The Enclave

by Karen Hancock

  “Clearly humanity once had knowledge it has lost. And if we found it once, we can find it again. In the last hundred years alone, we’ve put men on the moon, examined the very soil of Mars, and found a way to kill millions of people with a single explosion.” In the box, appropriate video illustrated his words. “We’ve developed technology to the point we can watch what is happening on the other side of the world in real time—and travel there in less than a day.”

  Like a lion he prowled across the stage, tall, regal, fluid . . . mesmerizing. Periodically his blue eyes skewered hers, sending tingles down her legs.

  “Yet nothing compares to the advances we’ve made in genetics. The single most radical event was when Watson and Crick figured out the structure of the DNA molecule.” In the box behind him a double helix unwound, the two strands in turn winding into daughter strands as it replicated. “That, combined with the advance in computing systems, has led to the unraveling of the human genome and brought us to the beginning of a revolution in knowledge and abilities unmatched in all of history. A revolution that will lead to a radical change in life as we know it: the metamorphosis of man himself.”

  The orchestra’s rendition of Strauss’s Also sprach Zarathustra swelled through the auditorium as behind him a giant golden chrysalis floated in the darkness at the cube’s center. Inside its transparent golden case, the pupa convulsed, forcing a split in the side of its prison. Before their eyes, the creature pushed itself through the breach, then spread its golden brown spotted wings, a worm no longer, but a newly born butterfly.

  “As complete a change of form as any caterpillar,” Swain intoned.

  “We stand on the brink of being able to rework the natural world and change our way of life, our own bodies and minds, even our mortality.

  Death, long the enemy of humankind, is about to be conquered.”

  Lacey felt a thrill of awe, tinged with undeniable uneasiness. Conquer death? Wasn’t he overreaching? Didn’t such things belong in the hands of God? Of course, Swain did not believe in God, so such a consideration would hardly be an issue for him.

  But she did believe, though she had ignored her Christian faith for some years now. In truth she was angry with God for letting her marry Erik, for not answering any of her pleas to fix her marriage, to keep her in school, to work out all her problems. As He’ d abandoned her, so she’ d abandoned Him. Still, she wasn’t prepared to push Him completely out of existence.

  Unless it really was the hooey everyone she’ d met at Kendall-Jakes claimed it to be.

  Her thoughts broke off as she gazed in shock at the newest image on the screen, her attention returning to Swain’s words. “ . . . in the accelerated regeneration of skin tissue, allowing the near instantaneous healing of wounds. The one you see behind me took three hours from application to final scarring.”

  The image on the screen was her own forearm, cut in the same place hers was cut, encircled at the wrist with the same slender braided bracelet she had worn, and lost, that same night. Needles held by the hands of unseen workers made a series of brief injections into the tissue along the wound’s edges, then withdrew as the laceration closed, scabbed, and formed into a scar before her eyes.

  “Our process has already been patented, and we have just this afternoon received the approval of the FDA to begin our marketing campaign for it.”

  Swain’s blue eyes found hers and her heart beat frantically. Accelerated regeneration of skin tissue? Instantaneous healing of wounds? This was what they had done to her?

  He held her gaze for an instant, then smiled and turned his attention to another, leaving her stunned and motionless in her chair. He’ d just admitted everything: that there had been an intruder, she had been injured, and they had healed her wound instantaneously. And he’ d asked her to come here. He wanted her to know that he knew, even as he couldn’t admit it.

  Her heart slammed frantically against her chest, and she felt angry, vindicated, and puzzled all at the same time. It made no sense. Why cover it all up, have everyone lie to her, make her think she was mentally unstable, leave a blot on her record, only to publicly admit her claims were true?

  Because he was only admitting the part about the wound, not the intruder. As a courtesy to her. Perhaps as an assurance, as well. An assurance that he would indeed make all things right, if she would only trust him and be patient.

  Swain, meanwhile, had moved on, outlining the kingpin of their research program, which was the aging process itself, and extolling the virtues of his scientists as well as the clinic and resort where their health secrets might be shared.

  “I believe many of us in this room will be part of the generation that will never die.”

  The box withdrew into the ceiling as a forest of Plexiglas panels speared upward from the stage floor all around him. “Starvation, deformity, disease, death—for millions of years we have sought to free ourselves from them.” As he walked among the panels, images formed on the transparent panes—a skeletal child, a young woman, face marred by the white sores of leprosy, a corpse draped in white linen.

  “With immortality we can learn and grow as never before. We can unlock secrets closed to us for millennia, and we can at long last travel the distances that span the stars and be able to experience our destination when we arrive.”

  He strode from amidst the panels and faced them. “Tonight you can become a part of this vision. I see that for some of you it’s already resonating.” Again he caught her eye and again she sensed a question directed specifically at her. Was she one who knew this as the truth? She ventured a slight smile, which broadened his. The blue eyes flicked away, darted over the crowd.

  “Consider what I offer you tonight—the opportunity to do away with poverty, disease, and even death. Will you ignore the call, sit back and leave it to others to answer? Or will you seize the chance to make your life matter in ways you can’t even imagine? The choice is yours.”

  His gaze slid over them for a time. Then he drew his feet together, dipped a small bow, and said, “Thank you all for coming.”

  The spotlight and Plexiglas panels winked out, shrouding all in darkness. At first no one moved, and Lacey wondered if the others felt as disoriented as she did—as if she’ d been riding a huge wave, careening past glorious sights, only to be dumped unceremoniously back into the regular world.

  Something had happened during that speech. Somehow his words had reached into her soul and ignited a simmering excitement, filling her mind with a host of potential futures. She felt skeptical, yes, but energized. His vision, his challenge, had captured her, and she felt an undeniable yearning to be part of it. And then realized that she already was!

  “I’m a geneticist here,” she’ d told Estelle Lederman earlier. She’ d felt embarrassed then, as if she were misrepresenting herself. Now, recalling that Swain himself had hired her, had specific plans just for her, plans that would take her far beyond her wildest dreams, she felt a burgeoning pride.

  The blue ceiling fixtures brightened as people stood up around her. Director Swain had come down from the stage to shake hands with individuals who crushed forward to speak to him. She saw him for but a moment. Then her view was blocked as the people in the next row stood up. Lacey stood, but he was lost behind the ranks of shoulders and backs.

  Beside her Estelle sighed with pleasure. “Wasn’t that wonderful? Doesn’t it just give you so much energy and hope? I could listen to it every week, I think.” She took Lacey’s arm and urged her along the row, which was rapidly emptying. “Come on, let’s go down and see if we can shake his hand. I’d love to introduce you.”

  Lacey was tempted, but seeing the crowd already gathered around him, she knew it would be futile. “Thanks, but I need to get back to the shuttle before it leaves. With the blisters I’m putting on my heels, I don’t want to walk any further than I have to.”

  “You should take off your shoes, dear,” said Estelle.

  They shuffled out of the theater into the outer co
rridor, which was only slightly less crowded than the inner aisles. Suddenly the crowd parted, and there was Director Swain, only a few steps away from her, shaking hands, laughing, but moving inexorably toward the side exit— which was also in her direction. As Estelle grabbed her arm again to draw her attention to him, he looked up and saw them.

  In moments he stood before her. “Ah, Ms. McHenry,” he said. “Did I make good on my claim?” He took her hand, and tingles crawled up her arm.

  His regard was so intense, it set the blood rushing to her face again. She smiled and nodded. “I think you did, sir.”

  “Outstanding! I knew you would be a solid addition to our team.” He patted her shoulder, then turned to shake the next person’s hand and move on.

  Estelle squeezed her arm. “He knows you by name! And you told me you were but a lowly research technician.”

  “Well, I am that.”

  “Well, I am that.”

  “Not for long, if I’m any judge. Come on, I’ll walk you to the shuttle.”

  “Hold on a minute, then,” Lacey said. She bent to remove her shoes and they walked up the ramp together.

  Lacey’s moment in the sun might have ended, but that didn’t diminish the optimism that soared in her soul. For the first time in years, all her self-doubts and uncertainty of purpose had vanished. For the first time she had the chance to do something with her life that really mattered, and she was determined to make the most of it.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Unlike Lacey, who took the employee shuttle back to the zig, Cam walked the asphalt path alone through the darkness. He’ d briefly entertained thoughts of trying to catch her en route to the shuttle and apologize, but one look at her—barefoot, her dark pumps dangling from her hands, old Estelle Lederman at her side—and he’ d known it was not to be.

  In truth, he was relieved, grateful for the solitude. His way was lit by the stars and the golden glow of the zig’s exterior lighting. The bulk of the outer berm loomed to his left, while to the right lay the more organized campus park, occasional tall lamps illuminating paths winding through it.

  He was still in turmoil, though its nature had shifted as the day had passed. Where before it had been pure outrage and an almost vindictive need to “show them,” now second thoughts assailed him.

  He’d not spoken to Lacey McHenry since the disastrous encounter before lunch, too embarrassed to attempt to explain himself. It didn’t help that she’ d refused to even look at him, nor that an interdepartmental meeting had taken up the bulk of his afternoon.

  He kept telling himself it didn’t matter, since he’d be gone tomorrow. But as the day wore on even that had been called into question. For if Rudy was right, how could Cam just leave her here and let it go?

  And not just her, but the other K-J employees and all the other people Swain was scamming.

  Cam had gone to the presentation for two reasons: one, because he didn’t want to rouse Swain’s suspicions that he might be planning to leave; and two, because he was curious as to why Swain had specifically invited him. That was obvious now, but what he hadn’t expected were all the things about the presentation he’ d forgotten. All those desperate high rollers, nearing the end of their lives, trying to buy their way out of death.

  Botox, exercise regimens, vitamins, hyperbaric chambers, and purification rituals might slow or hide or remove the evidence, but the fact remained their bodies were degenerating, and they all knew it. It was only a matter of time before they’d face their end. And it terrified them. So they sought to run from it, as desperately as he contemplated running from his own terror.

  Nor was it just the elderly. Poe had introduced him to Hank Schroeder and his wife, a couple not much older than Cam, whose nine-year-old daughter had died as a result of injuries in a car accident ten years ago. As she’ d lingered in intensive care, the couple had contracted with an organization called New Hope to have her cells harvested and frozen in preparation for cloning.

  When Cam had pointed out the known failure rate of human cloning, and the problems of premature aging already cropping up in cloned animals, Schroeder brushed such concerns off as irrelevant. The cloning process, he informed Cam, had already been successful, the embryo implanted into the womb of a surrogate several months ago. “My wife has medical issues that preclude implantation,” he added before Cam could ask. “The surrogate’s already halfway to term.”

  “That’s quite remarkable,” Cam said. “And she’s local, you say?”

  “Oh no, she’s in Europe,” the man had told him. “Of course, you understand, I can’t say exactly where. . . .”

  “Of course.”

  Schroeder looked at Cam quizzically. “You’re still skeptical.”

  “Actually, I consider the whole idea of trying to replace lost loved ones to be futile and misplaced. It might be the same body, but whatever soul God imputes to the child, should she be born, it would not be the same as your daughter’s.”

  The man had looked at him as if he’ d spoken gibberish. “God?” he’d asked in a bemused tone. “I don’t believe in God.” He paused as if expecting Cam to argue. When he did not, the man dropped it. “Well, whoever she is, we will love her just the same. And I doubt she’ll be that different. Identical twins, after all, are very much the same—in appearance, in medical history, and in personality.”

  Cam said no more. In all likelihood, there was no fetus and the man was simply being played. Thankfully, others joined them shortly thereafter and the conversation went off in other directions.

  As for the new things Swain had hinted would be in the presentation itself, there’d been his announcement of FDA approval for K-J’s patented accelerated tissue repair process and the video of the cut on Lacey McHenry’s arm healing in three hours, the latter unquestionably inserted this evening as a peace offering to Cam and Ms. McHenry. Cam had no doubt that clip had already been removed from the program, and from any recordings made of it, with a new sequence inserted in its place.

  There’d also been the shocking sight of Cam’s own face up there on the planes of the massive box, touted as one of K-J’s luminaries, a Black Box Fellow, winner of the Curt Stern Award. His face hadn’t been part of the presentation he’d attended when he’ d first arrived, though apparently it was not a new addition, from what Poe had said. He supposed Swain meant it as an honor, but seeing it tonight had smitten him like a blow. There was no way now that he could deny he was not intimately tied with Swain and all he stood for. Not with Christ . . . Not with truth. But with an institute that baldly stated its intentions of moving God out of the way and taking His place with their human knowledge and scientific expertise. All that nonsense about cheating death, changing the human race, conquering the universe—it was all straight out of Isaiah 14, the human equivalent of Lucifer’s five “I will’s.”

  Just like in the days of Noah, when the first attempt had been made at genetically manipulating humanity into a superior race . . .

  Then came that final challenge . . . “Will you ignore the call, sit back and leave it to others to answer? Or seize the chance to make your life matter in ways you can’t even imagine? The choice is yours.”

  Swain’s words had echoed so closely those spoken by Cam’s pastor over the last few weeks, they couldn’t help snagging his attention. Even now, in recollection, he felt a zing at knowing the words had been for him, not from Swain, but from God himself. A call not to reengineer the world, but to stay at K-J and do what Rudy had asked him to do.

  The presentation had doused his petty anger, reminding him of the bigger picture. Yes, he’ d been tricked and manipulated, but not without God’s knowledge. Not without His permission and perhaps even intent. . . . Just as Isaac had been tricked and manipulated into blessing Jacob instead of Esau.

  Rudy might have meant it for evil—or at least for his own goals at the expense of Cam’s—but God meant it for good. Cam had asked if he was supposed to come here, and believed God had said yes. To discover it wa
s for a purpose not even remotely in Cam’s sights didn’t mean it was any less God’s intent that he come.

  The very fact it still terrified him could be part of that purpose. How many times had he been told that running from one’s fears was futile because they always showed up again. The first time he’ d fled this terror, he’d been new to the Christian life, his weakness and ignorance understandable. But after eleven years of near daily study, of consistently seeking to apply what he’d learned, of prayer and worship and fellowship . . . he had to conclude that if God had brought him back to face it all again, it could only be because He knew Cam was ready to face it.

  Except I don’t feel ready, Lord. Gen’s right—I am a wuss. As you know better than anyone.

  My grace is sufficient for you. . . .

  Cam came to a complete stop, startled by the direct answer that had formed in his thoughts, the chill running down his back and shoulders again. He stared up at the ziggurat towering over him out of the darkness.

  My power is fulfilled in your weakness. . . .

  Protests and excuses flooded his mind—he couldn’t even bear to let himself remember the things Rudy had called him here for, couldn’t stop himself from the flashbacks, hadn’t shot a gun in months, had no idea what was going on— My grace is sufficient. . . .

  Scowling, he strode on, continuing to list reasons why he couldn’t stay.

  When he reached the ziggurat, he found a crowd of people standing around in the lobby talking excitedly. From their fancy gowns and suits, he guessed a number of them were presentation attendees, having come over to view the atrium and the zig lobby. He spotted Lacey McHenry among them, in excited conversation with Estelle Lederman, who seemed to be egging her on. Judging from the look on McHenry’s face, she’ d been completely swept away by Swain’s presence and persuasive words.

  He skirted the gathering without stopping and went directly to his suite, where he changed clothes and did his Bible class. Not surprisingly the pastor touched briefly on Paul’s own pleas for deliverance from his thorn in the flesh and God’s answer . . .