by B. C. CHASE
She showed him her own version of the family tree:
Amenhotep III and the mummy known as the “elder lady” in tomb KV35 had borne Akhenaten who then, with Nefertiti (his cousin), bore the mummy known as the “younger lady” in KV35. Smenkhare, who very likely was the KV55 mummy, fathered Tutankhamen through this “younger lady.”
If Layla's version was accurate, it would mean that the Akhenaten mummy was still missing. Since virtually every record of his existence was defaced, destroyed, or disassembled by subsequent Pharaohs, this was not surprising.
At least Doctor Katz wasn't surprised. That is, he wasn't until she dropped the bombshell.
“I asked you to come, Doctor Katz, because you are the only one I trust,” she said.
“I hope I am worthy of it. You said you've made a very big discovery and I had to come down here right away.”
“Yes.”
“So what was this discovery?”
“Akhenaten's mummy is in the museum basement. It was there all along.”
He just stared at her, dumbfounded.
She said, “He was hidden. They didn't want anyone to see him.”
“Why?”
“The same reason all the Pharaohs tried to erase his memory.”
“What reason is that?”
“Look at these pictures. See if you notice anything strange.”
She showed him a series of paintings of Akhenaten and his family, and a photograph of one small statue.
“I've seen all these before,” Doctor Katz said. “You mean besides his feminine shape? Nothing looks strange to me.”
“The strange thing is that Akhenaten is huge. Look how much taller he is than Nefertiti, even when they are seated. And look at this little statue of Akhenaten with his daughter on his lap. That's not his daughter at all. That's his wife.”
Doctor Katz reexamined the images. He protested, “But Pharaohs are usually pictured taller than those around them in ancient Egyptian art.”
“Yes, but not this much taller. And look at this, even his chief general Horemheb was a giant,” she pulled out another image.
“Layla,” he chided. “You must know that artwork is rarely proportionate. If aliens from outer space ever receive images from today’s media, they would think all our women look like wasps.”
She rolled her eyes so quickly it was barely discernible, “Yes, but look at him. If this was proportionate, he would be three to four meters tall at least! This isn't a simple exaggeration. This is a representation of fact.”
“So you're saying he was a giant?”
“No, he was more than just a giant,” she said emphatically.
“What do you mean?”
“I'll show you his mummy. You can see for yourself.”
24 Oakland Street
“Daddy, I saw eyes.”
The words made Doctor Gary Riley's heart skip a beat. It was his little two-year-old, Jeffery, standing by the leather office chair and looking up at him. The little guy had just come from his room and he had said the words matter-of-factually, without an iota of enthusiasm.
Gary collected himself. Jeffery was smart for his age, a certified genius by MENSA, in fact, but genius or not, like all two-year-old’s, you couldn't know for sure what he was saying. Gary inquired, “What did you see?”
“Daddy, I saw eyes.”
It sounded like “eyes,” but it could have been “lights.” Maybe Jeffery was talking about the sun. “You saw lights?”
“Yes Daddy, I saw eyes.”
Jeffery’s bedroom was on the second floor, so Gary wasn’t concerned about a window peeker. But out of an abundance of caution, he stood and said, “Show me.”
Come see,” Jeffery exclaimed, leading the way. He was excited now, if only because his father was following him.
When they reached the room, Jeffery pointed out the window, where the edge of the sun was visible just disappearing under the horizon. “See eyes.”
“Oh, that's the sun setting. It isn't an eye; it's just the sun going away for the day.”
“Sun going away! Eyes go away?”
“Yes. The sun is going away, but it's just a light. It's not eyes.”
“Eyes run away!”
Gary scratched his neck and yawned. Storytelling. “I'm going back to my office. I'm still busy working.”
“Going your office? Okay! See you later, Daddy!”
Gary knew that “later” meant two minutes, max.
That's the way the entire evening had been. Jeffery had been in again, out again, in again, out again. And his wife Stacy wasn't getting home for another three-and-a-half hours. Gary hadn't done much of anything for the gene project he was supposed to deliver in the morning.
Fortunately, it was almost little Jeffery's bedtime.
And then, with little Jeffery in bed, he could do what he really wanted to do, what he had been thinking about all day. What he thought about very nearly all the time these days.
Just a few more minutes . . . .
24 Oakland Street
Investigators were crawling over every nook and cranny of the house. Police were swarming outside with flashlights. A K9 unit had arrived and the dogs were barking with excitement.
But Gary Riley sat on his couch with his head between his hands, his hair disheveled from repeatedly running his fingers through it. His wife, Stacy, was beside him, her eyes red, her mascara smeared on her cheeks. FBI special agent, Jarred Kessler, sat on the coffee table in front of them. He was inquiring, “Did you notice anything suspicious, tonight or maybe before?”
Gary looked up, shaking his head with his hands covering his mouth, “Oh my . . . . Why didn't I listen?”
“Listen to what?” the agent asked.
“Tonight, Jeffery told me that he saw eyes. I asked him to show me, and he pointed outside his window. But the sun was setting. I thought he said 'lights.'” Stacy stared at her husband's face with disbelief. She didn't say anything, but her absolute hate for him was obvious.
“What time did he say he saw eyes?” the agent asked.
“It was about 7:30.”
“Okay, so he said he saw eyes at 7:30. Then you put him to bed at 8:00. You went to work on your computer, and that's what you were doing when your wife came home at 11:10. She went into the bedroom and saw that your son was not there. You called 911. That's right?”
Gary nodded grimly, “Yes.”
The agent continued, “Now, I noticed that if I opened a door or window, your alarm chimes. Did you hear a chime at all between 8:00 and 11:30?”
“No. But the alarm was set on 'stay.' It would have gone off had anything opened.”
“Were you listening to any music or watching TV?”
“No, just working on the computer. I had a big report due tomorrow. But the alarm is loud, I would have heard it even if I had headphones on.”
Abruptly, the agent said, “Well, that's all I have for you now. I'll be in touch.” He stood and extended a hand.
Gary just looked up at him sadly and mustered an appreciative nod.
Special Agent Jarred Kessler stepped out the door and down a long lawn of grass to the police cruiser where Captain Trey Wiggins leaned.
“So what did you find?” Wiggins asked.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Yeah, nothing. This case is not solvable.”
“Oh, c'mon, Jarred. You're just getting lazy.”
Jarred looked the captain in the eye, “The kid is two. Nobody kidnaps a two-year-old except in child custody cases. No window was broken and the kid's bedroom is on the second floor. So the only way anyone could have gotten in is by opening a door and strolling in. But the alarm was set, and if one of the doors or windows had opened, it would have sounded and the dad would have heard it. Plus, the dad was sitting in the room right next to where the kid was sleeping, and he didn't hear a thing.”
Wiggins didn't look impressed. “What if the creep snuck in and was waiting before?”
“How did he get out of the house? The alarm would have gone off.” Jarred shook his head, “Oh, and the kid's pj's were on the bed under his blanket, laid out like he had just been wearing them.”
Wiggins clapped Jarred on the back, “This is easy. The dad killed him and hid the body.”
“I don't think so. It didn't feel that way.”
“You'll see. Just keep digging.”
Jarred looked up at the night sky. The stars were clear as crystal. He shook his head, “No, it wasn't the dad. It was something else.” Then he slipped a folded paper out of his pocket and opened it up. He had found it in the child’s bedroom, and it made the hair on his neck stand on end when he saw it.
“What is that?” Wiggins intoned in a low voice.
“I found it in the boy’s room. He must have drawn it.”
Wiggins looked Jarred in the eye, squinting, “Kid had nightmares?”
Jarred looked back down at the crayon markings, “I hope so.” But he thought, “When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”
That night, Gary went to sleep on a futon in his office: Stacy didn't want him anywhere near her, as usual. As he lay down, staring up at the dark ceiling, he thought to himself about the secret he had kept. He had not told Special Agent Jarred Kessler the entire truth about what had happened that night. And if Stacy knew the entire truth, she probably would want him in hell, not merely on the futon.
Flight
The next morning they were supposed to have flown out at five o'clock.
But they were delayed.
As soon as Aubrey followed Henry and Maggie aboard the aircraft, they were greeted by Jinkins in his safari garb. An old-fashioned and well-worn suitcase was sitting at his feet where he stood in the lounge. Lorraine was also there, and at the sight of Henry's displeasure, immediately explained that she had allowed Jinkins aboard when he claimed to have been invited.
Jinkins himself also chimed in, “I truly thought that since you couldn't come on the tour you'd enjoy having me to consult for you in China.”
“What could possibly have given you that impression?” Henry blustered.
“Someone,” he replied with a frown. Then his face lit up with relief and he said, “And by 'someone' I mean her.” He pointed behind Henry.
A strong voice answered from where he pointed, “It was indeed I who requested him, Henry.” Lady Shrewsbury was standing there wearing an enormous straw hat and frock. “I am going to continue enjoying what the island has to offer, but Jinkins will generously be donating his time to you in China.”
Henry said, “I would very much prefer that he not be so generous.”
She barked, “Indeed he will! It will be up to you to decide whether to utilize his counsel.” When Henry began to protest, Lady Shrewsbury raised her eyebrows and said, “I'm quite through listening to your grievances, Mr. Potter. You make me feel like Moses with the tribe in the desert, and I'm not nearly that old yet. Now, go on your Mandarin holiday if you insist, but do not dilly-dally. I’d like to see you apply yourself to something more productive than burning jet fuel.”
After they took off, Henry informed Aubrey that she would be spending her time flipping pages of a contract he was signing. They sat in his office together on opposite sides of his desk. Aubrey skimmed some of the pages, but it was just nauseous legalese, so she was very relieved when the door swung open. Jinkins stood there smiling agreeably, and said, “I need to tell you something, Mr. Potter, if you have a minute.”
“I don’t have a minute.”
“It’s of great importance, sir.”
“It can’t be as important as this contract. Remind me later.”
Aubrey felt sorry for the older man and would have rather spent her time with him, but she was a prisoner in Henry's office it seemed. She wondered why he needed someone to flip pages for him. He had clearly grown too accustomed to being waited on hand and foot.
Just when she couldn’t stand the boredom any longer, Henry suddenly shocked her by saying, “Would you like to know why we are going to China?”
Aubrey blurted, "Yes! And what’s this contract about? It’s as long as the Bible!"
"It's about the machines that are hopefully going to staff Paradeisia."
"What machines?"
Henry drew a breath and said, "Genetically engineered machines."
Aubrey's eyes narrowed. "What are those?"
Henry shrugged, and explained, "Economical sources of labor have been exhausted. This has been a growing problem for every company I know. The Chinese have adopted a western lifestyle much like the Japanese; and, much like the Japanese, wages in China and the rest of Asia for production-line work has increased beyond cost-benefit ratios. Africa was expected to become the cheap labor pool for the West and for the East, but civil upheavals and disease have continued to make commerce relatively risky in certain parts, and the developed parts have the same labor problems we do. Where there is peace, cheap labor is simply not available. People won’t do what they consider to be menial work.
“China has already been in the designer babies business for a long time now—in fact, they beat the west to the punch When it was new and relatively cheap there, many US babies were 'made in China.” But designer babies were only a stepping stone towards the efforts to develop designer personnel, so to speak.”
“Now of course it would be ethically irresponsible to grow babies and have them work jobs. Even if, technically, you created them, it would still be considered slavery. So there isn't a genetics lab anywhere in the world that hasn't been searching for the 'self' gene. To create workers that are capable of most everything humans are but do not have self-awareness, a desire for self-fulfillment or genuine emotions. Everyone knew the 'self' gene had to be discovered.
“Well China found the self gene first, and now their genetically engineered bipedals are going to revolutionize the world economy, I believe.
“Instead of finding low-wage workers, corporations are already growing them. Unlike robots or other machines which demand constant repair and inevitably require replacement, genetically engineered workers should be good for at least forty years, probably closer to sixty, need nothing more than nourishment and seven hours of sleep, repair themselves in most cases, are capable of creative response, and are able to perform relatively complex tasks repeatedly without tiring or wearing.
“Best of all, they are reproduced; not built. In other words, once you line up the genes you want, it is virtually free labor.
“China has created machines that can be trained in a multitude of tasks as well as ones that specialized in creative response, such as rescue agents, greeters, and personal attendants. The programming of the machines is not at all similar to computers. No software code is uploaded; nor is a machine immediately ready for its new occupation upon birth. They are learners.
“China has been able to instill some instincts through rapid reproduction and a keen understanding of epigenetics, but the majority of their abilities are taught. At an early age, positive/negative response circuits are installed inside the brains of each machine. When a machine does something good, it is rewarded with a tiny shock to pleasure nodes. When one does something bad, it is reprimanded with a negative signal. This is technology that was successfully experimented on in rats as early as the 1990s.
"Initially, the genetically engineered machines were grown in women hired as child bearers. Soon after the project began, however, China grew machines for the sole purpose of birthing more machines.
“China now has a massive, machine-bearing factory in Shanghai where hundreds of specimens are produced daily.
"I have never used this technology before because it wasn’t perfect yet, but now I have read that it is ready for primetime and I am hoping to save Paradeisia with it. The labor costs on the island as they stand now are unsustainable, particularly if we don’t meet the attendance goals we’ll need to meet. But, based on data
Maggie obtained for me, from merchandise producers to greeters to ride operators to housekeepers to chefs to store clerks, over eighty percent of Paradeisia's labor force could be these genetically engineered machines.”
Aubrey instantly disapproved of this idea. It sounded freakish. “So you'd have a bunch of Frankensteins crawling around all over the island?”
He smiled at her patronizingly, "No. The customer-facing ones would look just like people."
“If they look just like people, doesn't that make them people?”
“Certainly not. With the 'self’’ gene removed, they don't even know they exist.”
"They don't have to know they exist to be people."
"Don't be ridiculous. From what I understand, they are entirely dependent upon us to function. Their DNA makes them look somewhat human—more so in some cases than in others, but otherwise they are not what I would even call 'animals.' They can't feed themselves. Many of them can't talk. Most of them don't have the creative intelligence of an ape. They are classified as an entirely new species under a different genus than humans. And even if they were people, which they are not, but even if they were; we created them. Doesn't that give us the right to determine their fate?"
“You created them? So now you're God?”
“There is no God.”
“Well you didn't create them out of nothing, did you?”
“The entire universe didn't come from nothing.”
“And these things were made from the parts of other creatures. So that means you didn't create them, you assembled them.”
“Created, assembled, whatever you want to call it. They're ours, made for our own purposes, just like anything mankind makes.”