The First Conception_Rise of Eris

by Nesly Clerge

  “How long has he been on?” I asked.

  “Couple minutes. I ran here as soon as I heard about it.”

  We sat or stood as still as statues, transfixed.

  The reverend slammed a fist against the Bible in his other hand. “What this so-called scientist has done is an abomination.”

  I thought of Chloe then let the memory go.

  A reporter said, “Others see it as a glimmer of hope, a miracle, if you will.”

  “I will not. This is Satan’s work, pure and simple. Thus sayeth the Lord, ‘My people are destroyed for lack of knowledge: because thou hast rejected knowledge, I will also reject thee.’” He waved the Bible and said, “I’m speaking to you, Katherine Barnes. Repent. Abandon being the servant of the father of lies. As it’s written, ‘Thou hast forgotten the law of thy God.’ And he’ll forget you after he casts you into the lake of fire. Repent and desist, you vile whore of Satan. Find a Christian man to obey and give him children.”

  I muttered, “Bastard.”

  Others in the crowd began to shout him down. One woman close to the microphones shouted, “Idiot. Other than Amber Lake, there’s been no conception for several years.”

  “With God, all things are possible. All throughout the Old Testament, he gave barren women children. What’s happening now is His punishment for the multitude of sins rampant in our world. Repent, all ye heathens.”

  The crowd erupted.

  Connie rested her elbows on her knees. “I’d pay good money to be there now. I’d sneak up on him and zap him with my stun gun. Right in his self-righteous nuggets.”

  The security woman with us said, “I’d hold him still.”

  The outspoken woman shoved her way to the microphones. “Don’t listen to him. He’s a man. What does he know about the pain we women feel about this catastrophe. He can’t know.”

  The reverend moved to stand in front of the woman. “Jesus himself said the end times would be like in the days of Noah. As it’s written in Genesis, ‘And God said unto Noah, The end of all flesh is come before me; for the earth is filled with violence through them; and, behold, I will destroy them with the earth.’”

  The same reporter from earlier said, “Are you saying this possible miracle to save the species is part of the end-times myth?”

  “It’s no myth, son. It’s a promise from the Almighty. We are on the path to perdition. Repent, all of you. Before it’s too late.”

  The woman bumped him out of the way with her hip. “What a load of superstitious crap. We stand on the brink of a chance to repair whatever it was that got broken in us. We need children. Not just so humans continue. We need them for more reasons than this guy can comprehend.” She raised her fist and shouted, “Success to Katherine Barnes and WAM.” She continued to repeat this phrase as others in the crowd joined in.

  The reverend stormed away amid the uproar.

  I hit the off button. The three of us were silent for a moment then I said, “Is she a member?”

  Connie answered. “I’ll try to locate her and check. If not, I’ll see if she wants to be.” She got to her feet and gestured to the other woman. “Let’s go. Time to review our security measures.”

  I placed the remote on the coffee table. “You think we’ll have problems?”

  “It would be a miracle if we didn’t.”

  Throughout the remainder of the day, my mind whirled with many thoughts, so it wasn’t until I got into bed that night when I realized I’d heard nothing from Abigail about my appearance on TV and what I’d achieved. Surely she’d either seen it or heard about it from someone. I’d checked the news before going to my TV-less secure quarters. Regularly scheduled programs on nearly every channel had been bumped to allow coverage and discussion. It was all anyone was talking about. All they wanted to talk about.

  I fell asleep before another thought about this or anything else could clutter my mind.

  CHAPTER 98

  Donations and membership applications flooded in, as did phone calls and e-mails and personal appearances by women eager to join our organization. We had to recruit volunteers solely to handle the volume.

  Lauren’s and my security teams doubled from five to ten, all armed in multiple ways and trained in martial arts.

  The first attack happened two weeks later. Bullets shattered every large window in the lobby and a number of windows on other floors facing the front, though no one attempted entry. Nor would they have succeeded or liked what and who would have been waiting for them had they tried.

  I joined Connie in the lobby the next day as a crew installed new panes. “They’ll just do it again,” I said.

  She tucked her thumbs inside her weapon-laden belt. “That’s why I’m replacing all exterior glass with aluminum oxynitride. Much more effective than traditional bulletproof glass. This stuff can stop .50 caliber armor-piercing rounds.”

  “That should do it.”

  “To a point. Nothing is completely impenetrable, say, like if someone used a rocket launcher.”

  I glanced at her. “You don’t anticipate someone doing that, do you?”

  “I stay busy trying to anticipate what someone might do. I suggest we replace every window at the school with this stuff.”

  “Whatever you need to ramp up security, do it. Funds coming in from around the world seem nearly unlimited.” I faced her. “I’m not saying your budget is also unlimited. Just keep me apprised of expenditures.”

  “Good. Because I have other ideas about what’s needed.”

  Connie’s planning and efforts were exactly what were needed. Two more attacks happened within a six-month period, thankfully restricted to the headquarters building, always from a distance, and always minimal compared to what it could have been. Connie had seen to the barrier aspect as well, and applied the same protective measures at the school and the medical facility.

  The other day, Lauren told me she sometimes feels like a chrysalis. Were conditions different, I would have taken that as a positive statement by a child anticipating the moment she broke free of her protective cocoon and her wings fluttered open and wide. A child, as most children are at that age, eager to enter the larger world waiting to be interpreted and improved by them.

  But I knew she meant something else entirely.

  CHAPTER 99

  At the beginning of December, after a number of discussions—some of them heated—with Agatha, Brenda, and Connie, we began arrangements for the first human trials.

  From the safety found inside headquarters, I initiated necessary outside contacts. This included the warden of the nearest maximum security prison with inmates on death row and California’s governor. We scheduled a Skype meeting for the second week. At the appointed time, I initiated the meeting. Present on my side were Agatha, Brenda, and Connie.

  “You can see,” I said ten minutes in, “why men condemned to die are ideal for our initial purposes.”

  The governor puffed air into his cheeks then expelled it. “I’m not comfortable with the idea of swapping their sentences for this.”

  “Understandable. But some of them may die during the trial. We lost a number of chimpanzees before we had our first success.”

  “But then you did have a success. More than one.”

  “True, but that was chimps.”

  “Let’s say some of these guys survive. I can’t release them back into the public arena, no matter how famous this may make them. Some of these guys are the worst of the worst.”

  “I’m not suggesting you release them. Once they’ve fulfilled our purpose, put them back in prison, but off death row. It’s the only way those who fit our criteria might agree.”

  “I suppose I could live with that. Warden?”

  The warden leaned forward. “What about security?”

  I gestured to Connie who nodded. “Not a problem.”

  He scowled. “Could you be a bit more forthcoming?”

  “Sure thing. They’ll each be in a secure room with 24/7 security de
tails.”

  “Confined to bed,” I added.

  “Why?” the warden asked.

  “One reason is they won’t feel like doing much of anything once the transplant is done. Another reason is they must remain still so the uterus has a chance to integrate with the body and become viable. It’s the same for the in vitro part of the process. Once the embryo begins to develop as anticipated, it’s imperative they remain mostly immobile.” I continued with an explanation about the waste removal aspect for volunteer hosts and fetuses. “So you see, they not only won’t want to move about, they won’t be able to. Any movement required for the process, and their well-being, will be severely restricted and monitored.”

  The governor cleared his throat. His face bloomed red. “Where will the, um, female contributions come from?”

  “Volunteers. Keep in mind that human female eggs are still good. The fault is in their uteruses and ovarian release of an egg, which we can retrieve through a simple procedure.”

  “They aren’t hesitant about a criminal being the father of their child?”

  “Understand this,” I said. “Your volunteers are in no way the parent, merely the host. Their roles end as soon as we release them back to you. That’s included in the agreement they’ll each sign—no claim on any child born. No responsibility at all, for that matter, and absolutely no contact ever with the child or parents, not that we’ll release names and whereabouts to anyone. Our volunteer members donating eggs are married women, all in the appropriate age range, all in stable marriages with husbands who’ll donate the sperm. We felt obligated to start with established couples we’ve vetted intensely beforehand. Think of it this way: It’s no different than other surrogate arrangements, relatively speaking.”

  “What about those other two women sitting with you? What’s their involvement?”

  I introduced Agatha, who said, “I’ll supervise all medical treatment and care.” She listed her degrees and so forth, and then gestured toward Brenda.

  Brenda smiled in her grandmotherly way. “I’ll address their psychological needs.” She provided the same type of information as to her qualifications as Agatha had.

  The warden tapped his pen on his tablet. “And you’re positive about the security matter?”

  Connie grinned. “Our only competition would be Fort Knox. Maybe.”

  Discussion continued for another half hour, but primarily to finalize details. We agreed to swap appropriate documents via e-mail and ended the call.

  I smiled at the three women. “Looks like we’ll be in business starting the first week of January.”

  After several moments of congratulating ourselves, Brenda and Connie left. Agatha remained.

  “There’s something I’d like your approval on,” she said.

  “I’m listening.”

  “I’d like to use the scientists—the others, not your personal ones—to expand an idea I have in the oncology field.”

  “Which is?”

  “I want to work on a cure for cancer.”

  “You have time to focus on that and our project?”

  “I will if you let me use the services of at least two volunteer scientists who will agree to follow my instructions.”

  “Sounds like a worthy pursuit. As long as it doesn’t detract your attention from—”

  “It won’t. I promise.”

  “Then go for it.”

  Agatha gave me a quick hug. “Patricia would be so proud of you.”

  “I hope so.”

  “She took to you and believed in you from the start, even when …” She reddened from her neck to her hairline.

  “Even when what?” When she didn’t answer, I said, “Did others have questions about me?”

  She aimed her eyes at the floor. “Just a few.” Eyes focused firmly on me, she said, “It didn’t take long for them to realize Patricia was right about you.”

  “Should I be worried about them?”

  She shook her head and smiled. “Not at all. It was mostly about jealousy. They wanted Patricia to hold them in the esteem she held you. They wanted to be you.”

  “I’d like their names.”

  “Don’t make me tell you, Katherine. It wouldn’t be fair. Not after all this time. They’ve proven themselves over and over. You have nothing to worry about, and more important things to focus on. I’m sorry I mentioned it.”

  She kissed me on the cheek and left.

  Nothing to worry about.

  I had everything to worry about.

  CHAPTER 100

  The second day of January was the turning point for us. Four shackled prisoners arrived, delighted to no longer be on death row and no longer behind bars. Connie’s team took over the transfer outside the medical facility, refusing entry to our facility by prison guards. They were unhappy about that. We didn’t care.

  Connie had addressed security in more ways than I could have fathomed. Only one of the prisoners attempted to get away. Personally, it pleased me to see him try it in front of the other three. They learned quickly that any further attempts were futile, painful, and humiliating. Connie and her security team could be referred to as any number of things—which the men initially spewed—but lightweights was not one included in their more colorful adjectives.

  We decided to stagger the transplants a week apart, more for our convenience than any other reason. We repeated the procedure used for the chimps, but modified for human biochemistry and physiology. After the tenth month, the first uterus proved healthy and ready for insertion of the fertilized egg.

  Six months in, and after some discussion, another Skype call, and arrangements we needed resolved and met, we had four new prisoners with transplants. Agatha referred to it as a backup plan—a necessary evil. We hired additional female doctors and nurses specifically trained in organ transplants and neonatal care.

  It’s remarkable how an invasive procedure or two, plus the addition of sedatives and restraints, make an otherwise violent man compliant and uncomplaining ninety-eight percent of the time. This also served to make Brenda’s involvement with the men seldom required.

  Tending to the needs of a full-grown man, especially once the machines were hooked up to remove embryonic waste, proved far less appealing than for chimpanzees. But it was a necessary, time-intensive occupation. They and the fetuses had to be kept healthy at all costs. Monitoring our hosts and fetuses became a 24/7, exhausting, yet rewarding occupation.

  The first prisoner host presented a problem I hadn’t anticipated. He, like the others, usually slept through the sonograms. However, the first time he felt the fetus move, he wept. Afterwards, he forced himself to remain awake and asked endless questions.

  Two months into the second trimester, while I was conducting a sonogram, he wrapped his hand around my wrist.

  His eyes fixed on mine. “I know I signed off on no contact, but will you let me see him when he’s born?” He rubbed his expanding abdomen and smiled as the developing baby responded on the screen.

  I hadn’t been allowed to experience that kind of moment with Caitlin while she grew inside me. Rage welled and coursed through every cell in my body. I halted the sonogram and started for the door.

  “Please,” he said quietly.

  I kept my back to him as my eyes filled. “I’ll decide at the time.”

  At the beginning of the eighth month, which was during February of the following year, Agatha and I stood at the bedside of this host.

  She sighed and shook her head. “The vitals of both are starting to fluctuate.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I suggest we deliver this one.”

  “I agree. I’d rather face the usual challenges with a month-early infant than risk it.”

  “I’ll get everything set up. I want to do this as soon as possible.”

  Atypical of usual C-section procedure, we put the host all the way under. Within ten minutes after the incision, the first human baby was born after years of what could be termed an
infant drought.

  “I would have preferred a girl,” I said.

  “So you mentioned a number of times. You may change your mind when you hold him.” Agatha frowned. “We have a bleeder here.”

  I assisted her in her efforts to save the prisoner. He didn’t make it. I almost felt sorry that he hadn’t had the chance to see his son or hear the first sound he made.

  Almost.

  Agatha called time of death, a task I’d witnessed too often.

  I did a quick check on the infant being tended to by a nurse then joined her at the wash basin. “We need to find a way to make sure the men survive.”

  “They will. This one was a fluke, an ulceration waiting to burst that didn’t present, possibly because he was kept under sedation most of the time.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “I have to be, don’t I?”

  “The world could turn on us if you—we—aren’t.”

  “Only initially. Remember, Katherine, more boys will be born and grow into men to act as hosts. The species will continue. Mothers will cradle babies in their arms once again. Fathers will play ball or humble themselves to enjoy tea parties. The public will get over any collateral loss. After all—”

  “Women have been doing it for generations.”

  Agatha nodded. “Indeed.”

  ***

  We took necessary precautions with our infant boy, which included keeping the specially prepared nursery room impeccably sterile. Everyone who entered the room wore a mask and gloves.

  We gave him round-the-clock attention and kept him under a heat-radiating lamp the first two weeks. He breathed well, ate well, and eliminated with no problem. Despite this, we carefully watched for symptoms of persistent ductus arteriosis, hemorrhaging in the brain, and intestinal inflammation—all conditions infants born four weeks early have the potential to experience.

  Six weeks later, once we were certain the infant was in excellent health, I arranged for Sasha Aspen to interview me at the medical facility, in a private office near the lobby. I insisted the interview last no more than five minutes. Connie and two others of her team stood off-side in the room. Ten others stood watch outside the door. Additional security positioned themselves inside and outside the building.