by Chris Ramos
“For this next part,” the Doctor began, “the process has shown further positive results if you are in proximity of each other. Please hold hands, and stare into each other’s eyes.”
Still sitting in their chairs, Mary reached out and was comforted to feel Jon’s hand covering hers. His hand was cold and clammy, verifying that he was also feeling nervous and awkward. Surprisingly, Mary was further comforted with this knowledge.
“I would like to completely remove the human psychological element, but the stimulation you feel has a driving force, helpful for conception . . .” The Doctor’s voice seemed like part of the room, like an air filter, another dull drone in the background.
Jon looked over and smiled at Mary. She knew he was trying to be strong and supportive at the same time. Jon pulled her hand to his lips and lightly kissed her knuckles.
“So, this is what they used to do, years ago, to have a baby.” He rolled his eyes, wondering if it was worth the hassle.
“No, Mr. Jenkins, this is a much safer way to conceive. The nanos have blocked your natural reproductive organs. As you know, conception is a privilege given from LifeSpan. You are stimulated right now, are you not? Mary’s body is also preparing to receive. The barbaric ancestors of yours would rampantly spread viruses and diseases, and then wait while a baby slowly grew in the mother’s womb, inviting an infinite number of defects and abnormalities. Our method removes passion and injects science. The way I prefer to run my laboratory.”
“So you want a life without passion?” Mary couldn’t keep herself from chiming in.
“Sometimes safety overrules the heart.” And he turned to the wall chart, examining the results, occasionally glancing at his pocket watch.
The room quieted. Jon and Mary never took their eyes from each other. The machines pumped, their bodies pulsed together. Hands intertwined, they craned their necks to be fractionally closer together. Mary desperately wanted to be in his arms. It seemed the right thing to do, the natural thing. She found herself breathing harder. Jon’s chest was rising and falling as his ankles crossed and he closed his eyes. Mary clenched her teeth and her eyelids shut.
She imagined herself floating endlessly across the ocean, Jon bobbing along with her, intertwined, lips locked together, washing out to sea. She imagined herself many places, far away from this room.
She was jolted back when the machines stopped pulsing, and the room fell quiet.
“Very well, then. All done now.” The attendants and the Doctor began disconnecting wires and tubes and helping the Jenkinses out of their chairs.
Slightly disoriented, they made their way to the door leading back to the hallway.
“Dr. Dehmer,” Jon began.
“Hmm?” The Doctor looked up from his screen, and his eyes bored into Jon, suddenly making him feel very small. This experience was very odd, and he felt cold. Jon couldn’t suppress a shiver running down his back and fizzling into his toes. He felt like something was taken from them today, something sacred, and was replaced with an irreplaceable sense of loss. Jon wanted to make his thoughts known to the room of scientists, especially the Doctor, but his mind couldn’t form what his heart was feeling.
“Well, umm, thank you for your time.” Jon tried to think of something more, and was again stumped.
“Yes, very well, then. Come back in three months to pick up your infant specimen.” Dr. Dehmer dismissed them both with a backwards wave of his hand as he walked away.
One more thought. I don’t know if I’m supposed to write these kinds of things in here, but I heard Daddy whispering in the kitchen. He didn’t know I was on the stairs. He was telling Momma there was something he found, but wasn’t supposed to find it. He said there is a problem at work now, his research brought up questions. He told some people, and they got mad at him. Really mad. I’ve never heard him like this before. He sounded worried and walked around the house throwing things and scaring Momma. Goodnight diary.
Jon continued cleaning after their early dinner. Mary had run upstairs to prepare for her guests this evening; she had told him she was meeting with a group of friends she had met a few weeks ago. It was good she was extending herself to make friends. Sometimes Jon was concerned about her, hanging around the house all the time.
He had finished loading their dinner plates into the refuse reclaimer and setting the various cleaning bots to begin their roving of the eating area. He stood back, watching each small rambler leave its charging dock and go about its task. His favorite was the edge sweeper, no bigger than a tennis ball. It slowly made its way around the wall edge and suctioned any dirt into its tiny container. Later in the night, it would deposit its waste load into small chutes placed around their home, ultimately leading to a recycler for extra energy in the home. It really was an amazing system.
Jon was thinking about the scrubbing bot on the counter when he heard the door monitor chiming. Their guests must have arrived.
Jon called upstairs as he made his way to the door. “Hey honey, they’re here.”
Jon raised his hand and the door swished open. He was surprised by the sight in front of him. A squat man, chubby beyond his frame with an oversized jacket, pockets stuffed to their limit, was standing between an older man with a soft expression and a striking woman. Her head was held high, and her features were sharp and powerful, like a hawk.
Jon was struck by the nature of these three, complete opposites on every spectrum you could compare them. “Come in. Glad to meet you.” Jon stepped back.
“Your invitation to share the splendor of your home is most appreciated,” the old man responded, and motioned to the tall, glamorous woman in a flair of ladies-first geniality.
She moved not a muscle, but her eyes looked left, then right, blinked once, and then she took the first step into the entry of the house. Once inside, she began walking around the front foyer, looking into the corners, noting windows, exits, corners. She even dragged her finger along the edges of the digiframe currently displaying a classic painting.
She stared at the image, stepping back and crossing her arms behind her back, admiring the digital representation.
Jon was shaking hands with the men, gently guiding them to the kitchen with his open palms on their backs. “My name is Jon, in case you didn’t know.”
“How polite, but we already know. I’m sorry we overlooked the greetings. My name is Professor Lander,” the old man said. “This is Tym. He’s a bit shy, but one of the best people you could ever know, and a great techmind to boot!” Tym attempted to bow in acknowledgment of the introduction, which only served to topple him forward as his center of gravity was disturbed. Professor Lander calmly reached out and resettled the blustering Tym, who shrugged his shoulders when settled, settling his gadgets back into place, his cheeks blushing a deep red.
“Yes, well, the exquisite art buff is Gretchen,” Professor Lander continued. “She—”
“Does not need an introduction, thank you.” Gretchen turned from the frame. “Interesting choice of work to be displayed today. Did you choose it for our visit?”
“Actually, my wife chooses the lineup. I am not that involved with the classics. I understand the need for decoration, but didn’t think it mattered . . . Well, art matters . . . The house looks great because of her. My wife is responsible . . . Thanks to her . . . ,” Jon mumbled.
“So, let’s review your rambling. Your wife chooses the artwork, and you are ignorant of the possible ramification of the works displayed in your home and accept them without an intellectual comment,” Gretchen teased.
“Gretchen, please. He is our host. We are not here to judge. There are many important issues we need to discuss,” the professor said, obviously trying to defuse the situation.
Jon was uncomfortable, that much was certain, but he steeled himself against Gretchen’s accusations. “I’m sorry. I guess I never thought much about it. Would you care to enlighten me and explain the ‘possible ramifications’ this has reflected about my home?”
“That’s terrible,” Jon commented.
Gretchen, irked by the interruption, continues after a steely look at Jon.
“Yes, but it was a ruse. When Abraham raised the knife and plunged it towards Isaac, an angel swooped down from Heaven and stopped the blade at the last possible moment, effectively saving Isaac, but leaving Abraham with the guilt of what he almost accomplished.”
“So, this painting is about testing your faith?” Jon pieced together.
“Yes and no, Jon. This story shows that it is not the act that is necessary, only the will. If you can impose your will, you have already prevailed. The action is not important, for without will, there is no action.”
“And that is precisely why I wanted to meet with you,” Mary announced as she descended the stairs into the room. “Jon, if you could excuse us, I would like to catch up with my friends here. We have been working on a project together, the details of which would quickly bore you.”
Jon was all too happy to let his wife try her hand with this group. He grabbed his jacket, said goodbye, and made a quick exit as the front door swished open.
When it was clear they were alone, Professor Lander quickly approached Mary. He took her hands in his own, excitement clearly showing.
“We’ve done it Mary. We have the tank.” He looked to Tym and Gretchen. “It works. We can finally hold those little buggers. We have set the base in Bangalore.”
“This is great news! Thank you, Father,” Mary replied.
BIRTH
The birthing room was shaped like the inside of a large egg. Walls stretched up and around, seamlessly merging into a high cusp without a ceiling break, then flowing back down to the floor. The wall surface was made up of tiny digital pixels, cycling through the prism of rainbow colors, pulsing in various levels of brightness. The visual display was mesmerizing. Located in the middle of this shell was a small plasteel table, surrounded by a stretched white fabric connected on all sides. The fabric sealed around the oval table and ran tautly back up and around the curved walls. At the far end of the table sat two digiscreens, an oblong metal helmet, and a pair of measuring calipers. A child lay naked on the table. Minutes ago, he was pulled from the growth tubes, and now he lay kicking and waving his arms in the air.
“Subject 7759-03 ready for nano infusion, vial 6692. Post,” a low voice droned out to break the silence.
The baby merely lay back, captivated by the color-changing walls around him, completely unaware of the rigorous testing about to begin that would shape the outcome of his new life. The fabric surface surrounding the table began to swell as objects were rising up from underneath the material. At first indiscernible, shapes that became evident as heads and shoulders rose, the material shrouding the upper body of the LifeSpan Doctors. The Doctors were seamlessly connected, with only shoulders and heads stretching the fabric so thinly that they could see clearly through it. From an outside observer, the scene was similar to ocean waves gently rising and falling during a hectic storm. The bodies pushed and pulled the tumultuous ocean surface. The Doctors raised their arms, pushing against the fabric, reached for the baby, and slowly forced him to a prone position.
“Ready vial 6692,” a voice projected across the table, but it was impossible to discern the origin of the voice, let alone single out the contributor. “Commencing with infusion. Post.”
An additional Doctor swooped forward, pulling the fabric and the others connected with him. He pushed his hand against the mesh and raised the boy’s foot. He pulled out a measuring device and began recording data on a digiscreen. As the boy’s foot was hoisted, another Doctor took his head and slipped it into a round metallic helmet, covering his ears and shoulders, restricting his chin and halting all neck movement. Still, the child did not cry out.
From the left side of the newborn’s miniature neck, a small needle lowered into the helmet housing, advancing gradually forward, holding barely a hair’s breadth away from his skin. The needle waited without a sound and suddenly plunged into his skin. The walls abruptly changed to a dull gray color.
The boy cried out.
“Infusion has begun,” a deep voice echoed above the infant.
With that final statement, an army of tiny robots, each no larger than a common bacterium, emptied out of the needle tip and began swimming through the young child’s bloodstream. They streamed through his system, some staying behind to bond with the heart, lungs and liver. Platoons of nano soldiers were infused through each valve, vein and artery.
The walls of the infusion room revealed various charts with each advancement, showing cholesterol readings, heartbeat recordings, blood pressure data, red and white blood cell counts. Relentlessly, the nanos swam through the boy’s innards, dodging individual cells, tiny molecular motors propelling them into every corner of his system. The walls were covered with stacking data, graphs, readouts and statistics.
“Systems report. Nano introduction twenty-one percent complete,” an emotionless voice droned out.
And so the process continued, Doctors bobbing throughout the room, reading and recording data. The walls became crowded with graphs, charts, and numbers. The screens began to overlap as new data came pouring in. The data displays showed a hundred holocards, shuffling with increasing speed.
“Systems report. Nano introduction eighty-two percent complete.”
The entire room was alive, tossing and churning with hurricane-like ferocity. The fabric connecting the Doctors was glowing a fierce blue, heating the air above.
“Systems report. Nano introduction completed. Full system online. Processing data. Processing completed. Expiration date confirmed.” The room activity halted, every cowl frozen. The diagrams and charts grew fainter, receding into the distance. The walls cleared as a series of digits slowly emerged into view.
18980.13.8.3
“Subject recorded expiration: eighteen thousand nine hundred and eighty days, thirteen hours, eight minutes and three seconds.”
“Induce tranquilizers.”
The baby’s crying came to an immediate halt.
The ceiling shifted to reveal a color-changing tapestry once again. The heads and shoulders stretching through the continuous fabric began to sink down through the floor, and were seen no more. The room returned to a still lake of water as the fabric stretched tautly again to the walls.
Jon opened his eyes as the auto-tint windows dissolved from black, letting the sunlight fill the room.
He sat up in bed and turned to see his wife beginning to wiggle out of the covers, stretching her arms and legs at the same time. He loved her most at this early time. Her mind was free from worry for a few fleeting moments before the day began. The covers were their own barrier to the outside world; this was their safe haven.
Mary had moved on to rubbing her eyes, and as the sunlight filtered into their room, her mind snapped into today’s schedule.
There was really only one thing that was important today.
Mary quickly turned her head to him and smiled widely.
“It’s today, Jon! Today we are finally parents. I can’t believe he’s here already!” Mary shouted and leapt out of bed with a renewed vigor.
By the time Jon swung his legs down to the floor, Mary was already in the next room, activating the shower with a cheerful, “Pressurize, please.” He let his feet linger in one spot, and crunched his toes. Today was an important day, a day that would change everything. Jon looked around the room, trying to imagine a little boy running up to the bed, waking him up, brightening his day as much as the sunlight did. He laid his head back down on the pillow. Mary would be in the bathroom for a half hour at least. No
rush for him to get out of bed just yet.
“Jon, in the shower! Let’s go!” Mary poked her head around the corner, startling him back to a seating position. He looked over at Mary standing in the doorway with only a towel held in front of her naked body. Her hair was still dry.
“I thought you were in the water!” Jon was dumbly blinded by her exposed beauty.
“There isn’t time for us to take separate showers. Now get up and get in!” Mary ran back into the shower room.
“Your order is ready for pickup,” Jon mumbled, and walked to the hall, unbuttoning his nightshirt.
“Welcome back, Mrs. Jenkins and Mr. Jenkins.” Dr. Dehmer acknowledged both of them with a nod, and began walking down the hall.
“It was a long three months, but we think everything is ready at home,” Jon responded, thinking this was a conversation.
The Doctor stopped walking, turned back to face the new parents and dispassionately said, “Good for you. I trust his room is full of digilights and darling baby items.” He finished with a sneer.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, we started his room thinking he would like the red—”
“How precious. Well then, if you would like to follow me, we can go wake up our newest subject.” Dr. Dehmer was already a few steps ahead.
“Cole,” Mary threw in.
“Yes. The subject baby Cole.”
Cole was resting in a high-walled crib, wrapped in a white blanket with the LifeSpan logo embroidered on the front. Next to him sat a few empty bottles, a LifeSpan rattle, a change of clothes and a smooth white timepiece.
Jon picked up the LifeSpan pocket watch, lacking seams and decoration except a small engraving on the back.
Cole R. Jenkins
No. 7759-03
He knew from the identical timepiece in his pocket that the only person who could open the lid and view the interior regulator was Cole himself. Eager to see his son’s expiration, he lifted Cole’s white robe and placed the clock onto Cole’s tiny stomach, his squirming threatening to knock the timepiece off of his naked flesh.
