Extinct Doesn't Mean Forever (15 page)

Hadn’t Dr. Andrews said that Zeph refused to talk?

Her heart lurched. “Have the people here hurt you?” As she asked, she knew what a stupid question it was. He was a new specimen. They must have taken samples from him from all over, from every organ, every bone,
every
stretch of skin. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

He reached out, grabbed her hand. His small, chubby fingers curled around hers with remarkable force.
“Lucia.”

She scooted closer, to touch him, feel him.
“Baby.”
His skin was warm. He smelled like warm milk and baby talcum. She caressed his soft hair, and he giggled.

No
. She pulled back reluctantly, yet firmly.

His eyes sobered, not a child’s eyes, more serious, more grown-up than they ought to be. He held onto her hand.
“Mama?”

The word tore through her like a knife, left her gasping.

“No.” She pried his fingers off her hand and stood, shaking her head over and over, trying to control the urge to run. “No, please, don’t.”
To hell with the job and Freddy and everything.
She couldn’t, shouldn’t stay longer. It was too much. “I’m sorry, Zeph. I have to go now.”

“Will you be back?” he asked and she thought she might weep.

She staggered away, and shoved past Dr. Andrews on her way out.

“He spoke to you!” He grabbed her arm, but she twisted out of his bruising grip. “I heard him. Ms. Winter, please. We hoped for that.”

“You set this up?” Hot tears pricked her eyes. “How could you? Why did you think he would talk to me?”

“Because,” he sounded tired, “we used one of your ova. But that isn’t all. He’s got some of your DNA, and I think he can sense it.”

Frozen, she stared at him. “What did you say?”

“He isn’t a true clone.” Dr Andrews scratched his cheek. “His DNA was well-preserved in the dry, cold, high-altitude air, but there were gaps in the sequencing of the genome. Your DNA was tested and found highly compatible. We think that perhaps you have distant relatives from that area. In any case,” he looked up, straight into her eyes, “we filled those gaps with
your
DNA. Zeph is a hybrid. And part of him comes from you.”

Her stomach cramped. Cold sweat rolled down her back. He did look a little like her, didn’t he? This boy — this child — carried some of her DNA. When had she agreed to that?

The donor card
.
Freddy had asked her, back then, when they had been trying to have a baby, if she might think about donating the remaining collected eggs for research. She’d signed a paper. Ecstatic to be finally pregnant, she hadn’t given it a second thought.
Fred
.

Fred had done it, without asking her first. He’d
okayed
the process of using her eggs for this, testing her DNA for compatibility, running all the tests.

He’d pay.

In a blur of faces, voices, and noises, she strode down the corridor, pushed past the other representatives, and left the building.

~~~

The ringing finally broke through the dream. Groggy, she picked up her cell phone. “Yes?”

“Lucia!
I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

“Damn it, Fred. What do you want?”

Images from the dream replayed behind her closed eyes: Sam playing in his room, Sam running in the playground, Sam eating his oatmeal.

Why was his hair white in the dream?

She rubbed her eyes.

“You can’t just walk away from everything that scares you, Lucy.”

“Shut up, Fred.” Her head felt stuffed with cotton. “What do you want?”

“You sound strange. Have you been drinking?”

“You know I don’t.” Though as memory returned, she decided she could use a stiff drink.
Zeph
.
With frightening clarity she’d seen what must have gone before. Fred was behind all this mess.

He sighed. “Lucy. Look, I’m sorry I asked you to meet the boy. I thought, you know, he’s your son, you—”

“No, he’s not my son, Fred! Why didn’t you ask me before doing this?” Fury hazed her vision. She fought the urge to throw the phone across the room. “Only Sam, do you understand? Only Sam is my son. I’m only Sam’s mother.” And she’d been stripped of motherhood. Her only son was dead and buried.

A pause.
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
A cough.
“Listen, Lucy, I just thought you might want to know. Zeph asked for you.”

“Really?”
She clutched the covers at her lap with her free hand. Sweat trickled down the side of her face.

Zeph wasn’t her son. He could never replace Sam, DNA be damned.

“Dr. Andrews called me. He insisted you go back there.”

The moment stretched. “I don’t want to talk to you again, Fred. All this—”

“I never thought you’d mind. You believed in cloning back then, in helping science.”

“You planned this since Sam’s birth, didn’t you? Zeph is six, just a few months younger than Sam would have been. All these years you never said anything. You thought that losing Sam would mean I’d accept Zeph as replacement?”

“No. Yes. Lucy, you wanted more children. I thought that you’d like this.”

“This?” She thumped her fist on the mattress. “What, you thought you could bring Zeph home, and we’d live all together like one happy family?”

He said nothing.

“You did, didn’t you?”

“We still could, Lucy. He could—”

“No.” She thought of the boy’s soft face and felt empty. “No, he can’t. We can’t.”

He sighed. “For God’s sake, he’s got your eyes. You can pretend you felt nothing when you saw him, but
it’s
Zeph now, isn’t it? Not just a creature with no name.”

That stopped her cold.
Don’t panic
. “I can’t see him again.”

“Lucy.” He sounded cautious. He was about to try the rational approach. “He doesn’t bite, you know.”

“No. You’re right. It’s worse than that. He looks like Sam.”
He looks like me
. “He’s—” She had to swallow. “I can’t.”

“Please think about it.”

The pain in his voice matched
her own
. But she couldn’t go back now, not to Fred, not to being a mother, not to the past. She had to move on, or go mad. “No. Goodbye, Fred.”

She hung up. All the pain she’d manage to bury since the accident tore her up. Images, sounds, Sam’s face crowded her thoughts.

But time and again Zeph’s face replaced Sam’s. God, how small Zeph was, how frightened, how alone. She thought of the secret, windowless room where he was kept, about the doctors and nurses, about the smell of his skin and the feel of his soft hair against her hand.

About that dark brown gaze that resembled Sam’s, and that was her own.

Getting out of bed in jerky motions, she tried to erase that gaze from her memory. She pulled on a robe and unlocked Sam’s room. Everything was as he left it. She pressed her hands to her mouth, feeling her eyes ache, and entered. She caressed his photos on the dresser, his favorite teddy,
his
toys. She was looking for a sign, she knew, to help make up her mind.

Damn it, Sam, Sammy, talk to me. Say something. Is it all right if I go? Would you mind?

But the room was silent and
still,
and she found nothing she could interpret as a sign.

Lucia sat on Sam’s bed, on the light blue covers, and knew that it was up to her to decide.

Some time later she took her broom and mop and began cleaning. She aired the house, scrubbed the floors,
threw
out old clothes and old magazines.
Spring cleaning in autumn.
She thought maybe she was putting off her decision, but maybe she wasn’t. She was making room, changing things, preparing. Maybe she had already made up her mind. She could swear she heard Sam’s laughter in the rooms.

In her mind she could see the fear in Zeph’s dark eyes.

She called Dr. Andrews.

“Ms. Winter.” He sounded relieved. “I am so glad you called. I don’t mean to pressure you, but Zeph has asked for you repeatedly. It’s a remarkable change, and it’s undeniable that he feels a connection to you. I had my doubts about this working out so well, but here you have it. Would you accept to meet him again? Maybe you could be friends. Zeph could use a friend, Ms. Winter.”

That was good. She wasn’t required to be his mother.
Friends.
She could be friends with Zeph. “Yes,” she said, “okay, when do you want me to come over?”

Lucia didn’t believe in angels, or fate. But as she stepped out of the house, a golden wind rushed through her. Lighter, she strode to her car and she thought that, maybe, she could believe in Zeph.

~~~

Greek Cypriot with a penchant for dark myths and good food, CHRYSTALLA THOMA likes to write about fantastical creatures, crazy adventures, and family bonds. She lives in Cyprus with her husband Carlos and enjoys wandering the countryside sampling local food and wine.
She writes mainly fantasy and science fiction, primarily for a young adult audience, and her stories have appeared in many magazines and anthologies. Her latest dystopian YA novel,
Rex Rising
,
is available on Amazon at:
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005GZPOQE
.

Blog:
http://chrystallathoma.wordpress.com
Twitter:
http://twitter.com/Chrystallathoma

TOMORROW

Speculative fiction that reminds us of our impending mortality
and our immortal aspirations

Geri’s father is one of the scientists who finds the remains of an alien culture, providing proof we are not alone. For Geri, though, her father’s involvement with another world leaves her feeling more alone than ever.

IN RING

by
Scott Thomas Smith

“I wouldn’t know.”

“You wouldn’t know, huh?” He smiles at her as if he can find her secret with his eyes. Lift her gaze to meet his. “You wear it but you don’t know where you got it.”

“It’s just a ring.” She holds her hand over it to hide it from him. She doesn’t want him to talk to her anymore.

It doesn’t matter if he knows where she got it or if she is supposed to have it; she just wants to be left alone.

“Yeah, alright.
Your father is in his office. Go ahead up.”

The exchange proves once again that her father’s work is not a place she wants to be.
Too many questions, too much intensity.
But she has promised to visit him, and he is gone so much of the time.

 
The ring, which he had given her, was brought back from
there
. It was all over the news, and people practically boiled over in the halls and meeting rooms of the high tech station where he worked. The scientific find signified first contact with another species — an abandoned colony on one of the newly discovered planets. Earth, still in her maiden days of interstellar travel and colonization, had already found evidence of alien life. Theory held there would be living civilizations discovered soon nearby.

She walks down the corridor to his office.

“Hello Geri,” her father says as she comes in. The room is like entering a museum. She is suddenly full grown.

She loves the ring. She loved it the moment he gave it to her.
Even before he told her where it was from.
The simple, glassy material set in a single colorful band, smooth all around.

When she sees the pictures of the planet it came from up in his office, she believes in the distance between the stars. The lost civilization makes sense in existing. Neither the ring nor the news stories — not even the strangers asking her questions — made her think of that world and its people as real before. But his office seems set up to point to evidence to convince her.

She makes a perfunctory hello and stands at the side of his desk to drop her backpack.

A young, red-haired man in a suit and tie comes in behind her.

“Sir, you have a phone call from a … Doctor … Wukovits? He’s calling about the … condensed life theory?”

“OK, I’ll take it in here.” As the man ducks back out, he says to Geri, “Sorry, I have to talk to this person.” She shrugs her indifference.

“Yes, hello Doctor.”

She walks around his desk to get a closer look at the images of the planet: mostly landscapes and buildings.