He clicked the slide, which showed half of a double helix. "We are taking every precaution. From old records, surrogacy was most successful when the baby shared genetic material with the mother. You will be asked to donate a semen sample. Using techniques we pioneered with mice, we will alter your cells into egg-like gametes, which will be paired with a genetic match. The resulting embryos will be lab grown and will be implanted once your womb is ready."
He had to wait as a murmur swept through the crowd. Wyatt and Tyler exchanged amazed looks.
Honestly, Wyatt had been prepared for anything, including carrying and birthing a complete genetic stranger's baby. He would have done it and loved the baby all the same. But the baby was going to be his... Half his...
Hope and amazement made his chest tight. His eyes stung with tears, and he quickly blinked them away.
He barely realized that Teddy was speaking again. He forced himself to pay attention. "Each candidate will have three tries to conceive. If you are unsuccessful, you will be removed from the program. We have a limited amount of resources. However, because of the security of this Ranch, you will be required to stay and will be retrained as a counselor. Depending on the success of the program, you may be allowed to try again later."
With that, Teddy stood back with a smile on his face. "Now, any questions?"
Hands shot up all around the room, and questions were asked ranging from compensation (none, food and board would be provided as was in the contract they had signed when they'd entered their applications in the Lottery) to if they would be allowed to name their baby. (Yes, within certain limits.)
Wyatt knew he would have his own questions later, but he had nothing so pressing that it needed to be answered now. Besides, if he did, he could always ask Grayson.
Hiding the smile at that thought, Wyatt sat back and let the noise of the room wash over him.
Chapter Eight
Quicker than Wyatt would have believed possible, the days at the Ranch fell into a routine.
Most of the hours in the day were filled with classes which were set up just like a high school. After the Flu hit, education fell by the wayside for much of the population. Wyatt had never graduated high school, and many of the men under his age were even worse. As a result, they were instructed as a group on basic history, math, and English.
By far, the most important classes in Wyatt's eyes were the parenting classes.
They worked with baby dolls, changing diapers and miming feeding the thing. It even cried when it didn't receive enough attention. The candidates weren't simply meant to be broodmares. The old records had it that newborn infants flourished when they had been cared for by a mother—and in the world after the Flu, they were the closest thing to it.
Some of the candidates made faces and insisted they'd stick to giving birth, and let the hard work of raising be done by the staff.
Secretly, Wyatt delighted in the classes and learning parenting skills. When he had his baby, he intended to be hands on.
As Teddy promised, the uterus stem cells were ready just after their first week at the Ranch.
Wyatt was given a mild sedative prior to the procedure. He had a foggy memory of laying back on the exam table, a long needle sliding into his lower belly, and a vague pinching sensation. That had been it.
The best part had been waking up to find Grayson in his room, checking on him. The doctor had waited until the nurses had left, told Wyatt that everything had gone well. He'd held Wyatt's hand until he was awake enough to be left by himself.
It would take over four weeks for the new organ to grow. It wasn't exactly like how a woman's had been. For one thing, Wyatt and the others would not experience menstruation. The uterus would be removed when the baby was born. If Wyatt chose to have another child, a new one would have to be grown.
When they weren't in the classroom, or getting stem cells implanted, they were either undergoing routine medical tests—blood draws, ultrasounds on the growing uterus, blood pressure checks—or engaging in carefully monitored exercise. There was an Olympic-sized swimming pool that Wyatt simply adored. There was nothing better than a cool dip while the desert sun beat down overhead. And he much preferred his water aerobics classes over yoga and pilates, which were also required.
Tyler, who was fast becoming Wyatt's best friend, was more of an outdoorsman type. He used to spend his free time hunting in Washington's overgrown wilderness, and complained once or twice about not being allowed past the Ranch's fenced barrier. No one had lived in the city beyond for years. Apparently, the counselors were concerned about rattlesnakes, or the chance Tyler could sprain an ankle or something.
"I'm not made of glass," Tyler complained as he and Wyatt walked together to their yoga class, rolled mats tucked under their arms.
"Nope. You're now a multi-million dollar science project. Not to mention 'the future of mankind'." Wyatt smirked and made air-quotes around the words. They had already heard this phrase thrown about dozens of times. The counselors could get really enthusiastic about the program. "Besides, how would you explain yourself if you ran into somebody else out there in the desert?"
"I'm not pregnant yet," Tyler grumped and touched his flat belly. "But if some rando in the desert came at me with an ultrasound machine, the uterus might be hard to explain."
Outside the pool, Wyatt's favorite place in the Ranch was the living room.
What had once been another banquet hall was now decked out with plush chairs, bean bags, pool and foosball tables, and of course, a big TV which was tuned into government-approved channels. There was even a popcorn machine down the hall. Everybody called it the living room, and unless someone was completely antisocial, most of the candidates found themselves there in the evenings.
On the fourth day, Wyatt had made a wrong turn down a hall and found an unlocked door leading to a storage room. Parked inside had been a coffee cart covered under plastic. The type that vendors used to roll out to caffeinate sleep-deprived guests who were heading to conferences.
Wyatt stared, his throat feeling tight. Until that moment, he had successfully kept homesickness at bay, but as he stared at the cart, the sights and smells of his coffee shop and the shifts he had run with Clint flooded through him. And at that moment, all he wanted to do was call Clint and apologize for ditching him right after the Lottery. Was Clint worried about him?
Of course, contacting Clint was impossible. Wyatt swallowed hard and sternly tried to get a hold of himself. He was here for a good, noble reason. If he let himself fall into a pit of homesickness now, he might not be able to claw back out.
But he couldn't quite make himself turn away and shut the door.
He stepped forward and peeked under the plastic covering. There was a dusty espresso machine, looking like it had been left in good working order. There were filters and a few stacks of disposable cups, too. It all looked in pretty good shape. The syrups were unusable, of course. Even sealed, they were fifteen years old.
Still, that gave Wyatt an idea.
The next day, he found Thomas and made a request for supplies. He was half-sure that it would be rejected, but to his surprise, Thomas took him seriously. Soon afterwords, Wyatt was given a collection of brand-new coffee syrups and flavoring, roasted beans, new filters, and stacks of cups. He was in business.
He wheeled the coffee cart into the living room that evening and set up shop. It was a great success.
One day, hopefully soon, the candidates would be restricted from caffeine due to pregnancy. Until then, Wyatt took orders in the evening and gave them their coffee fix. It felt good to be useful, and Wyatt's homesickness disappeared.
Everyone needed all the comfort they could get. Every TV news channel across the four remaining city-states were tuned into the Lucky Fifty Lottery winners, and their time at their public house.
It was bizarre watching fifty other strangers undergoing the same medical procedures as Wyatt and everyone at the Ranch. The media was having a field day doing expo
sés on each candidate, interviewing friends and family, and of course, getting updates from candidates themselves.
"This is such crap," one candidate, named Milo complained a few nights later as everyone settled down to watch the Lotto House updates in the living room. He threw a piece of popcorn at the big screen. "I never realized how much the media dramatizes things until now."
Wyatt agreed. The man currently being interviewed on the screen was complaining about how his growing uterus pained him 'Oh so much'. The program helpfully added a shot of the man hobbling into a medical room and the doctors swarming around, all looking concerned. As far as Wyatt knew, nothing like that had happened at their Ranch.
Yes, the growing organ ached a little. Nothing that aspirin wouldn't fix. But the media's coverage seemed so... Dramatic. Every wince, every slight discomfort from any of the Lucky Fifty was documented and put on full display.
"Change the channel, then," another man named Su Lin said. He had one hand rested over his lower belly. "Watching him belly-ache actually makes my stomach hurt."
Tyler had charge of the remote control. He changed the channel to the national news, which was busy reporting on the leading headline: More mass riots were breaking out in New York. The city that never slept wasn't exactly peaceful nowadays, but it seemed ever since the Lottery happened people were going insane.
One wild-eyed man clutched a hand written sign and screamed at the camera, "Unnatural abominations! Our time has come. The things born from these men won't be human beings! This is the end of days!"
"Boo," Tyler said, low and catty. "Get a better hobby."
But Wyatt saw real terror behind the madness in the man's eyes. He didn't join in with the low, strained laughter that bubbled through the room.
The screen flashed to a calm reporter. "Gallup polls have reported that up to forty-three percent of the nations believes the re-population program is a hoax. An additional thirty-three percent believe the project will not succeed—"
Wyatt couldn't take it anymore. He stood and walked out of the living room.
To his surprise, Tyler followed him.
"You shouldn't take it so personally," Tyler said as he caught up. "They're ignorant and afraid. They aren't talking about you, specifically."
"I know." Wyatt rested a hand on his lower belly. "But there's so much at stake. I can't... I can't let myself dwell on that level of cynicism."
Tyler made a noise of agreement deep in his throat. Then he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. "They might have a point, though."
Wyatt's breath caught. "What do you mean?"
"Well." He paused and seemed to choose his words carefully. "None of us really know how this will turn out. There is genetic tinkering on every level. The babies that we will produce... Who's to say that they will even be the same type of humans we are?"
Wyatt had never outright asked, but comments like these made him suspect Tyler had higher education in his background. He also brought up some good points. Wyatt shrugged and tried to pass it off with a joke. "I think this was how a lot of superhero origin stories started."
Tyler laughed. "Well, I'll love my baby even if he does have laser eyes, or some shit."
Wyatt chuckled, but then let out a long breath. "I think this is a good program, and even if it wasn't... We don't have a choice. The youngest people in the world are fifteen. If we don't find a solution within the next generation, there won't be anyone else to keep trying. It has to be us, and even if it's not perfect, I choose to believe this is worth a chance."
Tyler watched him for a moment, his dark eyes thoughtful. With a start, Wyatt realized that Tyler was truly considering his words and taking strength from them.
"I hope you're right, Wyatt."
I hope I am, too, he thought. He let none of his concern show on his face and instead tipped his head to the waiting coffee cart. "You want me to make something for you?"
"Sure, but make it decaf. It's been almost a month, which means they're scheduled to start the inseminations soon. I want to taper off before they yank the caffeine from our diets."
Chapter Nine
The time of day Wyatt most looked forward to was the afternoon medical exam, because that meant he'd be seeing Grayson.
Grayson's hands were always warm, always deft and considerate, and Wyatt didn't think it was his imagination when his touches lingered. Wyatt had to work not to shiver. And although he was always professional, Grayson always seemed to have a small, happy smile playing on his lips when he entered the exam room and saw Wyatt waiting for him.
Every night, alone in his hotel room, Wyatt fell asleep imagining he was brave enough to make a move on the doctor. Would it be allowed?
All of the rules and regulations they'd gone over after entering the Ranch never mentioned interpersonal relationships between staff and candidates.
Wyatt vaguely remembered that being a problem before the Flu, when it was possible to have an accidental pregnancy out of a relationship. Now... not so much.
Speaking, of. Wyatt's artificial uterus was growing nicely. Grayson said on several occasions he was actually a little ahead of schedule. Wyatt preened, though really, he had nothing to do with it.
Finally, the day came for Wyatt to give a semen sample. Through manipulation on the cellular level, his genetic material would be altered into an egg, which would then be fertilized with a donor's DNA.
"It's a simple process," Grayson promised as he handed Wyatt the cup.
"Then why do you look twitchy?" Wyatt asked.
Today, Grayson had been short with his answers the entire visit, his touches not lingering as they normally did. The secret, happy smile was gone.
"I'm not," Grayson said quickly. Then hesitated, maybe hearing the lie in his own voice. He shot a glance to the closed door and stepped closer to Wyatt. "Okay, maybe I am. There's... something I think you should know."
Wyatt was glad he didn't have the heart rate monitor attached to his finger. With Grayson this close, it would have spiked for sure. "Oh?"
Grayson took a breath as if centering himself. "You were all told your egg will be inseminated by pre-screened, anonymous donors. But... that's not true for you, Wyatt. You're the exception."
"What? What do you mean?"
"I, uh," Grayson looked away for a moment, and a blush darkened his features. "This one... The fetus you will carry will be paired with my genetic material. It's what I requested to work on the project, uh, in lieu of a salary."
It took a moment for Wyatt to wrap his head around what Grayson was saying. "So... you're going to be the father of my baby."
The doctor looked at him, then straightened. "In essence, yes."
Wyatt set the cup aside. "How many others?"
"No. No, it's not like that." His eyes widened. "Just you. It was my request. As I said, everyone else has anonymous donors, from a bank before the Flu. Just in case. My request was only granted because... Well. They're using my technique... I wrote a paper on it—it's not important."
It was important, but not really the point right now. "And you're saying you picked me? To be the mother of your child?"
Grayson met his eyes. "Yes."
A pleasant shiver rolled up Wyatt's spine. Should he be pissed? He wasn't sure, but there was no anger when he reached for it.
Grayson was watching his reaction closely. He looked nervous. Wyatt hated to make him sweat it out.
He'd come this far, had become part of the repopulation program despite the odds. And maybe... maybe it was time to see if all of his dreams could come true.
He picked up the plastic cup and regarded it. "You know, this all seems so cold and medical. Jizz in a cup, and your 'patented technique' turns it into an egg."
"It's a little more complicated than that—" Grayson started.
"But if this works," Wyatt said, stopping him. "I'd like to look my child in the eyes and know... I'd want to know his start was a little more than that."
Grayson hesitated,
clearly not understanding.
Throwing caution completely out the window, Wyatt hopped off the medical bed, leaned in Grayson's space, and kissed him.
There was a moment of shock. Then Grayson made a low sound and leaned into the kiss, slanting his lips along with Wyatt's.
His skilled hands wrapped around Wyatt's hips and brought him closer. Grayson swept his tongue across Wyatt's bottom lip, then dipped in to caress his own. Teasing.
Wyatt let the kiss linger for a few moments before he leaned back, smiling. "I guess I do have you to thank for getting me in this program."
"You don't," Grayson said roughly. His eyes were dilated and Wyatt knew without looking that his slacks were tented. "I meant what I said... You have a perfect genome for this. No flaws at all."
"Hmm." He trailed his hand down the line of Grayson's button-down shirt, pausing his fingers at the waistband of his pants. "So, you want me to ejaculate into a cup. Do you have a preferred method?"
"Do I...? Oh." The exhalation was soft. "I can't... We shouldn't..." Grayson shuddered as Wyatt cupped his erection. His hesitation was pretty cute.
"I can be quiet," Wyatt promised. "Can you?"
Which was how Wyatt found himself gasping as Grayson surged forward, finally kissing him like he was dying for it.
Wyatt arched against him, as Grayson's pulled away to work on unbuttoning Wyatt's pants.
Wyatt licked his lips. His mouth felt empty. "Wanna taste you," Wyatt groaned.
Grayson trailed hot lips down the side of Wyatt's neck. "Can't. Gotta... Give my sample soon after you. Can't... have saliva in the mix."
For some reason, Wyatt found that as funny. He giggled helplessly, then gasped as Grayson's hand cupped his cock through his medical pants.
A Baby Maybe Page 4