“Oh, they’re so cute,” I said.
“And each one a miracle.” I heard Dr. Little’s teeth click against his coffee mug, followed by a gulp.
In contrast to the sterile environment, the room smelled like baby powder and roses, and the far wall was decorated in a floral design of red tulips and yellow daffodils. Two female workers dressed in pink-and-blue-patterned smocks took turns inspecting each artificial uterus, tapping buttons and turning knobs on the machinery below, and after exchanging frowns, one of the women pulled a rubber glove from her pocket and stretched it over her hand.
“What’s she going to do?” I whispered to Dr. Little.
“Remember, Miss Dannacher, only one in five fetuses lives past the second trimester,” he said, and took another sip of coffee.
The woman dipped her gloved hand into the vessel and cupped the baby’s head with her palm. She lifted the dripping baby from the container and delicately set it into a pink blanket that lay like a hammock between the other lady’s opened arms.
“So it’s dead?” My throat tightened, making it hard to take my next breath.
Dr. Little nodded, lowered his head, and closed his eyes like he was saying a silent prayer. When his eyes popped open, my chair jerked, and he pushed it forward until we met the women at a long table by the flowered wall where tiny wooden boxes lay neatly arranged in a single row.
As we passed the tables of artificial uteruses, I couldn’t help but wonder which would and wouldn’t survive. My stomach soured, and while I watched the synthetic placentas suck like leeches against the inside of each tank, I swallowed hard to keep myself from gagging.
Each box was a tiny coffin. The worker holding the swaddled baby wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and lovingly placed the fetus into its final resting place. The other employee covered her mouth with one hand, and with the other, dabbed her tear-damp cheeks before stroking the preemie’s delicate chin.
“There’re so many of them,” I said slowly.
“Yes, there are. One in five, Miss Dannacher.”
My hoverchair vibrated, rose farther from the ground, and didn’t stop until I was just high enough to see the contents of every shoebox-size casket. Each baby was wrapped in either blue or pink, the soft blanket exposing the angelic face. Some fetuses were small, their eyelids paper thin, their heads larger than their wrapped bodies, while others looked close to an expected birth weight, being the size of a baby doll.
“I’ve seen enough, please lower my chair,” I said, turning to Dr. Little, whose eyes were now level with mine. My bottom lip quivered, and a warm tear hit my upper lip. “I want to go now.”
“As you wish, Miss Dannacher.” He blinked his own watery eyes, and with a tap to the back of the hoverchair, it dropped to its original hoverment.
He guided my chair from the room, nudging it slowly, and just before the door closed behind us, I heard the snap of another rubber glove. One in five—one in five thousand was way too many.
When we entered the hall, I kept my head down. A last set of tears dropped to my lap, and I quickly rubbed them into my pants. Dr. Love and Dr. Pickford didn’t speak while they walked, but I heard Michael whisper behind me, “That wasn’t necessary, Simon. You shouldn’t have done that to her.”
“I only do what’s necessary. Don’t question my good judgment, Michael,” answered Dr. Little, increasing the volume of his voice as he spoke.
Once we were in my room, Michael and Dr. Love lifted me back onto my bed. Michael flashed me an apologetic smile, and Dr. Love brushed the hair from my face with her fingertips before pulling the sheet up to my waist.
Dr. Little was the first to speak. “One in five, and that’s only one of many issues. As Dr. Bennett explained before, another one of our obstacles is DNA instability. We’re running out of workable samples. Dr. Bennett, why don’t you explain this additional problem to our patient?”
Michael took a deep breath and rubbed his palms on his pant legs. “The older the DNA, the less likely we’ll be able to replicate it. In addition, we’re often stuck working with tombs so ancient that the cadavers have turned to dust. Many of our ancestors also chose cremation, and now that decision is hurting us, too.”
“Continue, Dr. Bennett.” Dr. Little’s eyes gleamed as he set his coffee mug on the table next to my bed.
“We don’t have a lot of time. The last effective DNA will run out within ten to fifteen years. If we can’t figure out how to successfully clone a clone then…”
A chill crept along the back of my neck. I couldn’t look at any of them, not even Michael.
“We’re sorry to have to tell you this, Cassie…” said Dr. Little. He paused and set his jaw. “You’ve entered an advanced world, but it’s also a world on the verge of extinction. However, I’m sure we’ll crack the code to produce reclones, or improve the artificial uteruses. Or we’ll simply come up with another plan.”
My life had been cut short before, and now it was possibly going to be cut short again? The fate of the world depended on a team of geneticists? And what about those poor babies dying in their artificial uteruses? One bombshell after another—I couldn’t take another hit.
Yes, they needed another plan. But what kind of plan? My breath burned in my lungs and the tiny blood vessels in my cheeks fired with heat.
Oh my God! I was the only fertile female on the planet. Why didn’t I think of this before? But no…it wouldn’t be possible…one female couldn’t do it alone. The idea was barbaric and beyond immoral. They had to come up with something else. I couldn’t be their alternative plan. Would they dare do something so vile?
My eyes darted from one doctor to the other, and with a quick shake of my head, I attempted to bury my speculations deep into the back of my mind as a cold prickle worked its way up my spine.
No, they wouldn’t. The idea was preposterous. Life was too precious to them.
Dr. Little and Dr. Pickford left my room with nods, smiles in my direction, and another, “Don’t let this knowledge be of your concern,” but it did little to put me at ease.
Don’t let it be of concern. Then why tell me in the first place and show me the prenatal ward? The world was on the brink of falling apart, and I wasn’t supposed to think about it? I scrubbed my face to hide my tears. This was way too much information to take in all at once, especially when the images of those babies were so fresh in my mind.
Dr. Love blinked at me with a softness in her eyes. As she passed Michael, she placed her hand on his shoulder, and I could have sworn she whispered something like, “We need a place like Tasma right now.”
Tasma. I heard that before when Ella had mentioned it casually, like it was some kind of a joke. Strange.
Michael stayed behind, making the room free from the spying obscuras with the swipe of his foot, then took the chair closest to my bed.
Free. The opposite of restricted, limited, bound. When clones weren’t in a free zone, they were controlled by the mere fact that someone could be watching and judging their every move. These people weren’t stupid. They were naïve, content with the only way of life they knew.
But even without Big Brother, wouldn’t those who knew about the failing DNA feel panicked by the impending doom? These clones were enthusiastic and hopeful, too optimistic to make sense to me.
“I hope you’re not angry with me,” Michael said, staring at the space on the floor between his feet.
“For what? Not telling me that you’re a clone, or not telling me that the world will probably end in anarchy, chaos, and civil wars before I hit the ripe old age of thirty?”
“Both.” He inched his chair closer to my bed and took my hand. “I’m sorry, but we were more concerned with your recovery than burdening you with the truth of our existence. And about taking you to PNW One, I was against it from the start. But it was Dr. Little’s call to make—not mine.”
“I’m not mad.” I smiled. “And I know you wouldn’t have taken me there if you had a choice. I’m actual
ly happy to finally know the truth, but I still can’t help feeling a little deceived.” Michael stiffened and slid his hand from mine. “Life is precious—yeah I get that—but I don’t have a great future ahead of me like Dr. Love and Ella keep telling me. You told me I could make the world a better place, but in less than two decades, we could all be dead.”
“Dr. Love and Ella are thinking positively. You can’t blame them for that. Besides, the average citizen isn’t privy to the data we shared with you today, and they’ve been led to believe there’s an endless supply of DNA at our disposal.”
“So why would Dr. Little trust me? He’s not afraid I’ll tell the average citizen?”
“No,” he half laughed. “First of all, no one would believe you, and secondly, we’ll find a solution to our problem before our population noticeably begins to shrink.”
“So you think there’s a geneticist out there—maybe even you—who will crack the code or design a new and improved artificial uterus?” I asked, trying to disguise my horror at his casual tone as I remembered the rows of Plexiglas containers with fetuses floating in them.
“Maybe,” he smiled coyly. “Apparently my donor was a genius in the field of genetics. I was cloned and schooled here at GenH1 without parents and without friends so I could do what I’m doing now—advance our genetics program. My whole life has been dedicated to this. I guess I’m just a…what did you call it…a nerd?”
We had a lot more in common than I realized, his youth also stifled by homeschooling and alienation from his peers. “No, you’re definitely not a nerd.” I laughed.
“Why not?”
“Well, because you don’t look like one. You look like a GQ model.” Did I really just say that? Maybe he had no idea what I was talking about and wouldn’t equate it with me basically saying he was so hot he took my breath away.
“You don’t look like a nerd, either, Cassie,” said Michael, smiling as he moved to the edge of my bed.
“Oh yes, I do.” My chest burst with a pleasant fire.
“When you called yourself a nerd the other day, I looked up the term in our databanks. A nerd is also defined as being shy and unattractive. You’re not a nerd. You’re definitely not shy, and you’re definitely not unattractive. You’re gorgeous.” Michael pushed my hair away from my forehead and took my hand in both of his. I tightened my fingers around the back of his hand and leaned toward him.
“No, I’m not.” Welcomed warmth radiated through the rest of my body.
“When the team opened your S.T.A.S.I.S. chamber, there was a collective sigh, not just because your body was intact, but because you were so incredibly beautiful. As we lifted you from the cryonic chamber and placed you on an examination table, your medical records fell to the floor. I picked them up, and that’s when I saw your date of birth and your date of death. You are only seventeen years old. I couldn’t help but think you were a gift sent here just for…” He licked his lips.
“For who?” Mesmerized by his words, I wrapped one arm around my bent knees and pulled myself closer.
“But then again,” he continued, “you were brain dead, unresponsive to the touch, and even after you were revived and placed in stasis, your eyes, your beautiful blue eyes, were vacant, still frozen in time. You weren’t a person then. You were a thing, a pretty piece of history, an artifact, making it easy for me to work with the team and come up with a plan, but now…”
Michael’s hand melted against mine. His grip tightened and I felt his skin, damp and warm. I squeezed back. “Now?”
“Look,” he said intently, his eyes unblinking. “You asked me if I had hope for the future, and the answer is that I do. I do because I believe in miracles, Cassie. You’re proof of that.”
This world had ten to fifteen years to come up with a plan. It took centuries for scientists to find a cure for cancer, and these clones thought they could solve their DNA issue in a decade? Was there another plan I didn’t know about?
Why use artificial uteruses instead of clone women for surrogates? How was cloning even possible without donated eggs? And what about me? Would they dare to do the unthinkable?
The questions teetering on my tongue vanished when Michael’s thumb rubbed circles on my palm. Instead of saying goodbye, he gently kissed my hand before he stood and walked to the door. My heart pitter-pattered, and I tingled all over from the feel of his lips and tickle of his breath.
Like Dr. Love had said, Michael cared deeply for me, although I didn’t know how much until now. Just hearing his name made my insides swirl and my heart swell all over again.
With a ding he left, and with a second ding the door slid open minutes later. I lifted my back from the inclined bed, hoping it was Michael, returning to continue where we left off. But it was Ella, balancing an exercise pole on her finger, ready for my afternoon physical therapy session.
Damn. It would be hard to concentrate when all I could think about was Michael and the soft kiss he left on my hand.
Chapter Six
“Are you ready for your dinner?” The voice came from my L-Band. It was the first time it did anything other than light up when I looked at it.
An orange dot glowed on the tiny screen. “Um, yeah, can you hear me?”
“Yes. Are you ready for dinner?”
“Um, sure,” I answered, even though I didn’t recognize the voice. It was female and human.
The door slid open to reveal an elderly Asian lady with gray hair at her temples and a plump, round face. Her roundness continued from her face down the rest of her five-foot-two frame, and from her big round bosom to her big round bottom.
“Hello. I’m Kale. You were asleep during Dr. Love’s shift, so she asked me to bring you your dinner.” Kale’s uniform was blue, marked with a darker blue stripe.
“Thank you.”
“Do you need help?” she asked, positioning the tray on my lap.
“No, my arms are sore, but I can do it,” I answered, piercing a chunk of potato with a fork.
“Would you like me to stay and visit for a while?”
“Are you a psychologist?”
“No. I am a medical assistant, tier two.” She walked to the side of my bed and took a big whiff of my flower bouquet. While she bumbled about, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, the questions I had before continued to burn in my brain.
“Can I ask you something?” But did she even know what I’d been told? Did she know I was from 2022? “Do you know how I ended up in this hospital?”
“I certainly do. Everyone who has contact with you has been briefed on your unique circumstances.”
Okay, so maybe she knows more. “So, um, do you think there’s enough useable DNA left to keep up with the current population? I mean, what if there isn’t? Then what would happen?”
Her eyes flashed. “That’s something I never think about. Do you know why?”
“No.”
“Because I have faith in the program. We all need to have faith in something, but we have to remember this: we are not the definitive creators of life. The human being is the ultimate invention.”
The hair on my arms became erect, and I shivered.
“Faith and hope are all we need.” She lightly patted my arm. The lines on her round forehead became more pronounced, and she lowered her voice until it was almost inaudible. “Hope for the future, hope for all of mankind. And I have it. Do you have hope, Cassie?”
“I guess.” She was right. Hope was all I had. Hope and memories of what could have been if I had survived the helicopter crash.
“Then that is all you need. You need to feel this deep down in your soul. Everything happens for a reason. That is what I believe. You died when you did, and we found you when we did for some very important reason. You need to believe that, too, and do what you’ve been destined to do.” Her eyes squinted and her cheeks dimpled with a smile.
But I couldn’t think of any important reason why I was here. What was she talking about? “Like what? I’m so
sick of not knowing what’s going to happen to me. I want out of this bed and out of this hospital.” A pathetic kick at my sheets was a solid reminder that I was still too weak to ditch this place on my own. Too bad Dr. Little didn’t leave that hoverchair behind.
Kale’s expression didn’t change despite the flare of anger in my voice. “Has anyone shown you how to access our system?” She asked, avoiding my question with an eager grin like she was waiting for me to open a present.
“No,” I answered, crossing my arms.
“Well, you can, now that you’re banded and connected to the region’s main Liaison computer.” Kale held up her wrist. “And now that you know our little secret”—she laughed—“you can watch our entertainment channels, but most importantly, you can retrieve information from it at any time no matter where you are. Unless, of course, the information is restricted. You can speak as loudly or as softly as you want, even whisper so no one else can hear, and Liaison One will hear it because it reads the sound vibrations that travel through your body.”
“That’s awesome, I guess, but doesn’t this thing come in any other colors? Black is so drab.”
Kale laughed, a big guffaw that matched her size. “No, only if you become a resident in another region. Black is Region One, blue is Region Two, and red is Region Three. And who knows what they wear in Tasma,” she laughed.
“Tasma? So it’s a place?”
“An imaginary place. Who told you about it?”
“No one. I just heard it mentioned a few times.”
“Tasma is supposed to be a top-secret, clone-run facility hidden from the government, but it doesn’t really exist, something made up to give the plague survivors hope while they healed from the tragedy. Now it’s just an expression—kind of like ‘the grass is greener on the other side.’ It’s also the subject of an old schoolyard song I used to sing when I was a kid. We’d sing it while playing flutter rope on the pavement.”
“That’s cool. Can you sing it to me now?”
“Oh, I don’t know. If I can remember all of the words. Let me see.”
In a sing-song voice, her tone child-like, she began a clone’s version of something similar to the nineteenth century “Ring Around the Rosie”:
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