by Daniel Quinn
Within a day it was clear that it was safe to hold the being, who they had taken to calling Ben. And now the favorite part of Alice’s day was sitting, holding Ben curled up to her chest, rocking back and forth. Greta had arranged for a rocking chair to be brought into what they were calling the nursery.
There was a ton of medical equipment keeping track of Ben’s vitals and recording his every move. And Greta and Alice would trade off sitting with the little one each day. It was partly selfish, because Alice enjoyed the time, but it was also medically necessitated. Ben began to deteriorate if he was without human contact for too long.
But four days after Ben’s birth, it was clear that there was something else at work besides the need for comfort. He was deteriorating and at an alarming rate, despite Greta and Alice staying with him around the clock.
Alice rubbed her eyes, feeling exhaustion roll over her in waves. Her mother had wanted her to stay home today, worried about how tired she looked and that all the stress from her job would affect the pregnancy. But her own baby was fine and Alice simply couldn’t sit home and relax while Ben struggled.
Greta walked into the lab, a frown on her face.
Alice looked up from her report. “How is he?”
“Sleeping, finally. But he’s weak. He barely ate anything. We may have to consider putting in a feeding tube.”
Alice nodded. She had been thinking the same thing. Frank, thankfully, had left for a meeting, which gave Alice time to focus. They had run every test they could imagine to try and figure out why Ben was not thriving. But so far, they had no solid idea.
It was possible he just wasn’t equipped to live in this world. Frank was convinced there were some nutrients that he needed that they did not have. But he was taking in the breast milk that the government was providing from somewhere, so Alice didn’t think it was a nutrient issue. There was something else.
Alice sat back. “Okay. Let’s start over. Forget who Ben is. Let’s look at the symptoms as if they were applied to a human. We have a weakness in his limbs, as well as some swelling. He’s developed macular degeneration in one of his eyes. His blood pressure is rising daily. And his heart is struggling to meet his oxygen needs. His organs seem to be shutting down. And his bones, which were already lighter, have lost some density.”
“Sounds like my grandmother. She had every sort of ailment toward the end.”
Alice’s head jolted upright, her mouth falling open. “You’re right.”
“What?” Alice asked.
“He’s old.”
“What?”
“All his ailments are common ailments as people age. He’s aging.”
“But he’s only four days old.”
Alice knew Greta was technically correct, but she was also wrong. They had used an egg cell from Betsy who, at age fifteen, was at the end of her lifespan. There had to be something there. What could… and then it hit her. “The telomeres.”
Telomeres were the caps at the end of DNA strands that protect chromosomes. But sometimes the telomeres, if weakened, resulted in premature aging.
“So he’s not just four days old. If there’s something wrong with the telomeres—” Greta went silent.
Alice finished her sentence for her. “Then he’s dying.”
VIII
It had been a week since they had realized that Ben was aging much quicker than expected. And in that time, he had deteriorated rapidly. He was blind, his other eye blocked by cataracts. His blood pressure was under control thanks to meds, but his heart still struggled. Today had been particularly difficult and Alice knew it was just a matter of time.
Exhaustion weighing her down, she filled out her latest update and then made her way down to the nursery. She pushed open the door to see Frank standing over the crib.
Careful to keep her emotions in check, she asked. “How is he?”
“He won’t last the night. I assume you’ll be staying?”
Alice nodded. She had spent the last few nights at the base. She told herself she was just making sure there was someone here to document the creature’s deterioration. But the truth was, she hated the idea of Ben dying alone. She hadn’t expected to feel this attachment. She had thought of only the science when this had all begun. But as she watched Ben progress on the ultrasounds, she had begun to see him as, even if not totally human, a living being. And Ben’s positive response to her presence only helped increase that bond. She had created him, much like she and Rick had created the baby in her womb. And now Ben was dying.
Frank headed for the door. “Well, I’m heading home. Let me know when it expires.”
The words were cold and hung in the room long after Frank had left. Alice looked at the door in disbelief, not sure how Frank managed to so completely turn off his emotions.
She turned to the crib and Ben stirred. He always did whenever Alice was near, almost as if he knew it was her.
“Sh, it’s all right Ben.” Alice leaned down and picked him up, making sure he was wrapped warmly. But she noted his color had faded even more and his skin seemed to have lost even more of its moisture. It was as if he was slowing turning to dust in front of her eyes.
She walked over to the rocking chair and took a seat, laying Ben carefully across her baby bump. Her daughter kicked in response. And Alice smiled.
She stayed there for an hour, content to let Ben sleep. He seemed to sleep easier when someone held him. But then he let out a small cry and seemed to struggle for a moment to breathe.
Tears sprang to her eyes, thinking this was finally it. No Ben, not yet. But she knew Frank was right. He wouldn’t last the night. His organs were shutting down and there was nothing they could do but keep him comfortable.
She shifted his position, so he lay across her chest, his small head resting on her shoulder. Her hand rubbed his back as his feet grazed her baby bump.
And she couldn't help but appreciate the irony. She was about to bring a life into the world and right now she was sitting here helping another life leave it.
Ben settled down again. She cradled him in her arms, looking into his unseeing eyes. One small hand had come free from the blankets and Alice placed her pointer in the middle of Ben’s palm. He wrapped his four fingers around it and held on tightly.
“It’s okay, Ben. If you have to go, it’s okay to go,” she whispered, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.
Ben struggled to breathe. And Alice was ashamed. She had brought this creature into the world only to watch him suffer and die. Who does that?
A tear slipped down her cheek. “I’m so sorry.” She ran her hand over his bald head. “I’m so very sorry.” Ben clutched at her fingers and she pulled him tight against her. “You’re not alone. I’m right here. You’re not alone.”
She felt Ben’s heart stutter and then stutter again. Tears cascaded down her cheeks now and her own breath turned unsteady. He continued to struggle to breathe and then Ben’s little body went still. She felt his neck but knew he had taken his last breath. No pulse. She glanced at the clock. 9:57 pm. All the things that she should do flew through her brain: write the report, contact Frank. The list was endless.
But she couldn’t do any of that. Not yet. Instead, she stood up and switched off the cameras. Then she re-took her seat, holding Ben in her arms, and rocked back and forth as she sobbed. I’m sorry, Ben. I’m so sorry.
IX
Alice lay curled up in her husband’s favorite chair in the den and stared out the window. She had called in sick today. She just couldn’t face what needed to be done. Frank would autopsy Ben and write up the report. Honestly, Frank probably preferred it that way.
But none of that bothered her right now. Right now, all she could think about was Ben’s little hand holding onto her finger, and how he seemed to calm whenever she was near. When she had started the project, it had been science, pure and simple. And she had never imagined that it would be a sentient being that they created. Even when they realized what was being created i
n Betsy’s womb, she had been so excited by the science she hadn’t considered the human aspect. Ben might not have been fully human, but he felt pain. He responded to comfort. And she had created him only to watch him die.
There was a soft knock on her door. She looked up, surprised to see John standing there. She straightened up. “John. Hi.”
He stepped in. “Hey. Your mom let me in. How are you?”
She looked away from his gaze. They’d been friends for too long for him not to see the truth but she tried anyway. “Good. Just a little tired. I think I may have been doing too much. The doctor suggested I take a few days.”
John sat on the couch across from her. “You’re sure that’s it?”
“Yup,” she said, not meeting his eyes.
“This has nothing to do with the expiration of the test subject?”
“His name was Ben,” she said softly. “And are you asking as my friend or as a representative of the United States government?”
“Can’t I be both?”
She finally met his gaze. “No.”
He studied her for a moment. “Then I’m asking as a friend.”
She wanted to spill it all out. But even though he was asking as her friend, he would never be able to truly separate his friendship from his duty. And if he thought she was too emotionally attached, he would have to recommend she be removed from the program.
Although, maybe that’s not a bad idea. But even she knew she couldn’t make a decision like that right now. Her emotions were too raw for clear thinking.
“I’m just tired. I’ve been spending nights at the base. And then, after yesterday, I just needed a break. I have to think about this little one too, you know.” Alice patted her stomach.
John gave her a soft smile. “Yes, that little one is definitely the priority. You know if you need anything, I’m here for you? For both of you.”
“I know.”
He hesitated before speaking. “I have known you for over ten years. And I know yesterday must have been rough for you. You have too big a heart to not have become attached.”
Alice looked away, swallowing hard and taking a breath to help pull back the tears that threatened to break.
“I saw you with Ben. I know what you thought about him.”
Please stop, Alice begged silently, knowing she was going to cry at any moment. But John barreled on. “But you should know before you make any decisions, the colonel is already preparing for a second round of in vitro.”
Alice’s head whipped up. “What? When?”
“That’s still being determined. But it won’t be too long.”
“But the process is flawed. He’s aging too quickly. It will only happen again.”
John nodded. “And the hope is that now that you know what the problem is, that it will be remedied. But regardless, the project will move forward, with or without you. But I think for everyone involved, it would be better with you.” John stood up. He crossed the room, placed a kiss on her forehead and lay his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll let you get some rest. But I do mean it, if you need anything, call me.”
Alice clasped his hand, giving it a squeeze. “I will. And thanks, John.”
He gave her a small smile before disappearing through the doorway. Alice watched the empty space where he had been, trying to imagine going through this all over again. I can’t do it. I just can’t.
X
A soft tap on her shoulder roused Alice back to wakefulness. Her mother stood looking down at her. “Hey. Sorry to wake you, but you’ve been sleeping for six hours. I think you probably should eat and drink something.”
Alice’s gaze flew to the cuckoo clock mounted on the wall. Rick had fallen in love with the ugly thing at a garage sale. Alice had hated it. But now, their fights over its hideous looks brought a bittersweet memory. And the hands of the clock told her that her mother was right. Alice scooted up. “Wow. I didn’t realize.”
Her mom sat next to her on the couch. “Well, obviously you needed it.” She nodded to a tray on the coffee table. “I brought you a sandwich and some milk.”
“PB and J?”
Her mom smiled. “What else?”
As a kid, her mom swore a PB and J sandwich could fix anything. Alice pulled half of the sandwich over and took a bite, wishing she could still believe in that little homespun hope.
Her mother sat quietly next to her, sipping her coffee while Alice ate. Alice finished the sandwich quickly and turned her attention to the cookies. “You made Empire Biscuits.”
Her mother shrugged. “I had time.” The shortbread cookies with jam in between and confectioners icing on top were another staple of her childhood. And right now, Alice was loving the comfort the familiar foods brought.
“I suppose you can’t tell me what happened yesterday?”
Alice shook her head. “No.”
“Are you thinking of quitting?”
Alice wondered how her mother knew. But the fact was, her mother probably knew her better than anyone on the planet. She nodded. “Yes.”
“I know something bad happened yesterday.” Her mom put up her hands as Alice opened her mouth. “I’m not asking what it was. But, if you leave, will that stop it from happening again?”
Alice shook her head. “No.”
Her mother was silent for a moment. “You know, you’ve always been smart. You even corrected your kindergarten teacher when she spelled something wrong on the board once. I knew, from that moment on, that there was something special about you.”
Alice gave her a small smile. She had heard the kindergarten story hundreds of times. “It’s not about how smart I am. I can do the job. I’m just not sure I want to.”
Her mother studied her. “You know, you’ve never fit in with the science crowd. You always had too much heart, too much personality. I’m guessing, at this position, it’s still the same.”
Alice nodded, ducking her head. “Yeah. But it’s not that.”
Her mother put up her hands. “Well, whatever it is, it’s hurting you. A blind man could see that. So I suppose you have to decide, will it be better with you or without you?”
“What if I don’t make any difference?”
“Oh honey, I know you better than even you know you. You always make a difference.”
Alice smiled, thankful, once again, that her mom was here. “I love you, Mom.”
Her mom kissed her on the forehead. “I love you too. Now, as much as I love you, I think maybe a walk and a shower might do you a world of good.”
Alice started to stand. “I agree.” Then she let out a grunt as a wave of pain rolled through her stomach. Her mother reached out and grasped her arm. “Alice?”
Alice held onto her mom as the pain passed. She was breathing hard and she felt a cascade of wetness slide down her legs. “Actually, I think a trip to the hospital might come before any of that.”
XI
Two Weeks Later
Alice’s mother walked over, handing Alice her daughter. She gave her a tired smile. “Now, I think I’ll go get some sleep before your little princess begins her evening routine.” She gently ran a hand over Maeve’s head.
Alice watched her mom walk away, knowing she would not have survived the last two weeks if not for her. She turned her gaze back to Maeve. She was named after Rick’s grandmother who had raised him.
She could see Rick’s nose and her own lips. And although Maeve’s eyes were closed, she pictured them in their mind, hazel with more green than brown. She looks so much like you, Alice thought, wishing Rick was here and feeling the familiar sadness tug at her.
Rick would have been an incredible father. One sad thought led to another and, before she knew it, Alice was picturing the little one she had helped bring into this world and usher out.
Her breaths came out in stutters and Maeve grimaced in her sleep. It had been two weeks since Ben’s death and Maeve’s birth. And Alice had managed to keep the whole process out of her mind, too wrapped up in her be
autiful little girl. And the fact that she was beyond exhausted helped keep thoughts at bay.
But last night, Maeve had finally slept for six hours straight and Alice had caught up on some sleep herself. Which meant her mind was working a little more clearly and the B.E.G.I.N. project slipped back to the forefront. Frank had called when she’d gotten home from the hospital and told her that he would handle the project until she came back. But he had not so subtly hinted that if she chose to be a full-time mom, he would have no problem with that either.
But that wasn’t an option. She was a single mother and she needed a paycheck. And the government job, for all its issues, paid well.
But I don’t know if I can do that again. Maybe she’d gotten so attached because she was pregnant, as Greta had suggested, but she didn’t think so. It was because she was human. How can you not feel for a being who barely got a shot at life?
Maeve let out a little yawn. Alice smiled in spite of her tears. Everything about Maeve was so new. First yawns, first smiles. Alice traced a path along Maeve’s cheek, comparing it to Ben’s. At the beginning of her life, Maeve had so much potential while Ben had so little.
But why? She reviewed the process in her mind. He had aged quickly, but not grown. And then he had died, only days after his host had died. In fact, in the autopsy it became clear that Betsy would not have lived much longer even without the pregnancy. She was simply at the end of her life. Host and child had died within days of one another.
Almost as if their lives were linked.
Alice stilled, staring down at Maeve. No, not their lives, their lifespans. The nucleus they had used for the cloning process had come from Betsy. It was fifteen years old. Which meant that Ben was also, on some level, that old; that was why he had aged so quickly.
But what if we gave him an egg with a longer life, a better shot? she thought, staring at Maeve—and all her new cells. The program wasn’t going to stop if she quit. Because John was right, the military was going to try again, with or without her. But what if she could help make sure the next clone had a better shot at life?
