Janita Lawrence - Why You Were Taken

It looks… thinks Kirsten. It looks just like—

‘James, Kirsten, meet your progeny. Congratulations. It’s a baby boy.’

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.’

The doctor takes a clicker out of his lab-coat pocket and switches on a hologram in front of them. It’s like a hotel brochure in 4D: there is a picture of a beautiful suite, impeccably furnished, followed by other images the doctor clicks through.

‘We have a heated swimming pool, sunlight rooms, halls of trees for nature walks. Movies, games, room service 24/7. As a bonus, you’ll have a personal assistant who will make sure that your every need is fulfilled. Mouton, remind me, what is the young lady’s name again?’

‘Fiona,’ says Mouton. ‘Fiona Botes.’

Seth’s face flushes.

‘The finer details will all become clear once you settle in.’

The doctor switches the projection off.

‘You’ll also have access to all of this,’ he says, gesturing at the lab equipment. ‘Everything you need. We have equipment you wouldn’t believe exists.’

‘But I’ll be your prisoner.’

‘That’s looking at the cloud, instead of the – rather significant – silver lining. I’m giving you – giving all of you – a way out. A unique mercy. I’d advise you to give it some serious consideration.’

‘Five-star prison, with benefits, or death,’ says Seth. ‘I guess I’ll take prison and see how it works out.’

‘You can’t work for them!’ says Kirsten. ‘They represent everything you hate.’

‘Did you not hear the options presented?’ asks Seth. ‘You’d prefer me dead?’

‘Of course not. I just thought… I just think you’d prefer it, over this. Over them.’

‘Then you overestimate my moral compass. Or underestimate my will to stay alive.’

As they re-enter the den Kirsten sees Keke’s eyes flutter closed. Without warning, James leaps at Mouton, tries to bring him down, scrabbles for the gun in his hand. Mouton roars. Kirsten whisks the baby onto the couch, needing both hands free to unlock Seth’s cuffs. The doctor, now behind his desk, calmly opens a drawer, takes out a shiny pistol, snicks off the safety mechanism. Mouton, outraged to see that Kirsten had Seth’s keys, aims his gun at her and fires.