Eye of the Beholder

She was a raucous cacophony of life. The bitter muse of god's demise and man's ascension to his broken throne. She was the wilted husk of humanities hubris, desolation branded on her very soul. She was haunted by the ghosts of lives so distant they could have been anyone's, even hers.

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‘And where are they sourced, Doctor?’

‘Sourced? I’m afraid I don’t quite follow?’

‘Well I mean, where do they come from? They’re not, you know, real, are they?’

‘The foetuses? Certainly, they’re real. Just not naturally produced. We grow them here in the lab, from dish to tube to slightly bigger tube. But they’re all in vitro from willing donors; handsomely compensated. If you’re concerned, there are counsellors available to talk more deeply about the process with you, or we can arrange a tour of the facility. That sometimes helps more than anything else.’

‘Oh, no I’m just settling it with myself if you see what I mean. I want to be sure before we start.’

‘Perfectly understandable. It’s a lifetime of commitment. If you need some more time to contemplate?

‘Well. I do have some other questions, but, they’re not that pressing.’

‘Well we’ll start with bloods and sign all the paperwork and you can ask me then if you’d like?’

‘Sounds perfect. And it’s about four to five months?’

‘That’s right, four months and you’ll be fitted with your very own fountain of youth.’

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She shuffled in the deep-dark far beneath the sleeping city that had forgotten how to dream and had lost itself to a perpetual nightmare. She concealed herself beneath curtains of rags and became another shambling shape in the gloom; she knew the value that she wore on her skin. On her chest. In her womb.

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‘Oh, Darling you look positively radiant. My god is that really you?’

‘Do stop it, I look just the same.’

‘Throw out your modesty with your mirrors. It’s like you’ve had a full-body skin graft and your eyes. You look like Aphrodite incarnate.’

‘Hebe incarnate.’

‘But of course, of course. And it's in there now.. The uh..’

‘Foetus.’

‘Yes, Foetus?’

‘That’s right, tucked all cosy right inside the locket.’

‘And so delicate. I must admit I thought it would be an ugly affair but it’s perfectly delightful, the heart shape was your choice?’

‘No that part is standard, but I chose the engravings.’

‘Simply wonderful. You wouldn’t even know what’s inside... And the results, they certainly speak for themselves. Was it painful?’

‘Not really. You feel it for a week or so after they connect it but by then your system is already flooded with so many stem cells you heal like magic.’

‘Exquisite. Oh, turn for me, won’t you? Well. I suppose that settles it. I simply can’t keep company with you looking like that unless I get my own, can I.’

‘Oh don’t be foolish, you’re positively gorgeous.’

‘Oh please. I feel like a leather handbag hung in the sun next to you soft as veal.’

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Dreams came to her whether waking or in sleep and she was plagued by fitful hallucinations of lives past and lives conjured as ways to cope. They had become so intertwined the interlopers could no longer be discerned from the real and it was inconsequential. Knowing which were authentic and which to discard would have done little to quell her aching heart. She found solace in both and relief in neither.

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‘The government has received further condemnation from a growing list of countries and local groups for its involvement with bioengineering company Pantheon. The group is responsible for delivering government contracts that include the clandestine ‘Ares’ and ‘Hebe’ programs that have recently come to light in a graphic expose. I’m Michael Vale and I’m joined by Doctor Chris Paisley and Reverend Bella Pierce. Chris, we’ll start with you. Tell us, exactly how concerned should we be?’

‘Very. This is a competent and ruthlessly calculated breach of international and UN policy that prohibits genetic engineering on humans. And that our government has so willingly jumped into bed with this organisation is really quite unbelievable.’

‘I suppose the real issue we have here is what is considered a human? Is a foetus a human? Bella?’

‘I think we can talk about technicalities and loopholes all day but the bottom line is that it’s twisted and it’s wrong. That they’d splice man and beast in their little experiments is sacrilege. For a desired result, all In the name of progress. It’s sick. The sanctity of life is no longer a viable conceit for any of us as long as these projects exist.’

‘And what of the two projects? I mean Ares is undeniably more potent..’

‘I’m going to have to disagree with you there Michael. Hebe is altogether more insidious. It’s all in the name of beauty. Certainly, it boasts health benefits for those suffering degenerative conditions but I think we can all agree it’s a heavy price to pay. You know, most people can understand that military hardware was going to make the leap to bioengineered soldiers at some point. It’s been in popular fiction and in the minds of the world's leaders for generations.’

‘Which doesn’t stop its appearance from being startling.’

‘Absolutely, but it does to a degree make it more palatable. But it’s really destroying the sanctity of human life for some perverse fountain of youth that will really cause the problems.’

‘What are you saying Chris?’

‘That Ares isn’t the reason the country is at its highest state of alert for over 30 years.’

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Her name was lost to her. For too long she had been referred to as a number, by pretty nicknames or violence. She heard rumour of herself and others like her in the shadow of conversation; the hungry desire and the daring lies of encounters with her kind. That her name had rhymed with plan was her only recollection and she found herself inhabiting it in a way that convinced her she must have been a meticulous person in her former life, and the memory of the memory it brought was potent enough to bring solace as nothing else had.

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‘We interrupt this broadcast to bring you an emergency message from the government. Head immediately to your designated refuge zones. This is not a drill. Head immediately to your designated refuge zones. This is not a drill. Head immediately..’

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There had been a bunker, rich men who had built it and those they’d hired to keep them safe in the aftermath. As the markets crashed, so too did their power. As their safeguards and strategies for exploitation and bartering collapsed, so too did the bunker. Its descent into chaos taught her that beauty would always hold value to men who so eagerly traded money for violence and power for fear.

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‘You remind me of the old world, it's almost painful you know? I can sit here and look at you all day; see my wife and kids in your eyes, see lakes and trees and, and it's like the old world’s right in front of me. And then poof, it’s gone. And here I am again, sitting in the guts of the world. And there you are. So. Fucking. Beautiful. You make them all look so drab. It’s like my memory of women is defiled by you. And I can’t even remember my wife's fucking face... You know when the world wasn’t fucked I never even came close to seeing a woman like you. Let alone being this close. Different places in society I guess. And you wouldn’t have paid me a second glance, maybe not even a first one. And now you have to look at me, have to see me and you’re gonna watch me. Look at me. I said look, FUCKING LOOK AT ME!’

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Her body bore the scars of her life after-life. Brands and tattoos of former keepers she now so carefully concealed. Reminders of mankind's capacity for cruelty. And through it, all her body had healed. And her value grew, and though she did her best to hide it, learned to walk with a limp, assumed a wracking cough, some traps could not be avoided by theatre alone.

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‘The bitch can’t produce. I’m fucking telling you.’

‘Probably because all her energy was going on repairing her mangled leg.’

‘You can’t like the results and question the methods.’

‘Do you have any idea how hard it is to find one with the original old-world implants? And we have three. Do you have any idea how valuable each of the women we have here are? Does Helen of Troy ring any bells to you?’

‘But she’s never carried more than a month.’

‘She’s just going through a rough patch, aren’t ya girl? She’ll get there. And in any case, we’ve just implanted her again.’

‘She’s useless. You can see it in her eyes. No fight left. No life left.’

‘It’s really the sperm that’s the issue. We’re riddled with cancer and she’s perfectly fine.’

‘We need an Ares.’

‘They all died on the front lines. We’ll get there. Make our own Ares. I know you can’t see it girl but one day we’ll build statues of you. The women who reseeded the earth. It’s kind of beautiful don’t you think?’

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The farm seemed so far away, so long ago, but still, she had run, run until she couldn’t walk. She still bore its presence in her body but couldn’t bring herself to sever the tie. She had secreted herself into a small room whose door had long ago been pried open by something intent on getting inside. She had woven a trail of clear wire through the service corridors that sprawled away from her and in her den had attached each to a little bell. Like a spider, she lay at the centre of her web, wracking contractions coming in waves. Her mind was numb to all but her choking pursuit of quiet and her fear that at any moment one of the bells might start to ring.

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‘Tell me, Doctor, what exactly is it that stops us from ageing once the foetus is in the locket?’

‘The stem cells they produce. They’re pumped in a constant stream right into your system and find their way to where they’re needed most. Whether that’s your skin or a cut.’

‘But surely a regular baby, sorry, foetus, alone can’t do all that? Aren’t you worried about it growing and bursting out from my chest? Or into my chest..’

‘Absolutely not Mrs Conningford. The foetus won’t grow because its growth is being transferred into you to fix and repair your systems. It stays perpetually small and productive.’

‘Well, that’s reassuring. But I’ve heard that they have..’

‘Yes?’

‘Well that they have lizard DNA in them or something ridiculous like that.’

‘Aha! Anne, that really is the most delightfully twisted thing I’ve heard all day. Lizard DNA, this isn’t Jurassic Park you know.’

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That mankind would die seemed inevitable to her. That it would wither away like the embers of a dying fire seemed certain. That the desperation with which man clung to life was futile. She lay in the rags that had clothed her and held her child close to her breast and knew at that moment she held the future of mankind in her arms. Its skin was already hardening to a pallid green in the wan light. Its pupils matched the vertical slits of its nose. But she saw beyond it, didn’t see it at all; she saw the warmth of its gaze and it gave her something she never thought she’d know again. Hope.