Genesis: A science-fiction short story. Read online

  Eventually, Kathleen received a message from Dr. Neal Rivera. Dr. Rivera had been tracking similar cases all across the globe, but Kathleen’s was the first known occurrence. Once she had connected with Dr. Rivera and his team, everything moved, to her, like a blur; he was able to immediately confirm what she had always known. That she and her child were genetically identical.

  Dr. Rivera had initially called it spontaneous genesis, but it would later be coined Cardoff’s Syndrome. It was not a disease that could be transmitted through human vectors, and thus any search for a “patient zero” failed. For the rest of human history, Kathleen Cardoff would remain the first known case.

  Within the decade it had to be accepted; virtually every woman had developed Cardoff’s Syndrome. It occurred slowly, at first, and then more often. If they did not become pregnant through natural means, they began naturally and spontaneously generating a clone of themselves.

  There was no way around this but for sterilization; ordinary means of birth control, even chemical means, did not work because the woman’s eggs no longer needed to become fertilized to be viable.

  Was it the hormones in the water? Was it somehow the electrical frequencies being jettisoned through the air? Was it some mysterious change in the chemical nature of the earth itself? What had caused this?

  No one knew. What they did know was that it was an emergency. What they did know was that there would have to be protocols put into place to preserve the future of humanity.

  Sylvia Rider returns home, where her best friend Caroline Young has been watching her two young daughters. Her children, Maggie and Kate, are now aged two and four. She loves them, more than anything in the world.

  Sylvia’s husband, Dorian, had never been able to accept the children nor the fact that Sylvia had managed to become pregnant by herself before him. It was a difficulty that many men now faced; a race against their own partner’s biology.

  At the time, the fact that Sylvia had refused to request termination of her firstborn child had hung like a shadow over their relationship. Now Sylvia wonders if she would have had her termination request accepted at all. She wonders if she could have kept the peace by going through the motions; if she could have kept their relationship together.

  Dorian had always commented that he was lucky, marrying a woman who had not been sterilized. Now, sometimes in her dark moments, she wonders if that was the only reason he had married her.

  Not every woman was allowed to remain reproductively intact any longer; only the women who were considered to be positive influences on the genetic pool. They were expected to avoid Genesis as much as they could, but it wasn’t always possible; not when reality intervened.

  “How did it go?” asks Caroline, tugging on her jet black hair. The children are playing in the living room, still in sight, and Caroline has picked up on Sylvia’s mood.

  “They wouldn’t let me terminate,” says Sylvia.

  Termination needed to be petitioned for, but it was yet another procedure almost entirely controlled by invisible and inconceivable algorithms, calculated for the betterment of society and the genetic pool.

  “Well, we knew it was a longshot, requesting it that late,” says Caroline, attempting to comfort her. “They almost never approve terminations after the first two weeks, it’s all that scheduling madness. We’ll get through it together. What’s the final verdict?”

  “31,” says Sylvia quietly, breaking open the seal on a coffee pod and slipping it into her mouth. She almost immediately feels her jittering falling away, though she knows that it’s just a placebo. In the living room, Kate is playing a virtual reality game.

  “What?” asks Caroline sharply, as she takes the canister from Sylvia’s hand. “31? That isn’t even possible. Did you say 31? Three and one?”

  “It’s new,” says Sylvia, numbly, as she turns and leans against the kitchen counter. She looks into the room at her children.

  “What… What are you going to do?” asks Caroline. “Can you appeal? I’ve never heard of… 31?”

  “I can appeal,” says Sylvia, shaking her head. “But it doesn’t look good. I don’t think… I’m not sure what to do, Caroline.”

  “Those appeals never go through,” says Caroline, leaning against the counter. She looks to the two girls in the living room and lowered her voice. “There are… I mean, I’ve heard there are options.”

  Sylvia has heard that, too. Underground drugs. Illegal operations. She knows that it is an option; a very real option. But she also knows that it’s not an option for her.

  “I’m not 19, Caroline,” says Sylvia. “If I’m caught, who will take care of the girls? What if I get sick? The last thing I need is more medical bills, or jail time, or to die.”

  “Why would they even approve the Genesis if they’re only going to certify it till 31?” asks Caroline, her voice displaying the frustration that Sylvia felt.

  “I don’t know. Who knows how they calculate these things,” says Sylvia. “Lord knows I tried enough to figure it out before I even went. Why did Maggie get 73 and Kate only 68? Why did I get 79? Why did you get 64? It’s all just a mess.”

  “Well, we have time,” says Caroline, putting her hand on Sylvia’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out, in time. And you know what? Maybe they won’t even have the same certification process in 30 years. Who knows? Anything could happen.”

  Sylvia nods, to herself, but she’s no longer listening. It was everything that she had been telling herself on the way home through the metro, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly, awfully wrong.

  Kathleen Cardoff was forgotten quite quickly once the epidemic reached a global scale. She was abandoned to her modest home and her child and she was quite happy about it, all things considered. She now had her answers: there wasn’t anything wrong with her or, if there was something wrong with her, it was wrong with everyone.

  Her beautiful—if she could say that without being conceited—daughter was healthy and happy and, in fact, through her daughter Kathleen learned to love herself a little bit more, too.

  Eventually, Kathleen married one of the young researchers that worked on Dr. Rivera’s team, and she created a normal life for herself; sometimes happy, sometimes sad, but overall content.

  The story was no longer about Kathleen Cardoff.

  But that didn’t mean that the story was now over.

  Genesis meant that reproduction could no longer be controlled by the individual, and thus, it was said, it needed to be controlled by society itself. Given the technology of the time, the only thing that could be done to avoid it was sterilization.

  Scientists cautioned against abusing the process; ultimately, it could lead to the extinction of the human race. They painted dramatic and cautionary end-of-the-world scenarios that the scientific and political community debated at length.

  The majority of the world quickly fell into chaos. At first, the sudden shift between genders in developing areas led to social and political issues, but that wasn’t the largest problem. As the population increased dramatically, the issues became primarily biological and logistical; disease and hunger cut through the globe at a record speed, laying waste to entire nations.

  In the developed world, rigid protocols were enforced to monitor and control reproduction, to avoid what had happened to the rest of mankind.

  It was not possible to question these standards; all anyone had to do was point to the pandemonium that had been unleashed upon those who had lost control.

  Sylvia Rider settles herself down into the cushioned bottom of her bathtub, lilac scented oil wafting around her and the steam rising up in her vision.

  Caroline has agreed to stay the evening to watch the children; she can hear them whispering, talking and giggling just outside her door. She feels strangely now, as though she has just floated out of a dream. She can imagine that none of this is happening; that it’s just another day. But that does not last very long.

  After a while,
she imagines the child that she will have, in another seven months of time. Her child will be just as her others; she will come out with blonde hair and blue eyes, which will slowly turn darker. She will be intelligent, but there any expectations diverge.

  Sylvia cannot deny that both Maggie and Kate display completely different personalities. Maggie is her sweetheart and Kate is her rock; the only young child she had ever known to never, ever cry. Sylvia would never imagine to take responsibility for these characteristics within them; they were physically identical, but they had their own energy, spirits and souls.

  Sylvia had been relieved when the doctors had said that her medical issues had likely rendered her sterile. Now she sits in the warm water and runs through the last year of her life and she wonders why she didn’t follow up—why she didn’t do anything at all.

  She had known without a doubt that she needed to do something; she didn’t know why she had put it off, why she had procrastinated about such an incredibly important event.

  She had just never expected this.

  Sylvia gets out of the bathtub and feels the water run off of her. She touches her stomach, though she knows that it will be months before she can sense anything there. At this stage, her soon to be child is nothing more than a whisper within her. She wonders if, perhaps, her unique medical situation could cause her to miscarry.

  She wonders if it would be possible to cause a miscarriage.

  She spends her time drying herself off; she dresses herself more slowly than she really needs to, enjoying her moments alone. When she opens the door, she sees Caroline looking at her; half-expectant, half-fearful.

  “I’m going to try the appeal process first,” says Sylvia, swallowing thickly. “I’m going to see if I can’t convince them otherwise.”

  Caroline nods, supportively. She doesn’t say what she is thinking.

  Caroline Young leaves Sylvia’s home once the sun has already set; she boards the metro and stands against the windows, watching the city flash past. She can’t get Sylvia’s face out of her mind; her pale skin, and deep set, dark eyes, as though she had seen a ghost. Perhaps she had seen a ghost; the ghost of her future child.

  Like Sylvia, Caroline is pregnant; she is three months along. Unlike Sylvia, Caroline is part of the Bulls.

  The Bulls program is a special subset of genetically viable women, inseminated with only male children. There is no way to change the gender of any child in utero, and thus the process of developing male children to counteract the female children is quite involved.

  Only the most genetically expressive women are selected; it is feared that Genesis will eventually lead to a significant narrowing of the genetic pool, and the Bulls are the way of controlling this.

  Until the age of 29, Caroline’s life will be mostly governed by the Bulls. She has weekly check-ins regarding her health and she is expected to give birth to a total of five children. Caroline is not allowed to enter into a relationship during this time and she is not allowed to engage in any risky behavior.

  She will only raise one of these children herself; the others will be distributed, and she will never know where. She could have had the option of raising none of them, but she has chosen to keep her next and her last.

  As a trade-off, Caroline’s life is very easy. Her expenses are paid for and she lives in government housing; she has already finished obtaining her degrees and they were completely paid for. When she terms out of her contract, she will be given a substantial stipend based, in part, on the quality of her progeny.

  Caroline wonders what it might be like to have a girl child; what it might be like to have a Genesis child. She has conceived through Genesis three times in her life, but, per the terms of her Bulls contract, the pregnancies were caught early and terminated without question.

  The metro stops directly in front of Caroline’s home; a modest, six story government building that is more luxurious inside than from the exterior. She scans her phone at the entrance and is allowed in, where an elevator takes her to her apartment. It seems very empty to her; it always seems empty, after she comes from Sylvia’s home.

  Sylvia Rider checks her email again, even though she knows that nothing new has come in. She has checked it twelve times in the past two hours, and she knows that it isn’t helping. Despite this, she cannot stop and she cannot focus on her work.

  Sylvia’s coworkers say nothing to her; they all know, or at least they suspect. She knows that the women are talking about her behind her back.

  The women who were sterilized upon puberty are jealous of Sylvia’s children. The women who had natural children and then opted for sterilization later believe that Sylvia is irresponsible. The women who had a Genesis child and then opted for sterilization believe that Sylvia is selfish.

  Having a single Genesis child is a simple and common enough mistake. Having two Genesis children was unforgivable and having a third would make Sylvia a functional outcast. Sylvia knew this from the start, but that didn’t make it any easier.

  Genesis children were unavoidable, to a certain extent, and they had their own part in the reproductive symbiosis of society; Genesis children were allowed and even desired from some genetic backgrounds. For the most part, they were offset by the Bulls. But no amount of government planning could ever completely erase the social stigma.

  Sylvia’s phone rings; she answers as quickly as possible, even before looking at the caller.

  “Yes?” she asks, and then clears her head. “I mean, hello?”

  “Is this Sylvia Rider?” asks a male voice on the other end.

  “Yes, this is,” she says, quickly.

  “I’m sorry to tell you that your reproductive appeal has been denied,” says the man. Sylvia cannot believe that it’s happening so fast; she was waiting for news, but did not expect such a definitive answer.

  “Which one?” she asks, desperate and uncertain. “I mean, I put in two. One for termination rights and the other a certification appeal. Which one was denied?”

  “Both, I’m afraid,” says the man. “However, you may schedule a court date, if desired, to revisit your case.”

  “What will—what will that do?” asks Sylvia.

  “Well, you can either get a public attorney or you can hire one,” says the clerk, in a monotone voice. “The judge will hear any evidence you have on your side and will make a determination based on this evidence.”

  “Is it likely? I mean, do people often get their appeals put through with a judge?” asks Sylvia. She cannot recall anyone she knows who did this.

  “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. All I can say is that it would be the next step in the process if you want to move through with your appeal,” says the man. She reflects that this news—this momentous, life-changing news—is being delivered by a clerk whose name she does not even know.

  “Then… I would like to schedule a court date,” says Sylvia. She drops her voice lower now, noticing one of her coworkers watching her, out of the corner of her eye. “I want to get a court date. I’m available any time.”

  “I can schedule you for… November 11th,” says the man, slowly, as though looking at a calendar.

  “That’s almost six months away,” says Sylvia, thinking that it must be a mistake. She opens up her calendar to continue her planning. “I need a court date much earlier than then. I’m already two months along.”

  “I’m sorry, that’s the earliest,” says the man, at the other end.

  “No, I need an earlier court date,” says Sylvia, emphasizing the words. She wonders if the man does not understand her, and she feels the very brief hope she had slipping away.

  “There’s nothing I can do, that is the only appeal date I can offer you. Do you want to schedule it? It will be at 2:30 PM. You’ll need to arrive at 8:00 AM to check in.”

  “Is there anything else, anything at all, I can do?” asks Sylvia, in frustration. “Anything else I can reasonably do?”

  “This is the only appeal process, I’m sorr
y,” says the man, who does not sound sorry.

  Sylvia hangs up the phone, without saying goodbye. Her mind races; she wonders if she should call back and set the court date. She wonders if she should write a letter. She wonders if she should find a lawyer. Her head spins, and all she can do—all she can think to do—is to continue her work.

  Caroline Young stops by the grocery store; it is only a block away from her apartment, and she has run out of the sugar-free, strawberry yogurt that is on her food list. Her food list is important; it is designed for her by a government nutritionist and her contract requires that she adhere to it.

  During her first couple of pregnancies she was sometimes lax, but they always seemed to know when she had cheated. Now that she is nearing the end of her contract, she doesn’t want to give them any reason to question her.

  As she enters the market, she self-consciously lowers the cuff of her jacket, holding it to her wrist with her middle finger. She knows that some of the Bulls enjoy being noticed; she does not. As a Bulls, her certification is voided; she will live a natural life, unlike her children.

  The store is quiet; most people are at work, but Caroline doesn’t have to work. She picks through the store, selecting the things she is allowed to eat and disregarding the things that she is not. As she walks out of the market, the items she has in her bag are automatically added together and charged to her account.

  As she exits the marketplace doors, an older woman holds an arm up, cautioning her back. At the end of the street, Caroline sees a man running through the street, wearing slacks and a buttoned-up shirt and a loose-fitting jacket. She backs up against the wall as three peace officers dressed in black vests and helmets thunder past her.

  It is over within minutes. One of the peace offers brings the man down, and the other grabs his arms roughly and wraps plastic tape around his hands. They pull the man to his feet; he’s in 40s, Caroline thinks, and tears and sweat run down his face.

  “This can’t be! This can’t be! It’s a mistake!” he shouts at them, pulling at them as they drag him away. “I’m not who you think! I’m not who you think!”