Джек Макдевитт - Cryptic - The Best Short Fiction of Jack McDevitt

“No. None, thank you. Please go on.”

“All I can promise is that he would have a far stronger immune system than you or I, and that his cells will continue to divide indefinitely. Which is to say he will not age. His body will not betray him. At least at any time within the foreseeable future.”

Under ordinary circumstances, Armistead would have been a man of amiable appearance. He reminded her of her father, white hair that refused to lie flat, warm brown eyes, genuine smile. His large ears and tendency to bob his head for emphasis suggested her Bassett hound, Toby. Yet the circumstances were most certainly not ordinary. Jeremy Armistead had it within his power to grant the most extraordinary boon.

“How much?” I asked.

He opened a folder but didn’t look at it. “The program is partially underwritten by the Foundation or it would cost a great deal more than it does.” He inhaled, glanced out through his French windows at the parking lot, where TV trucks recorded demonstrators carrying signs warning that Project Sunrise was an affront to Man and God. “One hundred thousand,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll agree it’s a bargain.”

It was a lot of money. But we could manage it. “Yes,” I agreed. “It’s not unreasonable. If it works. What sort of guarantee is there?”

“Unfortunately I can assure you only that we’ll use appropriate methods. That there will be no negligence.” He looked puzzled. “What sort of guarantee would you wish?”

“That at fifty he will still look twenty-five.”

“Mrs. Cumberland, I’ll be honest with you. We’re just now beginning to use this method with humans. The technique has worked quite well with a number of mammals, and we can see no reason it will not work equally well with children. We could have waited and not made it available until we’d tried it out on some test subjects, but in that case you’d have to be patient for several decades. We have produced more than six hundred children so far, they have all tested as we expected, and none has shown any indication of defects or unexpected side effects. Of course, it is still very early in the process.”

Outside, there was a burst of profanity.

He looked steadily at me. “We can’t offer a formal guarantee of success. But it will work.”

It was all very new to me, a concept I’d never thought much about until I’d watched a Biolab representative on the Morley Pinkston show earlier that month. Hal didn’t like the idea much when I suggested we look into it. And I didn’t know how I felt. But two of our neighbors buried a six-year-old recently, dead of an unpronounceable disease of the central nervous system.

“No. It wouldn’t have happened to one of our children,” Armistead said when I brought it up. “We don’t know of any pathogens that would constitute a threat to our infants. Assuming of course that no one would deliberately introduce a hefty supply directly into the bloodstream. I wouldn’t want to mislead you.”

“No. Of course not.”

“There are limits to what we can achieve.”

“Yes. I understand.” The light in the windows was becoming gray. It was going to rain. “But the child would be sterile.” He nodded. “There’s no choice in the matter. It’s part of the licensing agreement we have with the authorities. Population being what it is, and so forth. If people are going to stop dying, we must think about birth rates.”

I nodded.

“After all,” he continued, “those who benefit by the procedure must be willing to act responsibly.”

My child would never know what it meant to have a child of his own. How would he—she—react to that ? What would he think of me ?

“However, your offspring would have superior physical and mental capabilities. We would also, uh, tweak the happiness gene. Barring mistreatment in the natural environment, he would be far more stable emotionally than the average person, and consequently more able to deal with his, ah, differences.” He looked down at the folder. “You have no children, is that correct?”

“No. None.”

“Good.”

I knew that only childless couples were eligible for the Sunrise Project. Once a woman had given birth, she was excluded from consideration.

“Mrs. Cumberland, are you aware that you will be required to agree to have no other children?”

After a long hesitation, I answered that I was. And that the project would supply me with one child only. The newslinks were speculating that the technique had been funded and developed because of population pressures, as a way to bribe people to discipline themselves.

“You understand also that the entire process will be handled in vitro. You will not carry the child.”

“You don’t make it easy, Doctor.”

“Once again we have no choice.” His glasses had begun to slide down his nose. “Nevertheless, it’s something I wish my mother could have done for me .” He laughed and adjusted them. “I wouldn’t have to deal with these now.”

“Can we choose the sex?”

“I’m afraid not,” he said. “We will want to maintain a statistical balance, of course. And under the circumstances we think that would not happen if parents were allowed discretion.”

“I see. You think they’d all choose boys.”

“Most would. Many would think a life without children would be especially difficult for females.”

“And wouldn’t it?”

“We’re creating superior humans, Mrs. Cumberland. I think they’ll adjust quite nicely.” Having disposed of that nettlesome topic, he settled back to await my decision.

“I need to think about it,” I said.

“Of course. There’s no hurry.”

“Talk it over with my husband.”

“Yes. I assumed you’d done that. We’ll give you some material to take home. Information about the program, what you can expect, and so on. And some documents to sign, if you elect to come with us. Return them with a check in the full amount, fully refundable if you turn out to be pregnant, fifty percent if you change your mind. Once you’ve done that, we’ll conduct an investigation to ensure your eligibility.” He looked up. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

“No. Not that I know of.”

“Good. Read through the brochures then, and perhaps we’ll see you here again.”

Outside, I received a security escort through the demonstrators. A TV reporter held up a microphone for me. Was I going to do it? Did I have any moral qualms? What did I think of the charge that this was just another way for the wealthy to suppress everyone else?

I mumbled some noncommittal answers, picked up an escort of security officers, and made for the street. On the way, pickets hurled insults and thrust pamphlets in my hands. Some predicted that the environment would be the first casualty of the program; others argued that Biolab was doing the work of the Devil. The Human Dignity League was out in force, maintaining that Project Sunrise would proliferate and that it was contrary to nature. Still others claimed that the cost of the service ensured elitism. I had to agree with that. Hal and I could consider it only because he’d come into a recent inheritance. (He didn’t let me overlook the irony of that, by the way, when I proposed we use the legacy to pay for an enhanced child.)

One middle-aged man who looked as if he should have had more important things to do tried to conk me with a sign reading BIOLAB DESTROYS FAMILIES; a woman screamed that I was a killer. I didn’t know what to make of that.

The security people turned me loose at the sidewalk, where a tall man with a thin blade of a nose and a long jaw fell in beside me. “Excuse me, ma’m,” he said softly. “May I have a moment?”