“Where your current culture is just beginning to appreciate the significance in having a modicum of control over the health and general physical appearance of the next generation, we have eliminated all the less desirable traits so that every child is perfect. From the baseline of perfection, parents can then choose optional characteristics such as specific talents and temperament. And where genetic manipulation cannot reliably produce the preferred traits, we incorporate bio-compatible mechanical implants to achieve the desired goals.”
“Whoa. You insert things into babies?”
“Into the fetuses, yes. Although, in some cases, additional modifications are made in early childhood, or even adulthood, if . . . ” My mouth hung open, and he stopped. His head swiveled to me, his frown obvious even in the dim glow from the dashboard. Between my reactions and Eileen’s, he was going to have his first wrinkle before the night was over.
Suddenly, he changed lanes, swinging us wide of a large branch skating across the blacktop. The Bronc fishtailed, but he slid us between two cars and the only collateral damage was blaring horns.
“Good reflexes,” I breathed, releasing my grip on the seat. Eileen’s silhouette nodded vigorously.
“Adequate. Others have better.” One hand let go of the wheel to reposition Pebbles. “Our methods may seem unusual to you, but they are the norm for us. We have not had random conceptions for hundreds of generations.”
Random conceptions. Now there’s a phrase you don’t hear every day. We were probably getting pretty close to the snippets that needed to be edited out, but I couldn’t help but ask.
“So you’re all designer babies? Test tube style?”
“That phrase is ridiculously inaccurate, but . . . yes.”
“And all the men look like you . . . ?” I was thinking of Cara’s mystery beach date.
“We are all unique.” Now he sounded a little affronted. “But to your eyes, most of us would look . . . related . . . I suppose.”
“You’re all blond hunks? Boring.”
“Everyone is unique, young one.” His response was gentle, assuring rather than disagreeing. It was really very kind of him to be so accommodating of her moods; but then again, he was pretty patient with me, too. Maybe he was designed that way.
“How many of you are here? How long have you been here?”
“That is . . . complicated. I can tell you that less than thirty of us began the journey, accompanied by a hundred or so Servants . . . but the rest . . . ” He looked meaningfully at me. “ . . . the rest is complicated.”
Complicated. He was using that word a lot. Pretty much giving me fair warning that I was not going to like the unedited version. The inside of my right cheek was already a lumpy, raw mess so my teeth went to work on the left.
Eileen, however, didn’t seem afraid of the missing details. “Who’re these servants you keep talking about? You said family. Are you like royalty or something? Rich jerks dragging your slaves along to do your chores?”
“Absolutely not! Once the genetics industry developed Servants, everyone immediately released anyone currently in servitude. They were thanked appropriately for their service and welcomed back into our society as equals.”
“You grow test tube slaves?”
I had to agree with her attitude on that one, but Sal seemed genuinely confused. Again.
“I do not understand your repugnance. Servants are created, yes, but they are not equal.”
“Says you!”
“No, young one. Please, listen. Servants have no emotional range. They can only feel compassion, which is what drives their innate desire to serve. They perform tasks, yes, but they do so willingly. They are highly valued, treated with the utmost respect, and shown every gratitude for their assistance and loyalty to their fam—”
“So you create stupid, simpering people you can control.”
“Eileen, let him finish.” Even though I was thinking the same thing, she needed to do him the courtesy of allowing him to complete his sentences. Clearly, his culture was much, much different from ours.
There’s an understatement, Lila.
“Young one, we would never—”
“Stop calling me that!” She flopped back against the seat. “It’s so condescending.”
He smiled at her reflection. “But you are young. You are just now beginning to . . . ” he stopped himself. “You are only thirteen years old, correct?”
“Yeah, but . . . ”
“Then you are very, very young to me. I have been on your planet for more than six thousand years.”
Our gasps were louder than the storm and the Bronc. Eileen and I gaped at each other like fish struggling to breathe air, completely out of our element as we tried to comprehend how old Sal was. I felt a nervous giggle building, and tried to hold it in, but Sal looked at me curiously.
“How is that funny?”
“Oh, it’s n-not. Tr-trust me.” I settled for a sheepish grin as I tried to get a grip. “What’s funny is I thought you were too young for me.” I meant to be flippant, but his custom-designed face lit with a gleaming smile.
Good God, Lila. Don’t you have more important things to think about? And he’s an alien!
I shifted in my seat and looked out the side window again. Which was worse? Embarrassing yourself or having your own psyche rub it in?
Eileen groaned. “You don’t like blond men, remember?”
Oh, that’s much worse, thanks.
“Eileen, you were asking about Servants,” Sal reminded. “They are alive, and I comprehend how you perceive our use of them as an injustice, but you may also be interested to know that they are not ‘people’. My kind or your kind. We created an entirely new species.” He smiled at her in the mirror, and I thought of Adam’s easygoing kindness. He must’ve been so worried when we were cut off . . . and then didn’t answer the other line! What if he drove over to check on us? Or called the police? Sal had promised he’d be okay . . . but what about Cara?
We were almost to the Burgaw exit off I-40 and
