The Unborn

by Brian Herbert

  The doctor had bred and grown his special people himself, having infused their genetics with everything he could think of, from fertility drugs and genius sperm to estrogen, trying to come up with a genetic cocktail that would make the human being smarter, less susceptible to disease, and—above all—less prone to aggressive, warlike behavior.

  His concern had mostly to do with men. For at least 10,000 years they had been causing endless wars, with their competition for territory and resources, and petty, egocentric arguments among rulers. Because of a personal affront made by one male ruler to another (or interpreted as such), they had a history of taking entire populations into war, spilling oceans of blood.

  He wanted to see more female energy in the human species, more of the nurturing qualities that women demonstrated so beautifully in motherhood. And more of certain animal genetics—not of the aggressive sort, but of the sort that permitted survival through other, non-destructive means.

  From his seat at the dining table his pale gaze focused on a steady stream of data flowing across a large wall screen. He studied it for awhile, showing him the vital signs and locations of a handful of his humanoid creations who were remote from the laboratory and out in general society, the ones that looked human enough to be out there. Data on each of them was transmitted via a control unit implanted in its body. In other computer files the scientist had additional data that had been transmitted about each of these lab subjects, concerning everything they were known to have done, and even their thoughts. Making his lab-children look as human as possible, then putting them out into society, and monitoring their activities, was one of his important testing procedures.

  Many were among more than five hundred original live fetuses he’d removed from his laboratory just before the FBI raid almost three decades ago, transporting them in protective fluids and then growing them into adults, straight from the original stock. Other people had been developed in subgroups as offshoots of individual original fetuses—numerous individuals could be designed and grown from just one fetus, as he’d done to create his lab assistants.

  “You seem deep in thought today, Father,” one of the young people with him said. Yordanius had named this one Andok Helato, and he was of a gene offshoot that was not only visually appealing, but attractive in other ways. With long blond hair combed straight back, Andok had large eyes and a calm disposition; he didn’t take offense, not even when one of the more aggressive “children” went after him—either verbally or physically. He was twenty-six now and a large man, a gentle giant who could protect himself if necessary and others he cared about. He’d had to do that the year before, when one of the other lab-creations tried to attack Yordanius.

  Yordanius had decided not to put that problem-individual into cryogenic storage, as he’d done in his original laboratory, and as he was doing here. Refusing to believe this genetic strain was a failure, he had the individual one under close watch, with Andok’s help, and the disturbed one sat at the table with them now. The doctor hoped it was only suffering from a minor aberration, one that could be fine-tuned to make it go away. He’d done that with others.

  Silvo Ramus was tall and thin, with a sardonic line to his mouth, small eyes, and a narrow black mustache that gave him a Simon Legree appearance. It was fitting, because he was highly intelligent and constantly scheming, trying to come up with ways of getting around the rules Yordanius commanded him to live under. They’d been discussing one of those rules in the last few minutes, and the problem involved not only Silvo, but a rather homely young woman who sat across the table from Yordanius. Ramus wanted to be with her in ways that the scientist didn’t want; and the girl didn’t want, either. Ramus’s aggressions had fallen considerably short of sexual assault, but he’d been growing increasingly frustrated at her rejections.

  Manga Vetti had a sallow complexion, eyes with a dull brown sheen, and large ears, which stuck out more because of the way she insisted on keeping her dark hair short.

  All three of them—Andok, Silvo, and Manga—worked as laboratory assistants. They were not in gene pools that Yordanius considered optimal for the futuristic and peaceful, human-appearing life form he had in mind, but he had developed other, customized skills in these three, and in thirty-four other individuals, all of whom served him proficiently in the laboratory. The members of this subgroup group had good minds with insightful scientific curiosity, and had been doing excellent work in the laboratory.

  Hundreds of other lab-children were either being kept in stasis (demobilized and stored cryogenically), or were out and active in society. But only eighteen were still out there, as Dr. Yordanius had been focusing his attentions primarily one genetic line, and had even grown a number of them under a specialized breeding program—men and women, with children in the wombs of the women—a customized offshoot of humanity he held high hopes for.

  “I still don’t see why I can’t be with Manga,” Silvo said. “You’re saying I can’t even have a little kiss from her once in a while? You’re saying we need to work in different rooms, and we can’t even chat without supervision?”

  “With you a small kiss is never enough,” Manga said, glowering at him. “I once made the mistake of granting you a little kiss when you asked for it, but that led to you wanting a longer kiss, and then more than that.”

  “That’s not true,” he said. “I just wanted the kiss.”

  She moved her chair farther away from him. “I think Father is right,” she said, referring to Yordanius. “It’s better if we do not work together.”

  Dr. Yordanius had summoned these two to his dinner table to work out the dispute between them, in a way that he often did when matters came up. Even though they had been created in the laboratory, both were also valuable lab assistants, having learned details of the experiments Yordanius was conducting, so that they could help with them. Whenever a disagreement came up in the lab he usually had Andok Helato present, not only because he was large and could be protective, but because he had useful negotiating skills, and often found ways to defuse emotionally-charged situations. It was a trait he sought in the ideal human being, one that could prevent violence in the future.

  The doctor didn’t want to have to choose between Silvo and Manga, but if it ever came to that he would pick Manga and put Silvo into cryo-hibernation, keeping his body available for further research, along with the others that were kept that way. Manga had the edge on him, because of the excess of male hormones that were becoming evident in Silvo’s body, despite the efforts of Yordanius to turn his genetic stock into a peaceful lineage. Silvo was both peaceful and aggressive, alternating in ways that were unpredictable. In addition, he’d made scientific contributions in the laboratory that Yordanius considered significant. Silvo had never expressed a sexual interest in anyone before, and Manga was an unlikely candidate. But it had occurred, and now Yordanius had to deal with it.

  He rose to his feet, looking at Silvo. “Sometimes it’s not possible to use logic or persuasion,” he said. “Sometimes it takes more drastic measures. Silvo, you will stay away from Manga. Don’t even talk to her. If I hear otherwise, there will be no further discussion, and severe action will be taken. You know what I will do if you disobey me.”

  Silvo nodded obediently, then rose abruptly to his feet and left the room, without saying anything. It was not the best possible reaction, nor the worst. He would bear close watching.

  “If he bothers you, let me know right away,” Yordanius said to her. “Or tell Andok.”

  She nodded, then left with the much larger Andok.

  Dr. Yordanius resumed his attention on the wall screen, as it transmitted information on a gene strain he had chosen to advance beyond any other. From the original genetic stock—using genomes from humans as well as other “lower” animals—he had created forty men and forty women, all human in appearance and able to breed. All of the women were simultaneously pregnant, and expected to deliver in three more months. They lived in a special housing unit adjacent t
o the subterranean laboratory, and only went outside under close guard and supervision, and only a few at a time.

  Though all were of the same genetic stock, they were not clones. Yordanius had made them different enough in both appearance and cellular makeup that they were not closely related in any way that could cause problems with inbreeding. Rather, this was a new branch of sentient life, bearing internal and external similarities to humans, but as separate from Homo Sapiens as were the early Neanderthals and Denisovans.

  At a mental command he caused the screen to display summaries of what each of the pregnant women were doing. Like the men with whom they co-habited, they went about chores that had been assigned to them, and functioned in social groups among their own kind. So far there had not been even one hostile exchange among the eighty adults. Rather, they always found ways to avert trouble and work together, instead of competing in bad ways, and instead of harming each other through jealousy or unhealthy competition.

  He saw the new race as the core of a fantastic utopia on Earth, and called the race Homo Pax, based on the peaceful nature of the individuals, with acute minds capable of solving problems in non-violent ways.

  Despite his close attention to details there had been problems with a number of his other lab-creations, even criminal activity, forcing him to take one of two courses of action that were available—either transmitting an order to return the problem people to a designated pick-up point, or shutting the lab-bred person down remotely. With transmitters embedded in their bodies, all of them were all under his remote control, but only to this limited extent; otherwise they made their own decisions.

  It had to be that way. He was their god-creator, and it was essential for them to have free will.

  Out of all of his experimental subjects—each with a different genetic makeup—one individual had gone missing on the east coast of the United States. This particular subject, Riggio Demónt, had an explosive, violent temper, the worst among all of the lab specimens. In Pennsylvania he’d seriously injured a young woman years ago, throwing her off a rock cliff and giving her a concussion... an act that had been transmitted to Yordanius in his laboratory, through sensing devices implanted in his body. She had recovered, but after the attack occurred, the scientist had transmitted an immediate shutdown command. It had not worked, and data had continued to flow, showing that Demónt was still moving, changing his location, having bad thoughts. Only hours after that, all transmissions from him had stopped entirely. Yordanius had sent operatives to try to find him at the last known location, and near there, to no avail.

  The violent man had vanished.

  Too many of the laboratory creations were not as peaceful as Yordanius wanted, an unfortunate tendency of the human genetics. But none had committed the violence of Demónt. The woman had recovered from broken bones and internal injuries, but Dr. Yordanius had been worrying about others Demónt might have harmed, or even killed. He felt terribly guilty for his failures, and for this one in particular.

  Aside from this very large malfunction, and his continuing concerns about Riggio, he had learned a great deal from the various genetic combinations. Now Yordanius had enough information and design elements to create the ideal prototype he’d been seeking, the more perfect human. The eighty he had grown in the laboratory, and had aged through growth-enhancement procedures, were an amalgamation of several of the fetus prototypes, and would have to be carefully and painstakingly tested before they were sent out into society as a group. There would have to be even more security to prevent another Riggio Demónt from occurring.

  And Yordanius needed to figure out what had gone wrong with the transmitter in Demónt’s body, why it was not responding. Had the subject been in a terrible accident himself, one that destroyed him and the implanted electronics?

  Or had he—or someone collaborating with him—removed the control unit from his shoulder?

  He hoped that was the case; he hoped Demónt had not gone renegade.

  CHAPTER 21

  Even far across the solar system from Earth, the bad feelings hovered in Riggio’s mind. The only way he could alleviate them was to try not to think about Meredith in a personal way, limiting their relationship to business only. He sensed strongly that this was for Meredith’s own good, and his own.

  At times he worried he was going insane, and that she was in grave danger because of him—but still he felt he could control whatever psychological problems he might have. He could take charge of them by totally resisting his attraction for Meredith, by not only setting it aside, but by convincing himself that they could never be together as lovers... that it was not possible and would never happen.

  As he thought this way, as he solidified the thoughts and pulled away from her emotionally, he always felt better—and he was becoming increasingly certain that he was on the way to his own salvation. Something dark and mysterious had occurred in his past; he could not change that, whatever it was. But he could make certain nothing like it happened in the future....

  ~~~

  As they rode a small aircraft across the interior of the domed city, Meredith sat beside Riggio, wondering about him, what he might be thinking now. She both liked him and felt sorry for him because of his memory problems—which she believed were true—but she could never be certain what was on the enigmatic young man’s mind.

  They were aboard one of the airspeeders provided for hotel guests. It was pilotless, and had taken off into the air at her verbal command. Their inspection scanners and personal items were in the cargo area behind them.

  She said, “The clear dome over the city is constructed of organic material, and requires constant maintenance, as it is slowly eroded by sunlight and the gases emitted by the city’s atmospheric gases. All efforts to eliminate these factors have only resulted in reducing them, but not getting rid of them entirely.”

  “An artificial atmosphere,” Riggio said.

  “That’s right.” She pointed up, showed him a work drone attached to the upper inside of the dome, moving from place to place as it made repairs. The automated unit emitted a pale blue exhaust as it sprayed patching materials on the surface.

  “I see where previous patches have been made,” he said, “areas that are hazy blue, no longer clear.”

  “A lot of patching eventually causes problems with city crops and ornamental plants,” she said, “from diminished sunlight.”

  They didn’t have long to talk, as the trip was short, since this was not a very large domed moon. From experience, Meredith knew that other inhabited moons were considerably larger, especially those orbiting Jupiter and Uranus.

  The airspeeder landed on the roof of Kaster Manufacturing, the company’s main robotics factory. The pinpoint arrival activated an elevator, which lowered the aircraft into the interior of the facility. As it descended, Meredith directed a hand-held scanner at the mechanism, and nodded when she saw satisfactory safety readings. She heard the hum of machinery.

  Glancing at Riggio, she saw that he was watching attentively as she used the device. He had demonstrated a proficiency with all of the scanners they’d brought along, including this one. But a real inspection was different from the testing procedures he’d undergone in his self-study program. Now she intended to examine him on the job, having already told him there were always circumstances that were a little different from others, and beyond any training. He’d told her the day before that he didn’t want to let her down, didn’t want to let himself down.

  ~~~

  Riggio’s hidden, immersed twin was fully conscious of everything he did and thought. Tatsy saw what he saw, heard what he heard, and all the while he had no idea she was there.

  Somewhere deep in Riggio’s subconscious he had to know of her existence, and of Lizbeth, Callie and Anneya as well, because when they were fetuses he stole nutrients from their mother’s womb that were intended for his sisters, hoping the three of them would wither away and disappear. It was only by an act of desperation that Tatsy saved t
hem when they were weakened by their brother’s attack, and she took them with her into his abdominal cavity—where they remained to this day.

  Though she wished it were possible she could not kill him, because if she did, she would be committing suicide; she would die herself, and so would her sisters. So Tatsy just bided her time inside his loathsome body, reading his thoughts, anticipating what he was going to do next, and making him suffer.

  By commanding him during his sleeptrances, she had not only commanded him to kill his lovers, but she had also caused him to cut out the implanted control unit in his shoulder and discard it, so that his creator, Dr. Yordanius, could no longer track him, and could no longer shut him down or call him back to specific locations for pick-up. Riggio never knew about the implant, but Tatsy did; while he lay unconscious, she’d been fully awake and watched the scientist and his technicians as they implanted the electronic device in Riggio’s body. Fully aware, with access to his auditory senses, she had heard them talking about what they were doing.

  When Tatsy first commanded Riggio to kill one of his lovers, while in sleeptrance he pushed one off a high cliff, onto a rocky beach. The control device had still been in his shoulder then. That one had not died, and afterward Tatsy had the implant removed, and then commanded Riggio to leave that area. Without the interference of the scientist, she was able to make certain his subsequent lovers died; knives and other sharp objects were just one of the methods. Now he also had a straight razor.

  These days Riggio seemed to be vaguely aware of Tatsy’s presence, at least in the form of an intermittent urge to kill the women he had feelings of affection toward. He was trying to resist those feelings, but it was no use.

  Meredith Lamour was going to die. Tatsy was just looking for the best opportunity.