by Victor Koman
"No."
"Have the defendants or anyone else offered you any com-pensation for saying what you said?"
"Not at all."
Johnson looked at her carefully, gauging her emotional state.
"Valerie," he said, "do you love Renata?"
Tears welled. "I love her with all my heart. I've given her my blood. I've-" She fumbled with her vest and blouse, un-buttoning them, spreading the fabric wide to expose the scores of purple marks between her breasts. "This," she said, turn-ing toward the jury, "this is how much I love her." She let the blouse fall back into place. "I'm begging you to think about her best interests. If Dr. Fletcher hadn't invented transoption and Karen Chandler hadn't volunteered, we wouldn't be here to argue about her best interests. Renata would be dead. Gar-bage long gone. Think about all the others that could be saved. They're waiting out there. They're dying right now while other women struggle desperately to become pregnant. You have the chance to tell the world that we can and should bring them together. We don't need laws to force them. We just have to let them know the technique exists and then stand back." She looked around helplessly. "I guess that's all I have to say."
"Your Honor, the defense rests."
Lyang nodded at Johnson. "You may step down, Ms. Dalton."
Valerie glanced around the courtroom. Karen and David returned her gaze with tearful smiles. Their hands rested on the table, intertwined in a lover's knot. Fletcher, beside them, gave her an encouraging thumbs up. In her eyes glowed the approval of one who had fought long and hard for her values and had finally found one who suffered just as much to attain them.
The opinions of the jurors appeared to be easy to read. Two of the women dabbed at their eyes, while one of the older men wristed away some tears. The others observed her with a range of expressions from the impassive approval of the oldest woman to an emotional, smiling nod of agreement from the young man.
Valerie rejoined her friends at the defendants' table. Evelyn hugged her, whispering, "You were wonderful, Valerie." The Chandlers agreed, turning their attention to the judge when she spoke.
"Do the defendants or plaintiff have summations?"
"No, Your Honor," Johnson said.
"No, ma'am," Valerie said when Lyang looked her way.
"Then I shall request the jury to deliberate until such time as they come to a decision." Lyang took a moment to look over some notes. "It shall be your duty to decide whether the baby named Renata shall be placed in the custody of Valerie Dalton or remain in the custody of Karen and David Chandler." She gazed at each of the jurors in turn. "Custody shall, in large part, be determined by the best interests of the child, based upon the evidence presented to you in court. In addition, there is the matter of the injunction against Dr. Evelyn Fletcher and the thirty million dollars in damages. Your decision in this matter must be based upon the question of fraud or criminal intent as answered by the evidence presented in this court." She glanced at Valerie with a professional lack of emotion. "Please keep in mind the unusual nature of the final witness's testimony." She flipped open a book to read the jurors a lengthy set of instructions. Each of the six took extensive notes. These were their guidelines, the rules by which they would render their verdict.
When Lyang finished reading, the clerk strode over to the jury box to open the railing. One by one, the six jurors sol-emnly stepped through the door in the rear of the courtroom. When they were out of the room and the door closed with a heavy sound, Lyang took a deep breath and settled back in her chair.
"This should be quick," Johnson murmured happily to Fletcher. "She just about handed them a directed verdict."
"I'd pop out for a smoke," Evelyn whispered, "but I don't want to miss this." After five minutes passed, Valerie leaned over to Johnson. "How long does this usually take?" He shrugged. "I've observed trials where juries walk in and turn right around again."
"What's taking them so long?" Karen asked.
"They probably wanted some coffee." Johnson turned his attention to his notes. He sorted them, numbered pages, as-signed sheets to various manilla folders. Karen and David whispered something between themselves while Fletcher leaned back along the bar.
"So what do you think, Ian?" she casually whispered to Dr. Brunner. Her heart raced at a pace fueled by her brash at-tempt to bridge a years-long gap in conversation.
"I think you're in a frightening amount of hot water outside this courtroom," he whispered back, folding his arms on the rail. "Even if they granted you custody of the kid, it won't mean a thing to Bumqua."
She nodded casually. "Yes, I know I'm washed up here. Think there'll be any interest in transoption research outside the U.S.?"
Brunner's expression softened. "What floors me," he whis-pered, "is that my office has registered over one hundred calls this last week. All of them from women who want to get hooked up with a recipient for their embryos."
Fletcher jerked her head around to stare at him in utter shock. "What?" Judge Lyang glowered down at them.
Brunner nodded. "I seriously think you've tapped into some sort of zeitgeist." He circled his finger around to indicate the room. "The State may not be ready for transoption, and the Christians and the feminists may not be ready, but the preg-nant women are."
Fletcher laid a hand on his sleeve. "Listen, if you need my notes or a working model of the suction-"
"Forget it," he said. His voice revealed a mixture of regret and fear. "Transoption is going to have the status illegal abor-tions had for the last century. And that's probably how they'll be performed for years to come. In the counter-economy. I'm a reputable researcher." He paused, then leaned closer, his voice dropping nearly to the limit of audibility. "I've submitted a carefully worded request for animal-research funds, though. I've got a protege who's keen to start a legitimate, peer-re-viewed project."
"That's great," she whispered. An ancient wall between them had crumbled. Brunner shook his head. "A lot will depend on what the jury has to say." He pointed to his Breitling watch. "Doesn't look good."
Fletcher leaned over to Johnson. "It's been fifteen minutes. What's going on?" Damned if I know. "I think they may be dotting is and cross-ing ts." He was unable, though, to hide the concern on his face.
"Are we sunk?" she asked.
Judge Lyang cleared her throat. "The jury seems to be tak-ing their time, so court will recess until a verdict is delivered." The gavel rapped once.
Reporters assumed their positions outside the courtroom. Most of the questions Johnson fended off concerned the fate of the trial and any insight he might have into the minds of the jurors.
"I have no idea what they're thinking," he said. "There can be only one verdict for them to reach. All we have to do is wait."
After a long lunch in the cafeteria, Johnson left to spend a few minutes with the court clerk. He returned with a crest-fallen expression.
"He said the jury's informed Lyang that they won't have a verdict today. He's told the rest of us to go home and return tomorrow."
"That's bad, isn't it?" Valerie asked.
Johnson nodded. "All they had to do was grant the verdict for us. I'm afraid they've found some reason to grant you cus-tody."
Valerie frowned. "Can't I say no?"
"Sure," Terry said. "But I was trying for the legal precedent. Future courts won't care what you decided on your own." He looked around at the others. "We might as well go." Karen patted his back. "We're sorry," she said.
"Thanks," he replied, thinking, But sorry doesn't change the law books.
XXII
Valerie returned to an empty home. The lights on the Phone-Mate indicated thirty-four messages awaiting her attention. She ignored it. The only sound drifted in from outside, where TV vans camped and reporters hovered like gulls around a trawler.
She flopped down on the bed, which had not been made from the night before. A glowing red eye glared at her be-neath the TV. The VCR. Ron had set it to record the local news at five every day. Picking up the r
emote, she flicked on the TV, ran the tape back until she found a story about the case, and played it.
The male newscaster made a somber face. Superimposed behind him was the familiar scale with a baby in one pan, scalpel in the other. "The saga of Baby Renata continues with a surprising turnabout." The image cut to a shot of Valerie on the witness stand.
"The plaintiff in the landmark custody battle, Valerie Dalton, today dismissed her attorney and took the stand as a witness for the people she was suing. Her testimony took a dramatic turn when she discussed the bone marrow she'd donated to the infant."
"This," she watched herself say as the woman on the screen opened her blouse, "this is how much I love her." There was a distinct break in the image to edit in a later shot. "Think about all the others that could be saved. They're waiting out there. They're dying right now while other women struggle desperately to become pregnant." Another splice. "We just have to let them know the technique exists and then stand back."
Valerie recalled very little of her testimony. It was as if she were hearing it for the first time. Something about hearing her words on television brought her out of her own constricted world. For nearly a month her focus had been upon Valerie Dalton and how others had wronged her. Eight months ago, her thoughts had centered around Valerie Dalton and how pregnancy would interfere with her life. She lay atop the rumpled covers and stared at the TV. There are millions of Valeries out there, she thought. How can I help them?
She shook her head. I'm only one person. She gazed up at the ceiling. A paint chip there reminded her of the tiny stain on the ceiling of the operating room. All the events of the last few months came back to her in a sudden rush of awareness.
Dr. Fletcher was only one person, she realized. She saved only one life and changed the lives of everyone forever.
Valerie Dalton saw the rest of her own life spread before her like a broad, rich valley seen for the first time by an explorer who had just crossed the summit of a treacherous mountain. She jumped out of bed, energy surging through her. She wanted sparks to fly. "
"Do you have a verdict?"
Judge Lyang gazed expectantly at the foreman. So did Valerie, the defendants, and everyone else in the court. It was three o'clock in the afternoon. The jury had been at it since nine that morning. All eyes and ears turned toward the slender, greying man holding several sheets of yellow paper in his hands. Cameras focused in on him. He stood, visibly nervous about speaking in public, and addressed the judge.
"We do have a verdict, Your Honor." He paused, staring down at the paper to avoid looking anywhere else.
"Please read your verdict to this court," Lyang said with a bit of nudging impatience.
"Your Honor," he said slowly. "This verdict has been a very difficult one to make." Karen grasped her husband's hand tightly. Valerie glanced at Fletcher, worry in her eyes. Fletcher watched the foreman intently, as did Johnson. As ever, the lawyer's pen hovered over his notepad, ready for anything.
"Your Honor, the jury has asked that I preface our verdict by stating that the reasons for our decision undoubtedly exceed the scope of this trial." He looked down at the paper, taking his words from what was written there. "No one judicial deci-sion is ever the final word. We only hope that the basis of our verdict can serve as a reasonable foundation for the contro-versy that will undoubtedly result." He cleared his throat. "It is the decision of the jury that the baby named Renata is the natural daughter of both Valerie Dalton and Karen Chandler."
Voices whispered and muttered throughout the courtroom in confused surprise. Lyang gaveled for order, staring with incomprehension at the foreman.
"This is highly unusual," she said. After a moment of thought, she added, "So's this entire case. Proceed."
"There's more," the foreman said.
"I should be very interested to hear it," Lyang said quietly.
"While the jury determines that Valerie Dalton is the genetic mother of Baby Renata, this finding is only part of our verdict, but a necessary one. It is an undeniable fact that the fetus re-moved by Dr. Fletcher contains genetic material formed from that of Valerie Dalton and Ron Czernek. In this way, Valerie Dalton is the genetic mother of Renata. Yet after transoption the fetus received protection, sustenance, and life from the body of Karen Chandler. Karen Chandler is the birth mother of Renata. This is also a definition of motherhood. Therefore, faced with these conflicting definitions of motherhood, the jury has chosen to declare that the two women are both co-mothers of Baby Renata." He turned to the next page. The ruffle of the paper sounded like the crackle of electricity in the hushed courtroom.
"That leaves us with the dilemma of custody. The precedent of adoption was raised by some members, but in such cases there is indeed only one natural mother-the genetic mother also gives birth to the child. She would seem to have the stron-ger claim in the absence of an explicit contract that spelled out what would happen in the event she wanted her child back. The case of a surrogate mother is similar. She donates her genetic material and gives sustenance and birth to the child. Her claim, too, seems valid-once again, in the absence of an explicit contract with clauses to address such conflicts." Evelyn laid a hand over Valerie's and clasped firmly. Nei-ther took their gaze from the man who held the future in his hands.
"The long legal tradition in such cases," he continued, "has been to ignore any contract and award custody to the natural mother, making a strange, implicit judgment that the natural mother is incompetent to make a contract and abide by its principles, yet is capable of caring for another human being. Whether this is right or wrong, it has been the tendency."
The foreman turned another page. He peered even more intently at the paper. "Here, though, both women have had a turn at creating the baby Renata. If Valerie Dalton had not con-ceived the child, the fetus would not have existed. If Karen Chandler had not taken the abandoned fetus into her womb, Renata would not have been born.
"It is in light of these conflicting claims that the jury has elected to declare the women co-mothers and to determine that Valerie Dalton's pregnancy-termination contract with Bayside University Medical Center is and ought to be consid-ered an unmistakable grant of custody of Baby Renata from co-mother Dalton to co-mother Chandler. Additionally, the injunction against Dr. Fletcher and all damages are denied."
The courtroom experienced a strange momentary silence during which everyone tried to arrive at an opinion on the verdict. The spectators had seen two warring factions come together without the force of a court decision. They had just heard the court mimic the private agreement. Whatever per-sonal outlook anyone possessed, it seemed inappropriate to cheer or jeer an outcome that both women so dearly wanted.
At the table, though, Karen and David expressed their own reaction, hugging each other, teary eyes overflowing. Valerie joined in with arms spread wide to embrace them both. Terry stared breathlessly, surprise frozen on his face. Evelyn slapped an arm around his shoulders.
"Hey, kid, you won!"
"Yeah," he said, smiling. "And against such an adamant foe." He slipped an arm around Valerie. The jury members smiled at the scene. Judge Lyang's grin, tilted with a sardonic edge, spread across her face with easy pleasure.
Someone at the back of the courtroom clapped his hands loudly. The happy litigants turned toward the jarring sound. Valerie's throat tightened upon seeing Ron standing just in-side the doorway. He gazed coolly at Johnson, inclining his head ever so slightly in acknowledgment. He clapped again. And again. A few spectators joined. More. Seconds later, the courtroom thundered with triumph. Nobody heard Lyang's gavel. Even the reporters applauded.
Ron pushed his way forward to Valerie.
She turned her back to him to confer with Karen and David for a moment. Ron silently watched her receive nods of assent from the couple.
Valerie turned to Dr. Fletcher. "Can you go with us to the hospital? The three of us would like to see our daughter."
"
Ron Czernek was an aggressive lawyer a
nd not easily de-terred. He followed the quintet out of the courthouse, past the throng of reporters, and into the parking lot. Approaching Valerie there was impossible.
"Mr. Czernek!" a TV reporter shouted. "What's your opin-" He ducked between two arguing pickets to race toward his BMW. He saw nothing of Valerie and the others until he bul-lied his way into the infant ICU at Bayside.
The others must have been delayed by reporters, he thought as he stood before the observation window. A lone nurse sat beside the high-tech creche, reading a thick, dog-eared pa-perback. Equipment quietly registered Renata's every vital sign. Through the glass drifted the faint, steady sound of a heart-beat monitor.
Ron stepped about for a look at Renata. In all the time he had struggled to gain her custody, he suddenly realized, he had never actually seen her.
Standing on tiptoes at the corner of the window, he man-aged to peer past the tangle of wires and tubes to see directly into the isolation chamber.
A blond head lay on a stark white sheet. Tiny hands flexed their fingers, testing them out. The head rolled. Renata Chan-dler gazed toward her father.
She could not possibly have seen him, he realized. He stood in darkness, she lay bathed in light. Her blue eyes, though, seemed to stare at him and through him.
He watched his daughter, unable to fathom the feelings that raced through him. All his life he had been able to make snap decisions, had always been on the go, on the way to a goal. He had embarked on the custody battle with equal zeal.
Now he gazed at a child, his daughter, whose gaze implored him to stop, to think, to consider. There existed no need to rush. Watching Renata, there were no decisions to make, no appointments to keep. She squirmed and kicked and twisted about in the crib like life itself-ever changing, ever ready to contort into some different position and then start anew.
Footsteps scuffled and clacked down the hallway.
Ron turned, looking at the approaching people with guilty surprise.
"Valerie," he said. "We've got to talk."
She gazed through the window before answering. "I think you've said everything already." Terry glanced at Evelyn, who nodded and quietly escorted everyone else toward the break room. Alone, gazing at their daughter through the glass barrier, Valerie spoke in a weary, hushed tone.
