The First Conception_Rise of Eris

by Nesly Clerge

  “That never occurred to me, but I see what you mean. That lines up with immunodeficiency, which is when the immune system fails to provide an adequate response or defense against an attacker. I’ve certainly experienced that and behavioral immunity a number of times.”

  “And that is?”

  “Disgust aroused by an encountered stimuli. Our inclination to get far away, and fast, from a bad smell is one example. It’s nature’s way of conditioning us to avoid what isn’t good for us or might destroy us.”

  Patricia sighed and said, “And yet we women consistently pick the wrong men, like moths to a bright light, and stay with them longer than we should.”

  “That assumes right ones even exist. However, there is an exception to what you said. There are those of us who are selected by them, and without our consent.”

  “Point taken.”

  “It does make an odd sort of sense, now that I think about it. I’m immune to what are supposed to be the charms or appeal of men. I suppose I’m stuck in disgust mode and have been before the age of five. Simultaneously, I behave like an immune system ready and willing to go after my attackers. Life shouldn’t be that way, but it is. Women should be able to live their lives without constantly being on guard. It’s time to reverse the long-standing power and overpowering pattern of the opposite sex.”

  Patricia raised her glass of champagne. I tapped my water glass to hers and said, “I intend to fulfill WAM’s goals, as well as my own.”

  “I’m counting on it.”

  After brunch, I returned to my dorm room. Jenni was in the shower. I made the tsk sound at her piles and piles of notebooks, each line crammed with her scrawled writings. For every ten notebooks of hers, I had one. And those were kept primarily to appease instructors who got snippy when I, at first, didn’t take notes. Only once did I attempt to explain that my ability to retain information was pronounced. This skill wasn’t received well by that particular instructor or fellow students.

  I called Connie and connected with her in her Jeep. “It’s been a year. Still no word from the techs about Ralph being discovered yet?”

  “Nope, and if I was effective, which it seems I was, don’t wait any longer for him to surface—pun intended. The police think he did a runner. Since the evidence matter was a problem for a conviction, they didn’t waste manpower or funds to look for him. Word is, neighbors who were initially concerned gave up, because he took his dog with him.” She laughed and cooed, “Good Irish. Good boy. Gimme some dog.” Returning her attention to me, she said, “He gives the best kisses.”

  I chuckled at how mushy Irish had made my otherwise life-hardened friend. “As you wished, I left what went on underwater to you, but how did you manage to keep him submerged all this time?”

  “Even if you think you want to know, you don’t want to know.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. Looks like you and Irish are definitely family now. He never misses his former master or tries to run away?”

  “Not a chance, not with all the pampering I give him. Good boy. What a good boy. Sorry. He’s just so damn adorable. He heard you say his name and smiled at me before sticking his head back out the window. I love how he’s happy at both ends.”

  I laughed and said, “Later. I just heard the shower turn off.”

  “Give your roommate a big kiss from me.”

  “That just triggered my behavioral immunology.”

  “Your what?”

  I laughed again and ended the call.

  CHAPTER 64

  At the end of January, I had two significant meetings. The first was the interview regarding my residency, to be assigned during this fourth year, with my request being infectious diseases. The confirmation would come in March.

  The other meeting was less formal but equal in importance to me.

  In response to my request for more details about the bigger plans of WAM, Patricia got up from the chair behind her desk and walked to the window. She kept her back to me as she looked past the glass. Knowing her as well as I did, I could tell she looked past the landscaped grounds as well, and that what she surveyed was inside her mind.

  After several moments she said, “It isn’t just that some men—too many of them—treat women poorly or abuse them. It’s all the other things they’ve done throughout history. Some rulers they’ve been. Chaos and deception and violence run through their veins.

  “Granted, some women have gone rogue, as well, but nothing like the numbers of men who have. And most women did so as acts of preservation. Men are at the forefront of every massacre perpetuated on humans. Millions and millions of people slaughtered or enslaved. They’re most often the ones wielding weapons used in mass shootings and terrorist attacks. All for the sake of power.”

  “I recall reading years ago about cultures where women lead.”

  “Too few, and too far removed from society at large.” She turned and faced me, arms crossed at her chest. “A few years ago, a single-question, anonymous survey was taken at several universities, the results of which shocked the survey-takers to no end. But not me. I wasn’t surprised in the least.”

  I studied her expression of disgust mixed with anguish. “What was the focus?”

  Her eyes stayed fixed on mine. “The question was put to males only.”

  I sat up straighter. “This should be interesting.”

  “More like revolting. The question was, If rape were no longer a crime, if there were no punishment involved, would they engage in that activity?”

  “We know the answer.”

  She nodded. “The majority—the majority—said they would, and as often as they chose to. Even in this modern age, we still have cultures of men who believe rape is their right, and in some instances, their obligation. It’s up to us to do something about this.”

  “I agree. However, it can’t be anything standard.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “It can’t be anything they could imagine, much less expect.”

  “Subterfuge. I like it. Keep going.” She joined me on the sofa.

  “We have to hit them where it hurts, in a manner of speaking. Get them focused on one direction. While they’re looking where we cause them to look, we weaken them and infiltrate their power structure.”

  “I have my own ideas, but tell me yours.”

  “We know what our desired end result is. All we have to do is create a problem that gets them anxious and screaming for a solution. We present them with ours, but the camouflaged version, not the real one. We let them believe our focus is the same as theirs. We make it convincing. And in the meantime, in gradual increments—”

  “We take over. Is this the seed you’ve mentioned?”

  “Yes, in part. It’s the what and how that I’m still waiting for an inspired idea about. What about WAM’s strategy? You’ve never clarified that for me.”

  “Like you, we have a goal but not the precise how, at least not one we’ve as yet agreed on, despite having some of the brightest minds on board. At present, our primary focus has been on empowering women and helping those in need. That’s an all-encompassing task at the best of times. But we share a commitment that women must become the stronger sex.”

  “We are the stronger sex.”

  “Not in men’s minds, nor in many of our sisters’ minds.”

  “In the words of Matsuo Basho, ‘Do not seek to follow the footsteps of the men of old; seek what they sought.’” I reached out and took Patricia’s hand in mine. “I’m committed to making your goal a reality. Along with that, I’ll include punitive measures on behalf of myself and all women.”

  “All I ask is that you keep one thing in mind.”

  “Which is?”

  “It isn’t our goal to destroy men or eradicate them. That would be foolish for a number of obvious reasons. However, it is our goal to retrain them.”

  I thought of Irish. “Like teaching a dog to do his business outside.”

  Patricia grinned and said, “Imagi
ne what the world would be like if men were as loyal, loving, and so eager to please us.”

  “I might even be able to tolerate them. Or not.”

  CHAPTER 65

  It was my habit to visit Caitlin’s tree once a day, even if it was dark out, and no matter the weather. The sky was a canopy of clear blue and the sun made everything sparkle. Especially the silver trinkets attached to the growing laurel tree now several feet taller than I stood.

  Had things gone differently, my daughter would be growing as well, charming me and every woman at WAM, and being spoiled by Patricia and others.

  I sat on the grass beneath the tree and watched the ornaments glint in the light as a soft breeze caused them to dance. For some inexplicable reason, Abigail came to mind. Perhaps she was thinking of me at the same time. Alhough we’d stayed in contact by phone, though once a month now rather than twice, it had been a long time since we’d seen each other.

  Somehow, I couldn’t imagine her announcing to me that she had entered the world of mothers-to-be. I doubted if she ever would. It might ruin her fun. She’d have to put a child’s needs above her own, and I wasn’t certain she could do that.

  A distinctive sensation coursed through me. If Abigail ever did get word to me that she was carrying life inside her, I’d be inclined to hate her, perhaps not immediately, but eventually, or the other way around. Rationally, I knew she had nothing to do with my losing Caitlin, but had all to do with my daughter’s conception. I found it difficult to separate the two events, though I did try.

  I’d given thought to why I maintained any form of relationship with her and always returned to the fact that she was my only link to the past. As long as I avoided allowing her to trick me into a bad situation, I could keep my ties with her.

  I’d spent no time at Mama’s apartment, though I still made the payments each month. Mr. Hopkins never questioned me about this. He did report that he cleaned inside weekly to make sure everything stayed in good shape and no repairs were needed. Each month I sent extra funds to cover this expense. I should let the apartment go, let someone who needs a place to live have it, but I can’t. It’s like Caitlin’s tree—a memorial for someone I’ve loved and lost.

  Besides, my need for close friendship—in intimacy and proximity—was fulfilled where I was, and with women who offered more mental stimulation and loyalty than Abigail ever could.

  Other than these snippets of time by the tree, my hours stayed filled for the most part. However, I made sure there was time, even if only a segment of an hour, to learn more about the scientists and what they were working on in the underground laboratories.

  One thing missing from their work and their equipment was what might facilitate genome research. I made a mental note to discuss this with Patricia at some future time. A DNA sequencer, along with additional equipment, as needed, would facilitate my immunology research. My desire about this wasn’t solely for that purpose. The topic had fascinated me since I was a child. DNA was the mystical spiral of vast information revealed and mysteries to be solved.

  My seed idea developed a fissure, and a tiny shoot began to emerge through the casing. I didn’t understand what it represented but believed I would. When the time was right.

  I’d learned that life is, more often than not, all about the timing.

  CHAPTER 66

  My fourth year included the usual. I sat for Step 2 of the USMLE, receiving the highest—make that perfect—score.

  I applied to and was accepted at UCSF Medical Center for a residency in infectious diseases. It meant commuting from Palo Alto to San Francisco, but I didn’t mind. Time alone as I traveled proved soothing. Patricia made it an even more comfortable ride by surprising me with a new car—a silver Audi—stating I’d earned it, and argued that I had to let her behave like a proud substitute mother when I protested the expense. I wept when she said that and hugged her when she agreed to let me keep Mama’s car tucked out of sight in the empty spot in her three-car garage.

  It became apparent to me almost from the start of my residency that patient care was not and never would be my forte. I didn’t mind dealing with women but found a prejudice existed when it came to men. Unless a male was ten or younger, I had great difficulty looking at or touching any part of their bodies. I hid this abhorrence as best I could, but it cast a definite shadow over my days. Despite this, I never allowed my feelings to affect patient care. I couldn’t afford to. I needed to know as much about male physiology, and something about their psychology, as possible.

  I also recognized that I wanted to accomplish something greater, such as find or create cures for deadly diseases. This would mean dedicating myself to research, and I knew the precise laboratory that would fulfill this as well as my other desired goal.

  This was the topic of conversation over brunch with Patricia on a day off.

  She sat back in her chair and studied my expression. “One thing I know about you, Katherine, is that whatever you put your mind to, you achieve, and with fewer complications than most people experience.”

  “I appreciate your faith in me.”

  “You still intend to get licensed, right?”

  “Definitely.”

  She gave me a wide grin. “Dr. Katherine Barnes.”

  “Technically, I’ve been Doctor, or rather, Professor Barnes for a few years.”

  “You never told me. I would have introduced you with your proper title. Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

  I shrugged. “It’s never been about the titles for me. It’s about being allowed into the scientific realm where discoveries and advances are made. Of being able to select a high-level laboratory to work in.” I grinned and said, “I happen to know the perfect one that will suit my objectives.”

  “As soon as you’re licensed, every resource at headquarters is yours to use.”

  “I’m just asking, but why have you had me wait?”

  “It’s a code of ethics of sorts, devised by the scientists who work there. They’re adamant that only the best and the brightest, and the licensed, be permitted to share their space.”

  I thought about Abigail, Jenni, and the others, and their less than stimulating dialogue and thought processes. “I completely understand. It means that I, too, will not be forced to suffer fools.”

  “We suffer enough of them in this world.”

  “I’ll find a way to end one half of the population’s suffering while inflicting it on the other half.”

  Patricia nodded and sighed. “They drove us to this.”

  “And I—we—intend to take over the wheel.”

  CHAPTER 67

  In my attempt to cram as much into my residency as possible, I worked twelve-hour shifts and several double shifts for four weeks straight. The hospital finally forced me to take three consecutive days off. They didn’t mind using residents as much as possible, but burnout was frowned upon.

  On one of my days off, I found myself assisting Patricia with volunteer work, which consisted of distributing toiletries, clothing, and food at a homeless shelter for women and children.

  It proved to be a long day in more ways than one. On the ride home in Patricia’s car, I said, “That was painful on many levels.”

  “I know. It always appalls me to see the degradation and conditions some women are forced into.”

  “Do you go there often?”

  “Twice a month. I would have invited you sooner, but I thought it better to let you stay focused on school, et cetera. Each first week of the month, I bring supplies to them, donate funds of course, but I also hold a meeting there at the middle of the month. The sad thing is that only a percentage of the women choose to let us help them climb out of the hole they’re in.”

  I turned my face to her. “I’d think each of them would want that.”

  “Some of them are so used to seeing themselves in one way only, they can’t imagine anything can change, much less work up the energy to make the effort it takes. Their experience of life has exhausted
them.”

  I nodded and looked away. “My mother was like them. She had it better in a way. She never reached the point of being homeless, but she easily could have gone over that edge. In an odd way, we were fortunate.” For the next several minutes, I gave her a summary of my younger years, keeping it brief, and including things I hadn’t shared before. “It took losing me to foster care to find the motivation to change her life and mine.”

  “That took more courage than, perhaps, you comprehend.”

  “You’re right. I didn’t fully understand it at the time. That came later. I wish there were some way to help those children to skip over degradation and go straight to self-reliance.”

  Patricia turned into the parking lot of WAM headquarters, pulled into her designated spot, and turned the engine off. “Come with me. I have something to show you.”

  I grinned at her. “You have a plan, don’t you?”

  “When do I not?”

  Patricia uncoiled several large rectangular papers across the surface of her desk and placed weights on each corner. An architectural rendering of a three-story facade was the top sheet. “As we speak, this building is in the preliminary stages for construction to begin a mile from here. On fifty acres I purchased several years ago.”

  I traced the dimensions with my fingers. “It’s massive.”

  “Every worthy undertaking should be, in some measure.” What you’re looking at will be a privately funded school for homeless and under-served girls. It’ll function like a private school, meaning they’ll be housed there, with family visitation rights of course, supervised, if that’s required. We’ll even provide transportation on weekends and holidays for family to visit them at the school. Depending on the history, visits may be for an hour or an entire day.”

  She removed the top sheet and tapped the blueprint. “This west wing will house girls from kindergarten to eighth grade.” She moved that sheet to reveal the next one. “This is the north wing, and where ninth- through twelfth-grade girls will be housed.” That sheet was moved. “This is the eastern side, which will be an accredited college, complete with dorms, and so forth. Everything needed will be provided to each student.”