REGENESIS

TITLE: REGENESIS

SUBTITLE: The Quest for Sameness

The doctor observed the female through the one-way mirror as he scrubbed, disinfected and gloved. It had been many years since he’d seen a “live one,” a subject with a viable reproductive system. In the early years of the Genesis program, after the cessation of the gender wars, they had used surrogate captives for invitro fertilization with sperm from the bank. At birth, male babies were sent to the nursery and the female progeny were either culled or used first for genetic experimentation or ovarian tissue cryopreservation and then disposed of. This was a policy that the doctor had objected to on the grounds that a fully functional ex-vitro reproduction program was still years in the future. His colleagues had shortsightedly dismissed his objection, probably out of hubris, hatred, disgust, budgetary concerns over maintenance and upkeep costs, or some combination of factors. Whatever the case, the result was that the surrogates were aging out, the sperm banks were fairly well depleted, and the male progeny were afflicted by lower and lower sperm counts. Although there was progress being made in the ex-vitro program, the ultimate goal of asexual reproduction was still, by his estimate, years down the road.

They had apparently found the pair, the adult female and female child, during a land survey of the old-growth forest up North. By report, they’d been fast asleep, the two of them curled up together under a redwood, sandwiched between the earth and a thick blanket of needles. They’d both jolted awake, and the woman had gone into fight mode while the young girl ran off into the trees. As instructed, the survey team secured the adult woman for transport to the breeding program, not bothering to search for the child.

“I’m going to perform a manual exam,” he said to the subject, who was lying supine on the exam table, held in Trendelenburg position by restraints. “You will feel only minor discomfort, if that. If you relax, it will make it easier.” The doctor inserted the speculum and commenced his gynecological exam.

“What is your age?” he asked. He looked up at her when she didn’t answer and met a rigid, fixed gaze that was devoid of any expression.

“Do you speak my language?” he asked, palpating, and received no answer. She had turned her head to the side and appeared now to be staring at the concrete wall. The doctor estimated her age to be about 30 years old. She was in good physical condition, no detectable gynecological abnormalities, parous, with no obvious neurological conditions, physical defects or overt signs of disease.

“I am finished with the exam,” he informed her, standing up and removing his silicone gloves, throwing them into the waste bin as he proceeded to the sink to wash his hands.

“You are a suitable candidate for our Regenesis Program. On the supposition that you do understand what I am saying, know that this is not a voluntary program. You are our captive. Consider yourself a prisoner of war, if you like, though for all practical purposes the war has ended in the defeat of your gender, the lack of a surrender treaty notwithstanding. However, if you are cooperative, there may be some reward involved.”

Hearing no response, he looked up from his notetaking to find her looking at him, then quickly looking away before their eyes met, and for a brief moment he caught a look of despair? fear? resignation? before she once again became expressionless.

The doctor gave a slight, dismissive shrug and, gathering up his notebook, headed for the door.

“My assistant will be in shortly to finish your processing,” he stated, noting as he left that she was studying intently some sort of bauble in her hand, attached to a long chain around her neck.

*****

The years did not degrade Lil’s memory of the day her mother was captured. The fear and loss of that day were permanently, eidetically implanted in her mind and heart: It was like a movie that retained its initial impact no matter how many times it was replayed. Lil had run from the men immediately and did not stop for many, many minutes. It’s something that her mother had instilled in her often in the event of such a confrontation: Run like the wind, she would urge, and they would chant together, ‘You can’t catch me ‘cause I’m the Gingerbread Man.’ Lil ran and ran with her tears bouncing off her cheeks until she eventually realized that she wasn’t being pursued. The plan had always been to return to the nest immediately to find help. As her immediate panic subsided, she realized she didn’t know anything except they were men: Were they going to hurt her mom? Let her go? Take her away someplace? Mom! Mom! She cried out in her mind. She heard “Go to the nest.” But Lil couldn’t desert her mother, so she began circling back until she was close enough to observe and hid behind a boulder, further obscured by young trees and underbrush. Two of the men stood together a short distance from the tree where she and her mom had rested; one was talking on a cell phone. She listened intently, inching closer to hear. “We’ll transport her first. Yes, I got it—the Regenesis clinic in Eureka—about two hours, maybe less. Okay.” He pocketed the phone and turned to his right. “Secured?” he shouted. “Then let’s go.” Lil, quiet as a mouse, followed the men as they headed off and saw a black pick-up truck ahead. She almost cried out when she saw her mother handcuffed in the bed of the truck, but her mother was looking right at her with a stern look, then turned away as the men approached, oblivious to their silent exchange. Lil heard Stay hidden. Go to the nest. Do not follow. Then, as the truck started up and slowly departed down the clearing, Love you, Lil.

Lil repeated over and over the words “Regensus, Eureka, Clinic” as she ran towards the nest and her people, fearing she would lose the precious clues before she could relay them. She would run or jog for an hour, stop for a period to catch her breath and recharge, then continue running/jogging on and on, until at dusk, hours later, she stumbled into the nest and collapsed, too exhausted to speak, surrounded by her elders. Sleep now. You can tell us all that has transpired in the morning, they’d said, worry and concern permeating their faces.

*****

“This time,” the doctor stated, “you will be transported in a day or two up to Salem, Oregon for your delivery. The baby has been promised to a man of influence, and this will be his biological—and only—son. He is eagerly awaiting his son’s arrival and wishes to oversee the delivery process. If all goes well before and after the delivery and the boy is healthy, then he may choose to keep you there with the prospect of having more sons. If not, you will be returned here to the clinic. This is your fourth viable pregnancy in as many years. It would be reasonable, given your age, that we can at most anticipate four more?” The doctor looked up at her, as if expecting a response. Her face remained as impassive as ever.

Just then, his assistant stuck his head in the door after two sharp knocks. “Doctor, we have a situation in the laboratory.”

“We are done here for now. Return to your room,” he commanded as he and his assistant exited quickly.

Iris waited until their rapid footsteps receded down the hall, then locked the exam room door. She opened the mini fridge—nothing there but specimens—and began searching the cabinets. In the third cabinet, she found vials of benzodiazepine, a few tranquilizer darts, and some sort of sublingual medication. She took two vials, one dart and the sublingual spray. Her robe had no pockets, so she grabbed a lab coat off a hanger and shoved the meds in the pockets, then rolled up the coat and stuffed it under her robe. She listened at the door, worried she might not hear anything over the pounding of her heart. She forced herself to open the door and peek out—no one in sight, but she could hear a door slam far down the corridor. Clutching the bundle to the top of her pregnant abdomen, she hurried down the hallways, left, then right, then left again until she came to her room. The room was sparsely furnished, but she was able to conceal the lab coat behind the small bookcase. She lay down on the bed to gain control over her breathing, willing herself to be calm; the attendant would be bringing her dinner tray very soon.

They won’t suspect, they won’t suspect. Not after four years of mute passivity, never uttering one word to the doctor and very few to the various attendants over the years. I am not really a person to them—more like a brood sow or a lab rat. At first, they were a bit wary, wondering if I might become violent or pose a threat in some way, but quickly they grew accustomed to my passivity and powerlessness and soon I became a fixture, to their minds barely existent. They won’t see it coming.

The attendant opened the door, tray in hand.

“Here’s your supper. Eat up ‘cause you’ve got a journey ahead of you tomorrow, and they won’t be stopping here and there along the way. Transport is picking you up at 8:00, so be ready,” he chatted. “See you when you get back, if ever.” he added, and left the room.

****

They had been traveling up the 101 for close to two hours. When she’d been escorted down to the transport vehicle that morning, she could barely believe her luck. There was only the one man sitting behind the wheel of an idling black sedan. He’d waited while she lowered herself into the back seat, then drove off. Her years of near-catatonic behavior and her obvious pregnancy, it seemed, had been enough to lull her handlers into complete complacency. The driver said nothing to her as he drove, but listened to the radio and occasionally talked on his phone.

“It’ll be four-plus hours before I get there. Can you be ready, say, at 3:00 or 3:30? No, have to make a delivery, then I’m free. See ya soon.”

Fifteen minutes before, he’d pulled into a gas station, inserted the nozzle into the tank, walked into the store and returned sipping a large soda. Putting it in the drink holder, he said, “Hold on. Have to take a piss.” With shaking hands, Iris broke the top off an ampule and emptied the contents into the drink, stirred it with the straw, then replaced the lid.

He’s big, so maybe that’s why it’s taking so long! He’d grown quieter since his phone call, but showed no obvious signs of sedation.

“Excuse me, ah, Sir. Could you stop for a moment? I have to go really bad!”

The man gave her a bleary look of disdain through the rear-view mirror and pulled the car over. “Make it quick,” he said. “Over there behind those bushes.”

With hope and trepidation, she waited in the bushes, clasping her heart-shaped locket for courage. When she approached the car, she saw that his head was tilted to the side against the driver’s window. His eyes appeared closed. With a joyous intake of breath, she grabbed her backpack and, moving quickly, set off across the meadow and disappeared into the trees, into the forest she knew so well.

I’m coming home, Lil, I’m coming home! She sent out her joyous message in wave after wave of exultation, then listened deep in the inner space and heard: Mom? MOM!!!