Amelia, Burning Then Quenched

“Amelia, Burning, Then Quenched”

By Jeffrey Van Dell

“Drat!” I shouted, as the tray of sterile glassware slipped out of my hands and onto the cold stainless-steel floor with a violent crash.

“You ok?!” Yelled Jim from across the lab.

“I dropped a tray, broken flasks and a few beakers. They were the cheap ones so, you know, lots of tiny pieces of glass! I’ll have to autoclave again.” I looked around for a box to put the broken glass in

“Don’t worry, in a few weeks you can do all your work with Waterford crystal.” Jim rolled the shop-vac to ground zero and undid the hose.

“Waterford crystal? Let’s not count our eagles before they hatch.” I said.

“You mean chickens” He said.

“Chickens have been done. Didn’t you read about it in ‘Genetic News’ Quarterly? The Chinese teamed up with the Australians and now they’re building factories for featherless, footless, mostly headless chickens like there’s no tomorrow.” I said.

“When do you find time to read?” He asked.

“After you go to bed. I haven’t been sleeping well lately.” I said.

“That will change soon. We should go to Maui for a month.” Said Jim.

“When!? We’ll be too busy with patent solicitors and all sorts of FDA regulations.” I said.

My reply was drowned out as he pushed the large black hose over the mirror like finish of the lab’s floor sucking up slivers of glass. We were both wearing blue cloth scrubs with another layer of disposable outerwear. For eight years we had been working on an artificial womb that could carry mammals to term. Other researchers had tried and failed when their embryos suddenly stopped growing and died at almost exactly 56.5% of their normal term. It mattered not what kind of mammals they were: apes, hamsters, dogs, horses, cows, pigs, and humans. None of them made it to term. It was as if there were a switch that told the cells to stop dividing, hold, and die. 

When the first generation of artificial wombs was demonstrated enormous amounts of money were thrown at research labs. Venture capitalists saw gold. It turned out to be fool’s gold. The money evaporated when it was discovered that there would be no perfect babies for couples unwilling or unable to go through the normal birthing process. No one wanted to spend tens of thousands of dollars on the process only to have their non-viable fetus die or spend four months in intensive care, brain dead and existing.

The people doing research on artificial wombs found work in other fields but we, by a fluke in the by laws of our small college, were allowed to keep working on it, even after others said it was a dead end. No one knew how far we had come and I knew that we were going to be both wealthy and famous. This was new ground for me but Jim came from a rich and well connected family from both of this parents.

“Hey, this sliver looks like a sail. Maybe I’ll have a famous artist build a sailboat of glass for us.” Said Jim as he held the shard up to the light.

“It’s pretty, but you can have the boat. I get seasick.” I groaned.

Jim grew up with wealth. Money wasn’t his primary motivation for pursuing the artificial womb. He wanted to “change the world”. Jim wouldn’t inherit all his family money but he and his three siblings had a trust fund which gave us quarterly payments, not enough to quit our jobs but enough to provided a buffer. I, on the other hand wanted a new car, big house, nice clothes, and my own private lab to continue research.

We picked up the last of the glass and checked the kids, literally three goats grown from an I.V.F. embryo. We’d brought sixteen to full term and upon examination found nothing wrong with them. Three of them were bred and their offspring were perfect, but who wanted goats when they could have kids? In a sealed room at the back of the lab was our greatest achievement.

The artificial wombs were clear, twenty-gallon cylinders. They were connected to vats of nutrients by silver plated stainless steel tubes. Lit from beneath with a combination of normal and ultra-violet light to prevent bacteria growth, the wombs looked like something straight out of a science-fiction film.

It was a combination of our backgrounds in genetics and material science that allowed us to succeed where others had failed. Our marriage both enhanced and complicated our working relationship. Neither of us could have done it on our own and the fruits of our sacrifice and hard work would soon be known. Tomorrow we would announce our findings to the scientific community in press releases and a live “birthing” ceremony of the fetus’ on television, broadcast worldwide. Little Adams and Eves would announce the end of reproductive slavery for women and endless possibilities for research.

Since we needed sixteen separate genotypes to prove that our process worked we purchased eggs from a screened pool of undergraduates. Random male donors were selected from sperm banks on all five continents and the results were fascinating. Sixteen perfect little fetuses floated in amniotic fluid. Nine girls and seven boys representing each of the three major racial groups were well into their ninth month of gestation.

The first batch that we successfully grew past the point of viability had been harvested, dissected, and checked for defects. The second batch had been allowed to breathe unfiltered air for forty-eight hours then euthanised for examination. Jim thought putting the latest batch up for adoption would serve as good public relations for our yet to be named company. I wanted to keep them in the lab to track their progress as they grew, but that would involve all sorts of legal hurdles we weren’t prepared to face, or so I thought.

“Ready to go?” Asked Jim, holding my out for me coat.

“Why thank you sir.” Jim was ever the gentleman.

We stepped out of the lab as we had countless other winter nights, tired, hungry, but satisfied.

To save money we had lived in a rented cozy cottage on the college property. It was more run down than quaint, and I longed for a modern house of chrome, glass, and granite. Jim fantasized about living on a houseboat.

At home I put two frozen dinners in the microwave and turned on the television just in time for the world news. Jim checked our e-mail and phone messages. Word had leaked of our experiments and we had been deluged by calls from couples wanting to use our technology to have children. There were sixty messages on our phone machine.

“I’m just going to get us two tickets to Maui. We can leave the cottage and never come back, ok with that love?” Said Jim after listening to the fifteenth message from a desperate couple.

“Do you want the chicken or the beef?” I asked. “Ow!” Steam burned my wrist as I peeled back the plastic wrap. “And I want a personal chef.” I yelled.

“Whichever you don’t want to eat is fine with me.” He mumbled back. I gave him the beef.

No sooner had we sat down to eat then we heard a knock at our door.

“Who the hell could that be at this hour?” Jim asked through a mouth full of beef stew. He got up and looked out the window, still holding his fork.

“It’s a man in a natty looking suit.” He said.

“See what he wants. It’s probably a lawyer.” I groaned.

Jim opened the door and asked, “Can I help you?”

“Hello, I don’t mean to intrude but I am a time traveler from the future. I can prove this if you take this slip of paper with tonight’s winning lottery number on it.” The man stood in the doorway holding out a piece of paper. Jim took it from him then slammed and bolted the door. I called the campus security and one of our neighbors to have them keep a lookout for a man in “natty suit”. ‘

Jim set the alarm and I made sure the doors and windows were locked. I held vigil at the front window. Dead bugs and dust littered the window ledge.

“Is anyone there?” Jim asked.

I said, “No, no, he’s gone. The security car is going up and down the street. Maybe he time traveled back to wherever he’s from?” Jim laughed. “It’s probably just a college prank. Remember when we had the entire crew of the ‘Enterprise’ on our lawn beam themselves up last Halloween? Still, a call to the police in the morning wouldn’t be out of order. We’re persons of note now my dear.” Jim put the slip of paper on the table and I looked at it.

“That’s pretty elegant penmanship for a drudge.” I said. A “drudge” is what we called the students when no one was looking. “Look here, his hand writing is like calligraphy.” The black script looked just like an expensive wedding invitation.

“It’s probably a laser print. Students can print out ten-pound notes in their dorm rooms now.” He scoffed, pouring himself a glass of port. “Speaking of security…you should know that I’ve taken the liberty to call up some extra security for tomorrow.”

“Fine, do whatever you think is best.” I said. Jim’s ear had been glued to the phone whenever he wasn’t in the lab. I would have sworn he was having an affair were it not for the fact that he was with me 24/7.

Our meals finished, we looked over our tightly packed schedule for tomorrow. Jim was answering e-mails and making lists of things to do when I heard BBC 4’s “lottery lass” announce the night’s winning numbers. Jim and I exchanged a look and I picked up the piece of paper left by the time traveling stranger.

“Lottery Lass” was the BBC’s best known and most well endowed blonde announcer. She held up the first of seven, numbered balls and proceeded to earn her four minutes of fame for the evening.

“All right, we have a six!” She said in a high-pitched cockney accent I swore was faked. She jumped each time she read a number and it set her big hair and bosom a-jiggling.

“Six! She’s right so far.” Deadpanned Jim.

“And an eight.” She purred.

“Two for two! Maybe that’s her I.Q. as well?” I said.

“Meow, Catty!…” Jim giggled.

“And a nine.” She jumped again.

“Ok, I’ve got goose bumps.” Said Jim.

“Now a seven and a one.” She squeaked. I wondered nastily if she were a natural blonde.

“Now another six.” Jim stood up and we both took in a startled breath.

“The final double-digit number for sixty million pounds…” A drum roll swelled to a crescendo, stopped abruptly and she announced with a shout, “Twenty-two!” Ending with a flourish of her hands to the heavens, a shake of her hair and chest which found momentum and moved a lot.

“It has to be a joke!” I said, stunned.

“Are they even real?” Jim’s eyes were glued to the screen.

There was a knock at our door. I looked out through the window and saw the nattily dressed man standing there holding out two slips of paper. They were lottery tickets, tonight’s lottery with the exact numbers they had just announced. I unbolted and opened the door.

“Hello again! Did you watch the news? I took the liberty of purchasing you each a winning ticket. May I come in? We have much to discuss.” Said the man in a rather broad Italian accent.

I took the tickets held out to us. They were real indeed. We let the man in and sat him down at our tiny kitchen table while I poured coffee for us all.

“Who are you and where, or when, are you from?” Asked Jim.

The man stirred a teaspoon of sugar into his coffee and sniffed it appreciatively. “You may call me Emilio. I am from Germany although I was raised in Italy.”

“And you’re here because…” I said.

“I am here to save the world from a new era of slavery, horror, and war.”

I wondered if he were a medical technology venture capitalist coming to woo us, but Jim’s family ran in such circles and he had made arrangements, through various lawyers for protecting our intellectual property rights. Jim stirred sugar into his coffee and I noticed his large hand and remembered that his daily routine included jiu-jitsu club four times a week which made me feel very safe.

Emilio was dressed in tight fitting jeans, work boots, a wool sweater over a button down shirt. His complexion was fair but his hands and face had a weathered look which reminded me of Jim’s when he returned from a week out on the water. His brown hair was rich and full, his brown eyes communicated a calm intensity and confidence.

“How do you know what we’re about to do and why should we believe you? You could be a nut.” Jim said.

“You should believe me because I have proof, or evidence, that I am a time traveler.” The man, Emilio, pulled out a bracelet from his jacket pocket. It was sterling silver with a gold rose on the front of it. It looked strong and elegant at the same time. He handed it to me and I stared in astonishment.

“This can’t be!” I whispered. It looked just as I remembered it.

“Turn it over.” He said, motioning with his hand.

I looked at the inside of it and found the inscription I hadn’t seen in thirty years. It was a favorite saying of my mother’s. She gave me the bracelet just before she died. Tears came to my eyes and I was lost in memory as the man spoke.

“You think you lost it one day while you were at school. You even accused your sister of taking it out of jealousy. Actually, I took it, right from your bedroom between the time you left for school and when you returned. I did this a few hours ago, but to you it’s been many years.” He smiled.

I covered my mouth with my hand and stared at the thing. Only my father, mother, and sister, long dead of cancer, knew of its existence and significance. I never wore it out of the house and to my knowledge had never mentioned its existence to anyone outside the family. Turning it over in my hand a rush of memories washed over my mind. I could see the light of my childhood bedroom, the scent of my mother’s perfume mixed with the antiseptic smell of her hospital room during her final days.

“And now for you sir.” Emilio reached into his other pocket and pulled out a palm sized notebook with a faux leather cover embossed with Jim’s name in gold. He handed it to Jim and an expression of joy like I’d never seen before came over his face.

“My book, my sketchbook you found it!” He opened it and on each page were pictures of a bugs, leaves, flowers, buildings, and people. Jim wanted to go into art at one point. Even as a boy he had a talent for capturing images from nature and making them come to life. He could have been a great illustrator but his gifts included design and he put them to good use for industry. He still drew for pleasure, but the dream of a career as a serious artist was long gone.

“I lost this eons ago! I thought I’d put it in my dresser but when I got home it wasn’t there. I searched like a maniac for days. It had some of my best, or what I thought were my best, sketches in it. Where did you find it?” He asked.

“I took it from your dresser while you were at church.” Emilio put an unnatural emphasis on the worlds “at church” and looked at Jim meaningfully.

Jim looked at him with new eyes.

“Amelia, I know this man. I just remembered I’d met him before. He was speaking to my parents at church the day I lost my sketchbook. They were arguing with him about something in the sermon. He said to me ‘you need to be careful with what you posses.’” Jim frowned as he said this.

“I’ve never seen him before in my life. Are you sure it’s the same man? That must have been over forty years ago Jim. This man isn’t that old.” I said.

“Amelia, you have never set eyes on me before but if you think back I’ll bet you remember a man who called you and offered you a full scholarship to go to California Institute of Technology instead of Oxford. He never identified himself and you were extremely rude to him. Do you remember what he said about your responsibility as a scientist? He said, ‘Your responsibility doesn’t end…? ‘” He prompted.

I thought about a conversation I hadn’t even remembered until that moment. “My responsibility for what I discover doesn’t end after I publish.” I said.

“I never told anyone of that conversation. It was too strange. Anyhow I already had a full scholarship to Oxford.” I stared at him trying to remember the exact tone of the man’s voice from the conversation so long ago. We sat for a few moments, each in our own thoughts. I put the bracelet on admiring its simple beauty and Jim thumbed through his notebook. We looked at one another across the table as the past crashed over us.

There were three fixed points in this equation, the strange man Emilio, the notebook and bracelet, and the two lottery tickets. These were real, present and had come to us unbidden, unsearched, and intersecting at the fulcrum of our professional lives.

“So, what are you doing here?” Said Jim.

“Do you accept that I’m a traveler from the future?” He asked.

“Well, for now we’ll go on that assumption.” I said.

“In the absence of another explanation and in the interest of further inquiry I’ll accept that you’re not from here.” He said.

Emilio smiled. “That’s understandable. If I were in your shoes I’d be skeptical too. But what I have to tell you is of the utmost importance. My time here is limited. We have until dawn and then I will have to go back to my proper time.”

“Excuse me, but when are you from?” I asked.

“I am from five hundred years in your future and I am here in an attempt to dissuade you from announcing your discovery of the solution to the L110 problem.” He said.

My hand jerked involuntarily and I spilled a little coffee. Only Jim and I knew about the L110 problem and what it meant. L110 was the enzyme that had prevented the growth of embryos in artificial wombs. L110 wasn’t identified by other researchers because it looked just like L109, to which it was attached. L110 acted as a brake on cell division. Because it was attached to L109 other researchers were unaware aware of its existence. We stumbled upon it because Jim accidentally added an agent to a batch of L109 I had been preparing. Jim’s agent broke it down into two distinct enzymes. L109 and L110 were connected by a thin strand of protein. When we broke the bond it stopped the enzyme from inhibiting embryonic growth and we were able to bring our embryos to full term. I owned the patent on the agent that dissolved the bond between the two enzymes.

“How do you know this?” I asked. We had never disclosed that part of our findings, even to our lab assistants. I thought immediately that he must be a spy from another corporation.

“I read your work in the library. It’s common knowledge that it was an accident in the lab which led to your discovery, built your fortune, and the fortune of the Company.” Said the man from the future.

I looked at him in a new light. My mind was racing. If he were a rival there was no reason he would come to us at all. He would have sent lawyers. I looked down at the bracelet and caught Jim sneaking looks at his sketchbook and grinning. The lottery tickets were in front of us and in twelve hours we were supposed to announce our discovery to the world and move forward with a new age for mankind.

“What do you want to tell us?” Jim asked.

“Yes, why are you here?”

“Please understand, I tried to prevent you from completing the research you began by making sure you went to separate schools. It didn’t work. You ended up marrying and going on with your research as the history books said you did.

I am here now, as a last resort, to beg you to abandon your research and dispose of your notes. Bury the children you are growing in an unmarked grave and take your lottery money and disappear.

Your research unleashed horrors on the world. With the artificial womb, and legislation which left the status of those grown in them nebulous at best, hundreds of children were created for use as test subjects and spare parts for wealthy investors.”

I said, “We are not responsible for what the world uses our technology for. Science is value neutral. It’s not our responsibility to make sure the world uses our work for a good and noble purpose. We merely wish to help infertile couples to have children of their own. What’s wrong with that?” 

Emilio laughed, “Yes, good answer, just as I would expect from someone raised in your era. You will now argue that the device will bring an end to women’s enslavement and joy to parents who would not otherwise have been able to have a child.”

In fact those words were on my tongue even as he spoke them. My anger rose and my husband’s was apparent.

Jim shouted, “But it’s true! Our technology will allow many children to be born and bring joy to millions of potential parents. Who are you to tell us what to do with out knowledge? At any rate there are things set in motion that cannot be altered. We have responsibilities to the college and others.”

Emilio said, “Yes, also what I’d expect. Next you’ll tell me that we need to stop worrying about ‘potential’ people and get on with the hard work of healing ‘real’ people who have cancer, aids, spinal cord injuries, Alzheimer’s, and a host of other diseases. I know all the arguments Jim. They were made centuries ago when the world’s conscience was still tender enough to actually hear them. In my era, six hundred years from now, there are no limits to what companies can do to people in the name of ‘value neutral’ science.”

“But the world can’t be that bad, can it? I mean, scientists have always had the best interest of mankind at heart when they develop new technologies.” I spoke calmly, hoping to take the edge off Jim’s outburst.

Emilio continued. “The world I come from is full of transgenic creatures, human/animal hybrids who have been created for mankind’s pleasure. Sexual slaver is at the top of the list. Any perversion you can imagine, and some you probably can’t, is sanctioned by the governments of the world; so long as the creature providing the service is grown from an artificial womb. Somehow, in the calculus of international law and human reason it’s been decided that if you’re not born from a woman you are not human, even if all your genes are human.” He said.

“But that’s slavery! Surely there are laws against slavery in your time.” I interjected.

Jim erupted again, “Even if that’s true, we’re not responsible for the laws future legislators will make!”

“In my time slavery is illegal, for humans. As I said if you’re not born naturally of a human woman, cesarean or vaginal birth, you are not afforded the rights and privileges of other human beings.” He said.

The time traveler finished his coffee, daubing his lips with a napkin. As I put on another pot for us, he and Jim talked about time travel and some higher math that I had no understanding of. What if he was right? Were we really setting the world up for an entire class of people to become slaves? It sounded improbable, but his presence here was improbable too, yet here he was.

            I’d never stopped to think about the repercussions of what we were doing. Apart from thoughts of happy couples having babies my mind was focused on the practical problems of bringing the fetus to term. How could bringing help to women, couples, who wanted children be harmful?

            In the kitchen window’s reflection I saw Jim light up a cigarette, its tip bloomed like a rose. My heart skipped a beat when I looked at Emilio. Instead of the normal reflection in the mirror-like window he looked as if he had been spray painted light gray. Every surface feature of his body, eve his clothes, had the same dull hue.

            “Jim!” I screamed and spun around quickly with my hand on my chest.

            They both looked up at me. Emilio appeared normal. I turned around and pointed to his reflection in the window, gray as London.

            “Look at him in the reflection.” I said to Jim, pulling him by the arm and dragging him to look at our guest’s image in the window.

            “That’s odd. Is that an effect of your time traveling?” Jim asked. “You look like a ghost!” He said.

            Emilio stood up and looked at himself in front of the window. “Yes, other people see me as a grayed-out figure. I see myself as you see me normally. It’s an artifact of the process. I never bothered to figure out why it happens.” He and Jim sat back down.

            My hands shook as I put the carafe on the table and poured the strong brew. The shock of the strangeness was wearing off and my mind began analyzing everything I’d seen and heard. It was time for clarity.

            “Well Emilio, this has certainly been a night of surprises. I have some questions for you.” I said.

            “Please, I’d be happy to answer any question you have.” He said, sniffing the coffee’s rich aroma before putting the cup to his lips.

            “If you can indeed travel through time why haven’t you just killed us so our work would never see the light of day?” I asked.

            “Because murder is a sin and God would not be pleased with me if I murdered you. No matter what the end is, murder is never an acceptable solution.” He said.

            “What if you could have killed Hitler and prevented the extermination of six-million Jews?” Jim asked.

“Murder is never acceptable, natural deaths only. My time traveling has limits. I can’t go to any time I wish and the human body is limited as to how many jumps it can make. I am at my limit. After I leave you in a few hours I can only jump once more. Let me ask a pointed question about the past that will help you understand your future.”

 “Why didn’t anyone who lived during Hitler’s rise to power prevent him from committing atrocities? Weren’t there people around him who knew that what he was doing to the Jews, and other ethnic groups, was wrong, evil in fact? Where were those people, who knew better, when the Jews were being herded naked into extermination chambers?”

            I sipped my coffee and retorted. “How can we be sure you are telling the truth about the effects of our research? You may indeed be a time traveler but maybe you’re from a rival company who wishes to stop our research so you can reap the profits?”

            Jim said, “I have a question after that Emilio.”

            “Well Amelia, I have no proof to offer you.” He said.

            “You’re not giving us much evidence that our work will really cause the harm you’re saying it will. And what if we stipulate that any human born from one of our units is to be granted human rights from birth? Couldn’t we maintain legal control of the manner in which the units are used?” Jim asked.

            “You know I am a scientist, actually a mathematician, too. I have vowed to never let the secret of time travel into anyone else’s hands. Now, perhaps some laboratory somewhere will find the secret, but I choose to not disclose the equations. If a government got a hold of the technology they would no doubt use it for their own ends. Do you believe that you could maintain legal control after you’re dead? You said yourself that you are not responsible for the legal decisions of future legislators. What makes you think that anyone will honor your requests? Especially if there’s a profit to be made.” He asked.

            “But the technology is only going to be used for the good of humanity!” I shouted, exasperated.

            “Amelia, when does human life begin?” He asked.

            “What?” I said.

            “When does human life begin? At conception, viability, birth, or some other time?” He asked.

            “Are you asking me legally or otherwise?” I asked. My stomach soured.

            “I think you know that in order to maintain logical consistency the answer must be the same for both.” He said.

            “Biologically, human life begins when a sperm and egg unit to form a zygote.” Jim piped in. “I learned that in seventh grade.”

            “I agree with Jim.” I said.

            “Then why do you allow children in the womb to be murdered? You yourself sacrificed an entire batch of babies to further your science. ” Emilio asked.

            “You think that abortion is somehow related to what we’re doing? It’s not a human child being terminated it’s a fetus.” I said.

            “You know for someone so bright you are surprisingly susceptible to self-delusion. We both know that calling a child in the womb a fetus does not change its essential nature any more than calling your left hand a blob of tissues makes it any less useful in your daily existence.” He said.

            I reddened at the rebuke because I knew he was right. I was too smart for semantic games.

            “I concede your point.” I said. “But we’re not murderers. The state allows us to do what we want with our test subjects.”

            “So you’re within the limits of the law. Were the Nazi guards who pushed naked women and children into death chambers acting within the limits of their laws? The existence of laws doesn’t guarantee that they are good laws.” He said.

            Jim blustered, “That’s not fair! We’re not Nazis and who are you to judge our work?”

            “I’m a man who regularly rescues child sex slaves from large brothels and puts them into a homes with loving families. These children grow up to live normal lives despite the fact that the state has decided that they are not human, simply because they were gestated in one of your artificial wombs.” He said.

            “We are not responsible for how the future uses our technology. We have made a choice to help humanity, not hurt it. If others use our technology for a nefarious purpose, it’s on their heads, not ours.” I spoke with an air of finality.

            “But I am here informing you of what will happen if you, not any other person, release your technology. Right now you have a moral choice to make, not any other person, you, Amelia and James. I’ve even provided you with funds to set you up for the rest of your life. You have no excuse for going ahead with your work. If you choose to release your findings the future will happen just as I said it would. You will be responsible for the suffering of hundreds of thousands of people who have been arbitrarily denied their humanity and rights simply because they were born from one of your devices. Your names will not be remembered in the same breath as Einstein, Watson and Crick, and Hawking, but with Himmler, Goebels, Pol Pot, and Eichman. I will say no more because you only have to choose. I hope you choose life.” He stood up and stretched, then calmly walked to the front door and left without closing it.

            His departure was so abrupt that we sat there looking at the open door for two minutes. We walked out of the cottage but he was nowhere in sight. We saw his footsteps in the early morning dew. They led down the flagstone path for twenty steps, then vanished. It was as if he disappeared between one step and he next. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes I would not have believed it.

            Jim stood next to me and laughed. “What a nut. Let’s get some sleep. We’ve got a busy day ahead of us.”

            Too tired to argue, I stood staring at the footprints for a moment then followed him inside. The bracelet and sketchbook were on the kitchen table and I slipped my bracelet on. Jim put the little book on his bookshelf and we went to bed.

            Between the coffee and excitement of Emilio’s visit I had two hours of sleep. At five we awoke and made final arrangements at the lab. A camera crew and reporters were already there setting up their equipment. Our live interviews  and demonstrations would begin at seven with the host of England’s most popular morning show. Someone had hired scads of extra security, serious looking men with crewcuts wearing black coats speaking into their sleeves.

            A knot formed in my stomach and I pulled Jim into my office.

            “Jim, who are all these people, these extra security men? They look like secret service.” I asked.

            “I called my father, you know he was in the special service. I asked him to set us up with some extra security today.” He said.

            “These men look government Jim. We’re a private lab and they have no authority to be here.” I said.

            “The government certainly has an interest in our work. When we announce our findings there are going to be people who don’t want our work to continue.” He said.

            “But you should have told me.” I whined.

            “You didn’t need to be bothered with details like that.” He said.

            “Are you expecting trouble?” I asked, wondering what Jim knew that I didn’t.   

            “No, I’m just protecting our investments. Our work is worth several billion pounds and a little extra security is prudent, don’t you think? I’ve also invited several venture capitalists to view our work.” He said.

            “Now hold on! I never authorized…we never talked about…what else have you been holding back from me?” I asked, fury rising in my entire body.

            “Amelia, this is the greatest discovery in reproductive science. Did you think that we’d be able to just go on our merry way as if nothing changed? We’re in the big leagues now, but in order to play in the big leagues we have to play by a certain set of rules. Do you want to be rich or not?” He scowled.

            “Of course I do that’s not the...” I began.

            “Right then. Play along and we’ll be fine. They want to put makeup on us before our appearance. Let’s get to it.” He said, kissing me on the cheek and walking away without a second look.

            For the first time in our thirty-year relationship I felt as though I didn’t know my husband. Wearing a tailored suit and in full makeup he looked energetic, suave, and sure of himself. He walked around talking to people I didn’t know and I realized that apart from our lab assistants and the president of the college, I didn’t know anyone here.

            “You have beautiful skin ‘mam.” Said the young cosmetologist as she applied makeup as another girl messed with my hair. “You look right sharp you do!” She said.

            Indeed, I almost didn’t recognize myself when they were through with me. Being in the lab sixteen hour a day I’d neglected my appearance, apart from occasional college events and parties we had to attend. The college president’s wife came up and shook my hand.

            “You look lovely Amelia. I must compliment you on your work, and if you don’t mind…my son and daughter in law have had difficulty bearing a child. She had cancer and it would be dangerous for her to carry a child to term. Do you think you could…?” She asked with a look of pleading on her face. 

            I told her I’d do what I could and held her hand in an attempt to appear sincere. A camera technician pulled me away and sat me in a chair in front of our artificial wombs. I took a deep breath as the director said, “We’re live in five, four, three…”

            The rest of the day was a blur of interviews and demonstrations of the “birthing” process”. We hatched one child for each of the major networks. Every member of the television crew asked to hold one of the babies, most of them had tears in their eyes as they did so.

            Our day didn’t end until ten o’clock that evening when the last of the babies was spirited away to a special wing of the hospital infirmary. The security agents had been replaced by men sporting military body armor. They were carrying side arms, batons, and sub-machine guns. Completely out of place, they overwhelmed any space they were in casting long shadows. Although I didn’t want to admit it, I had to acknowledge that they bore a resemblance to Nazi storm troopers.

            “You won’t need those anymore darling.” Jim said as I pulled out my car keys.

            “What, do you want to walk home tonight?” I asked sarcastically.

            “No, the limousine is out front. You don’t have to drive ever again if you don’t want to. We got a check for two-million pounds from the college as a thank you.” He kissed me, pulled his car key off the ring and threw it in the trash.

            “Jim, who are all these security men?” I asked as he led me to the waiting car.

            He didn’t answer me until we were in the car and moving.

            “Amy.” He called me by pet name. “Things in our life have completely changed. We are rich and to a certain extent, powerful. With this wealth and power comes responsibility and some danger.”

            “What do you mean? We’re not in any danger.” I asked, wondering what he could be talking about.

            “Don’t you see love? Emilio was right.” He said.

            “Who’s…” I began. “Oh, right. Him.” I said, wondering how I could have forgotten.

            “There are people in the world who think that we are the new Nazis, religious fundamentalists mostly, of Jewish, Christian, and Muslim faiths will do everything in their power to stop us. I’m surprised the old boy didn’t try and kill us when he had the chance.” He said.

            “But we’ve done nothing wrong!” I exploded, thinking back to the looks on the faces of the people who held our babies.

            “In some people’s eyes we’ve done heinous things. We can’t be too careful.” He put his arm around me and I drifted off to sleep.

            When I awoke we were in front of a beautiful country manor. Two marble lions adorned the entryway and I blinked to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.

            “Where in God’s name are we?” I asked.

            Jim, who had been talking on his cell-phone, shut it off.

            “Welcome to our new home dear! It’s called ‘Edenwood’, a gift from some venture capitalists we’ll be working with. It doesn’t have to be our main house, we have enough to buy another, but it is lovely.” He spun me around by the arms and I laughed like a schoolgirl.

            “I’m living in a dream.” I whispered.

            Although I understood that our work would make us wealthy, actually being in multi-million pound home that we owned came as a shock. He carried me over the threshold into a marbled foyer. It was the most romantic thing he had ever done for me. I wrapped my arms around him and cried tears of joy and exhaustion.

            With only a half-hearted effort to awaken at my usual time I slept until well after noon the next day. Jim was up much earlier making arrangements with financial advisors, accountants, the press, lawyers, and several labs in the States, India, China, and Hong Kong. I assumed he was also checking the babies’ welfare. When we got to the lab late afternoon the place was crawling with security men, technicians, and scientists whom I didn’t know.

            “What’s the meaning of this?” I yelled actually at a room full of strangers in what had been, for me, a sacrosanct space.

            One of the scientists, a woman I recognized from a conference that we’d attended a year earlier, walked up to me with an extended hand and a smile.

            “Dr. Walters! It’s so good to see you again and congratulations on your breakthroughs. You’re going to make many people happy parents.” Her sincere manner disarmed me.

            “I’m sorry I forgot your name.” I muttered.

            “Marjory Merriman, University of Colorado. We met briefly in Seattle last year when I was giving a paper on transgenic therapy. I’m sorry we didn’t get to speak longer then but we’ll have plenty of time to catch up now.” She shook and held my hand.

            I remembered her. She was a champion of creating transgenic organisms for research. Her lecture gave me the creeps because she wanted to cross chimps and humans to create a hybrid animal for donor parts.

            “Yes, I do remember you. What, may I ask, are you doing in my lab?” I asked with just an edge to my voice.

            “Well, you are the boss.” She laughed, but her eyes and voice disagreed. “I’ve been brought in by the Company to research new revenue streams. They believe that with my work on simian human hybrids and your wombs, a remarkable bit of engineering by the way, we can provide useful organs to every needy person. There would be no more waiting lists for people in need of replacement organs.” She was so enthusiastic she squeaked.

            I looked around at all the people busily working. It wasn’t my lab anymore. Whoever was giving us all this money was expecting new “revenue streams” from us. Whatever company she was talking about had taken over my lab and was now going to use our work as they saw fit. The college could afford to give us two millions pounds because they were getting ten times that. I said a few pleasantries in Marjorie’s direction and excused myself to my office. The first order of the day was to go to the nursery and check the babies…babies. It’s interesting how quickly in my mind they went from being interesting test subject to being little people. I’d have years to get to know them all, or so I thought.

            Before I left the lab I was given a plastic identity tag which I was told to wear “at all times” by a security man who seemed barely old enough to shave. I wore it to humor him. Every person in the lab had one on. At the entrance to the infirmary I was asked to swipe my tag through an electronic reader which beeped and lit a green bulb as if my credit card was accepted for a purchase, another new addition.

            The smell of blood and antiseptics filled my nostrils the moment I entered the nursery. Portable autopsy tables had been set up, each of the newly born babies was being dissected by a team of doctors. I saw red.

            “What is the meaning of this?” I screamed.

            Twenty sets of eyes looked up at me with alarmed looks on their faces.

            “What the hell are you doing to my…?” I yelled. I almost said “children”.

            Twenty-four hours earlier they had been babies awaiting homes. Now they were masses of sliced flesh and bone. Something in me snapped and I grabbed a scalpel from the nearest doctor and threw it on the ultra-clean floor with a “klang.” A security man stalked towards me but a voice from behind stopped him from reaching me.

            “That will be enough Dr. Walters.” Jim emerged from the back of the lab with two doctors in tow. “Amelia.” He whispered. “Let’s go out where we can talk. Don’t make a scene.” He grasped my arm and steered me to the door.

            I held my fury in check until we were out of earshot in the little woods between the buildings then prepared to let Jim have it.

            He had it first though.

            “What are you doing? You just made an ass out of yourself and me in front of the world’s foremost genetic researchers, bio-physicists, and embryologists. Before you open your yap again you should know that I spent most of the morning talking up our work. I described you in particular as a dedicated, dispassionate scientist in search of cures for human ills. I want most of those scientists to sign off on our work and your little tirade didn’t help us any. What’s gotten into you? You’ve seen and done dissections before. I’ll take that apology now.” His arms were crossed against his chest and his jaw was thrust upward.

            My head was spinning. Had I really got it that wrong or had the world suddenly turned upside down? I must have fallen down a rabbit hole. Why did I behave that way?

            “I’m sorry James. I need a little time…” I touched his arm lightly with my hand.

            “You knew the specimens might have to be euthanised.” He said.

“Why did you do it?” I asked.

“We did it because the billionaires who are going to bankroll the factory want to be sure our little samples are coming out of the jar as fully human creatures.” He spoke the last work with venom.

“Jim they were babies! Not samples from a jar.” I said.

“No, they’re just samples from a jar, a very expensive jar that’s going to make us billionaires, with a ‘b’. The law is very clear. Unless it comes from a human mother, it’s not a human. We can do what we want. I made sure of the law before we began this vein of research.” He said, looking at his watch. His cell phone rang.

“I have to take this call. Are you going to be alright or do you want to go home and get your head together? I’m working on tickets to Maui.” He picked up the phone and answered it.

As he turned slightly to speak into his phone I saw his hawk-like face in profile. I’d never really seen him from that angle before. I turned and walked away.

If I knew then what I know now I would have never begun the research into the artificial womb, not because of the good things it does, but because of the law of unintended consequences. How many times have I said the words “Emilio, why didn’t you…?” in the years since his visit.

Sitting on a perfect beach in the south of France, sipping my vodka tonic, I look at all the perfect people walking along the shore. Some of them, the ones under twenty years old, were born because of my research. Other’s, the servants, are recognizable by their purple tattoos. Those were also born from my work. They were called “life-wage earners, transgenic assistants, or sentient servants”. Slaves is what they are.

Jim and I won the Nobel Prize in biology. In my impassioned acceptance speech I demanded that the nations of the world grant full human rights to children born from our creation. I found myself the guest of honor at endless religious conferences with people whose paths I never would have crossed. I still received six to ten requests a month to speak about transgenic and “engineered worker’s” rights.

One night, after a speech to a Jewish group, I overheard the following conversation between a protestant minister and a Rabbi.

“Did you like her speech?”

“I guess. Does it really matter anymore?”

“We can’t just give up.”

“What’s the use? All the laws, lawyers, and judges are against us. Do you really think anyone wants the gravy train of spare parts to stop?”

“There’s always a chance…”

“No, there really isn’t Samuel. We can witness but it’s a done deal. The publisher of ‘Evangelical Today’ had his liver replaced last month. Guess where it came from? This is my last conference by the way. I’ve enjoyed doing them with you but I’m tired of spinning my wheels.”

“I didn’t know you felt this way Tom. I’ll miss working with you.”

“Tell me, would you have killed Hitler as a baby if you had the chance?”

“My grandmother died in one of the camps, so yes, I would have killed him.”

“Would you have killed Dr. Walters if you had the chance, before she made her big breakthrough?”

“Under the circumstances I would have to say yes. Hitler killed what…twelve million people, plus more in the war itself? She’s made slaves or non-consenting organ donors out of tens of millions. I appreciate what she’s doing now but she, and her husband, never thought through the consequences of their actions. They thought because they could do something that they should do it.”

“Don’t the scripture say that murder is always wrong.”

“Only the innocent can be murdered.”

“It’s too late now anyways.”

After overhearing that conversation I stopped doing the lecture circuit. It wasn’t out of anger it was because they were right. Emilio should have killed us both when he had the chance. His religious beliefs wouldn’t allow him to do so and here I am, ordering another vodka tonic from a creature whose existence, and slavery, I am responsible for.

            I wonder if Hitler ever drank vodka tonics on a beach like this? My knowledge of world history was sparse. I knew he came to France because there was a picture in my high school history text of him being saluted to along a street in Paris. As I recall the women were crying as they saluted. In any case Hitler won the war. You heard me! He won the war, not World War II. He lost that big time. He won the war against “Life not worthy of life.” Oh not him personally. It was the clever, smart people who wrote magazine articles, lobbied politicians, and made pained requests on behalf of patience with Parkinson’s, Alzheimer’s, and spinal cord injuries. Where Hitler murdered or denied the rights of people already born, we condemned them before they took their first breath.

            I called for another vodka tonic. It would take quite a few more before I could begin my journey.

            With the lottery winnings from Emilio I bought a huge estate in Germany and willed it to a fringe religious group who want to live a simple agrarian existence away from any technology created after 1900. More power to them! I hope they don’t turn into a weird cult but I’m not holding my breath. They love Jesus and the bible, children and hard work. It was a weird mixture of protestants, Catholics, and a smattering of ultra-orthodox Jews. By the way the Jews didn’t love Jesus, they were just looking for a safe place to live.

            One of the servants brings me my drink with a smile. She has no name and I own her. I drink half of it before putting it down. The nightmares come if I’m not completely plastered. I wonder if Hitler had nightmares? Jim once told me he had nightmares of dying alone and forgotten. 

            Some of the religious types I’m leaving the land to write me and tell me they’re praying for me. I imagine they think I can be saved. I cannot. I have too much blood on my hands. The little girls who are used then discarded, legally, because they were born in one of my wombs are just specimens in jars, worth less than used toilet paper. I know this because I receive shareholder reports from the Company.

            It’s almost time for my last swim. Everything’s in order and after I die my wealth will be distributed to people I know but have never met. It will drive Jim crazy.

            I stumble over the sand several steps and fall face first onto a soft dune. My big floppy sun hat rolls down the beach towards the water. Into the surf I go after it, laughing and drunk. One of the waitresses, hatched, comes and asks me if I need help. She helps me out of the water. Her skin is smooth and perfect, a stark contrast to my wrinkled and fat arms. I’ve aged badly but I don’t care.

            “Oh don’t worry dear I’m fine! Here take this.” I remove my precious bracelet and put it on her wrist. She doesn’t resist because she’s been engineered to serve in quiet obedience. I reach in my shoulder bag and pull out the address of a religious group along with a wad of cash and a little container, which holds the key to my safe deposit box and the pass code. That should help get them started on their utopia. Hitler never gave the world a utopia. I’m better than he is.

            “You are my property, right?” I ask the poor thing as she helps me back to my beach chair.

            “Yes Mistress. I am your property. Can I get your doctor?” She asks. She’s new and has never seen me smashed before.

            “No. I’m fine. Listen.” She helps me into my beach chair. “Listen dear, in my room is a paper envelope with a metro pass taped to it, you know what I’m talking about?” I ask her.

            “Yes Mistress, you taped it to your mirror long ago and we dust around it.” She said.

            “Good, take the metro pass and go to the address I wrote on it with all this stuff I’ve given you. I’m freeing you and all the household servants today. You’re no longer slaves if you go and live with the religious freaks, you hear me? They’re nicer than the non-religious freaks.” I drink down another vodka in one smooth gulp.

            “Go now, do this before the sun sets…what’s your name?” I ask. It’s getting hard to concentrate.

            “I am V.R. eight N.” She says pointing to her tattoo.

            “Oh yes, we don’t give you real names anymore do we? It’s easier to dispose of you if you’re only initials. ‘A rose by any other name…’not a fetus but a baby…a blob of cells. I remember the games we played!” I laugh and laugh. The poor girl smiles and is probably worried that she will be disciplined because she didn’t fetch the doctor right away. “Do you understand my instructions?” I ask.

            “Yes Mistress, I am to get your metro pass and go to the address to deliver the items.” She said.

            “Ok, go now.” I pushed her away forcefully without meaning to because my arms weren’t cooperating with my mind.

            “Hey wait!” I yell. She runs back. “You have a name now…as my last act as your lord and master I name you…what is your name again?” I ask.

            “V.R. eight N.” She says.

            “Oh…well, you are Van Raven…no! Von Raven. ‘Von’ before your name makes you royalty. That should piss someone off.  Yes, Von Raven! Wonderful birds, ravens. Tell the religious freaks to name their country ‘Von Raven’, it’s in Germany, they’ll like that.” I push her away and yell “Von Raven, you’re a Baroness now!” She runs back to the house equal parts fear and obedience. I forgot to tell her what her first name was. I hope she doesn’t think its ‘Von’”.

            I sleep. I wake. It’s late now, cold and dark. Someone threw a beach towel over me and lit a charcoal fire to keep me warm. I remove my sundress and earrings. The cool sand gets colder the closer I move towards the water.

            If I could have killed Hitler before he massacred six million Jews would I have done it? If I earned a pound for each Jew Hitler killed would I have killed Him? I earned two point six pounds for every child born of my creation.

My obituary will probably start with the words “Nobel Prize Winner…”

The water is cold. My muscles tense and shake as I enter the shallows.  I’ll have to swim far out before I finally rest. The backstroke carries me past the little buoy fishing boats aren’t supposed to cross. I can still see the lights of the villa. I wonder if the servants will flee to Germany as I told them to. It’s out of my hands now. My arms are tired so I float on my back. The stars are beautiful and the tears begin flowing down my wet cheeks into the water, salt into salt.

I once asked my religious friends if they thought Hitler could be saved from eternal damnation had he repented on his deathbed. After a few moments of consultation one young lady informed me that to God all the sins in the world amounted to nothing more than a burning coal plunged into the vastness of the ocean.

            My legs grow tired and I stop trying to float, only my face remains above the water. I whisper a prayer my mother taught me. All my questions –like my life, are then answered, burning, then quenched.

The End