Seth: ‘I think that’s what Frankenstein said.’
The doctor indulges Seth with a smile.
‘Where are they, then? The babies?’ asks Kirsten.
‘A lot of them have been adopted out. As you know, the demand for healthy babies nowadays is astronomical.’
‘You sold them?’
‘In a manner of speaking.’
‘So you cause a nation-wide fertility crisis and then set up a designer baby factory,’ says Seth. ‘Genius.’
‘What about the rest?’ asks Kirsten.
‘We evacuated them when we got confirmation that you were coming in.’
‘You evacuated the whole building,’ says Kirsten. The doctor nods, says: ‘I couldn’t take the chance you’d not… co-operate with us.’
‘I wouldn’t ‘co-operate’ with you if my life depended on it.’
‘That’s what I thought you’d say.’
There is another soft sound from the corner: a cooing. Transparent bubbles float playfully towards her. Kirsten blinks forcefully to wipe them out of her vision.
‘That’s why,’ says Van der Heever, ‘I had to up the stakes.’
He walks to the corner incubator, opens the top, and gently lifts a newborn out from inside. He carries the baby back to them like a proud relative. It’s swaddled in a blanket embellished with planes and clouds that float in the sky. The baby squirms, tries to break free, shouts, then fixes Kirsten with an intense stare. She knows she should feel revulsion. The doctor can barely contain his excitement. He raises the baby up, like a trophy, like the prize he’ll never get from his peers.
It looks… thinks Kirsten. It looks just like—
‘James, Kirsten, meet your progeny. Congratulations. It’s a baby boy.’
WHITE HOLE
39
Johannesburg, 2021
‘No,’ says James, breaking his silence. ‘It can’t be.’
‘What have you done?’ whispers Kirsten.
‘You came to me for help,’ Van der Heever says, ‘you wanted to have a baby.’
‘Not like this,’ she says.
‘I know it’s still a novel idea to you, but this is how all babies will be made in the future.’
‘No,’ says Kirsten, shaking her head.
‘There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s a perfectly healthy baby!’
‘You’re saying he’s ours? Mine and Kirsten’s? You used our DNA?’ asks James.
‘That’s what I’ve been telling you! All your best traits, with none of your problematic genes. We switched off two for cancer, and one for dementia, I believe. He’ll have Kirsten’s hair, your eyes. Your fine motor skills, and Kirsten’s artistic talent.’
The baby starts fussing, his skin blooms pink. The doctor motions for James to take off Kirsten’s handcuffs, and as he does so, she feels his fingers slip into the back pocket of her wrecked jeans. A set of small keys: for Seth’s handcuffs, she guesses. She takes the baby from Van der Heever without thinking, just scoops him up with her un-broken arm and rocks him, inhales the warmth of his skin, kisses his forehead. The baby calms, gazes up at her, barely blinking. She can feel him, smell him, and in that moment she knows acutely this is no dream. This baby – her baby – is real. Her whole body stupidly longs for the bundle in her arms.
‘Why did you do this?’ Kirsten asks, keeping her voice low. ‘Why bring us in and tell us everything? Why didn’t you just have us killed, like the rest?’
The doctor puts his hands behind his back, strolls towards the empty incubators, leans against one of them.
‘I’m getting older now. Softer? My health isn’t what it used to be. It’s too late to switch off the genes that are causing my heart to fail. My career has always been all-consuming. I’ll continue working but it’s time for me to start taking some time off. Play golf. Travel. Watch my grandson grow up.’
‘You can’t be serious,’ says James. ‘You think we can just forget all this and play Happy Families?’
‘Grandson?’ says Kirsten.
Van der Heever’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘You haven’t told her?’
‘Why would I tell her?’ demands James. ‘Why would I tell anyone?’
His words hang in the air: the outburst makes Kirsten’s head spin.
‘Father?’ she looks at James. ‘He’s your father?’
‘Not by choice,’ spits James. ‘I broke all ties with him as soon as I had an idea about what he was doing. But this… my imagination didn’t go this far.’
‘Not your choice,’ says the doctor. ‘Indeed. It was my choice.’
‘What?’
‘My choice, to be your father. You were the first of the 1991 seven to be chosen to be incorporated into the clonotype program. You were the first to be… taken.’
Kirsten thinks of the list, pictures it in her mind, sees the code of the last person on the list: number 7. Sees the colours, and recognises Marmalade’s date of birth. So he was also abducted, she realises, was also a victim. Abducted and then used to lure the rest of us. Bait. A toddler version of Stockholm syndrome.
James blinks.
‘I am one of the seven?’ he asks, amazed. ‘I am not biologically tied to you? We don’t share the same blood?’ Something dark and heavy lifts off his shoulders; a shadow escapes his face.
‘I did… care for you,’ says Van der Heever. ‘I didn’t make the same mistakes my father made, with me. You were always well-cared for.’
‘You abused me,’ says James.
‘I never lifted a hand to you.’
‘You used me as a lure,’ says James. ‘I was a child.’
Kirsten gazes at the baby who has now fallen asleep in her arms. His energy, like James’s, is orange (Candied Minneola). Fresh, tangy, sweet. Mini-Marmalade. She feels a rush of tenderness.
‘So, you now have a choice,’ says the doctor. ‘You can take your baby, walk out the door, and never look back. As long as you keep the Genesis Project a secret, no harm will come to the three of you. We will be watching over you—’
‘Surveilling us,’ says James.
‘Yes, surveilling you. And making sure you are safe and that life is… easy.’
‘What’s the catch?’ asks Kirsten.
‘No catch, if you are willing to co-operate.’
‘And if we aren’t?’
‘Then we’ll take the baby back.’
‘Like you took us,’ says Kirsten.
‘Like we took you. For the greater good.’
‘I have a hard time believing that you’re just going to let us walk out of here,’ says Seth. ‘What are you not telling us?’
‘I said I would let Kirsten and James go, with the baby. You, on the other hand, we can’t release. With your history, your contacts at Alba… we just can’t take the chance. I’m sure you understand.’
Seth nods.
‘No,’ says Kirsten.
‘It’s a good deal,’ says Seth. ‘If I were you, I’d take it.’
‘No way,’ she says.
‘It’s not like it would be the end for you, Mr Denicker. You would work for us,’ he says to Seth. ‘A chemgineer of your ability would be a great asset to The Project. You would choose your hours; we’d pay you handsomely. Not that you’d need the money. Everything down here is complimentary. And you’ll have an extremely beautiful companion in that journalist who also needs to stay.’
‘But I have to live… underground – literally – for the rest of my life?’
‘For the foreseeable future, yes. Until people come to understand and accept our work. It’s not as dreary as it sounds. Think of it as… living in a high-end hotel with every one of your needs met.’