by Beth Martin
Table of Contents
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner.
Copyright © 2017 Beth Martin
Cover design by Beth Martin. Cover images provided by Shutterstock.com
To keep up to date on Beth Martin's writing, please visit her website:
BethMartinBooks.com
To my children. I'm so glad I have you both.
If you can write DNA, you’re no longer limited to ‘what is’ but to what you could make.
—Drew Endy
prologue
Saturday, October 18, 2059
Irene Crow fiddled with the papers in her file, her fingers worrying the corners of the white pages. She still couldn’t believe it was true. But DNA doesn’t lie. It can’t.
Her best friend’s room was just ahead on the left. A nurse smiled at her from down the hall and Irene dipped her head and muttered, “Hello.” Yesterday, she had been here for moral support. Today, she was here for work. She adjusted her cream-colored blazer and took a deep breath before knocking firmly on the door.
“Identification,” came an automated voice. Irene dug her device out of her pocket and held it up to the security panel next to the door. The small electronic in her hand displayed her credentials, including a picture of her dark, smiling face framed by her unruly, black, curly hair. Her device gave a shrill beep, meaning her identification had been scanned.
“I’m here on official business with the state department,” she said.
“Your admittance has been approved. You may enter.” There was a soft click of the door unlocking, and Irene let herself in.
The room might as well have been a palace. She wondered how much it cost per night. Whatever the price, Annette could afford it. In the corner, bathed in natural light from the wall of windows, Annette sat propped up on her bed with her tiny new baby in her arms. Her wavy brown hair was in a ratty mess and there were dark circles under her eyes. Even though she must have been exhausted, she seemed to be glowing as she admired her infant. She looked up and saw Irene standing just inside the door.
“Irene, come meet my daughter.”
Irene walked slowly across the room. She had never been a fan of children, least of all babies. They all looked the same: small and wrinkled. Standing stiffly next to Annette’s bed, she looked over the small child. The infant’s face was set in a frown and her hands were balled in little fists. “Hi, baby,” Irene said, not sure how to address this new little person.
“Would you like to hold her?” Annette asked.
“Okay.” She set down her file on the table next to the bed and held out her arms. Annette carefully handed her the baby. Irene cradled the tightly wrapped infant, afraid to move. She might wake the baby, or worse yet, drop her. The tiny, scrunched face looked almost alien to her. Did all people start out looking like that? “Have you settled on a name yet?”
“Ophelia.”
“Ophelia. It’s pretty.” She stood still, not trusting herself to even rock the child. “Nice to meet you, Ophelia.” As if on cue, Ophelia started fussing and kicking her little legs. “Oh, I… uh…”
“Here,” Annette said, holding out her arms. Irene quickly transferred the baby back to her mother. Within a few seconds she stopped fussing.
“She’s beautiful,” Irene said. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for her birth.”
“It’s okay. The nurses said they prefer it when the support person ducks out before things get too intense. I guess they’ve done a lot of deliveries working around a husband passed out on the floor. Plus, Jamie was amazing.”
Irene nodded in agreement. Even before the nurse had asked her to don scrubs, she had started feeling light-headed. Her wife, Jamie, had stepped in and held Annette’s hand as the doctor performed a routine C-section while Irene sat in the waiting room.
“What’s up?” Annette asked.
Irene couldn’t hide her concerned expression. “I’m actually here on official business.”
“Oh great, you found the DNA match for Ophelia’s father. I’m not going to request child support or anything. Hell, I don’t even need his name. Just his medical history for Ophelia’s sake.”
Irene grabbed her discarded file. She opened it and looked at the top page. All the information in this file was already locked in her brain. She closed the folder and set it back on the table. Pulling her device from her pocket, she said, “Begin recording,” and placed it on top of the file. “Tell me, Annette, about the circumstances surrounding your daughter’s conception.”
Annette looked up at Irene and raised a brow. “You already know all the details of how I got pregnant.”
“I know, I know. But could you just repeat it for the record?” Irene asked, motioning to her device.
“Cut the crap, Irene. What’s going on?”
Irene sighed. She picked up her device, pressed her thumb on the screen to stop the recording, and shoved it back in her pocket. Placing a hand on the file, she took a deep breath. “Ophelia’s father is dead. He died six years ago.”
one
Saturday February 1, 2059
Annette bobbed her head to the thumping music at the club. With drink in hand, she surveyed the crowd. Intoxicated patrons grinded against each other on the illuminated dance floor, while others queued at the bar to order more drinks. She was used to swanky clubs with actual human bartenders instead of the automated drink vending kiosks at this establishment. There was even a cup deposit in case any of the glowing glassware got stolen or broken, a tacky detail which made her want to leave. But she was on a mission. She had to stay.
Irene had recommended Echo when Annette asked her which dive was best. This venue certainly delivered. If only Irene had been able to come out tonight. Hell, Annette would have even settled for Irene’s cute Korean wife. Instead, she had Clara.
She climbed up the rickety spiral staircase, her stiletto heel getting stuck in the holes of the metal treads. She pulled her designer shoe free, then tiptoed the rest of the way. Even though they were at a seedy club, she didn’t have to dress trashy. Her tight, leather dress, tailored to perfectly hug her generous curves, probably cost more than most of these people made in a month.
As she walked over to the gaming loft, the speakers perfectly canceled out the techno thumps, making the song transition into a classy jazz tune. She wove around the digital game tables, holograms of balls clattering around as a man pantomimed a shot with his imaginary pool cue.
Her sister-in-law, Clara, had no idea how to dress for a girls’ night out. Her slacks were more fitting for the office and her black blouse made her disappear into the shadows. She sat in a booth at the back corner of the loft, nursing a soft drink and looking bored. If it weren’t for her light-colored hair, Annette might not have been able to see her at all.
Annette shot back the rest of her drink and set the empty glass on the table in front of Clara. “We’ll attract more attention if we dance together.”
“You’re doing great on your own,” Clara said, giving Annette a thumbs up.
“Please,” Annette pleaded. “I’m not going to score by skulking in the corner.” A man sitting in the booth behind Clara turned to see who was talking, and Annet
te rewarded him with a wink.
“I don’t care,” Clara said. Annette wished she had found someone, anyone, else to come out with her tonight. Even her brother would have been a better wing-man.
“I’ll buy you a drink,” she offered.
“Now you’re speaking my language.” The two women went to the drink kiosk at the side of the loft. With two fresh drinks glowing under the flashing lights, Annette led Clara over to the front of the loft and they started dancing next to the railing, the dance floor proper directly below them.
Annette tried her best to look sexy, swaying her hips in circles and bending to the floor.
Clara turned to dance with her, closing the gap between them so their pelvises touched as they swayed to the music. “Ray is going to hear about this,” Clara said. Ray was Clara’s husband and Annette’s brother. “Annette, look. That guy’s totally checking you out.” Clara pointed down to a man on the dance floor wearing a tight button-up shirt with black slacks. He was tall with an athletic physique, black hair, and dark mysterious eyes. He waved and smiled when Annette looked over at him. “Go talk to him.”
Annette knew she wasn’t the most attractive woman. Her look for this evening had required tons of effort: a spa treatment to give her pale skin a healthy glow, a trip to the salon to achieve subtle blond highlights, and an appointment with the best makeup artist in Seattle. Apparently it had all been worth the effort.
Now was not the time to be shy. She carefully navigated back down the stairs and made her way across the dance floor, approaching him. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Annette.”
“Annette,” he said. “That’s a beautiful name. Can I buy you a drink?”
One drink led to two. Before she knew it, Annette was dancing the rest of the night away with Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome. As the lights came up at last call, her new companion offered to walk her out.
They stood on the curb as other partiers bustled by, heading home for the night. “You drive here?” she asked.
“No, my friend dropped me off.”
“How are you getting home?”
“Well, I do live right there,” he said, smiling at her as he pointed to the tall building across the street. “Would you like to come up? Keep the night going?”
“Sure,” she said, grinning wide. Her only goal at the moment was getting this man alone and undressed.
He grabbed both of her hands and looked her in the eye. “Before we do, I have to be completely honest with you.” Annette eagerly nodded. “I really want to fuck you, and if you come up to my apartment, I may not be able to stop myself.”
She bit her lip and smiled. Even though he had probably used this line with several other woman, it worked on her. She leaned in and pressed her mouth against his, a hungry kiss to make him want more. They could hardly keep their hands off each other as he led her across the street, into the building, up the elevator, and inside his small apartment.
As soon as his door was closed behind them, they lost all restraint. She pulled open his shirt, exposing his strong chest and perfect abs.
“If you’ve got an implant, I’m okay with skipping protection,” he said as he peeled off her dress.
Annette looked at the angry red scar on her upper arm. “It got infected, but it still works,” she lied.
“Good,” he said before pushing her down onto the bed. He unfastened his belt and pulled down his pants. As he climbed on top of her, Annette thought about how lucky she was. The timing was perfect, and she couldn’t have asked for a more attractive man to father her future baby.
Once he was spent and had fallen asleep, she slipped out of his apartment and went home. She had achieved her goal for the night. There was no point staying until morning.
··OOO··
A tired-looking woman answered the door to the nice townhouse located in the more affluent area of Seattle. Irene looked down at the file she held to double check the name. “I’m looking for Mr. Theodore Mosley. Is he in?”
“Doctor. And no, he’s at work. I’m his wife.” The sounds of a child shrieking came from inside.
“May I come in? I’d like to ask you a few questions.” The chill outside prickled Irene’s skin through the loose knit of her sweater, and she could feel the warm air coming from inside the door.
“Of course.” Mrs. Mosley opened the door and let Irene in. “Please excuse the mess.”
“Oh that’s quite all right,” Irene said. There were toys all over the floor in the hall as Mrs. Mosley led the way to the living room. A gate sectioned off a corner of the room, holding back a mountain of toys and sports gear. Each potentially dangerous surface—the fireplace, coffee table corners, staircase—was either blocked off or covered with foam padding. There was baby proofing, and then there was this living room.
Mrs. Mosley and Irene took a seat in the living room as the older child threw toys at the wall. Irene sat on the canvas slip-covered couch while Mrs. Mosley settled into a self-gliding chair.
“Is this your and Dr. Mosley’s son?” Irene asked.
“Yes,” she beamed. “This is Walter. He’s so smart.”
Walter was listed in her file. He was low functioning due to a severe mental handicap. Children like him were rare since most parents opted to terminate early on and try again for a healthier baby.
“Yes he is,” Irene said, forcing a smile at the child. She knew fawning over people’s offspring helped when she needed them to open up. “Do you know if your husband has fathered any other children?” she asked.
“He has not,” Mrs. Mosley said firmly, clearly offended by Irene’s question. “Walter is our one. After he was born, Theodore went through the required sterilization procedure. So did I.”
Irene looked down at her file. Just a month ago, a baby girl had been born and when her DNA was added to the Genome Database, Theodore Mosley was identified as the father.
Everyone’s DNA was sequenced and put on file at birth. To help enforce the progeny laws, which limited each person to having only one child, parents were forced to get sterilized as soon as their first baby was born. The process was extremely effective for both men and women. It was very rare for a man to accidentally, or even intentionally, father a second baby. She just needed a sample from Dr. Mosley to confirm that he was indeed sterile, and then she could close this file.
“Is there a work phone number I could reach your husband at?” Irene asked.
“Yes, I’ll write it down for you.” Mrs. Mosley pulled up the number on her device. “He works in emergency medicine, so he isn’t always able to answer.”
“I’ve got it,” Irene said, pulling out her own device. Just a tap of her device to Mrs. Mosley’s transferred the number. “Thank you so much for your time.” Mrs. Mosley shook Irene’s outstretched hand.
Irene rushed through the cold street back to her car. She made a note on her file to obtain a semen sample from Dr. Mosley. If it came back clean, she could close out the case. With someone like a respected medical doctor, Irene didn’t suspect foul play.
··OOO··
Annette swirled the end of the little piece of paper in her small cup of urine. “Start timer, two minutes,” she said. Her device showed a stopwatch which started ticking down seconds. Her excitement kept her from sitting still and she tapped her foot impatiently as she sat perched at the edge of the toilet seat. It had taken all her willpower to wait until she was late before doing a test.
At thirty-two, she was quickly reaching what her gynecologist called ‘advanced maternal age.’ With all the trappings of success—a high paying career, luxury penthouse apartment, celebrity connections, and enviable wardrobe—the only unfulfilled part of her life was the lack of a child to nurture and love. The current laws dictated that each person was only allowed to have one. She knew having a baby would make it even harder to find a husband, but right now she didn’t care. The biological urge to be a mother overruled all reason.
Her device beeped. The two minutes were up. Annette fed the
small piece of paper into the slot at the bottom of her device. She said, “Perform pregnancy test,” then watched the graphics on the front of her device swirl before a red symbol filled the screen.
The device read out her results in a computerized voice. “Pregnancy confirmed. You are three weeks, six days along. Estimated due date, October twenty-fifth, twenty-fifty-nine.”
Annette hugged the device to her chest. It was finally happening.
“Would you like to schedule an eight week appointment with your gynecologist, Dr. Walker, on Friday, March fourteenth, at eight am?” the computerized voice from Annette’s device asked.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes! Add it to my calendar.”
“Appointment with Dr. Walker for Friday, March fourteenth at eight am added to calendar. Notifications set for day before and thirty minutes prior.”
Annette jumped up and danced for joy. This was everything she wanted. She had to tell someone. She’d call Irene.
··OOO··
Irene pushed through the throng of people in the cafe, making her way to Annette who was standing in line.
“God, does everywhere have to be this crowded?” Annette asked.
Irene looked back around the dining area. There were tons of people packed in the quaint little cafe talking noisily over their lunches. The dense population in Seattle was a daily reminder of why the progeny laws were so important.
Although climatologists were never able to convince all of the United States Congress that climate change was already in progress, the damaging effects of fossil fuels could no longer be ignored. Smog stretched far beyond city limits. After several years of consistently poor crop yields, something had to be done.
But instead of limiting pollution and making stricter emission regulations, the bill that had finally passed which directly addressed the problem introduced the progeny laws. These regulations dictated the number of children people could have and prohibiting certain procreation practices. They had been around since the 2020s. Only in the past twenty years had more extreme measures of sterilization been widely implemented.