The room didn’t smell right, for a clinic. The air was fresh as if from outside, and when she turned her head, Mary smelled fresh-cut roses. Pink roses, artfully arranged in crystal vases, graced mahogany end tables in a room where three other couples sat waiting. Mary dropped a hand to her stomach trying to calm the uneasiness.

“It’ll be all right dear,” Ben whispered, placing his hand on her knee to reassure her.

Embarrassed by the attention in front of strangers, Mary pushed her husband’s hand away and at the same time glanced down at her blue pantsuit, slightly faded from too many washings, and frowned. She’d thought the suit was elegant, but now it felt like too much of one color. Her eyes strayed to the woman closest to her who looked elegant and yet casual in designer jeans with a satin blouse, a pearl necklace, and large hooped earrings. Mary’s hand went to her neck, feeling the bare skin that lacked even a simple necklace.

“Are you having a boy or a girl?” the woman asked when Mary glanced in her direction.

“Oh, I’m not pregnant yet,” Mary said.

“Of course not,” the woman laughed, a little stiffly as if she too felt uncomfortable. “What are you planning on having?”

Mary looked over at Ben with a tight smile, “We want a boy.”

“We still haven’t decided,” the woman said, rolling her eyes toward her husband as if it was his fault, then turned back to Mary and extended her hand, “I’m Katrina and this is Mark.”

Mary wasn’t used to shaking hands. She fumbled about realizing that she was still clutching Ben’s hand, hard. When she got her hand free, she offered it weakly to Katrina and nodded at Mark. As soon as her hand was free, she clasped both hands over her jittery stomach.

“Mary and Ben ¼” Mary’s voice quickly dropped off as she almost forgot the rules and blurted out their last name.

Katrina just smiled at her almost slip of the tongue. “You’re from the U.S.?” Katrina guessed correctly.

Mary nodded.

Katrina glanced at the other couples and whispered, “Don’t you feel like a school principal is going to appear and give us detention?”

Mary frowned. “More like a policeman is going to come and arrest me. What do you think will happen if we’re found out?”

“Relax,” Katrina smiled, showing perfect white teeth like you would see on a TV ad for toothpaste. “They can’t do anything about this,” she said in a voice just above a whisper. “When we get back home, how would anyone know? All they need to be told is that Mark and I are having one hell of a vacation. Why wouldn’t I come back pregnant?”

“They could run genetic tests,” Mary commented, moving closer to Katrina. “It just feels so wrong,” she whispered.

“So why are you here? Why not take a cruise and do it the old-fashioned way? Take your chances. You’re both attractive enough,” Katrina said, appraising Mary’s husband with an almost seductive look.

The other two women in the room were watching them, so Mary lowered her voice even more. “Ben has a bad heart. His father died of a heart attack at forty-one, and his grandfather died even younger. I just can’t ¼” Mary blinked back the tears that sprung forth whenever she thought about losing Ben.

Katrina touched her shoulder lightly, “You’re doing the right thing. I don’t understand the mentality in our country. According to President Bradley and his conservative backers, you’d think we were going straight to hell to pick out our child.”

“Maybe we are,” Mary whispered softly. Would she regret this? What if her son found out about his origins and came to hate her?

“Don’t even think such a thing,” Katrina scolded.

“Why are you here?” Mary asked hesitantly, worried about being too forward.

“We want a designer baby,” Katrina said flippantly before growing serious. “I just want what all mothers want, the best possible start for my child, and I believe this is the best way. Our government is just too damn reactive, throwing the baby out with the bathwater. If that billionaire creep, Huxley, hadn’t impregnated so many women with his sperm at that fertility clinic, we might be home in the U.S. instead of here acting like outlaws.”

A young woman in a white uniform walked into the room.

“Ben and Mary?” she asked, eyeing each of the couples.

Mary’s breath caught in her throat. She gulped and turned to Ben. His eyes met hers, and for a moment, neither of them could move.

“Let’s do this,” he said, standing up and reaching for her hand.

The woman led them into a large, spacious office and left, closing the door behind them. Two sleek red recliner chairs were arranged next to a white velvet couch in front of a polished desk. A large mirror along the wall next to the door made the room look like it was a double room. Behind the desk sat a young woman with silky black hair and green almond-shaped eyes who looked more like a model than a healthcare professional.

“Ben, Mary,” she said graciously, standing up and extending her hand as if she was greeting them at a party. “Welcome. My name’s Lisel.” After shaking both of their hands, she motioned them to sit down.

Instead of a traditional medical uniform, she wore tight black pants and a white lacy blouse with tiny red gems sparkling along the edges of the collar that dipped low enough to show cleavage.

Mary stared at the perfectly white couch for a moment before sitting cautiously on the edge of the cushion. Ben plopped down beside her as if it were the old brown couch from their home. Mary stared at a second door behind the desk. “When will we see the doctor?”

“I am the doctor,” Lisel explained smiling and taking her seat. “It’s okay,” she said, reassuringly. “Lots of people make that mistake. We want people to feel comfortable, so we’ve taken away the traditional doctor-nurse façade. Can I get you a cappuccino, sparkling water, or a natural soda with lemon grass?”

Mary shook her head, wringing her hands. She would be far more comfortable with a real doctor and a stale cup of coffee.

Ben politely declined.

“Before we get started, I want to make sure you understand the agreement that was discussed with you upon your arrival. I will be showing you the most probable phenotypes for your …” she glanced at a screen on the desk top then looked up and smiled, “your son. The phenotypes will be based on the combination of genes that you select, but let me remind you, there are no guarantees. Sometimes the improbable does occur. Do you understand this?”

Ben nodded. “That was made very clear to us.” He turned to Mary, “You do understand, don’t you dear?”

Mary nodded, “But I don’t understand why we need to be here for three weeks.”

Lisel smiled, “Once the gene selections are made, it’ll take the lab three to four days to do the genetic manipulations, another week to start the in-vitro development of the egg, and if all goes well, the implantation could be scheduled as early as fourteen days from now.”

“What are we supposed to do during that time?” Mary asked.

“Talk to the concierge,” Lisel said. “We have more activities here than you could fit in a year’s time. We only ask that you use a condom or alternative birth control method during all sexual activities. We don’t want to risk a natural pregnancy occurring. One of our nurses will be happy to set you up with your preferred method.”

Mary bit her lip, staring at the floor, then peered up through half-closed eyelids glancing sheepishly at Ben. He raised his eyebrows, hiding a grin.

“I’ve got your DNA results. I think we’ve isolated the problem.” With one quick movement of her hand, a series of graphs appeared in mid-air. Mary sat back, startled.

“You haven’t seen the screen-less displays?” Lisel asked.

“Just on television,” Ben answered for his wife.

Mary studied the long list that floated in the air. Most of it made no sense. Interspersed between scientific words were traits that Mary recognized, like height, hair pigment, etc. Her breath shortened, and she felt a twang in her stomach. What if they didn’t qualify? What if they weren’t right for the procedure? They’d already spent two nights in the luxury hotel, and Ben had even swum in the salt-water pool. Would they get their money back if they weren’t right for this?

“Find loci AO7 125 893,” Lisel said.

Instantly, the words in the air were replaced with new words, none of which made sense to Mary.

“We’ve identified six proteins that make up the defective heart tissue,” Lisel said. “Did you know,” she asked Mary, “that a heart valve weakness runs in your family?”

Mary nodded. It was a double whammy, which is why their only option was to come here. It wasn’t fair to give birth to a child with the certainty of heart failure looming over him, and she couldn’t bear to not have a child.

“There are gene-altering clinics with many different missions,” Lisel explained. “Here at the Perfect Child, we strongly suggest that you only change the problems that create health issues. We don’t want to remake your child, just fix the health defects so that he or she will have a better chance of leading a normal, productive life.”

“Yes,” Mary nodded, glancing at Ben, relief flooding through her, “that’s exactly what we want.” She was so afraid of being talked into something she would later regret. How wrong could this procedure be if all they did was fix the bad heart?

“But,” Lisel continued, “In many cases, the problematic genes are linked with genes for unrelated traits.”

“What does that mean?” Mary asked suspiciously.

“In your case,” Lisel said, “the loci that contain the code for the defective heart proteins lie very close to the loci that play a role in the growth rate of the child, which determines his adult height. When we snip and replace a piece of the chromosome, we obtain a series of loci, not a single gene. We can find a snippet with healthy heart proteins that will produce an adult height similar to what we’d expect if we randomly mixed your two genes together.”

Lisel pulled up another screen and ran through a series of computations. Soon, five outlines in the shape of a man appeared several feet behind the original screen, each slightly larger in height. “It looks like your natural child’s height would range from five foot four inches to five foot six inches.”

“Isn’t that rather short?” Ben asked. “I’m five eleven.”

“Yes,” Lisel said, giving him a once over look, “but Mary’s genes pull down the height. You see height isn’t a simple factor relating to a single gene. It’s a complicated mix of several genes, two of which we have to replace.”

“Can we go taller?” Mary asked timidly.

“Of course,” Lisel said. She ran through a few more computations on the screen. “If we use stock number GN5 559 616, the height should be in the ballpark of,” Lisel scrunched up her face showing just a hint of crow’s feet around her eyes, “five foot eleven to six foot two.”

Mary eyed the screen excitedly.

“Would you like to go that route?” Lisel asked.

Mary nodded.

“The next problem gene is also related to muscle strength,” Lisel said. “Although everyone can build stronger muscles, we have different aptitudes for that development. The natural gene mixing would produce …” Lisel paused as she pulled up a gene interaction worksheet. Selecting out the genes from the genotype program, she ran the possibilities.

“Well?” Mary asked, after what seemed like a reasonable waiting period. “We want him to be strong.”

“Just a minute,” Lisel said. “I’m not quite finished.”

Mary studied the stern look on Lisel’s face. Something was wrong. She knew it. They wouldn’t be able to go through with this. All her fears were about to be realized.

Moving to one side until her reflection appeared in the mirror, Mary critically eyed the coarse, mousy brown hair that hung just below her shoulders, skin color so pale that every impurity and freckle stood out, plain brown eyes, and lips desperately in need of color. She wished she dared freshen her lipstick, but she hated to do that in front of people. It seemed so vain.

She glanced at Ben’s reflection. His nose was strong, but too long and hawk-like. The oval birthmark on the side of one cheek was distracting. It was his eyes that had drawn her to him. They were the blue of a deep pond. She wanted her son to have those eyes. As she looked back and forth from her reflection to Ben’s, she wondered why they would ever consider having a natural child. Between the two of them, there were so many flaws. Unlike Katrina, whose full lips and high cheekbones made Mary wonder why she needed to be here. Then she remembered the husband, Mark, who was rather short and thick around the neck. She’d hardly noticed those features back in the waiting room. Now, she remembered every detail. Wouldn’t it be easier for Katrina to just cheat with somebody better looking? Mary scolded herself for the thought. Cheating wasn’t something she would ever consider, but for some reason she could see Katrina doing it.

“There’s another problem here,” Lisel said.

“What is it?” Ben asked, sounding as worried as Mary felt.

“It’s not a muscular dystrophy, but a disease related to it. The problem I see is less severe, but does involve a slow deterioration of the major muscle groups with age.”

“Can it be fixed?” Mary asked.

“Yes,” Lisel said slowly. “We just have to redo our analysis to make sure we don’t miss any of the connecting genes, and those genes will be involved with other traits.”

“Fix it,” Mary said. “Fix everything. I want my son to be as healthy and strong as he can be.”

“Why don’t you come back tomorrow morning,” Lisel suggested, still staring at the screen and manipulating numbers. “We can have a new analysis completed by then.”

 

4[

 

Mary selected steamed crab and a spinach salad with assorted greens and vinaigrette dressing. Ben went with red meat, a thick T-bone steak smothered in Portobello mushrooms and accompanied by a mixture of steamed red potatoes and mixed squash.

When the waiter left, Mary whispered to Ben, “What do you suppose this meal costs?”

“Why don’t you just enjoy the food and not worry so much. It doesn’t cost extra,” he reminded her.

The clinic was part resort. The costs included full use of the facilities and all meals. If only the clinic was separate, this procedure wouldn’t be so damn expensive. There were cheaper clinics with less elaborate facilities, but the Perfect Child had the best reputation, not only for their high success rates, but they were known for their discretion. No one ever needed to know they had done this. Mary ate another shrimp appetizer.

“The food is good here,” she admitted.

“You should loosen up and try the herbal steam,” Ben said. “It’ll help you relax.”

Mary looked up and caught the gaze of Katrina, who was just arriving for dinner. Katrina smiled and hurried over to their table with Mark following behind her like an obedient dog.

“Mind if we join you?” she asked, taking a seat next to Mary before she could say anything.

“Of course not,” Mary said politely, wishing everyone would just leave her alone.

“Have you tried the massage?” Katrina asked. “It’s heavenly.”

A waiter appeared with menus for the newcomers.

Katrina glanced quickly at the selections and set the menu down. “So what have you two been up to this afternoon? Mark and I rode the tram up to the top of the mountain. The view was absolutely fab.”

Mary didn’t know what to say. Everyone was treating this like a vacation. Didn’t they realize that not only were they breaking the law, but that soon Katrina would be pregnant with an illegal child? Mary felt like Ben’s cousin Elaine must have felt like when she got pregnant as a young teenager. The girl’s mother had thrown a fit. The whole event was hushed until the baby came. Somehow, Elaine was hidden away during the latter part of the pregnancy. When she returned with the baby, everything was all right. Everybody loves a baby but few love a non-married, pregnant woman. In Mary’s case, it would be different. She was respectfully married, old enough, and everyone was expecting her to have a child. No one needed to know what this little ‘vacation’ entailed. Her head ached. How could she not tell anyone? What if Ben slipped up?

Katrina was looking at her expectantly, waiting for an accounting of her day. When Mary didn’t say anything, Ben answered for her.

“I worked out for awhile at the gym and went for a swim. I even tried the herbal steam. It was quite nice.” He smiled, then glanced wryly at Mary, “Mary stayed in the room all day.”

Mary wanted to strangle him.

“Now dear,” Ben said firmly, “you may as well try to enjoy yourself while you’re here. Staying bottled up in the room isn’t going to reduce the cost any.”

“Do you golf?” Katrina asked Ben.

Ben nodded, a confused look on his face.

“I’m guessing your schedule for tomorrow is pretty open, why don’t you go golfing with Mark, and Mary can come with me.”

“Sounds like a fine idea,” Ben said, turning to Mary for approval.

Mary’s eyes shot darts back at him, “But our next appointment is in the morning.”

“After that, you have the rest of the day to yourself,” Katrina filled in. “Don’t forget, girl, we’re both going to be pregnant soon. If we don’t live it up now, we’ll miss a great opportunity.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Leave the planning to me,” Katrina said, laughing. “The only thing you’ll have to worry about is keeping up.”

Ben smiled. Mary caught his eye and glared at him.

“It’s not the money, is it?” Katrina asked.

“Of course it’s the money, what else?” Ben started.

“Men,” Katrina interrupted. “What do they know?”

“Now, honey,” Mark said, pulling on his wife’s arm, “it’s really none of our business.”

“It’s the guilt,” Katrina went on, ignoring her husband and shaking her arm loose. “It’s the idea that society will brand us if they find out. We could be ostracized from family and friends all because of close-minded political views. Your problem Mary,” Katrina went on despite her husband’s attempts to shush her, “is that you’re on the opposite side of the fence. You don’t approve of this any more than the politicians do. That’s why it’s eating away at you.”

Mary’s jaw dropped. She wasn’t used to people being so forward with her, especially a stranger she’d just met.

“Look,” Katrina said. “You’re here. You’ve made the decision. Forget it and live with it. Why wreck a perfectly good vacation? It doesn’t cost more to have fun.”

The waiter returned and took Katrina and Mark’s order. Mary ate a few more shrimp.

When the waiter left, Katrina turned to Mary again, but Mary spoke up before Katrina had a chance. “What if they’re right, and we’re wrong?”

“What could be wrong with wanting the best for our children?” Katrina asked softly.

“Maybe it is against God,” Mary said. “If God wants me to have a child with heart problems, maybe I’m supposed to accept that child the way God intended.”

“Then why did he give us the brains and abilities to fix the problem?” Katrina asked. “Do you think God wants your child to be born with that awful handicap? If he does, he’s a far more vindictive God than I want to believe in.”

Mary turned to Ben, but he and Mark were engrossed in a discussion of golf.

“Why doesn’t the Church see it that way?” Mary asked. “Why are so many people convinced it’s evil?”

“They also preach love and forgiveness, but somehow that gets left out of the sermon.”

The waiter brought over a tray of food. He set down the plate of steaming crab legs with spinach leaves and mixed greens neatly arranged in a circle around the crab. The plate was decorated with slices of colored peppers and squash forming a spiral pattern around the edge. In a decorative holder, a candle warmed a small dish of melted butter with a slice of lemon. The waiter scurried about making sure everything was perfect. Mary had never felt so pampered in her life, like a pauper being treated like a queen. She couldn’t help thinking that at any moment someone would see through her disguise.

Mary waited until they were back in the room with the door firmly shut before confronting Ben. “Why did you agree to go golfing? I need you to be with me,” she said, tears coming to her eyes.

Ben put his arms around her. “Hon, we’re here. Katrina was right. The decision has been made. You’re going to have to accept this and learn to relax.”

Mary hugged him tightly. When he released her, she took a deep breath. “What do you suppose Katrina’s going to want to do tomorrow?”

Ben laughed lightly. “Whatever it is, you’re going to have one hell of a time.”

Mary tried to smile, but couldn’t.

“I’m going to take a quick shower. Why don’t we grab those fancy robes and go for a steam when I’m done? I’ll give you the grand tour. You’re not going to believe this place.”

When Ben was in the shower, his cell phone rang. Mary answered it with a timid hello.

“Mary?” a sharp voice asked and then paused only a moment before going on the attack. “What are you two doing? Have you no shame? How can you do this to us, to the family? You’ll shame us all! For the love of God, tell me it’s not too late to reconsider and that you’ll come straight home.”

Mary sank down on the bed holding the phone away from her ear and listening to the tirade by Ben’s sister. How had she found out? Ben would never have told her. Feeling like a fugitive running from the law, she dropped the phone as if it were hot.

“Are you there, Mary? What have you to say for yourself? I knew you would bring trouble to the family.”

Mary started to cry. Her lips were shaking so bad she couldn’t talk even if she had wanted to. She pressed the end call key, but the accusations continued to rattle around her brain, only now, she felt like the condemnation came straight from God.

The phone rang again, but Mary turned it off. She lay back on the bed, still crying. After several minutes, she forced herself to get up. Wiping her eyes and blowing her nose, she made up her mind. They would not go through with this. They would cut their losses and go home. She would never, ever, have a child of her own, not like this, and certainly not the natural way. She would tell Ben tonight, and they would come up with some excuse for Lisel tomorrow.

 

4[

 

Lisel’s dark hair shown with iridescent highlights that stood out against her turquoise blue dress and pearl-white jacket. Although she was too old to have been genetically engineered, the breeding that had created Lisel must have been impeccable. Mary glanced in the mirror again unable to stop comparing herself to this woman.

Last night, Ben had tried to console her, assuring her that what his sister thought didn’t matter, but Mary refused to be swayed. She had agreed only to listen to the final analyses before telling Lisel of her decision. Maybe they wouldn’t be right for the procedure, which would make it easier to back out of their contract.

“The genetic analyses are completed,” Lisel said.

The screen appeared in front of them with long lists of letters and numbers.

“These are the genes we’ll be replacing,” Lisel explained. “We’ll go through each one and select the set of genes you want to replace them with.”

The list looked long to Mary. Her eyes were drawn back to the mirror. There were so many imperfections. She wondered why there weren’t breeding restrictions for people like her.

The images of two men appeared in front of the blank wall on the opposite side of the room.

“The left side shows probabilities of what your natural son would look like at the age of 20, on the right is the same person at age 40. The lists,” Lisel pointed to the smaller screen alongside each image, “indicate the medical problems that each man can expect to experience at that age.”

The list for the older man on the right was long. The grid behind the image showed the man to be five foot five inches tall. The younger man’s hair matched Mary’s mousy brown color. The older man was mostly bald. The list on the right mentioned bald at approximately 35 years of age.

“But Ben still has all his hair,” Mary said, “and he’s 38.”

“The gene you carry is for baldness, and it’s a dominant gene. Because baldness is on the X chromosome, not the Y, it’s your genes that determine this trait.”

Mary looked again at the 40-year-old man on the right. Some of the traits reminded her of Ben, but more of the features were hers. The cycling continued and two new slightly different men appeared. Again, the one on the right was bald. There were many similarities to the last image, but a few things were different, both were shorter and the older man was pudgier. The image cycled again. This time, a new image appeared on the left, while the right side was blank. The list on the right had a single line—heart failure, age 37. The images continued to cycle. The younger man on the left changed a little in size and shape, his hair color ranging from light brown to almost black, his skin always pasty white, and his eyes either brown or a lighter hazel color.

“No chance of my natural son having my husband’s eyes?”

Lisel shook her head. “Your husband’s blue eye color is from a recessive gene and your genotype doesn’t include blue. The most probable color is a medium brown.”

The cycling continued, and frequently, the older man was absent. Mary glanced at her husband again. How many more years did he have?

Mary mulled over her decision, feeling drawn to the new person on the screen that reminded her so much of Ben and herself. Ben could be gone soon, and she would be left with no one. She had a few cousins that were friends, but her parents had died three years ago in a car accident, and she wasn’t close to the rest of her family. They had Ben’s family, but she had never gotten on well with them and doubted they would give her the time of day once Ben was gone. She pictured herself all alone.

“Of course, with the number of genes in the human DNA there are millions of combinations,” Lisel was saying, “but the traits you’re seeing won’t change that much. For example, you might see a slightly taller man with dark hair and hazel eyes in one combination, but you won’t see blue eyes or dark skin in any combination.”

“The possibility of skin cancer is high in all the lists where he lives to be 40,” Ben observed. “What are those statistics based on?”

“You both have very pale skin. Your son will be the same,” Lisel said. “If your son lives in a climate with persistent cloud cover or a low sun angle, the possibilities of contracting skin cancer are much lower. If he lives in a warm place with lots of sunshine, chances for skin cancer are high, unless he’s either vigilant about using sun block or he’s an indoor type.”

“Would darkening the skin tone a little help?” Ben suggested.

“Oh yes,” Lisel agreed. “Skin cancer goes down dramatically with even small amounts of protective pigment in the skin.”

“Can we see them with a little darker skin tone?’ Mary asked. “Just a small amount.”

Lisel glanced at the images along the far wall. In the current cycle, the older man was again absent. “Let’s add the changes we have so far,” Lisel suggested. “First, the heart condition.”

Before she could make the change, the images cycled and both men vanished. The list on the left side said heart failure, age 17.

Mary gasped. Ben stared hard at the large, empty screen.

“There’s a chance he won’t live to see 20?” Mary asked, her eyes tearing.

“Let’s fix the heart condition,” Lisel said again, with a confident tone.

She slowed the cycling time to a five-second interval. After making a series of changes, the older man appeared in every cycle. She pointed to the list on the right side. As it cycled through the possibilities there was no mention of heart failure—at any age.

“This is a very strong gene set,” Lisel said, with a note of pride in her voice as if she was personally responsible for creating the genes, “the probability of heart failure is infinitesimally small.”

“What caused that?” Mary asked quickly when the older man disappeared again.

Lisel paused the screen and examined the lists. “It’s the muscle condition I told you about. You’ll notice that the average age of death is still below sixty. That’s primarily due to muscle deterioration that weakens the heart.” She typed on the small keyboard as she talked, occasionally staring up at the screen to assess her progress.

“How about the height we discussed yesterday?” Mary asked.

Lisel typed in a few more commands, nodding that she remembered.

“Can you give him my husband’s eyes?” Mary asked quickly.

Lisel looked up at Ben and smiled. “He does have beautiful eyes,” she said. “Let me see.”

Mary watched the screen as Lisel pulled up Ben’s DNA list and extracted the blue eye trait, then matched it with a similar recessive gene from batch TS4 859 329, adding the genes to the new list she was creating. A few more keystrokes and the men’s eyes changed to Ben’s eyes.

Mary took a deep breath and let it go. That’s exactly what she wanted.

“I used Ben’s genes for the eye shape as well,” Lisel said. She looked back and forth from Ben to the images on the screen. “What do you think?”

“Perfect,” Mary said beaming.

“And the skin color,” Ben reminded her.

“Oh yes, I almost forgot,” Lisel said.

After a few moments, the images on the wall changed to men six foot two inches in height, with a lightly tanned skin color, Ben’s blue eyes, and dark hair.

“Can you lighten the hair color?” Mary asked. The dark hair didn’t fit with the other traits.

More keystrokes and his hair lightened to a sandy brown. Now, the sandy brown hair, Ben’s blue eyes, and the lightly tanned skin color remained the same in most of the men. The primary visible changes were body shape, body proportion, and height, and both lists were shorter.

Lisel examined each list carefully as they went by, making changes that had no affect on the men’s appearance, but shortened the lists. By the time she was finished, there were no more lists.

“There,” she said, a satisfied look on her face.

Mary critically examined the changes as they occurred. “Can we pick one with a larger frame?” she asked.

“Don’t you think we should stop there?” Ben cut in.

Mary looked at Ben, an indignant look in her eyes, “But if he can be better?”

Ben took her hand and squeezed it. “He’s already perfect.”

Mary’s eyes teared as she watched the screen trying to imagine what her son might look like as a baby or little boy. She could see herself rocking the blue-eyed baby in her arms, or reaching out for the little boy as he ran to her after scraping his knee, or reading a story to help him fall asleep. But doubts crept in. What if he was too perfect? Would he be embarrassed by his parents? When he grew up, would society scorn her and Ben? Would they be better off having their natural son with all his imperfections? Would he love them more if he was more like them? Ben squeezed her hand suddenly and she realized she was gripping his hand too tight. She released her grip and turned to him.

“Should we do this?” she whispered. Or, should they back out? Could they still get their money back? All the reasons they discussed last night paled in comparison to the wonderful, life-like men in front of her that could be her son.

As if reading her mind, Lisel said, “If you decide not to go through with the procedure or if the pregnancy doesn’t come to fruition, you’ll only be charged the 10% deposit fee. The remainder will be fully refunded.”

“We want our customers to be satisfied and happy with their choices. This is a big step. There’s no shame in changing your mind. If you like, I can have the images installed in your room’s computer. You can take a couple of days to think about it before we go ahead with the gene manipulations. The one thing we do ask is that the sperm and eggs already donated stay with us. Everyone has good genes as well as problematic ones. The success of our clinic depends on having as diverse a gene pool as possible to select from.”

“Could I see our natural son again?” Mary asked.

“Of course,” Lisel said.

The two men that appeared on the screen were shorter, with pasty white skin and either brown or black hair. The natural son grew a little taller in some of the cycles, but never came close to the height of the beautiful man with the selected genes.

“Can I see them both as children?” Mary asked. “Say seven or eight years old?”

Lisel smiled at her as if that was a good idea. After a couple minutes of typing, the images reduced in size, the left one the natural child at seven-years-old, the right one the enhanced child at the same age.

Mary saw herself going to parent-teacher conferences with her son at her side, the natural son with his overly big ears and a mischievous look in his dark brown eyes. She couldn’t help smiling. She could see him tugging at her hand, saying he wanted to go home now, telling her how much he hated school.

“What about intelligence?” Mary asked. “We haven’t discussed that.”

Lisel consulted her files. “According to the battery of tests you both took on your first day here, your son would likely be at the high end of average.”

“Could that be improved?” Mary asked hesitantly.

“Building intelligence is a complex mixture of genes and environmental effects,” Lisel said. “Although the potential for intelligence is inherited and we can pull groups of genes from people with high abilities, it is difficult to gauge the success rate. There are too many environmental factors that enter in and invalidate the research.”

“Why don’t we leave him with the intelligence we were born with,” Ben suggested gently.

Mary stared at the two children. The little blue-eyed boy was adorable. He reminded her more of Ben than the other child. She could imagine him marching beside her to parent-teacher conferences. He would be a good boy with good grades. The teachers would adore him and tell her what a good mother she was. In Mary’s mind, the vision shifted back to the natural son. For some reason, all she could see was the awkward little boy tugging at her arm, hating to be in school, the teachers giving her that disappointed look. If only he would sit still. If only he would study harder, he might amount to something. If only he would do what teachers asked. Mary squeezed her eyes shut tight, trying to rid the image from her brain. She wanted to be proud of her son. She didn’t want to have to apologize for him or try to explain to his teachers why he had the problems he did.

“Can you show the enhanced possibilities for the boy and the two men?” Mary asked.

Lisel nodded and three images appeared in front of the wall, the little boy with blue eyes, and the 20- and 40-year-old men. Mary’s eyes were glued to the young boy as he changed in each image. Her heart beat strongly inside her chest, and her palms were sweaty. She reached out to the little boy.

“I want this child.”

“Are you sure dear?” Ben asked.

Mary nodded. “I want this child,” she said again, pointing to the child. She wanted the beautiful, blue-eyed boy so bad it made her hurt inside.

“You can have a few days to think about it,” Lisel reminded her. “You don’t have to make that decision right now.”

“I don’t need a few days,” Mary said. “My mind is made up. I want this child.”

The images scrolled every five seconds. Each new image seemed better than the last. Mary got up and walked over to the image. It looked so real. She reached out as if to touch the little boy’s sandy brown hair.

“I want this child.”

 

Chapter 1

Jon gripped the letter as if afraid that someone might snatch it from him. His mind ticked through the ramifications that the letter would create, but like a computer switching through an endless series of 1’s and 0’s, the result was always the same. There was no good solution. Scanning the contents again, he swore under his breath and crumpled the letter. He was about to destroy it, when he stopped himself. Instead, he carefully smoothed it out across his knee, staring at the print from his mother’s hand that flowed gracefully through the first paragraphs, then became stilted, the letters crushed together as if trying to hide the true message. How could he not have known this until now? But more importantly, who else knew?