Double Helix (22 page)

I blurted, “Would you like to hold the rabbit for a while? She's, um, she's sort of soft and warm.”

Kayla looked at Foo-foo warily, but then said, “Oh. Okay.”

As gently as if I were transferring an infant into another person's arms, I handed the rabbit over to Kayla. I had to show Kayla how to hold her, but then Foo-foo settled in comfortably against Kayla's breast, her nose pink as pink.

“Huh,” said Kayla.

“I'm getting pretty fond of Foo-foo,” I confessed.

Was that a trace of a smile on Kayla's face? “I wish I'd seen you chasing her.”

“It was surreal,” I said.

We watched each other. The atmosphere between us was awkward, but it wasn't unpleasant. It was just . . . new.

“Well,” Kayla said, finally. “Let's get out of this elevator now, okay? I'll show you around down here. And I still want to look at Quincy's computer. There're some things . . .”

“I'd appreciate that,” I said. “I'm obviously curious to see everything. Including the computer. And you'll tell me what's going on down here?”

“Yes,” said Kayla. “What I know. Which is more than you do, but I'm still piecing things together also. Trying to figure out . . . decide . . . well. Just some stuff.” A troubled look passed over her face. She moved out of the way of the control panel, and I pressed the button to open the elevator door.

As we emerged, Kayla cuddled Foo-foo a little more closely, and I saw her dip her head to brush her cheek against the rabbit's warm, soft back.

WE STOOD TOGETHER in a very small utilitarian hallway, and I instantly realized that this basement area must not stretch the full length and width of the building and basement levels above. In the hallway, we were confronted by three closed doors. They had no signs or labels, only numbers. 1. 2. 3.

For some reason, that struck me as funny. “What's behind door number one?” I said.

Kayla wasn't amused—but then, she'd been here before. “That's the apartment. You should look at it, but I don't want to waste much time there. The office is in two, and the exam room and lab in three, and they're more important.”

“Just an apartment?” I said. “We can skip it. The lab—”

“No. You ought to see.” Kayla was hunching her shoulders. She slipped Dr. Wyatt's card key into the slot next to the first door and put her hand on the knob, turning it when the mechanism unlocked the door.

“Want me to take the rabbit?” I asked.

“No.” She had both arms cradling Foo-foo again. She used her hip to nudge the door open and jerked her chin for me to follow her inside. I did.

We had entered the living/dining area of a furnished apartment. There was plush off-white wall-to-wall carpet on the floor, and pale yellow paint on the walls. A sofa, love seat, and chair upholstered in denim were clustered around an oak coffee table in the living room area. Beyond them was a small oak dining table and chairs. Next to that, beyond a pass-through window, there was a kitchen with stainless steel appliances. On the walls hung framed art prints: the Picasso drawing of a hand holding flowers; “Doors of Boston”; a 1920's poster reproduction advertising a cruise.

It was a pleasant, neutral living space, with one anomaly: There were clear signs that one or more small children were expected and welcome. A tall bookshelf against one of the walls in the living room held bright red and yellow plastic containers of toys as well as a large collection of picture books. I spotted a rubber duck, a teddy bear, and a doll dressed like a pioneer girl. Lastly, beside the bookcase stood an enormous canister of Tinkertoys, which made me remember my first meeting with Dr. Wyatt.

Without speaking, Kayla and I prowled, discovering a bathroom and two bedrooms. The first bedroom had a queen-sized bed, but the second was again furnished for young children, with sturdy bunk beds and more shelves of toys and games and books. A crib and bassinet stood in one corner. On the walls were children's posters: Mickey Mouse and Oscar the Grouch and Sailor Moon and Barney.

I looked at it all and knew that what my father had feared was true.

Kayla was watching me.

My voice was level when I spoke. “He made more of us, - didn't he? More children like you and me. My—our—mother's children.”

“Yes,” said Kayla. “There are a few others now. Three toddlers. One baby.”

I had thought I was ready to hear it, but I wasn't. I turned abruptly and left the room. When I reached the living room, I found I had to sit down. I did, on the sofa.

They must all be chimeras, I thought. That would have been the scientific lure that tempted Dr. Wyatt. He'd wanted to see if he could use transgenic technology successfully in humans. And Kayla, too, must be a chimera. My “dry run” theory no longer had much credibility. At least, I didn't believe in it.

Kayla had followed me to the living room. “Listen,” she said. “For the longest time, it was just me—um, and you. But then Quincy built this place. He told me the other day, when he showed it to me, that scientific techniques had improved. He had more certainty of success now, and so it was finally time. Before, he didn't want to waste any of the—the material. The eggs. I guess he'd tried before, after you and me, and it - didn't go well. He lost several . . . Well, he lost several.”

I was watching her, but I wasn't really seeing her. I was seeing Dr. Wyatt.

“He told me I was a miracle,” Kayla said. “A one-in-a-million. Beginner's luck.”

Her voice was impassive. I couldn't tell what she thought.

“Four new children,” I finally said. “And they visit this place for—for what?”

“Quincy has a whole battery of tests and evaluations, both physical and psychological. They take several days to run through, because he doesn't want the—the subject to be too stressed or anxious, and it's best if it feels like a game. The environment should be as calm and controlled as possible—relaxing, homelike. Private, of course. With a nice calming adult nearby. The mother, if possible.”

“The mother,” I repeated.

“The adoptive mother,” Kayla clarified, unnecessarily.

“Why does he test the—the children?” I asked. I was breathing more easily.

“They're just development tests. Intensive, but nothing - really weird.” Was Kayla's gaze sharper now, as it rested on me? “Actually, I'm pretty sure you took his adult physical test battery yourself, Eli. The one I've been taking twice a year. He told me that he'd sent you over to Mass General Hospital before you started working here.”

I frowned. “Yes . . . Judith Ryan—this woman in Human Resources—told me my employment was conditional upon a full physical exam.” And now I remembered telling Viv about the test; remembered her saying, offhandedly, that the garden shop hadn't bothered even to ask her about her health, let alone send her for a physical.

What a fool I had been.

“Quincy was pretty excited,” Kayla was saying. “I think he'd considered you to be irretrievable data. At some point—mark my words—he'll approach you about doing the full test suite.”

“Kayla,” I said. I looked around the apartment and gestured, unable to find words. Confused thoughts about X-Men and Spider-Man and various fictional, genetically mutated or otherwise altered superheroes—and monsters—chased each other through my head. Swampy. Question upon frantic question crowded into my head and then was interrupted by the next one. A lifetime might not be long enough to find all the questions, and to answer them . . . along with the final, the essential question:
Who was I?

Was I a chimera, too? Or was I merely what my mother had asked for: an ordinary HD-negative human being? I knew the answer. If I had been born before Kayla, there might have still been room for doubt. But I had not been.

I looked up then and realized that Kayla had been watching me.

“I've been tested again and again since before I can remember,” she said gently. Carefully.

I still had no words, but I managed to nod.

And Kayla nodded, as well—and I saw, deep in her eyes, the twin of the suppressed fear that I felt. And the same question:

Then Kayla swallowed and continued. “I wasn't tested here, though. This place is pretty new—just four years—and I'd never seen it before Quincy showed it to me the other day. My parents and I used to visit Quincy at his country place in Vermont. Uncle Quincy.” Was that bitterness in her voice? I - couldn't quite tell, and she had lowered her face as she cuddled Foo-foo. “All the tests—I thought we were just playing games. I used to look forward to going.”

“Kayla,” I said. “Kayla, do you know—” I stopped.

She looked up. “Know what?”

“Know exactly what he did to us?” I said. “What he did to our genetic structure? What was altered or added or changed? And what has he done to—to—” I could hear my father's voice.
My children. My responsibility
.

“—to our sisters or brothers?” I finished.

Kayla shook her head.

I stood up. “Doors two and three. Lab and office. I bet it's all in there. And that's really where you were headed, isn't it?”

“Yes.”

“Let's go,” I said. And privately, I thought: I'll find out about the others, Dad. I promise.

WE PASSED QUICKLY through the exam rooms and lab, though if I hadn't felt the pressure of time, I would have wanted to linger and pay more attention. There were two replicas of a standard doctor's examination room. There was a spacious, pristine laboratory, with stainless steel refrigerators, a locking walk-in freezer, and a hooded working area with state-of-the-art equipment.

I felt my steps slow as I looked at the freezer. I wondered if my mother's eggs were in there . . . and if any other woman's were now, too. Fertilized. Unfertilized. Normal or altered DNA. Any eggs would be carefully labeled, I knew. Eggs, sperm, embryos . . . human genetic material. So fragile. So easily destroyed. Nobody could stop me, not if I were determined. Kayla couldn't, even if she wanted to.

Would it be the right thing to do, though? Confusion filled me.
Thou shalt not kill
. But the Ten Commandments didn't specify
Thou shalt not create
. I had been assuming that all this was bad—because, I realized, everything about my father's attitude had told me that it was.

But—was it? Was it really? Was it so wrong that Kayla was alive? That I was?

Maybe I'd seen too many evil scientist movies. Maybe I was jumping to irrational, emotional conclusions. This was Dr. Quincy Wyatt, after all. One of the greatest minds of our time. Who was my father—an ordinary, beaten-down, nearly penniless psychotherapist—to second-guess him? Who was I?

And the destruction of a few eggs—what would that really mean? It wouldn't destroy the underlying knowledge. Or the fact that what Dr. Wyatt was doing was—it had to be—inevitable. It was the next step in human development: taking control of our own destiny ourselves. If it wasn't Dr. Wyatt who led the way now, then it would be someone else, soon.

We humans
are
going to tinker with our genetic makeup. The human genome is a locked box that we are going to pry open. Any mistakes, missteps, problems, unanticipated difficulties—they will be the inevitable price of progress, the price of the good that will surely result as well. Cures for disease; an end to suffering like my mother's. Who knows what? But good stuff. Good stuff.

Surely, good stuff?

“Come on, Eli,” Kayla said impatiently. “The computers are through here, and that's where all the information has got to be.”

Brought back from my thoughts, I turned to her. I could see her increased tension in the tautness of her arms as they held Foo-foo.

“Okay,” I said. I increased the length of my stride to keep pace with her, and so only caught a glimpse, as we passed, of a carpeted exercise room that held top-of-the-line rowing machines and treadmills and stair climbers and stationary bicycles. It was only after we'd moved on that I realized what had been so strange about it.

All of the exercise machines were in miniature.

With that, I refocused. The children. What I really wanted was some information about the children, for my father. For me. Maybe just names and addresses so we could check on them; make sure they were safe. Loved. And—and I wanted my own genetic profile; I wanted the report of what Dr. Wyatt had done to me when I was an embryo. The rest—I could, I
would,
sort it all out later.

Kayla had turned the corner into a room that, I knew instantly upon entering, was Dr. Wyatt's office. It was set up exactly like his office upstairs—a narrow shoe box of a room with two folding tables parallel to each other. Books and journals were heaped in piles on the floor. Steel cabinet doors hung ajar, revealing insides that were crammed untidily full of more papers and books, wires, boxes. The office chairs were old and rickety—though not armless. And yes, there were computers. Two of them; and these, at least, were expensive and new. In fact, they practically gleamed.

“Each of us checks one,” Kayla ordered. “Just tell me what the scientific data would look like.”

“We'll just be looking for notes,” I said. “Maybe in ordinary word processing files, maybe in a database file. I'd guess we should scan all files looking for dates beginning twenty years ago, and for our own names, and for other familiar information. Maybe we'll be lucky and he won't have encrypted the data, though that's probably wishful thinking—”