New Birth

by Orrin Jason Bradford

  Lionel exited the elevator on the top floor of Bio Vita on his way to Franklin's office and the second meeting in as many days with the official the FDA had assigned to the case. As he walked down the hall, Lionel prayed this meeting would go better than the first. Franklin had been ineffective when it came to dealing with the bull-sized man from Washington. Chunk Robinson had an appropriate first name—no doubt a nickname. He was one of the most massive and most intimidating black men Lionel had ever met. Lionel estimated him to be at least six-foot-four-inches and close to three hundred pounds. Enhancing his intimidating appearance was a large burn scar marring his right temple, extending down his neck, and disappearing under his collar.

  Chunk had made his view well-known from the first introduction. "Good day, Mr. Adams," he had said. "My name is Chunk Robinson. I'm from the Food and Drug Administration, and I'm one mean son-of-a-bitch. You all are in a heap of trouble down here if what you told me over the phone, did in fact, happen. I'm here to try to dig you out of the shit. If you give me any trouble or interfere with this investigation in any way, I'll squash you like a bug. We clear on that?"

  The conversation had degenerated from there despite Lionel's effort to assure Chunk that they were on the same side. After all, it had been Lionel that had asked for assistance from the FDA. He now wondered if that had been such a good idea.

  He opened the door to Franklin's office without knocking and nodded to Ms. Petty, Franklin's secretary. Even she had been subdued by the crass speaking government official, only returning his nod and pointing towards the inner office. As he entered the room, he found Chunk had commandeered Franklin's desk from which he was making a call, while Franklin sat in one of the straight back chairs fidgeting with the buttons on his coat. Chunk hung the phone up with a clatter and motioned Lionel to the sofa next to Franklin.

  "Well, we've located your friend's honey in Atlanta. It wasn't difficult. She's not very cooperative at the moment, but once we get her up here, I'm sure she'll come around."

  "You're bringing her here? Why? I mean, is she coming willingly?"

  "Mr. Adams..."

  "Please, call me Lionel.” He felt his hackles raise at Chunk’s refusal to refer to him as a doctor. “I told you yesterday, you're Chunk to me so you may as well call me Lionel."

  "Okay, Lionel. As to your first question, she's being brought up here for observation and her safety, and no, she's not coming willingly. In fact, I understand she's quite a wildcat."

  A light knock on the door interrupted any further conversation. Before anyone could answer the knock, the door opened, and a middle-aged man in a wrinkled and stained lab coat walked in.

  "Sorry, I'm late. The blasted spectrophotometer is spitting out fantasy numbers again. I'm afraid you'll have to call out the repairman again, Franklin. That is unless you want to just go ahead and buy a new one."

  "No, Dr. Chickowski. I'll call the repairman. New instrumentation is not in the budget this quarter." Turning to Lionel, Franklin added, "I asked Dr. Chickowski to sit in on the meeting. I hope you don't mind. Since your research projects are in a related area, I thought he might be helpful."

  "No problem," Lionel smiled. "Any help will be appreciated."

  Chickowski sat down next to Lionel on the couch. He was a tall, angular man, prone to being more than a little casual about his appearance. The prototype for an absent-minded professor, Lionel thought as he watched Chickowski run long, bony fingers through his yellowish-white hair to get it out of his face.

  But Chickowski was not absent-minded, not at all. In fact, in his day, he'd been one of the sharpest minds in the scientific community. Interestingly, his mind had never quite reached its full potential, Lionel thought. Each project that Chickowski tackled hinted of the greatness that seemed to lay just under the surface, but something was missing—something closely akin to imagination or creativity. Chickowski excelled at the analytical aspects of research but seemed to be missing that creative spark.

  "What trouble have you gotten us into this time, Adam?" Chickowski asked.

  "Nothing that we can't handle," Franklin cut in quickly, and then brought Chickowski up-to-date.

  "Anyway," Chunk said when Franklin had finished. "We don't have any idea of the effects this template may have on humans. As for this latest development in Atlanta, she's going to need specialized medical care to assure a safe birth. Although she could get that elsewhere, there is more expertise here than anywhere else. And third, containment of this leakage is of utmost importance, which brings me to the bad news."

  "Of no, I don't think my heart can stand any more bad news this week." Franklin moaned as the button on his suit jacket came loose in his hand.

  "What now?" Lionel asked.

  "It would appear that your friend, Flip, is quite a character in at least two ways. This Rachael woman swears that she's faithful with her birth control pills and has not missed a day. However, she's pregnant. Second, she appears to be only one of several women that Flip has visited since leaving here. She made some reference to a harem or something like that before she clammed up. Know anything about it?"

  "Harem? No, nothing at all. I know Flip has an active social life—one that most men only dream of—but that's it. You mean there may be more women that he has impregnated?"

  "You tell me. He's your friend."

  "Oh God," Lionel said as he combed his hair back with his fingers.

  Madame Sarrah

  The potholes in the dirt road leading to Madame Sarrah's cabin threatened to split the Mustang in half at its seams. The damage to the car didn't matter to Flip, but a throbbing headache each bump produced did. Reluctantly, he slowed his speed by another five miles per hour. He had driven all day and much of the night to get here, and he no longer found driving soothing in the least. His eyes burned. He was sure that if he checked he'd find a knife in his lower back, left by the previous driver. On top of that, his head felt as though it had been bounced along the highway behind the Mustang.

  He had about decided he had picked the wrong dirt road when the bright beams of the car picked up the outline of the log cabin that had been the home of Madame Sarrah for the last fifteen years. Flip had been one of her first customers. They had met one winter when his family had spent a couple of weeks skiing at the resort at the top of Snowshoe Mountain. Flip had become bored with the skiing. Although Snowshoe was reported to have some of the best skiing on the East Coast, Flip preferred the more challenging slopes of Colorado. He had borrowed his father's four-by-four and explored the area. A small, hand-painted sign had drawn him down the dirt path. He had continued to make regular pilgrimages back through the years, long after the sign had been torn down and was no longer needed or desired by Madame Sarrah.

  Over those fifteen years, she had built a small but lucrative business as a fortune teller and confidante. Most of her clients were like Flip—wealthy and affluent, attracted at first by the skiing but returning because of the personality and mystique of this extraordinary woman.

  As Flip turned off the engine, the silence of the wilderness enveloped him. Only the background droning of the crickets and cicadas interrupted the silence. The only illumination came from a small, yellow bug light next to the door, and the light of a full moon filtering through the trees. Flip remembered the year Sarrah had finally broken down and had electricity installed. He also recalled the huge battle she'd had with the Snowshoe township to get them to run it out so far.

  Flip pulled the small overnight bag from the back seat. He'd purchased it along with most of its contents while in Indianapolis. He'd always been a light traveler, considering the vast wardrobe that he kept at home, but this was ridiculous. He started to call out to make his presence known, but the profound solitude of the forest stopped him. Instead, he walked up to the door and knocked lightly.

  He heard the soft, husky voice of the fortune teller. "Enter, Flip MacDougal."

  He smiled at that. He'd never been able to figure out how, no matter what time
or what season he called, Madame Sarrah always knew who knocked on her door. Numerous times he had tried to disguise his knock, even once disguising himself with a fake mustache and wig, but to no avail. It was one of Madame Sarrah's little secrets that kept her clients returning to her year after year.

  He pushed the door open and entered the small cabin. Inside, he caught the whiff of apple incense, mingled with the smoke of the fireplace. Even though it was still summer, Madame Sarrah often found it necessary to keep a small fire going to chase away the chill of the mountain air. Sarrah sat at an old oak table, its lion feet the most massive Flip had ever seen. In front of her, sat her favorite crystal ball and a half-empty bottle of beer.

  "Whose fortune are you studying this evening?" Flip asked as he closed the door.

  "My favorite customer has come to pay the humble Madame Sarrah an unexpected visit, but maybe not so unexpected, huh?" She said without looking up from the crystal.

  "You never cease to amaze me, Sarrah. How did you know I was coming?"

  "I'm not allowed to share such secrets of the cosmos—union rules." It was her favorite answer to anything she didn't want to reveal. She glanced up at Flip and studied him hard, her eyes squinting into thin slits. "It is true what the signs said. You are changed, Flip MacDougal. Your aura has renewed power, especially there." She waved in the general direction of Flip's groin, her bracelets jingling in the dark like a brass wind chime.

  "I'm afraid that part of my 'aura' has gotten me into nothing but trouble with..."

  "Yes, much trouble and grief," Sarrah interrupted. She rose and walked around the table. "You have had much pain and suffering, and I fear that it is not over for you. But come, plenty of time to explore your future after you have rested...and paid." She laughed at her joke.

  She walked over to Flip and standing on her tiptoes, gave him a brief hug and kiss on the cheek. Her small frame made it difficult for her to reach him, and she did so only by pressing her supple breasts against his chest. Sarrah wore a full pleated skirt of a color somewhere between purple and black with many ruffles underneath. Her peasant blouse was of rough cotton, and she always wore it low on her shoulders giving her customers plenty of cleavage to study as she studied them.

  "Come, Flip, I prepare you a very special drink. It will relax you and open the channels to your destiny." She removed an earthen crock from the cabinet and poured a healthy portion of its contents into a mug.

  Flip remembered the special drink of champagne from a couple of days ago but said nothing. After all, this was Madame Sarrah. She was not like the rest of them. She was more like a cross between a mother and a sister. He accepted the drink she offered and took a long swallow. "It's good. A bit like wine and a bit like hard cider."

  "A bit like heaven and a bit like hell," Madame Sarrah said in a whisper. She stood a few feet from him, slowly passing her hands in a circle as though measuring his aura. "Yes, indeed amazing," she said.

  Flip drained his glass and held it out for a refill. Already, he could feel the muscles of his lower back relax, and the knife fell to the floor.

  "Come here, Flip. Lie here on the floor next to the fire. I will massage away that terrible headache of yours."

  Flip started to deny a headache then smiled. It would do no good. He was here with Madame Sarrah, the one lady who knew him like no other. He lay down on the soft fur rug of some unknown animal. Sarrah brought his mug and her beer and, kneeling beside him, began to massage his temples with her short fingers, the many rings on her fingers reflecting the light from the fire.

  "Tonight, Flip MacDougal, we will commune with the spirits like never before." Flip groaned softly and closed his eyes.

  "She's no help whatsoever." Chunk paced back and forth in front of Lionel and Franklin. "She alluded to knowledge of other women involved with this Flip fella, but now she's closed up tight. Just keeps demanding to see her lawyer."

  Lionel tried to keep from smiling at Chunk's exasperation. "She has a point there, Chunk. You've dragged her away from her home and business, shipping her up here without giving her any say in the matter. Have you considered that you might be looking at a lawsuit here?"

  "Mr. Adams—Lionel." He corrected himself. ''I'm fully aware of the law, and I'm well within my rights, not that it's doing me much good."

  "Would you like me to talk with her?" Lionel asked. He glanced over at Franklin and was amazed to find the man's eyes half-closed. How could anyone doze off at a time like this?

  "Sure, go ahead. It can't get any worse."

  "What have you told her so far?"

  Chunk continued to pace. "Told her? I've told her nothing. She's the one with the information. Until I get what I want from her, I'm not telling her anything."

  Lionel shook his head. "That might be your problem," he said as he rose from his chair. "Let me give it a try."

  He entered Franklin's inner office and smiled politely at the attractive young woman sitting in Franklin's chair.

  "Hello, Rachael. I'm Lionel Adams. We talked on the phone."

  "Are you responsible for this outrage?" Rachael glared at him as she jumped up. This must be how a big game hunter feels as he stares at a lioness preparing to charge, Lionel thought.

  Lionel had to admit that Flip knew how to pick his women. Even in her wrinkled blouse and slacks, and despite getting little sleep for the past twenty-four hours, Rachael Phillips was a knockout.

  He continued to smile at her as he sat on the edge of Franklin's desk. "Well, I am the one who asked you to come here. I felt that you needed our help, and we certainly need yours."

  "What are you talking about? Just because I'm pregnant doesn't mean I need any fancy research scientist yanking me away from my business... "

  "That's not what I was referring to; not exactly. Rachael, I'm afraid you may have been contaminated."

  Rachael slowly sat back down in the chair. "Contaminated?" She considered the word for a minute. "You don't mean...? That son of a bitch! What's he given me? Oh, please God, let it be syphilis or herpes. Not AIDS, please not AIDS, not at my age."

  Lionel grinned at her despite himself. "No Rachael, not AIDS, not herpes; not even syphilis. But in its own way, it’s equally as dangerous. We have reason to believe that Flip may have contaminated his reproductive tract with a particular recombinant DNA template that has dramatically altered his sperm. Your baby is growing at an incredible rate... "

  "How do you know that?" Rachael's gaze began to focus again.

  "You're not the only one that's been contaminated. As best we can tell you are the second one, but there are others, aren't there?"

  Rachael nodded. "Oh my God, are there."

  "We need to know who they are, Rachael. Their lives may be in jeopardy."

  Rachael nodded again, dazed into silence for the moment.

  Madame Sarrah studied Flip's features as he lay before her on the rug. A strong face, she thought. Handsome—a little rugged. Her eyes moved down his muscular frame. And a good body—strong, with no fat. Not like this short, chubby body of mine. He will produce beautiful children, especially now. Her eyes stopped at his groin. Such power. She had never seen such a bright aura before.

  How fortunate she was to be fertile at the right time. Fortunate, yes, but it was no accident. She was clear that destiny had its hand in the matter. She regretted having to break one of her most solemn business rules—never sleep with a customer, but she supposed if there were someone she would choose to break that rule with, it would be Flip. The tricky part was that he must not remember her transgression. It was crucial to her plan. The potion would do nicely. It was one of her favorite aphrodisiacs. It made its subject loving, incredibly potent, and best of all, entirely without recall the next day.

  She tapped Flip lightly on the forehead until he opened his eyes, then supporting his head, she offered him a long sip from the cup. It promised to be a wonderful night. It was in the stars.

  "He's a fucking rabbit. Seven different women in less than
two weeks? What is this friend of yours trying to prove?" Chunk threw the list of names down on the desk. The outburst startled Franklin from his nap, but Lionel was prepared for it. Dr. Chickowski bent over and picked up the list and started reading it.

  "Flip is simply being Flip. He's always enjoyed the ladies, although I must admit I never knew it was to this extent. I think this is a little above average even for him."

  Chunk started his pacing again, occasionally stopping to glare at Lionel. "Why did she give you...oh, never mind. That's not important. Tell me more about this template. What are we up against?"

  Lionel glanced at Franklin for a moment. "Go ahead, FDA will have to know about it before it can be approved for use anyway."

  "Well, it's meant to be a catalyst that will allow for easy genetic manipulation. I intended to structure genetic material in such a way that more of man's innate potential could be realized. There was an accident a few days ago that resulted in the template being tampered with, and Flip must have contaminated himself."

  Chunk stopped pacing for a moment. “The result of the Template?”

  "I'm not sure yet, but it appears the Template triggered a survival mechanism. One of man's strongest instincts is to survive both individually and as a species. The template is strongly influenced by this."

  "Why do you say that?" Chunk took the list from Chickowski and studied it again.

  "Several factors. First, there are at least two women that are pregnant, even though by all rights they shouldn't be. One was diagnosed years ago as being sterile, and the other swears she's been faithful to her birth control. Second, the fetuses are growing at an incredible rate. Instead of nine months, they're more likely to be full term in nine weeks or less.”

  "Do you mean that this template of yours is doing all of this?" Chickowski could remain silent no longer. "Why, that's incredible!"

  "And there's one final consideration," Lionel added.

  "What's that?"

  "Well, I didn't want to say anything until I had it verified, but after Denise had come to me with the news of her pregnancy, my mind began working. I wasn't sure whether my memory was correct or not, so I checked around and had it confirmed. Flip MacDougal had a vasectomy performed while he was in college. For all intent and purposes, he should be sterile also."