolfgang closed his eyes and could still see the glows of his family. The twins were the brightest. The other Test Kids he'd met at the clinic on occasion had had even brighter glows. He wondered what the glows were, and why he could see them. Auras? Magnetic fields generated by the nervous system? Like the fire-ball-that-wasn't-there, it had all started happening last year when his body had finally decided it was time for puberty.
"Anyway, Doctor Winston wrote a note that he was holding a spot open for Friday at six PM. I'll just take the bus down after school and get it over with."
Maybe ask some questions.
***
Jason Rombeau's horse followed the last calf into the pen and his sister swung the gate closed behind them. Now they'd just run the calves through the squeeze chute for their vaccinations and ID implants and they'd be ready to take down to the stockyard in the morning.
"I can't believe they expect you to just drop everything and fly to Milwaukee for some medical tests." Jenny sounded grumpy; she was going to have to do most of the work tomorrow alone. "I hate it when you're not here. I swear the beasties do what you tell them to do."
Jason dismounted and rubbed the big chestnut’s forehead.
"Ah, you just have to be relaxed around them and then they'll relax too. Anyway, this should be the last time. I'll be eighteen next month, so they can't insist after that."
"High time, too." She nodded and headed around the chute to help her husband.
Pity David couldn't take a day off work tomorrow…even though when he was around the calves never seemed to relax.
***
Harry Murchison spotted Gisele across the restaurant and headed that way. He got a few irritated looks as he wound his way through the crowded room.
Two centuries and change since the Civil War and we still judge people by the color of their skins. Especially if your skin is as dark as mine. He braced himself for even more stares as he sat down beside the Caucasian phenotype woman.
To the eye she was a good looking woman. Smooth brown hair in a short professional cut. Glasses she didn't need. She wore scrubs in a pea green color that killed her warm complexion.
He'd seen her dressed up enough to know she could be spectacular when she so desired. As spectacular as that inner glow that only others of their kind could see.
"So, Harry, what do you think of these job offers we are getting all of a sudden?" Gisele Heath had her MD and degrees in genetics and genetic engineering, and still managed to look like a sweet faced sixteen year old. She was thirty-two. Two years older than him.
"They make me twitchy. Yeah, they sure do need a manager for training the special kids, but they're going to have to satisfy me that they're working for the kids' welfare, not keeping slaves."
Gisele winced. "Go slowly, Harry. You know how odd the legal status of all children is right now. Half the world wants them to be kept control of until they are twenty-five and all brain maturation is complete. The other half wants them sexually available at fourteen."
Harry nodded. "With a sizable percent that wants them all raised by the government. And that doesn't even touch on the ones that want a five year moratorium on births and then baby permits. I've heard it all. Working in the Senator's office was a real eye opener."
"I'll bet. I can't believe he wasn't re-elected. How could people prefer that paleolithic . . . Well, never mind."
Harry drew invisible circles on the on the cheap plastic table, then made himself stop. "I understand the need for caution. The status of engineered kids is shaky, and the test kids . . . what they write about them is frankly terrifying. As adults, they probably can't touch us. But the kids? Is there anything we can do?"
"You're looking for a job and NewGene has an opening. I've just wrapped up a big project, started looking around, thinking about doing some teaching and suddenly NewGene wants me to head up their research department?" She drummed her fingers. "They just merged with Healthy Kids, who have a very good reputation."
"Yeah. If we jump in, do you think we'd have a chance of shifting the corporate culture in HK's direction?"
"Set a good example for the kids? Send them off to college emancipated and happy?"
"Something like that."
"Can't hurt, and maybe I could combine teaching in their prep school with research."
Harry smiled at her. "You really ought to stay at a university long enough to get tenure. God knows you publish enough to impress any school in the world. I think, though, that I'll go to work for NewGene for a year or two. If nothing else I can look the situation over, make sure there's not a problem."
***
Rebeccah Abrams looked around at her fellow monsters and felt more alone than ever.
There was only one other girl. Most of the last run of tests had used male subjects, as there were bound to be problems with the females. Goddesses. What a joke.
At least the staff was making this visit interesting, letting them test a new VR program for the sight and hearing impaired. Their new parent company did a lot of things beside genetic engineering.
She edged over to Miss Barstow. The young woman was in her twenties; she was one of them, grown and emancipated, and now working for the company. Miss Barstow was one of the people she could talk to without having an attack of shyness.
"Oh, we're mostly doing just reproductive services. Any cutting edge stuff is strictly computer modeling now, no live births." She frowned around unhappily. "This NewGene takeover may change that. They've always done more live testing than everyone else."
"But no more gods and goddesses, right?"
"Heavens no. In fact I think you and Mercy may be the youngest of the XXY girls in the world. Fifteen years ago it still seemed to show promise. Then those stupid reporters picked up on Better Man Labs calling the boys 'gods' and the religious folk started foaming at the mouth. So that combination got banned pretty quick."
"How old are the oldest?" Rebeccah combed her memory. "Thirty-two, right?"
"I think the first boy was born in 2072, the first girl the next year. Of course those early tests didn't have as many other gene alterations as we do. There was a lot of research done in the fifteen years before the last of us were assembled, so to speak."
"Huh. Half the early stuff was cosmetic." Rebeccah watched as Doctor Winston rounded up the group and was waving at the outside doors.
Miss Barstow nodded. "Intelligence, height, hair color of the parent's choice—purple is popular, have you seen the little kids? Straight teeth, strong immune systems, longevity . . . Umm, I think you need to get back to the group. They're testing the system outside."
Rebeccah pulled down the VR visor and walked through the VR maze, and onto the bus.
She slipped into a seat by herself and listened to the other kids as they struck up silly conversations with each other, pretending to be actual blind men using the system.
Experimenting with channels, she found one with outside noises.
"Miss Barstow?"
Rebeccah peered out the window. Miss Barstow had a headset and mike around her neck. She must be picking up Miss Barstow's conversation with the man in the suit walking up to her.
"Good evening Dr. Forstein. The kids seemed to pick right up on the system. I hope it works as well with normal people."
"Indeed. It will be quite a breakthrough. However, I've been in contact with the head office. They have decided to close operations here in the city proper, and move everything out to the NewGene plant."
"Even the medical division, sir? Or do you mean just research?"
"Everything. Ongoing medical will remain here until the last child is decanted. All new medical will be handled from the Experimental Facilities, from the start."
"Hmm, that's going to be inconvenient for most of our clients." Miss Barstow sounded worried.
"Nonsense. Most of the clients are from out of town. The additional distance will be unimportant."
"Umm." The bus engine roared, and she lost some of the reply. ". . . dozen other genetic engineering companies in North America alone. People do have a choice."
He chuckled. "Not for much longer. Now, I trust you will stay and see to the closing of the office here?"
The reception faded out with distance, and Rebeccah turned back into what was going on in the bus. She yawned and settled back, wondered where they were going to test the VR. Maybe the park?
She jerked and snapped alert, suddenly. She hated falling asleep in public. The bus turned and accelerated.
It was dark outside the windows, a small road, trees nearby. Pastures, plowed fields. She wasn't wearing her VR helmet. When had she taken it off? Her insides felt like they were curdling. Glancing cautiously around there was enough light to show that the other passengers were her fellow Healthy Kids. None of them were wearing their VR helmets, either. Asleep, every single one.
Where are we, where are we going, and why? She looked at her watch. It was ten-thirty, and the not-quite-half moon was just above the horizon ahead and a bit to the left of them. The bus was going northwest. She remembered articles in the business news. NewGene has a huge plant in western Wisconsin. The experimental facilities that man had mentioned? They'd left Milwaukee at about eight, so they were probably nearly there.
She eyed the boy across the aisle from her. Should she wake him? She froze in shyness at the very thought, but her eyes returned to the darkness outside. She unclipped her seat belt and slid over to the aisle, reached across hesitantly and poked him.
He wiggled a bit and went back to sleep. Rebeccah heard quiet footsteps, and scooted back to the window seat, wrapped the seat belt around her but didn't clip it, not wanting to make any noise. She put her hand across it and slumped with her eyes mostly closed. The bus slowed and drove around a curve.
"Hey. What's going on?" The boy sat up and looked around. He was older than her, sixteen maybe.
"Please stay seated, with your seat belt on." A pleasant but impersonal female voice, adult, authoritative.
"Excuse me, but where are we? I wasn't informed we were going any great distance." He must be nearly eighteen, he sounded pretty authoritative himself.
"You are getting the tour of the NewGene headquarters. We're almost there."
"You drugged us."
The woman looked surprised. "Certainly not. I suppose if they gave you anything with the early tests you may feel a bit odd as they wear off, but no-one was given anything on the bus."
The young man sat back frowning. "Yeah, they did give us something before the VR test." He shoved his baggy sleeve back and looked at his watch. "I was going to head straight home. My parents are going to kill me."
My parents! Rebeccah sat up and reached for her phone. It wasn't there. Of course. They had us unload all electronics to avoid interference with the VR. Clever. Dad is going to eat these people when he gets his hands on them.
There were lights ahead. Fences. Three meters of chain link with rows of barbed wire angled to both keep people in and out. She studied the window beside her. It didn't open, although she could open louvers to get more air. Not much help. She scooted over to the aisle again and looked forward. Posh coach, the lady standing and looking back down at them all. She looked backwards. Not posh enough to have a bathroom. An emergency exit. Was this enough of an emergency? Could she get it open before the woman stopped her?
The bus slowed, but the gates opened in front of it and it drove through without stopping. Too late. She'd have to play along and escape later, if necessary.
The kids were all stirring, starting to wake up. Their voices started rising, a medley of confusion and dawning wariness.
Lights along the driveway showed the edges of manicured lawns and old trees. It was at least a kilometer from the gate to the building complex. A tall modern office tower, several low buildings. The head lights raked across open fields with scattered trees, a barn in the distance, but no sign of the chain link fence. A very large headquarters. They turned and stopped before what looked like an apartment complex.
There were men and women waiting for them. Well, one woman. A man stepped into the bus and looked down the aisle as the lights came up.
The woman who had traveled with them handed him a pad. He mated it with his own and transferred data.
"Excellent. Just four missing." He looked down the aisle, where all the kids were stirring now. "Okay, we're here. We'll get you your rooms and the tour of the facilities will start with breakfast at nine."
The confused, and in Rebeccah's opinion, still drugged, children filed off the bus and were parceled out to people who took them into the building in front of them.
"Mercy and Rebeccah?" The one woman meeting the bus smiled as she led them through several sets of doors. "I'm Mary Coventry. I'm the house mother for this building. Let's find you two some rooms in the girl's wing. Mercy, room thirty-two right here, and Rebeccah, down here in room eighteen. They're all the same, until you personalize them."
"We won't be here long enough to personalize them." Mercy didn't suffer from any shyness. "I don't even have any clean clothes along because no one told me this was an overnighter, and you'd better let me use a phone, or my parents are going to be really upset."
"Dear, you don't have any parents. The people who were hired to raise you have no actual legal standing."
"What!" Mercy straightened, eyes snapping. "I can't believe you said that. My dad is going to sue your ass off."
"He can try. But the Company is your legal guardian, and always has been. Now, bed."
Mercy was manhandled into her room, and the door closed. There was an electronic click as it closed. And despite the loud rattle, it didn't open again.
Rebeccah walked stiffly down the hallway to room eighteen. It was third from the end.
Forty kids per wing, two floors equals a hundred and sixty kids. And there are at least four other buildings. So eight hundred kids? That must be most of the unattached test kids in North America. Maybe the world! Is NewGene pulling in all the gods and goddesses ever created? Well, all the young ones. The ones already emancipated are untouchable. Why are they gathering us all up? She looked around the bare room. The window opened, but had a pretty metal grill over it. Decorative, but strong, and solidly affixed to the concrete exterior. One door was a closet, the other a private bath.
She didn't even have her note pad to help organize her thoughts. She pulled off her clothes off and showered to clear her mind.
One. Collect data. Find out what they want.
Two. Emancipation is your first and foremost goal. Even running away won't help. The foster parent contracts must have allowances for repossession or they wouldn't dare pull this on so many kids.
Three. Find allies. Stop cringing at the thought. Stop being so shy! All of us need to stick together. Work for the same goal.
Four. When is it time to run like hell? Should I wait until I'm eighteen? No matter what?
Five. Monetary resources. Presently zero. Think about that. They are playing dirty . . .
Which brings up six. What opportunities will I have to hurt these miserable pigs?
