Beyond the Twisted Ring

By Charles Rocha

Kathleen One was hatched as K-1, the first synthetic human (synth) designed and grown in a laboratory with completely synthesized DNA. For next eleven years Kathleen lived in the closed environment of the lab while assisting her protective creator in the design and creation of later series of synths used in space flight. Then one day her creator is inadvertently killed in a terrorist attack on the lab, and Kathleen is forced into the mysterious world of humans for the first time. Bereft of her beloved creator, she reluctantly begins a quixotic spiritual journey while aiding Robert One, a later-generation synth who had escaped from the lab. As Kathleen’s flawed synth body sickens and would-be captors close in, she is haunted by one unsettled question: Do I have a soul? One day, quite unexpectedly, she receives an answer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charles Rocha
• Release date: Aug 27, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370140817

Charles Rocha

Charles Rocha is a graduate of Central Washington University in Ellensburg, Washington, with a B.A. in English and an M.A. in British Literature. Currently he works as an ESL instructor in the city of Dnipro, Ukraine. He has had stories and essays published in small journals and online story websites.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Deoxyribonucleic acid, or DNA, composes the blueprint of life. The presence of this molecule within organic material is both the cause and symptom of life on Earth. The physical form of this molecule is a double helix―a Twisted Ring.

An urgent warning alarm filled the dimly lit womb chamber. Chief Genetic Designer Dr. Benjamin Lowell and his partner, Dr. Louis Carmichael, quickly surveyed the two figures suspended inside the great glass womb at the center of the chamber. Something had gone wrong, and only one of the two traces on the heart rate monitor still fluttered with life signs.

Benjamin pressed a few keys at the terminal. K-2 is dead. Low oxygen blood saturation. Looks like anoxia. K-1’s vital signs are abnormal. She’s in distress.

Louis scanned the life-sustaining machinery crowded into the room. There must be an equipment malfunction. It could be anywhere.

Benjamin grasped the lever marked EMERGENCY RELEASE.

Ben, what are you doing?

If we don’t birth K-1 now, we’ll have lost them both.

She’ll be premature.

I know. But what choice do we have?

Benjamin pulled the lever. The egg-shaped womb split open like a tulip unfolding in bloom. Thick, yellow amniotic fluid tinged with blood flooded out of the womb onto the floor. Benjamin waded into the fluid and yanked the young girl’s umbilical cord from the machinery that fed her nutrients. Dark red blood flowed from the severed end of the fleshy cord as he hurriedly tied it into a knot. Louis reached in, and together they lifted her from the crystal womb that had held her and her fraternal twin for the last year and a half. Benjamin and Louis carried her to the lab and placed her onto an awaiting gurney. Her skin had taken on a deep bluish cast from lack of oxygen. She was dying.

Benjamin moved her long, chestnut-colored hair away from her face and wiped off some of the fluid that covered her nose and mouth. He listened for her breathing while Louis felt for a pulse.

She’s not breathing, Benjamin said.

He raised her torso and squeezed her hard to force fluid from her lungs. A small amount of the thick liquid trickled from her nose and mouth.

Come on, baby—breathe for me!

He squeezed her again. More fluid seeped from her lungs. Still, the synthetic girl did not breathe.

Louis pressed her neck again. No pulse.

They laid her back onto the gurney. Benjamin placed the respirator mask over her mouth while Louis rhythmically pressed on her chest in an effort to restart her heart. Benjamin squeezed the rubber bulb on the respirator, but her chest did not rise. He tried a few more times.

Damn it! Benjamin said, tossing away the respirator.

Louis felt again for a pulse. Got her heart back. You’d better think of something quick.

Benjamin stared into the dying synth’s face. He was determined to not lose her. The code was right—it had to be. His computer-designed genetic code must live. Benjamin tilted the synth’s head back to clear her airway as best as could be done. He took a deep breath, pressed his mouth against hers, and exhaled deeply into her body. Her naked chest swelled as his breath inflated her lungs. He released her from his life-giving kiss. Her chest deflated and remained still.

We’re losing her again, Louis said, feeling her pulse.

Benjamin grasped her by the arms. God, let her live, he prayed.

Her eyelids fluttered.

Benjamin looked up at Louis. Did you see that?

Suddenly, her body arched tensely, and she made a guttural, choking sound. Her chest gave a mighty leave and a torrent of amniotic fluid flowed from her nose and mouth. She began flailing her arms and legs spasmodically. Benjamin tried holding her down, but she kept slipping from his grasp.

Help me out, Louis!

I’m trying—but she’s damn strong!

As the two men struggled to restrain her, the synth choked and coughed her first breaths into her new lungs. Gradually, her breathing steadied and she stopped writhing. The bluish tinge of her skin dissolved to milky-white. Cautiously, Benjamin and Louis released her. She opened her eyes and gazed drunk-like into the harsh fluorescent light of her surroundings.

Louis looked at Benjamin with an expression of awe. You’ve done it!

Benjamin ran his hand over her skin still slippery with the fluid. In only two years, her body had grown from an embryo to that of a teenage girl. He pressed on the dense, extra-efficient muscle tissue in her limbs. He noted the proper formation of her bones, the symmetry of her hands, the overall proportions of her body, even the shape of her slightly upturned, feminine nose. She was a work of art. And that was his intention. He plucked the new flesh on her slim thighs. Perfect, he said finally. She’s still got some growing to do, but she’s perfect.

Louis stood up. I’ll guess I’ll find something for her to wear.

Thanks.

Benjamin saw that his creation was now breathing easier. First, he felt the pulse in her neck. Slow, strong, and steady. Next, he checked the pupils of her green eyes for proper response. Normal. This was a fair preliminary indication that she did not suffer brain damage from the lack of oxygen endured. Tenderly, he dabbed away the thick fluid way from her face, noting her weary, dazed expression as she stared up at him.

You know, I never gave you a name, he said to her. After all the failures we’ve had, I was afraid to jinx you. He paused, giving her a thoughtful look. I suppose we’ll call you Kathleen. I’ve always liked that name. Welcome to the world, Kathleen One.

* * *

Eleven years later…

Silver nitrate, please, Benjamin said to his assistant as he peered into the neutrino microscope.

Kathleen One filled the pipette placed it into his outstretched hand. Without looking away from the eyepiece of the scope, Benjamin put a drop of the solution into the fixture that held the computer-generated DNA he had modified that morning. Benjamin readjusted the focus beam on the scope with a self-satisfied grin.

You’ve done some good work here, he said to her. The strands you modified have combined nicely.

Kathleen smiled. Benjamin did not notice her expression but kept his eyes glued to the eyepiece.

Blue eyes, Benjamin warbled shamelessly, remembering an old Elton John song. Baby’s-got-blue-eyes.

Anticipating his need, Kathleen removed the silver nitrate solution from his hand. Benjamin broke away from the eyepiece and jotted judicious notes into his lab book. The T-series genes were nearly complete, the errors of the previous series fixed, the product improved.

I think we’re about ready to generate viable tissue from this batch, he said.

The telephone at the desk rang. He picked it up.

Hello?

It was Louis. Our distinguished guests have arrived in the lobby.

Hallelujah! I’m having Robert and Rebecca meet us in the A/V ROOM. We’re going to put on a show for them.

You sure you want to do that, Ben? he asked. There’s a lot riding on how well we impress these people.

You know what, Lou? You worry too much.

Just don’t let them screw it up. I’ve got to go.

I’ll be out there in a moment.

Benjamin hung up the phone and stood up. Finish this up, Kathleen. It’s show time.

Reverend Barker of the New Moral Majority signed the guest log at the Synergenetics lobby desk. He was a short, uptight-looking man wearing a neatly pressed, khaki uniform with the cross-and-lightning-bolt patch emblazoned on his upper sleeve. An air of brazen import and reckless conviction hung over him as he signed with an exaggerated scrawl. Pastor Halliday, representing the First Presbyterian Church of Albuquerque, was a large man dressed in somber gray. He wore a delicate pair of wire-frame glasses high on the bridge of his nose. A mane of shoulder-length salt and pepper hair rested on his shoulders. The hair blended tastefully with his gray suit. He signed the guest log with bold, confident, vertical strokes.

There were seven guests in all. The desk guard had just finished collecting their cameras for security reasons when Benjamin arrived in the lobby, where Louis was already waiting. The thick tension in the air edged up a degree when Benjamin approached them. Benjamin spotted a brown, leather-bound Bible peeking out from under Reverend Barker’s clamped armpit. Although the presence of the Bible did not surprise Benjamin, he suspected that the Reverend Barker would account for a fair share of trouble that day. Benjamin let Louis handle the introductions.

Welcome to Synergenetics, Pastor Halliday, Louis beamed. We are glad you could take the time to visit us. We have quite a tour lined up for you and your guests.

The pastor cleared his throat. Dr. Carmichael, he began in a controlled voice, "Although we are flattered that you’ve taken it upon yourselves to invite us to your facility, I must remind you that the purpose of our visit is to explore the application of a moral precept."

Reverend Barker spoke up with his southern accent. In other words, we think you’re playing the part of the Holy Creator by growing people in a laboratory.

We are not playing God, Benjamin countered. We are merely using the mind that God bestowed upon us to manipulate matter.

No, you are playing God.

Pastor Halliday gave Benjamin and the reverend a stern look. That is what we are here to decide.

Come this way, Louis beckoned, discounting the exchange between Benjamin and Reverend Barker.

Two of Benjamin’s R-series synths, Robert Three and Rebecca Four, waited in the lab just as Benjamin had instructed them: incognito with blue lab coats covering their jumpsuits. They watched passively as Benjamin, Louis and their guests filed into the lab. Clearly, the pastor and his entourage did not recognize Robert and Rebecca as the synths they were. Benjamin led the group to a table where Kathleen sat demurely in her white lab coat before the neutrino microscope.

It all begins here. This is where we create the raw DNA molecule that makes up the chromosome, Benjamin said. The components of the molecule are suspended in a loosely-bonded solution we call the slurry. This slurry is spread on a slide and the individual atoms are plucked from it using an ionized neutron beam. Ultimately, this gives us strands of raw DNA. Later, a computer-driven gene encoder joins the strands into complex strings according to our design. These strings become the chromosomes needed to grow a complete, living organism.

Where does the slurry come from? Pastor Halliday asked.

We synthesize it in the lab from inorganic species of molecules. Benjamin gave a detailed description of the process from a geneticist’s point of view. When he finished, he was met by a lab full of perplexed stares. He thought that perhaps he needed to tone down his explanations. He tried again. It is preferable to construct our own DNA rather than use preexisting DNA as used in the growth of replacement human organs. By using this ground-up approach, we are able to keep a blueprint file on each batch of genetic code and are able to more accurately document the effects of strand modification on cell function and replication.

The pastor and his entourage nodded in tenuous understanding. An older gentleman spoke up from the near the back of the group. Sounds like you’re reinventing the wheel. Wouldn’t it be easier just to use human DNA?

Benjamin spoke first. Easier? Not really. Early on, we found that only a small percentage of the human genome is needed to create a normal, healthy human being. The remainder is unnecessary and sometimes detrimental. This remainder, interspersed at random spots throughout the twenty-three pairs of human chromosomes, is the genetic code responsible for a variety of human ailments from hereditary cancer to the aging process. We found it very difficult and time-consuming to root out this aberrant code from human chromosomes. In some of our prototypes, however, we did map and use some human code in determining the anatomy of hands and critical areas such as eye structures. Our later synths are derived completely from computer-aided-design genetic code.

Benjamin led the entourage over to the neutrino microscope. Kathleen moved aside to allow them access.

Ah, yes, he said peering inside the eyepiece. What my assistant, Kathleen, is doing here is examining part of a chromosome that will be used in our forthcoming T-series. Have a look.

The members of the pastor’s entourage took turns peering into the microscope.

Benjamin continued. What you are looking at is an actual DNA molecule, which is really nothing more than a very long twisted ring composed of amino acids. Yet it’s the blueprint of all life on Earth.

How do you make the DNA grow into a synth? someone asked.

Excellent question, Benjamin replied. When the DNA molecule is complete, we place it into a protein sack and inject it into an artificially prepared ‘designer’ protoplasm. The DNA becomes the nucleus. Then after passing a minute electrical current through the newly formed cell, the cell begins to function and reproduce according to the instructions encoded into the DNA.

Pastor Halliday peered into the neutrino microscope. Amazing, he breathed. He looked up at Kathleen. I’ll bet you enjoy working here.

I thought we were going to meet synths, Reverend Barker said impatiently. Where are the synths?

You will meet the synths in due time, Louis answered.

Benjamin led the entourage to a clean room where he handed everyone surgical masks, hairnets, gloves, sterile slippers, and light-blue lab smocks. Before we enter the growth chamber, you must wear these. Any microorganisms introduced into its environment could cause a pre-natal infection.

After everyone had finished donning the surgical garb, they passed through a glass door into a room lit with blood-red light. The warm, heavy, humid air of the room was filled with the hum of machinery and pure oxygen bubbling through surrogate nutrient fluid. At the center of the room, positioned like an altar in a circular cathedral, stood a crystal globe seven feet in diameter. Suspended in clear amniotic fluid within the globe was what looked like a nude, adolescent boy and girl locked in an embrace of love. Their long hair floated weightlessly around their heads like gold halos. Umbilical cords the diameter of a thick rope connected them to the machinery outside the globe. Somewhere, within the wells of machinery, twin heart monitors beeped in slow, steady rhythm, often in sync.

The group stared up at the magnificent sphere in awe. Good Lord, they have children in there, a female guest said.

What’s wrong with them? someone else muttered.

Kathleen quietly entered the room after the guests. She stood against the back wall and slipped a salt tablet into her mouth. Often, when she replenished the nutrients in the yolk sack, like their guests, she would find herself staring at the globe in admiration of her creator’s work. She often pondered the concept that at one time, she and her still-birthed brother also grew there and were eventually decanted from the very same glass womb. Her birthing process eleven years back was only a mercifully dim memory, the only part of her memory that always remained cloaked in shadow.

Benjamin stepped between the crowd and the sphere. May I introduce to you Solomon and Sariah, our latest series of synths. They’re the product of over a decade of research.

They look human, Pastor Halliday breathed.

Of course they do. We don’t create monsters here.

Are they alive? a woman guest asked.

Yes. The nutrients and oxygen are fed to the fetuses through an umbilical connection. Waste products are likewise removed through a patented system of osmosis which allows us to create a biological graft between the fleshy umbilical cord and the machinery. Benjamin explained in detail how the synths drew their nourishment from the machinery. He rested his hand against a blue IBM microcomputer the size of a refrigerator. This is the computer we call Mother. It’s Mother’s job to monitor the synths in the womb to make sure that the oxygen and nutrient supplies remain constant. Mother also monitor’s the life signs of the neonate synths. If an aberration is detected in the life signs of the neonates, Mother is programmed to alert us through pagers so that we may handle the emergency as quickly as it occurs. In short, the machinery in this room performs all biological functions of a living, human mother.

But these are not babies, they look like children, almost teenagers, the woman guest said.

"Biologically speaking, they are teenagers, although chronologically, they are only a little over a year old, Benjamin explained. We have designed the process so that when growth is completed, the result is a mature adult rather than an infant."

But the mind is that of a child’s. Right?

Yes, they do at the time of birthing. But with over twice the neural connections of the average human, they learn and mature incredibly fast. Our synths are able to learn in six months what it takes humans to learn in ten years. Their motor control skills are likewise fine-tuned to that which exceeds human capability. Benjamin scanned the faces of those in the entourage. All displayed a look of awe. Satisfied with their reactions, he continued. Our improvements didn’t stop with the brain. We also gave our synths higher body strength, better resistance to disease, better hearing and eyesight, a more efficient metabolism, concave-blood platelets, and the ability to enter cold sleep hibernation for long years of space travel. Benjamin smiled proudly behind his surgical mask. My synths are superior to humans in every significant sense.

"Did you say concave-shaped blood platelets?" an older, distinguished looking man asked.

Yes. These are platelets designed after those found in creatures native to the high altitudes of the Andes where the atmosphere is thin. They confer a lower oxygen requirement. You see, a concave shape allows the oxygen-carrying platelets to stack within the blood vessels like soup bowls in a kitchen cupboard. This allows more platelets to exist within the bloodstream. And with more platelets in the bloodstream, an organism is better able to thrive in a thin oxygen-poor atmosphere such as found on Mars. By using concave platelets, we have increased the concentration of hemoglobin to over five times the amount found in humans. This additional hemoglobin also helps the synth to survive extended periods of hibernation. Benjamin scanned his guests. Any more questions?

No one ventured another question. Instead, there was a profound silence among the group members, the quietude filled only by the hum of the machinery and regular beeps from the heartbeat monitors.

Good, Benjamin stated jovially. Now come with me. I have a few synths I’d like you to meet.

The crowd followed Benjamin out of lab. Pastor Halliday lingered behind. When the room had vacated, Kathleen watched him from the shadows. He did not seem to know that she was present in the room. Slowly, as if in a trance, he walked up to the crystal bubble that suspended Solomon and Sariah in their blissful sleep. Softly, he put his hand to the glass and felt it, the way a father might feel the belly of his pregnant wife. Suddenly, he withdrew his hand, shaking his head as if not completely comprehending nor believing what he saw.

He turned to leave the room but stopped short when he saw Kathleen watching him from the back of the room. He stared at her, his face a deep crimson in the red light. He seemed to be searching for words to explain the moment of candor she had witnessed. But no words came, and he quickly exited the chamber.

Benjamin and Louis led the crowd to the Audio/Video room where the Q- and R-series synths waited for them. The reverend and his entourage seated themselves in the plush sofas arranged in an arc around a piano and some weights. Benjamin closed the door and addressed the group with Robert and Rebecca to his left, and Quentin and Querinda to his right. He rested a hand affectionately on Robert and Querinda’s shoulders.

Benjamin introduced the four of them by name without identifying them as synths. My associates here will now describe to you the procedure used to program a synth just birthed from the growth chamber.

A low muttering issued from the crowd when they saw similar appearances of Robert and Quentin, and Rebecca and Querinda.

Robert began, When a synth is birthed from the growth chamber, although physically a mature adult, emotionally and intellectually, he or she is an infant. Programming begins soon after birth with habilitation therapy similar to what is given to humans recovering from a disabling accident. Since a synth is superior to ordinary humans in neural coordination and intelligence, the learning curve can be very steep, and in only a matter of days, a neonate synth is able to walk and feed him or herself without aid.

Rebecca took up the lecture, "Soon afterward, language training begins using both pre-recorded lessons and a human instructor. The proper affect and emotional reaction to external stimuli of the synth is shaped using Chevyekov behavioral modification techniques specially adapted for personality formation. After the mainframe personality is developed, behavior modification is ceased and the emotional development evolves through learning and observation of ordinary—"

The door to the A/V room opened. Kathleen stepped in. Rebecca halted her discourse and stared at her with a look of impudence. With all eyes upon her, she meekly took a seat on a chair closest to the door. Rebecca scowled at her then continued her speech. She had just resumed when Reverend Barker raised his hand.

Rebecca paused. Do you have a question? she asked, the tone of her voice betraying her annoyance with the interruption.

Reverend Barker stood up. Yes, I have a question. Are you a synth?

Rebecca gave Reverend Barker a saccharine smile. She turned her head mechanically toward Benjamin. Benjamin nodded. The gig was up. Rebecca turned back to the reverend.

Yes, I am, Reverend, she said in an even, icy tone. I am a flesh-and-blood synth.

I knew it! Reverend Barker exclaimed. And so is he, he said, pointing at Robert. All four of them are.

The four synths gave no visible sign of reaction.

Gentlemen and ladies, Benjamin said. May I introduce to you, the Q- and R-series, Quentin, Querinda, Robert and Rebecca, my latest completed projects.

What sort of joke is this? Pastor Halliday asked Benjamin. Some of them were with us back at the lab. Why didn’t you tell us they were synths?

I wanted to see if you could tell a synth from the real thing.

I don’t see your point.

The point is that these beings you see before you are not lab oddities, but flesh and blood works of art, not to be hated and feared, but used to further the causes of humanity. That’s why we called you here. Benjamin turned to Robert. The weights.

Robert broke away from Benjamin and walked over to the end of the sofas. Everyone moved to watch. On the floor were two barbells, each one overloaded with two hundred pounds. Robert knelt between them. He grasped one in either arm, and without so much as a grunt, lifted the barbells above his head. The crowd gasped. Robert held the barbell stone steady for about ten seconds then slowly lowered them toward the floor, letting them drop the last six inches. They landed with a heavy clank.

Four hundred pounds, Benjamin beamed to the spectators.

Incredible, the pastor gasped.

Very good, Robert, Benjamin said. Pastor Halliday, give me any four single-digit numbers.

Seven-four-five-six, he replied.

Robert, what is the square root of seven-thousand, four-hundred, fifty-six?

Eighty-six point three, four, eight, one, three, two, five, he answered without pause. It’s an irrational number.

Benjamin smiled, proud of his creation. Good, Robert. Now tell me—what is the atomic weight of iron?

Fifty-five point eight four seven.

The atomic weight of sulfur?

Fourteen point four.

The melting temperature for titanium?

One-thousand nine-hundred forty-six degrees KELVIN.

Benjamin spoke to his guests amidst their gasps. My good friends, Robert celebrated his first birthday last week. Did any of you do this well in all your years of schooling? He scanned the amazed expressions on the faces of his guests. Robert’s effect on them was greater than he had anticipated. Benjamin nodded to Louis. Louis returned his nod, smiling broadly, obviously enjoying himself. Everything was running like clockwork. Kathleen sat quietly in a chair by the door. Feeling suddenly inadequate in the light of perfection on display, she was glad Benjamin hadn’t asked her to join the show.

Benjamin called to Rebecca, who had slipped out of her blue lab coat to reveal a tight-fitting yellow jumpsuit she wore beneath. In a blur of movement, she tumbled and cart wheeled to Benjamin from the far corner of the room with the fluidity and grace of a gold-medal gymnast. She landed squarely in front of Benjamin, suddenly motionless, facing him. She stared intently into his eyes. A smug smile appeared on her lips as she waited for his next command.

The piano, he said to her.

With coquettish, almost exaggerated grace, she sauntered over to an ebony baby-grand piano positioned in the corner of the room next to the bookcase. She sat on the bench and looked up at Benjamin. What shall I play?

Ask our guests, Benjamin replied. Reverend Barker, do you have a request?

The reverend shook his head, seemingly startled, or insulted, that he had been asked.

How about you, Pastor. Do you have a request?

"Yes, as a matter of fact I do. Does she know Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata?"

Benjamin raised his eyebrows in amusement. It seemed an unusual request for a man of the church. Still, Rebecca knew the piece. She had heard a splendid rendition of it once before played by none other than Zekorsky. Benjamin nodded for her to begin.

Rebecca closed her eyes and let her fingers dance upon the ivory keys of the piano. The delicate sonata floated from the instrument like a soft, midnight breeze, each note unfolding in exquisite loveliness like the blooming petals of fragrant flowers. The guests listened in rapt silence.

Pastor Halliday seemed the most moved by the poignantly played piece. As the notes wafted into the air, he stepped over to the piano and knelt, his hand resting on the edge of the instrument. He closed his eyes, and for the moment, was no longer in the room with them, but in a private world created by the notes Rebecca played.

Kathleen listened from the back of the room. She too, closed her eyes. She let each soft, gentle note flow through her. She sorely wished she had taken time to learn the piano.

After the music had ended, the onlookers remained quiet, motionless, too awestruck to clap, and none desiring to do so, fearing to disturb the lovely tune that still seemed to linger in the air.

Benjamin broke the silence. Beautiful, Rebecca. Beautiful. By the way, Rebecca is exactly the same age as Robert. That is, 1.5 years.

Just because she can play the piano doesn’t mean she has a soul, Reverend Barker barked, chasing away the last vestiges of the serenade.

Of course she doesn’t have a soul, Benjamin answered, as if he were speaking to a small child. She’s a synth. We created her.

Reverend Barker scowled at Benjamin. "Doesn’t it strike you as wrong to create a thinking, feeling creature that doesn’t have a soul?"

"Perhaps she does possess a soul," he suggested.

The Reverend Barker took those words as a challenge. He walked over to Rebecca. Rebecca, have you been saved by the Blood of Jesus?

Rebecca wrinkled her brow, not completely understanding.

Louis intervened. Wait, Reverend, you can’t ask her those questions.

Why not?

It isn’t fair. They have no concept of spirituality.

Pastor Halliday got to his feet. I think they are sensible questions, he interjected. Isn’t spirituality what this meeting is all about?

Reverend Barker grinned, reassured by Pastor Halliday’s display of support. He returned to Rebecca. Tell me, my dear. Do you believe you have a soul?

The room was silent while Rebecca pondered his question.

I’m not sure, she replied finally. How do I know if I have a soul?

The answer is obvious. Everyone created by the Almighty Creator has a soul. Who is the Almighty Creator?

Rebecca looked over at Benjamin. Dr. Lowell is the Almighty Creator, she said.

The room was suddenly filled with shocked gasps and amused guffaws. Reverend Barker turned to the entourage. Did all of you hear that? She just called Dr. Lowell the Almighty Creator.

Heresy! someone shouted.

Bewildered, Rebecca looked over at Benjamin for direction. Benjamin shook his head. He had no answers.

Reverend Barker leaned over the piano into Rebecca’s face, blocking her view of Benjamin. What will happen to you when you die? he asked.

I don’t know. Is something supposed to happen?

Reverend Barker turned to Benjamin and pointed a finger of condemnation at him. "You are not qualified to create a living, feeling, thinking creature, for you have not provided for their salvation as your Creator has done for you!"

This is nonsense! We are scientists, not mystics!

Reverend Barker slammed his Bible down on the piano. The strings in the piano responded with a heavy, discordant hum. He pointed his finger accusingly at Rebecca. You have no soul! You are the work of the devil!

Rebecca stood up, incensed at the reverend. "Maybe we don’t need souls. Maybe the fact that you have a soul is one of your flaws!"

Demon! he shouted at her in righteous fury.

Robert sensed that his sibling was in danger. His pre-programmed stimulus-triggered reaction took over, and in an instant, he was in their corner of the room. He grabbed the reverend by the arm and spun him around to face him at arm’s length. The reverend stared up at the synth with surprise, and a little fear. Robert towered a foot above him.

Robert! Let go of him! Benjamin ordered.

Unhand me! the reverend sputtered, his face flushed red with anger.

Let’s see if your soul helps you now. Robert said.

He tightened his grip on Reverend Barker’s arms. His feet kicked uselessly as Robert lifted him cleanly from the carpeted floor of the A/V room. The reverend’s face turned a deep shade of red. Fat veins swelled with blood beneath the skin of his temples. A trickle of blood started at his left nostril.

Aagh! He’s hurting me!

Pastor Halliday approached Robert. Robert swung around and batted the large man away with the squirming body of the reverend. The pastor tumbled backward. He struck the A/V cart. The cart tipped over sending the television and VCR to the floor with a resounding crash. Benjamin and Louis clutched Robert’s arms and tried to loosen his grip on the reverend. A woman in the group screamed.

Robert dragged the two men with him and thrust Reverend Barker forcefully against the wall with a loud thud.

The reverend began to sob loudly. He’s gonna kill me! A wet spot spread in his groin area.

Benjamin and Louis struggled to wrest him free of Robert’s vise-like grip. Damn it, Robert! Let go! Benjamin yelled. Rebecca! Quentin! he called, hoping any of the synths would come to his aid.

Rebecca backed away to the corner of the room, staring blankly as she watched Louis and her creator struggle with Robert. Quentin stood watching, unmoving from another part of the room. Querinda cowered behind Quentin.

Kathleen responded to Benjamin’s plea. She pressed the SECURITY ALERT button by the door and hurried over to the struggling men. She clutched Robert’s arm and gently, but firmly, tugged on it. Although Robert was physically stronger, her touch mollified him. He loosened his grasp on the reverend then let go. The reverend fell crying to his knees, nursing his injured arms. Benjamin and Louis quickly examined the reverend’s limbs for broken bones. Kathleen led Robert back to one of the sofas and sat him down.

Strong guy, Pastor Halliday said, dusting himself off. Sorry about your television.

He was going to kill me, Reverend Barker gasped.

If he wanted to kill you, you’d be dead by now, Benjamin stated.

My arms feel like they’re broken.

Your arms are fine, Louis said, as he and Benjamin hoisted the reverend to his feet.

The reverend regained his composure. Get me out of this place.

I hate to bring it up at this time, Reverend, Louis said, but we were hoping you’d talk to us about the petition to Senator Harkins.

Reverend Barker laughed. Are you joking or what? After what happened here today, you want the New Moral Majority to rescind its petition to outlaw your sham? We’ll do nothing of the sort, he said, smoothing his pressed khaki uniform with his hands.

What are you going to do? Sue us? Benjamin asked with a wry smile. I’m sure the world will enjoy hearing how courageous you acted when you thought you were going to die.

Reverend Barker sneered at Benjamin. Dr. Lowell, he began with renewed rage. You will find, as others have found, that it is a great mistake to underestimate the power of the New Moral Majority and its sister organizations. You will pay. He began nodding slowly, more to himself, as if at that moment he had made some sort of decision. You will pay.

Two security guards rushed through the door with their black clubs poised for action. They scanned the room for any sign of commotion. Seeing none, they stood confused by the door.

Sorry to disturb you, Dr. Lowell, one of the guards said, looking uncertain. Someone pressed the alarm button.

The reverend saw his chance to make an exit. I’m ready to leave now, he reiterated.

Benjamin sighed. Clearly there was very little to be gained by speaking to the reverend that day. See the good Reverend Barker and his entourage to the gate, he ordered the guards.

As the guests followed the guards out of the room, Pastor Halliday stopped in front of Kathleen and handed her the Reverend Barker’s Bible, which had been left on the piano. She took it reluctantly. He gave her a solemn nod, smiled, and then exited the room. Kathleen stood with the Bible in her hands, feeling its weight, realizing that the astute pastor must have figured out that she was a synth, too. Kathleen looked over at Benjamin who was speaking to Louis. He had not seen the pastor give her the book. Surely, Benjamin would not approve of her reading it, yet she was curious as to what knowledge it contained, even if it did not apply to her. She glanced one more time in Benjamin’s direction to be sure he was not looking then slipped the Bible behind the nearest sofa.

Guess I’ll go along with them to the lobby, Louis said. See if I can smooth things over. I’ll be right back.

After the door had shut, a thick silence hung in the air. Benjamin addressed Robert, who sulked on the sofa with his face buried in his hands.

Benjamin admonished Robert. Are you insane? Why did you grab him? Do you realize what you have just done?

Robert did not speak but remained in his pose of despair.

Benjamin pointed his finger at Rebecca. And you— He paused while he searched for the most appropriate words for her. You have a mouth on you. Don’t you know better than to talk to our guests that way?

"I didn’t like the way he was talking to me," Rebecca countered.

"Don’t you dare talk back to me! You have no idea how much damage you’ve caused today."

Rebecca lowered her eyes.

Benjamin shook his head, exasperated as he regarded the synths as a group. I don’t understand this. I have a bunch of synths with 180 I.Q.s that don’t know how to behave in the presence of guests. You have embarrassed me, you have embarrassed Louis, and you have brought the whole damned company to shame.

Benjamin stared at each synth in disgust. Rebecca brooded in the corner behind the piano. Robert remained as he was on the couch. Quentin kept his eyes on his feet. Querinda smiled sheepishly, awkwardly. Benjamin softened his expression when his eyes rested on Kathleen, yet she averted her gaze from him to the floor, for she felt guilty for not reacting soon enough to his need.

Robert, I want you to clean up this mess. And you, Rebecca, mop that piss off the floor. Then I want all of you back in your living quarters. You will not come out until I call for you.

Benjamin left the room, followed closely by Quentin and Querinda. Kathleen lingered behind.

Rebecca stood over Robert, gloating, as though she had won some sort of personal victory. Stupid, Robert. Really stupid. You are going to get yourself terminated. She moved toward the door to get a mop. Oh, and by the way, you were three degrees low on the melting temperature of titanium.

Robert did not respond. After she had gone, he remained on the couch, unmoving, his face buried in his hands. Kathleen remained with him on the couch, stroking his back.

I have displeased him, and he is angry at me, Robert said sadly.

It will be all right, Robert. Trust me, it will.

Any change? Benjamin asked Louis as they walked down the hall toward the lab.

Nope. Barker’s still pissed and probably will be for a long time. Damn it, Ben. You could have handled yourself better in there.

It didn’t matter, Lou. All was lost after Robert grabbed him. That idiot.

It wasn’t all Robert’s fault. He thought Rebecca was in danger.

Those synths—you know, they’re like kids in so many ways. There’s so much they don’t understand.

It’s a good thing Kathleen stepped in when she did.

Yeah, my prototype synth kept my advanced R-series from killing the reverend, Benjamin retorted. That shows you the progress we’ve made in the last 11 years.

Well, it hasn’t been a total failure, though.

Why do you say that?

This morning I received an e-mail message from Dr. Cheney at NASA Med-Ops.

What do they want now? Lower body weight? X-ray vision? Maybe a pair of wings so they can fly around on Mars?

Louis grinned at Benjamin’s bitter humor. "Not at all. They love the first edition Q- and R-series synths we sent them. They’ve decided to use