by Eli Constant
One of the NORAD officials raised his hand.
“Yes?”
“Quick Question, Mrs. Swanson. How do we ensure that the undergrounder population ingests this nanotech?”
I made a little ‘ah-ha’ motion with my pointer finger.
“Here’s the beautiful part. I said we’d make the tech airborne, right? Well, we molecularly bind our nanotech to a nonvolatile airborne gas- we can even use Oxygen which would pull our nanoparticles into the respiration cycle. That binding will be achieved by creating an overlying computer program that will impersonate an O atom. Think of this overlying program as the car and the nanotech inside as the passengers. The individual ‘tech atoms’ would constantly be breathed in as oxygen and later expelled as Carbon dioxide, re-bonded in an O2 molecule.” I took a quick breath before speaking again.
“Every new humanoid emerging will receive our inoculation because every humanoid needs to breathe. Simple as that. Periodically, we’ll have to refresh the supply. It’s very common for nanotech to break down after so many generations of reassembly.”
Another hand was in the air. I stopped talking and looked at the white-haired gentlemen.
“How often do you think we’ll have to replenish the tech?”
“Well, I don’t have a cut and dry answer, but I do hope we’ll eventually be able to retain it for five to ten regenerations. Those generations will expel quickly; so that will be a challenge, but not an insurmountable one.”
“Do we have any idea of the risks?” Colonel Benson this time.
“Ah. Well, I’m… relatively sure that the risks to the human body are minimal. When natural humans inhale the nanotech, the programming will only find the acceptable 22 chromosomal pairs. Having nothing to eat, the nanotech should, theoretically, exit the body and move on, as indicated by its programing; via the normal respiratory cycle of the human body.
“As for environmental risks, nanotech is a relatively modern idea and those impacts can’t be properly guesstimated. We will run the risk of experiencing future atmosphere toxicity or mutation of the nanotech, but more probably, the nanotech will expire too quickly. I, for one, feel the gain outweighs the possible costs.”
I stopped talking, mentally going through my list of talking points. Yep, I’d covered everything. Time to shut up and wait for a decision.
The officials were leaning into one another. I could hear them whispering.
A new speaker, I think his name tag said Price, but the script was too small to be sure, addressed me.
“Mrs. Swanson. We’re intrigued. This is the most creative suggestion we’ve heard. We feel it is also an intelligent course of action- whether the nanotech facilitates a genetic mutation or succeeds in annihilation of the undergrounders. We will do our best to locate an individual better versed in this tech, but that may take time. Are you able to begin without aid?”
“Like I said, my idea, but this is really not my field. I can help engineer, but I’ll also need a software wizard to translate that vector behavior into computer code… someone with specific knowledge base of molecular behavior and white blood cells. That’s probably going to be a tall order to fill.” I thought for a moment.
“It may also help to have a chemist or a geneticist or… maybe even a hematologist on hand, if that’s remotely possible. It’s not going to be a walk in the park to engineer and bond an artificial Oxygen atom into a stable molecule.” I took a breath.
What the hell was I getting myself in to? I understood half of what I was talking about; the rest was conjecture fueled by unpracticed book-smarts. I had half a mind to say it was all a pipe dream, a misguided joke, and walk out of the room with tail between legs.
Benson stood, addressed the room.
“I’ll provide Mrs. Swanson with a security detail and we can allocate additional workforce if needed.”
It was a generous offer, but I wasn’t sure it was smart.
“I don’t think it would be good to have too many hands stirring this particular pot. I would appreciate it if you, alone, would be in charge of security for my lab, Colonel. Maybe pick one man you trust explicitly?”
“I can do that, Mrs. Swanson.”
“Thank you, Colonel. I know you hold a lot of clout in this facility. That’s what I need on my side. I don’t doubt a man such as you can deter nosiness and tampering.” I turned to address the assembled officials once more.
“I won’t deceive you all into thinking I know exactly what I’m talking about. Again, nanotech is not my precise field, but I know enough to get started. Yes, my particular expertise will help, but get me a real expert; then we’ll be in business.”
What I needed to manufacture the nanotech wouldn’t be easy to procure.
Some of it would have to be particularly made to suit. We needed a state of the art computer system, the means to construct a manufacturing tank; we were going to need the entire house- including the kitchen sink.
I was afraid my new project would entail sending out more men to risk their lives on a wild goose-hunt. I felt guilty, but in times of war, casualties were expected.
Feeling like a real Benedict Arnold, I headed for Lab-3. I’d jumped my first hurdle of the day, but the next hurdle was a lot taller.
I didn’t like deceiving Peters and O’Toole.
Last night, the doctors and I had cleared out the specimen closet. The shelves were easy to remove, having been only secured by metal brackets on the wall. All of the jarred specimens had been taken to the dissection lab and burned in the incinerator there.
Today, I looked at the newly empty space with fresh perspective. It was a barren 8 foot by 4 foot space.
I left the lab and went to my room, borrowed several pillows and a blanket; then I raided the mess hall for food.
We didn’t know what Sheila-2 would want to eat. The undergrounders in captivity seemed satisfied with vegetables, protein paste, and the occasional frozen meat-chunk. Our mutant baby might be different though. I was taken aback at my casual use of the possessive when thinking about Sheila-2. I was hoping that Sheila-2 would have different taste buds.
I couldn’t imagine feeding her frozen beastie flesh.
Whenever an undergrounder died, the doctors would dissect the body and learn what they could. When they were finished with the body, the flesh was diced up and frozen in ice cube trays. The humanoids loved the cold treats.
Cannibalism was in their nature, but it still grossed me out. I wished there was some method for testing my flesh memory theory.
The doctors and I had recently tried our caged subjects on fruits, but they’d violently expelled them. Cleanup had been nasty.
I spent the next hours reviewing Sheila-2’s vitals history again. She was thriving and Peters and O’Toole could see no reason why she wouldn’t adapt after birth.
Even if Sheila-2’s chances of survival were minimal, our only option was to birth her. We had to empty the tank and hide the evidence before some nosey official wandered into the lab.
Sheila-2 was a living, breathing creature. I supported her right to exist… as long as it wasn’t at my expense. That’s where her biological mother’s brethren went wrong. You screw with my family and I’m going to screw you up. Every last purebred beastie could die. Sheila-2, well, she got her very own chance to earn a continued existence.
We were ready now, ready to meet our little under-human.
Dr. O’Toole initiated the ‘birthing’ sequence.
Fluid drained from the womb and pure oxygen was simultaneously pumped inwards. When the viscous solution was completely expelled- running through a drain in the floor- Dr. Peters opened a window in the side of the uterus. Gloves on, he pushed his hands through a rubber flapping and snipped Sheila-2’s umbilical cord with a long pair of surgical scissors. I had the task of monitoring her heart rate.
With the cutting of the umbilical cord, her small body arched upwards and her BPM raced dangerously.
“We need to get her stable!” I yelled.
She was convulsing now, going into shock. Dr. O’toole hit a button near the bottom of the uterus and Sheila-2’s body began to fall towards the hard, concrete floor and metal drain.
I lunged for her. My arms found her small, curved body before impact. I slid across the gooey mess on the floor and the feel of her slippery skin was unpleasant. She was still jerking.
I pressed her to my body without thinking and I cooed to her. “It’s alright… it’s alright.” Peters was by my side then, holding an oxygen mask and pulling a portable tank behind him. He parted her lips slightly, hooking his finger into her mouth to clear it of fluid, and then he placed the mask gently over Sheila-2’s face.
My cooing switched to humming and eventually the little body, smaller than my Kara, stilled in my arms.
I rose and carried her to the large lab sink. Dr. Peters followed, keeping the mask over her nose and mouth. Trying not to jostle her, I pulled a towel from a nearby cabinet and spread it across the steel countertop. I set her down, my hand staying pressed against her chest to prevent her from rolling.
“Dr. O’Toole?” He was still near the artificial uterus, cleaning and beginning to break down the setup for storage. “Doctor?” I called across the room.
I didn’t understand. For all technical purposes, Sheila-2 was his biological daughter, but he was acting oblivious, performing tedious tasks.
“Doctor!” I really yelled this time and his head popped up from behind the equipment with a quizzical expression.
My look must have said everything I was thinking, because he stopped what he was doing and walked quickly over.
“Can you please find me a washcloth?” I asked.
He seemed more focused, but it still took him a moment to comprehend what I’d asked for. Watching him walk away, it dawned on me what he was acting like: a nervous, first-time father. He didn’t know how to handle having a child so he was concentrating on everything except Sheila-2.
I stood awkwardly for several long moments, my hand continuing to rest on the cross-bred, child’s body.
Her chest moved now, up and down at a relaxed and rhythmic pace. Dr. O’Toole eventually found a dry, clean cloth. I turned on the water, letting my fingers dance in the stream until it reached a soothing, warm temperature. Pure undergrounders preferred hot water, but Sheila-2 wasn’t pure beastie.
Dr. Peters removed her oxygen mask. I soaked the washcloth and squished excess water out.
Methodically, I began to clean her skin, her body resting firmly on the counter. As the coating of opaque, pink liquid disappeared, I could see that her skin was a lovely shade of ivory- a beautiful cross between Sheila-1’s gray paleness and O’Toole’s ruddy, peach skin.
Almost dry, her hair was several inches long and the shade of moonlit silver. The fluorescent light above the sink did interesting things to the way the strands shone and reflected color. It was mesmerizing. Her eyes were a true almond shaped with severe upward flips at the outer corners; they were exotic… a little bit beastie, a little bit beautiful.
Sheila-2’s eyes were still closed, but I could imagine they would match the rest of her features in loveliness.
When she was measured, cleaned, and wrapped in a dry towel, I stood with her cradled in my arms, my hips moving rhythmically back and forth.
She weighed exactly 23 pounds- a healthy weight for an 18 month child; her frame stretched across 28 inches, O’Toole’s height balanced out with the shorter Sheila-1’s height.
I was cooing to her again. It was reflex, comfort to a child.
Hands reached into my circle of vision. I looked up.
O’Toole gazed at Sheila-2. His confusion, his nervousness, had been replaced with wonder and admiration. I gauged his readiness, but it wasn’t necessary.
I nodded and his arms created their own supportive cradle. I leaned into him and for the briefest of moments, we both held her. I shifted her away from me.
O’Toole pulled her body to his and kissed her lovingly on the cheek. He was a man lost. I’d seen that look before. My David had loved his daughters completely and instantly. Only a true father could have that look. My opinion of O’Toole began to drastically shift.
Peters stood by watching. Although he cared for the child, I could see now that he had an uncompromised clinical side. Perhaps his true affection was for Sheila-1.
It would balance things out though; one doctor to protect and provide for the mother, one doctor to protect and provide for the spawn- not that the world really revolved around balance anymore.
Sheila-2 hovered in the empty space between deep sleep and light rest. We didn’t want to sedate her to keep her on monitoring equipment, but someone needed to observe her and be available at all times. We decided to work in shifts- coming together periodically to discuss her progress and chart development. Our absences wouldn’t be as noticeable if only one of us was MIA at a time.
Leaving O’Toole to babysit the sleeping half-beastie… the sleeping child, Peters and I finished the task of cleaning up and dismantling the artificial uterus; we left the cleaned, individual parts organized nicely against the back wall.
We saved all the data to three individual memory sticks and wiped the hard drive. Anyone walking into the room now would find no evidence of an unsanctioned experiment or a test-tube toddler. Of course… someone might wonder why the unused materials were stacked against a wall and not in the storage closet.
I peeked in on O’Toole before leaving the lab. He was nestled in the small closet, sitting cross-legged on the pile of pillows I’d provided. Sheila-2 was beside him, looking so comfortable.
I don’t know where he’d had it stashed, but O’Toole was holding a children’s book in his hand. It was a book I was quite familiar with, having read it to my girls on many peaceful nights- before.
Dr. O’Toole read animatedly- the child never stirring, still sleeping soundly, curled up under the mass of covers. O’Toole’s voice was rich and warm, now that it wasn’t being snippy and condescending.
“Goodnight room, goodnight…” I smiled, thinking of happier times.
And that thought sent me hurrying towards the products of my own womb- so dear and so near to my heart.
I spent the next day forgetting about the doctors, the labs, the Sheilas. I concentrated all of my energy on Megan and Kara. Once again, I became mother, father, friend, and teacher.
While Megan was in classes, Kara and I visited the small library next to the school room. We read all the children’s books on the shelves (there weren’t many).
We stole a can of men’s shaving cream from a residential supply closet and we finger painted the dark gray shower tiles, then stripped to our skivvies and washed off all the foamy white.
Kara’s giggle resounded off the bathroom walls. She slipped and slid on the floor and almost crashed and burned on the wet surface. I was right behind her though and my hands clasped her under the armpits and bounced her back to her feet.
When Megan was out of class, we wasted time in the entertainment room. I beat Megan in shuffle board twice, but she swept the floor with me in ping pong. Kara and Megan crashed and laughed, racing cars in a game called “Street Heat.” Kara mostly crashed… she wasn’t very coordinated and spent the whole game jerking the steering wheel from left to right.
After dinner, we cuddled in the movie room- joined by quite a few other kids and adults. Kara fell asleep at my side and Megan clapped at the end of the movie, so happy that the lost boy found his parents.
The day was just the remedy I needed. The short time we’d been at NORAD had been very stressful. I’d been working all hours of the night, sneaking around, going to meetings. It was tiring.
Tomorrow it would be face back to the grindstone; my nose felt raw from all the grinding.
I spent the first half of the following day working with Acorn. We ran him through the maze several more times and gave him a comprehensive physical. Peters typed up study notes and a report for the higher-ups.
I’d been told to keep up appearances, do what the doctors said until the higher-ups sent word to the doctors that undergrounder trials would be delayed.
“Yes, well. Yesterday our supervisors called a meeting. Apparently we are delaying the next step. We aren’t exactly sure why. Seems the committee is second guessing the effectiveness of the tech. Not that I blame them.” O’Toole turned from me.
I, of course, knew the reason behind the delay. Priority had been given to my nanotech project. It made sense that any equipment and available resources would be pulled from lesser projects.
I picked up Acorn and put him in his cage.
“It’s too bad that this project is at a standstill. Humanoid implantation would be quite a bit more complicated, but I think the results would have paid off. I don’t condone controlling them as tools, but it might be a good option to keep in our back pocket. I know you guys don’t consider it viable on a large scale, but still…” I spoke to the doctors, my back turned so my face would not betray me.
“Yes, well,” Peters smiled, “on the upside, O’Toole and I will have that much more time to work with Sheila-2.”
I nodded at his positive outlook. “Yes, that is very true.” My eyes roved the room until Sheila-1 came into view.
The doctors must work with her quite a bit when I wasn’t around; she always seemed to have learned some new skill each time I saw her.
Currently, she was naked, cleaning herself with a basin of warm water. Her arms stroked her head in a feline-motion. I watched her, transfixed. The now slight over-curvature of her spine was almost elegant. The water dripping down her back glistened.
The doctors, seeing my expression, turned to also look at the preening beastie. Unable to tear away from the oddly sensual scene, we continued to stand motionless. It wasn’t until Sheila-1 had pulled her yellow cotton dress over her head to cover her newly clean body, that the doctors and I were released from our temporary prison.
