Alt.History 101 (Alt.Chronicles) Page 4

  The door to his bedchamber opened after the most perfunctory of knocks, and through it stepped the good Sister with his nightly warm drink. As always, she averted her eyes, as if the sight of the Pope in bed was a little too intimate for her conservative tastes. Nevertheless, when he greeted her, her smile was warm and true.

  Though the Sister would never have peeked at his sermon, he turned the paper over in his lap as discreetly as he could manage to anyway. Even doing that made him feel uneasy and he hoped she didn’t notice. He didn’t want to make her feel as if she had done anything to lose his trust.

  She slipped the silver tray onto the table placed next to his bed for just this purpose and poured his evening cup. As she did, the fragrance of the herbal tea wafted up with the little wisps of steam. Almost immediately, the tea began to work at soothing his nerves with its mellow, yet somehow herbaceous, scent. For reasons he didn’t know, the smell of this particular tea always made him think of sunny days at the cusp of summer in the fields near his boyhood home. Perhaps that was why he had made it his habit to drink it before bed. Perhaps he hoped to bring dreams of being young in summer, made all the more enjoyable because he viewed those dreams with a mind old enough to appreciate it.

  After asking if he needed anything further and receiving his answer, the Sister bid the Pope goodnight. The Holy Father waited until the door closed behind her before returning to his papers, his finger still resting at the point he had last read. After a moment, another scratch of his pen sounded out in the silence as he changed another word.

  His sigh was loud in the quiet, cavernous space and he paused to look around at his room and rest his tired eyes. The history that decorated his walls, even the floor under his bed, awed him still. After only thirty-three days as Pope, it was understandable that he might still be less than comfortable. It wasn’t just that, though. To him, there was something unseemly about so much of such immense value in one place. And to have it in a place where only he could truly enjoy it, well, that made it worse. He pursed his lips as his eyes fell onto a particularly ostentatious ornament, and he resolved again that he would see about rotating more of the treasures of this palace through the public museums.

  The smell of the tea brought him back from his reverie and he reached for the cup, bouncing over to the side of his mattress in a manner more suited to a small boy than an elderly man. His sermon in one hand and clutching the pillow he used as his reading desk, he reached awkwardly with his free hand for the cup. His fingers just missed and his hard lean slipped a little, jerking his arm.

  He tipped the silver tray.

  A small sound of dismay escaped him as the cup, silver pot, lid, and tray somersaulted off his table and onto the carpet. He leaned over the side of his mattress and examined the pale brownish swath of tea.

  To no one he said, “Well, at least it was only herbal tea. I wonder if chamomile stains.”

  Rather than ring the bell and bring the sister back up—she was no doubt on her way to bed—he rose from his bed, gathered towels from his bathing room and blotted up the tea, bouncing on his slipper-clad toes to force more liquid up from the carpet and into the towels. At least the carpet was a dark colored one, plain and modern, no different from any other carpet.

  The overly-fancy one that had lain there until he took over this chamber had made him nervous. He had found himself taking off his slippers and tip-toeing across it rather use it as it was intended. As he pressed the tea spot and looked at the wet blotches growing on the towel beneath his slippers, he was glad that he had asked for the plain rug when he did.

  “All things happen for a reason,” he said, this time most certainly speaking to God.

  Clean-up completed, he sighed again, climbed back into bed and took up his sermon once more. Reading the words, he finally felt they were just as they should be. This would be a change—a big change—but he felt certain he was right. He had examined his soul for the reasons behind his conviction, tested himself to be sure that it didn’t stem from some selfish impulse. And he felt that same sense of serenity he always felt when he made a choice he felt God would approve of—or at least not be displeased with. He had not wanted to be Pope, had begged not to be chosen, but they had chosen him and God must have a reason for it. Perhaps this was that reason.

  And it was time.

  Rumors were already spreading around the halls of the Vatican, anger and fear stalking the rooms and the people within. Not just about this, but also about the irregularities at the Vatican Bank, and other unseemly things the Holy Father fully intended to get to the bottom of. But this—this one important but straightforward thing—he could give guidance on and smooth away all the uncertainty involved in it. Would there be resistance? Yes, but in the end, he knew that it would be worth it.

  Into the silent room, scented by the spilt chamomile tea of boyhood summer days, he read from his sermon, “Did not God create all life? We accept that the gift of life is a sacred one that we must treasure even as God does. A baby has been born in the United Kingdom, a girl child who would not have been born if not for this new science. But she exists by the will of God. It is through this science, this amazing advance called in-vitro fertilization, that God chose to bring this child to life. She is loved by God and so she should be loved by us all. No matter how life comes into the world, God is the originator and force through which it arrives. There are those that claim such a child can have no soul, that she was not truly born of mankind, but this cannot be true. It is ignorance and fear that creates such words and there is nothing found in God’s testimony that espouses such willful ignorance. And so I give a new duty to those who live in the faith—in any faith that will listen and hear—love all children that come into this world, and bless the science that brings them, for science is the tool of our God, who loves all things and rejoices at all new life.”

  Pope John Paul the First smiled and felt in his heart that this was right. There was more words yet to be adjusted, but these most difficult words in his sermon were done. He clicked off his bedside light, settled down at the edge of his enormous bed—a habit born of decades spent sleeping on the narrow cot of a priest. He slept deeply and well.

  * * *

  Rather than find the pope deceased the next morning as happened in the history we know, Pope John Paul the First delivered one of the most profoundly impactful sermons in history that day. With his words of acceptance and love, he ushered in what came to be known as the Age of Birth.

  Laws that might have limited reproductive research were never enacted, support for those laws never building within the populace. Hysteria was averted and replaced with curiosity. Cultures that might not have accepted those born through new technology felt differently, even if only grudgingly at first. Barriers to research fell away and sponsorships flowed toward research on stem cells, reproductive cell generation, and genetic healing.

  Pope John Paul the First served the church for a further 23 years, and passed quietly into death shortly after ushering the Catholic Church into a new millennia. He left the church body with a renewed faith and changed the entire character of Catholicism, creating a forward looking and science-friendly church and membership that grew even as other faiths waned. He was beatified on 14 March 2002.

  Two Hundred Years Later - September 2178

  “Eldora, you cannot do this!” said Plumeria, Eldora’s mother. “It is an abomination!”

  With a dramatic roll of her eyes and an exasperated sigh, Eldora tried to pull one final cup of patience from some deep and hitherto unknown well inside her. It wasn’t working.

  “How can it be an abomination? For thousands of years—no, hundreds of thousands and millions of years—it was the way all children were born. Why should it be so wrong now?”

  Plumeria looked at her daughter as if she had never seen her before and it hurt. Though only fifty, and a good-looking fifty at that, to Eldora it looked as if her mother had suddenly been stricken with some rapid aging disease. The lines betwe
en her brows were deep and confused, and the corners of her mouth pulled down in a frown that displayed a network of tiny lines around her pursed lips. Eldora didn’t want to be the cause of such a thing, but she also knew she was right. She trusted that she would be able to lead her mother toward seeing things her way as well.

  As the silence between them lengthened, Eldora tried a different tact. “I want to experience the joy of it, Mother. That’s all. You’ve always wanted me to be happy. Isn’t that what you said as I grew up? That you didn’t care what I did so long as it made me happy?”

  “I meant your choice of future career, not law-breaking or dangerous foolishness like this and you know it!” Plumeria snapped, her voice as hard as her expression. “Do you have any idea how many laws you would be breaking if you did this? Shall we count them? Unregulated conception, avoiding sex selection requirements, genetic screening, and repair regulations are just a few to get started! And how could you even do such a thing? I was a good mother. You’ve had your Withering like everyone else. Your chemistry has been perfectly regulated.”

  At those final words, Eldora’s hands unconsciously went to her trim, well-within-regulation belly, her fingers splayed as if to protect herself from a blow. She didn’t realize she did it, but her mother caught the motion and within a few seconds, she also caught the meaning of it.

  “No! You’ve done it? How?” she gasped, eyes riveted to her daughter’s belly. She backed away a half-step, distancing herself from whatever might be residing inside the daughter she had done her best to raise well.

  Eldora reached out and clasped her mother to her before she could back away any further, hugging her tightly as if to get through some barrier suddenly thrown between them. She felt her mother flinch, bending her spine to avoid contact with Eldora’s belly. It struck her as deeply and painfully as a blade.

  “Mother, all is well. I promise you. Be calm. Just listen,” she whispered into her mother’s ear, trying to persuade her.

  It was more than simply wanting the support of family, it was fear that urged Eldora onward. Her husband, Michael, hadn’t wanted to tell anyone about it, not even her mother. Like everyone else who went beyond the law like this, he had wanted to disappear for a year into one of the few countries where they could be harbored safely. In those places, all the papers required to prove their new infant’s legality could be manufactured for a price. After a year abroad, they could return with no one the wiser.

  Like almost everyone else, his work could be done remotely from anywhere in the world. As an artist, Eldora was similarly free. No one would think anything of their decision to roam far from home for a year or more. Many couples did so. And it would be safer to simply go.

  Eldora’s confidence in her ability to sway her mother onto their side was why she had stayed these extra days. It was why, even now, her hormone levels were changing, the evidence of their crime already eleven days old, the cells merrily dividing and soon to form the shape of her baby.

  But this reaction was not what Eldora had envisioned. And now the fear she had refused to feel before grew inside her. What if her mother did turn her in? What would they do if she did? And even if she didn’t, what would happen if her mother would not accept this child?

  “Mother, please,” Eldora whispered, still holding fast to her mother, refusing to allow the hug to end.

  At last, Plumeria pushed her daughter away, but not harshly. It was gentle, but no less firm for its gentleness. Eldora allowed it, her hands falling back to her sides. Her mother wiped her nose with the back of her hand and when she lifted her head again, Eldora saw her tear-dampened lashes and brimming eyes.

  But what did that mean? Sorrow and acceptance? Or did those tears mean sorrow because she did not accept?

  Plumeria wiped her hands down the sides of her pants as if ridding herself of some contamination. At least her voice was calm when she spoke.

  “Eldora, I don’t understand. How could you have even done this thing? And you have done it, yes?”

  The question gave Eldora a bit of courage. If her mother was asking about the mechanics of what she had done, perhaps she was already accepting the idea of it. She smiled, put her hands on her belly again, already so deeply in love with the tiny cluster of cells inside her that her mind had created for it an entire future, complete with happiness and love enough for a world of children.

  “If you mean the Withering, I had it reversed.” Eldora’s expression shifted, wanting to share the wonder of what she had been experiencing. So far, only Michael knew and there were just some details she didn’t share with him. Her voice softened when she said, “I’ve had a natural cycle for three months. It’s such a joy!”

  Whether she had expected her mother to ask her questions out of true curiosity or perhaps share in the wonder of it, she did not expect her mother to turn away, a look of distaste thinning her lips. She wouldn’t meet her daughter’s eyes when she asked, “And Michael? Did you have him reversed as well?”

  The way the question was asked, as if Eldora were somehow utterly in control of the situation, sparked a tiny surge of annoyance in her. “No. Michael chose to have himself partially reversed. Once we…well, now that we know...he can have it redone. By the time he has his next medical check, no one will be able to tell anything was done.”

  “And your physical?”

  “I have that under control,” Eldora responded.

  Here was territory she could not venture into. There was the safety of others to consider. From the technician who performed the reversals and re-Withers, to the small cadre of doctors who faked physicals, to the volunteers who stamped travel documents, to the Life Bureau employees who back-dated sex selection or conception authorizations, to the many others whose contacts eased the way for a couple’s return with their new child; all of them needed protection as well.

  The network was vast, but no one knew all the details. Each link in the chain knew the next link and no further. She had a duty to them, and to all the people like her who would need that network in the future. She owed it to the children who would come from the risks taken by all those generous people.

  In the quiet of the room, Plumeria’s sigh was loud and long. Finally, she raised her gaze to meet her daughter’s. Eldora smiled at her with hope in her eyes.

  Her mother’s glance darted again to her daughter’s middle and then back up. She asked, “And the child?”

  “I don’t know yet. It’s been only a few days,” Eldora answered.

  Under normal circumstances, she would know everything about her future child long before it was ever implanted into the artificial womb that would carry it to term. Not just the sex and health, but also tendencies, what he or she would look like—even whether it would inherit her curls or the reddish highlights that shone from Michael’s brown hair in bright sunlight. She would have known what genetic repairs were needed and what had been done to repair them. She would know everything that could be known.

  She knew nothing of the child inside her. It was a glorious mystery.

  Plumeria very obviously didn’t share her enthusiasm for such a mystery. Aghast, she asked, “Nothing? It could be a monster! Or burdened with any number of defects!” She hugged her arms to her chest, her shock at these revelations turning into something else. The anger on her face was so clear that Eldora could not have mistaken it even if she were blind.

  “Mother, I’m healthy and so is Michael. There’s no reason to think that anything will be wrong with the child. No reason whatsoever,” she soothed, hoping to erase some of that anger.

  Plumeria waved her hand as if brushing away something ugly and said, “I can’t talk about this anymore. You’ve robbed me of all the joys of being a grandparent with your selfishness!”

  That surprised Eldora. She hadn’t considered that part of it. If they traveled, as many couples did, then her mother would have missed the gestation anyway. Wouldn’t she?

  “That’s not fair at all. I’ve robbed you of nothi
ng. We were planning on traveling anyway. How could I take anything from you if you wouldn’t have been there anyway?”

  Plumeria pursed her lips and her gaze felt like twin lasers ready to burn Eldora to cinders. It took a great deal of effort not to finch.

  “It wouldn’t have mattered where you went, I would have come for the gestation. I’ve saved up enough travel credits that I could come.” She threw her hands up in exasperation and her eyes grew shiny when she said, “It would have been no different than I did with your sister’s boy. I would have gone and read to the child, sat near the BIRT chamber at least once a week, watched it grow and move. I would have been there for him or her.” She seemed to give up then, her head turned away in sadness at her lost opportunities.

  Eldora tried to understand, but to her, the birth of her nephew had only confirmed her opinion that this was not the way she wanted to bring her child into the world. Watching the baby grow—from the day when his BIRT chamber began to display the tiny bean-like mass, to the day when the chemistry was right for taking the baby out—Eldora had grown ever more appalled by the process. People cooing over a metal chamber and a video screen, the glugging noises of the liquids traveling through hoses, the long rows of other BIRT chambers in the cold Birthing Center. The very thing her mother most mourned the loss of was the very thing Eldora didn’t want at all.

  “Mother, give me your hand,” Eldora said gently, holding out her own hand. Plumeria glanced up with some suspicion, but placed her hand into her daughter’s nonetheless. When Eldora brought her mother’s hand toward her belly, Plumeria almost snatched it back, but in the end, she let her daughter place it there.

  “You can still do some of those things. He or she is right here, right now. This is the way you’re meeting your new grandchild. It’s up to you how that meeting will go,” Eldora said hopefully.