deemed that its main use was not for tourist jets, but to act as a base for Cuban fighter planes. As conflicts went, the world’s most powerful superpower squaring up against a small Caribbean island was somewhat one-sided. The badass Commie puppet government was ousted, and the land made safe for democracy again, all inside of a week.
Coming in to land at that same airport over fifty years later, Jeff found it hard to believe the whole event had ever taken place. That a single strip of crumbling concrete could be the cause of a military invasion now seemed ludicrous. In fact he couldn’t really be sure if the whole thing wasn’t some perverse trick of his memory. Time’s distance made such a thing so unlikely, more like a pre10 film rather than real life. He was sure Clint Eastwood had starred in it.
“Are you all right?” Annabelle asked. She was in the seat next to him in the first class section of the late- model Boeing SC. They’d flown from Heathrow to Miami again, and caught the only scheduled flight out to Granada.
“Sure,” he said, looking out the little window as they finished their approach circuit. “I’m just not sure my memory is right about this place.”
“Do you want to check? The plane has an interface.”
He grinned at her. “And I certainly don’t care that much.”
After they landed they found their clinic transfer car at the front of the ancient terminal building, a modern maroon-colored Mercedes with a beefed-up suspension to cope with the island’s roads. There were several similar vehicles lined up outside with the dilapidated local taxis. It was a twenty-minute drive to the clinic, which had taken over an old resort hotel. The main accommodation block and the beach bungalows had been refurbished for clients, while its medical work was conducted in a purpose-built facility apparently modeled on a Californian condo.
Jeff and Annabelle were shown to their room in the main block. Their balcony was directly above the pool, overlooking the small curving bay. When she opened the big sliding glass doors, a humid breeze ruffled her hair. “This beach isn’t as good as the ones at Hawksbill Bay,” she said.
Jeff came over to stand behind her, his arms going around her waist. “Nothing could be. Do you remember the night we went down to the beach?”
“Yes. The third night with Karenza. You said you’d never had sex on the beach before.”
“Well, I have now. That whole time was perfection. And it was all thanks to you.” He felt her trembling again, and suspected tears.
“I’m sorry,” she said with a muffled voice. “I want to be strong, especially now.”
“You are. You’re the only thing keeping me going.”
“Don’t say that.” She leaned back into his embrace. “What now?”
“Now, we have a light snack for supper, then go to bed. I’m just about asleep now. I never get any rest on planes.”
“And in the morning?”
“In the morning, we go and see my old friend Dr. Friland.”
IT WAS ALMOST TWENTY YEARS since Jeff had seen Justin Friland. The last time he’d been at the clinic, Friland was the second deputy geneticist. Now he’d risen to the head of the genetics department, which gave him a big office that was on the top floor of the clinic’s medical building. There were two long mirror-glass windows behind his wide expensive desk, providing a breathtaking view of the rugged coastline. He rose to greet Jeff with the kind of effusive near-greed that Jeff was growing accustomed to from anyone in the medical profession. But then, here of all places, he was likely to be regarded with extreme interest.
Friland had aged well, Jeff thought; genoprotein treatments had maintained his thick chestnut hair, and kept his skin firm and wrinkle-free. Only his slightly sluggish movement indicated that he was actually well into his sixties.
“A pleasure to see you again, Dr. Baker,” he said as he gestured them to the long leather sofa at the far end of the office. “A true pleasure, especially for me. It’s quite magnificent what my profession has achieved with your treatment.”
“Thank you.”
“And your son, how is he?”
“Tim’s okay. He’s off to Oxford University at the end of the week.”
“Good, good.” Dr. Friland gave Annabelle an awkward little smile before looking back to Jeff. “And, the reason for your visit? It is to be similar to last time?”
“I hope so. Do you still have my sperm in storage?”
There was a minute change in the doctor’s attitude. He remained pleasant and eager, but Jeff could tell his curiosity had been aroused.
“Yes, we do,” Dr. Friland said. “I reviewed your file when I was informed of your appointment. I believe the deposit was originally made as a safeguard in case of… problems.”
“Yes. I wasn’t getting any younger, not in those days, anyway. My sperm count was falling. I think it was you who advised me to use storage. Standard procedure, you said. In case I wanted another child, or even a posthumous one. So, is it still viable?”
“Dr. Baker, I have to tell you it is unusual to utilize such an old sample. Even cryogenic storage cannot hold back entropy forever. I can’t imagine you have a problem with your sperm count today.” He managed to avoid looking at Annabelle.
“It must be the old sample that’s used for the procedure,” Jeff said levelly.
Dr. Friland’s smile was becoming forced. “I see. Well, if that is what you require, then I’m confident we can facilitate that for you. We might not pioneer such earth-shattering breakthroughs as your rejuvenation, but I’m not exaggerating when I say we are the leaders in our own quiet little field of endeavor. The range of improvements we can offer are considerably larger today than they were for Timothy’s conception.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“And Ms. Goddard, you are to be the mother?”
“Yes,” Annabelle said softly. “I’m to be the mother.”
EVEN THROUGH a good thick coating of factor-sixty sunblock, the high, late-morning sun managed to tingle Jeff’s skin as they walked along the private beach together. He began to wish he’d put on something more than a T-shirt and trunks. It didn’t seem to bother Annabelle, and all she was wearing was a bikini with a short sarong skirt. But then something as simple as sunlight shouldn’t affect her. That was the part of her that exerted the strongest attraction, the vitality that accompanied youth.
Other couples were strolling across the sands. They kept their distance here just as they did in the clinic’s restaurant and lounges. Even so, he’d glimpsed a couple of moderately famous faces.
“Everyone always used to say how Tim looked just like you,” Annabelle said. She squeezed Jeff’s hand and turned to look at him. “Is he a clone?”
“No. But nor is he a natural split between me and Sue, either; more like three quarters of me.”
“And enhanced.” Her free hand gestured at the main clinic building. There were institutes like it scattered all over the world, most of them sited in small impoverished countries that had no laws concerning human genetic modification. Outside the strictly regulated environments of Europe, North America, and the Pacific Rim nations it was easy to buy what the tabloid news streams called designer babies. Wealthy couples went to the overseas clinics to have their
“Yes,” Jeff admitted. “I had him modified.”
“Does he know?”
“Oh God, no. Although he’s very smart, naturally smart, I’m proud to say. They hadn’t mapped out the full neurological functions twenty years ago. He’ll work it out eventually. There’s no way he can’t notice. He’s got a much better immune system than me or Sue; he’s highly resistant to cancer, his heart isn’t susceptible to disease, his hair won’t ever thin and recede, his bones are strong, his teeth don’t decay. There was a hell of a lot they could offer to do for us, even back then. Now, of course…” Before they’d left his office, Dr. Friland had given them a brochure containing all the possible modifications the clinic could make to an embryo’s DNA. It was a long, long list
