The Demmies: A Novel

By Ann Parsons

The demmies were the public's darlings, but they led a double life. By day, they posed for pictures, were guests on TV shows, and helped to increase knowledge about genetic engineering by taking part in scientific experiments. By night, they faced Dr. Albert Lud's unauthorized experiments and his torture.

Was there something better for the genetically engineered, foot-high humans? Could they escape? If they did, could they find food, shelter, and freedom from the ogre who tormented them? Could they trust any of the "big folk" to help them? These were some of the questions that kept Alex Kenyon awake at night.

His daughter Ruth wondered what made a human being. Was it size? Was it intelligence? Was it belief in God? What made her know she was a human being, even though only nine inches tall?

This is the story of how Alex's and Ruth's questions are answered.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ann Parsons
• Release date: Nov 27, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370363797

Book preview

Dedication

To my parents, George F. Parsons and Jane Z. Parsons, who believed in me and helped me to become the person I am today. They were writers, actors, teachers, mentors, and artists, always remembered with love.

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank my editors and publishing assistants, Leonore and David Dvorkin, of DLD Books (www.dldbooks.com), for their help in getting this novel published. They have been great, especially in their attention to detail.

I'd like to thank my writers' group for reading this novel and making excellent suggestions, which made the book better.

Finally, I'd like to thank all my friends who read the novel and gave advice, and who believed in me.

Introduction

Many authors have written stories about people who have been shrunk down to six or so inches. There have been many such movies made as well, most notably the Incredible Shrinking Man. This book bears little resemblance to any of these.

I began writing the first draft of this novel in the late 1970s. I started writing it on my Perkins Braille Writer because I wanted to see if I could really write a story and if it would make sense. I was also feeling a bit trapped because I was blind and job hunting; it wasn't going well. At that time, I felt as if I too were a demmy, small and powerless against the world.

As my life went on, and I moved the braille first rough draft to a computer in the early ’90s, I realized that I was writing a book about real people in a real situation. Even though they were one foot tall, they were human beings, just like any others. They laughed, they cried, they loved, they dreamed, and so on. That, I think, was what ended up being my final point, that whatever the human race becomes, whatever their physical characteristics, in the end, they are human beings.

With all that said, I also wanted to write a good story, one whose characters would be memorable, whose plot would be interesting, and whose theme wouldn't take away from the pure joy of good storytelling. So, good reader, read and enjoy. If the theme resonates with you, fine, but if you just want to read for pure pleasure, then I've done what I set out to do: to tell a good yarn.

Ann K. Parsons

November 2017

Part I

Chapter One

The Friday morning sun struck through the barred window of the dollhouse and fell across the bed. Alex Kenyon stretched and yawned. Carefully, so as not to wake Mary, he slipped out of bed and went to the bathroom. He shut the door, turned on the light, and glanced at his reflection in the mirror above the basin. It was as familiar as ever: straight nose, high cheekbones, and dark gray eyes. He had seen that visage every day, not only in the mirror, but on television, on the pages of magazines, below newspaper headlines, and on the covers of books.

He was the product of a scientific experiment. He was the first genetically engineered human being in the world.

He, Alex Kenyon, had been born in a test tube. His genes had been changed so that he was only one foot tall, instead of the six feet common in the year 2050.

The shower Alex stepped into was an exact replica of millions of others on the planet. It was lined with plastic and had colored fixtures and a frosted plastic door. But it was scaled to size.

Engineered, he thought. That’s a strange word to describe a process whose ramifications have changed the existence of mankind.

Alex’s thoughts went back over the series of events that had shaped him. Forty years before, a young Yale graduate from Scotland, Dr. Richard Maxwell, had begun to research the possibilities inherent in genetic engineering. He felt it would be a way to help and not hinder the development of his species. Initially, he changed the characteristics of certain plants. These experiments were directed toward miniaturization. Maxwell felt that there were many reasons why miniature plants, animals, or even human beings would be of use. Small things took up less space on an already crowded earth. A smaller man could be sent more easily into space because of the reduction in living space, life support, and fuel required by spaceships. Technology was moving toward constructing nanobots to make small models of new machines and new types of products. Having smaller humans to test and improve such products might be a good idea.

When Maxwell applied for a government grant to continue his research, the military experts at the Pentagon felt that a smaller man would make an excellent spy because he or she could get into places where others couldn’t go. However, before Maxwell could begin, he needed the approval of Congress. That was difficult because congressmen were reluctant to set aside the funds required for such a project. Even with some of the military personnel backing Dr. Maxwell’s aims, there was a strong faction who wanted no more money spent on weapons or anything that resembled them.

The public went wild when they heard of it. There were demonstrations and marches, and he received torrents of hate mail. He tried in England and received much the same reaction, though not as virulent. At last, the Royal Society of Sciences gave him a grant and a permanent laboratory so that he could design his demmy–man.

Test−tube baby, that’s me. Alex smiled as he turned on the shower.

But unlike those born in Huxley’s Brave New World, Alex had been raised as Dr. Maxwell’s son, living with him in his house and sharing his life.

Alex’s parents had been two of the hundreds of volunteers who freely gave their sperm and ova to the project. Their names were in Maxwell’s private file, but Alex never knew them. Even so, he felt that he’d had parents no less loving than any natural ones. Dr. Maxwell was his adoptive father, and Florence MacKnight, the doctor’s housekeeper, had been his adoptive mother. He had his Scottish accent and their views of life from them. Maxwell had been an idealist, a humanist, and a Scotsman. Florence MacKnight had been a staunch Presbyterian whose faith and love were big enough to match St. Paul’s. These sterling qualities were passed on to the modern scientific experiment, Alex.

Dr. Maxwell had taught him to read, and when he was ready, had enrolled him in California Online University. Because of his size, Alex could not attend actual classes. However, through a combination of email, videos, and Web conferences, he obtained a degree. He continued his graduate studies at Yale through their online program, and now he possessed a doctorate in business management.

When Alex was old enough to understand, his father had asked him what last name he wanted for his own.

You ought to have one, Alex lad, and it shouldna be mine. That wouldna be right.

Alex had chosen Kenyon because it sounded good.

Many other things were done for him as he grew, not the least of which was his introduction to Mary, who would become his wife. When the American public saw how well Maxwell’s project was working in Britain, they gave their approval, through a referendum, for the start of another pilot project in Houston, Texas. It was headed by Dr. Albert Lud, a colleague of Maxwell’s. They were to work in conjunction with each other.

Mary was born six months after the project’s installation. She was raised by Ella Murray, a teacher and humanist chosen by Dr. Maxwell as a suitable model of good character and integrity. There had been talk at the time about Dr. Maxwell’s reasons for choosing Ella Murray instead of allowing Mary to be raised by his colleague, Dr. Lud, but it stopped when Maxwell pointed out that a girl child needed a woman’s hand in her upbringing rather than that of a confirmed bachelor.

Perhaps Richard knew about Lud and didn’t want to jeopardize the project by sayin’ anythin’, thought Alex for the thousandth time. Ah, well, there’s no use moonin’ about it. Ella’s dead and gone now.

He began to soap himself, and as he did so, he thought about Mary. They had met five years before, when Dr. Maxwell had moved to Houston, leaving the British project under the guidance of Dr. Richard Drew. Alex remembered his father saying in his quiet way, Alex Kenyon, this is Mary Winthrop. I hope that ye will become good friends.

They did more than that. They fell in love and married five weeks later. Alex thought about their wedding. It was beautiful. The dollhouse had just been built, and the greenhouse had been finished the week before. The wedding took place on the stage at the north end, and it was filmed and shown on all the TV stations and on the Internet. The minister was kind, and everyone congratulated them. There was even a wedding cake.

Their wedding night was special. Their house was brand new, and they were left alone for an entire weekend. They talked and laughed and swam, and naturally they made love in their bedroom. They were inexperienced, but they had read the requisite books. Book knowledge, however, was no replacement for the thrill, the excitement, and the fulfillment they shared. Their first night was somewhat awkward, but they eventually found that they fit together well, each giving pleasure to the other—and by combining, giving greater joy to both. When that special weekend was over, Alex and Mary had cemented their relationship with strong bonds that would endure for a lifetime.

Their first three years together were a joy. The American Demmy Project continued to receive worldwide attention. Kenyon was a household word that filled many with hope for the future. They appeared on talk shows, and they had interviews with the press once a week. They also gave exhibitions of gymnastics that were favorably received by all. Such was their charm, wit, and evident happiness that most of those who had objected to the project on moral grounds were forced to concede that at least this project was being run by a God–fearing man and that no lasting harm was done to the demmies’ moral character by their unorthodox births.

They were in constant communication with numbers of people, both famous and ordinary, who wrote them gigabytes of electronic mail; their Christmas card list had 5,000 names on it.

The Kenyon’s first five children were born during this time. The engineers had shortened Mary’s gestation period to four months. That proved to be a boon, for then there were more demmies to test. The work went faster. Because of the modifications to their genetic makeup, the scientists on the Demmy Project’s team had hoped that the Kenyons’ children would learn faster than normal–sized youngsters. They did. It had something to do with the construction of their brains and the use of untapped genetic material that lay dormant in the human genome. All of them were fully grown and possessed adult minds within four years. Finding that this was so, Dr. Maxwell and the staff at Houston provided each child with a specialized education, provided online by famous universities, in a field of his or her own interest that would also benefit the growing Kenyon family.

Peter, their eldest, had a consuming love for animals. He had been trained as a biologist, with a concentration in genetic engineering. He was now engaged in a continuation of the Demmy Animals Project that had been started before Alex and Mary were born. He had recently engineered some new subspecies. His laboratory was in the collection of barns and sheds that were part of the exercise room.

Alex’s thoughts turned to that room. It was a 200–square–foot greenhouse that contained Peter’s barns, an immense garden of demmy–vegetables set in mobile flats, a forest of ferns, and a recreation area with swings, sandbox, slide, picnic table, and a fireplace. There was also a 5’x3’ swimming pool, complete with bath and filter houses. There were many paths for biking and riding the demmy–horses. It also included an area fitted with a platform and TV cameras, where the Kenyons were interviewed by the press.

Every Monday, the day on which the press conference was held, the greenhouse was opened to the public so that they could come and see what their tax dollars had wrought.

Alex’s thoughts reverted to Laura, their second child, who was trained as a physician. When Dr. Maxwell discovered that she had an interest in medicine, he had taken her under his wing, saying, There ought to be at least one sawbones in the bunch. She should know all about how you were engineered and how new demmies should be created, too.

Nancy, child number three, was a dietician. She made sure that they ate their six meals a day. Eating so often was required by their speeded−up metabolism. They started their day with a large breakfast at about 7:00 a.m. This was followed at about 11:00 a.m. by a light meal of sweet rolls and hot drinks. Dinner was the main meal, eaten at about 1:30 p.m. That was followed by tea, a good English tea, at 5:30 p.m. Supper was eaten at about 8:30 p.m., and most of them had a bedtime snack, too. Nancy cooked most of the meals and supplied the family with baked goods with the help of the lab techs, who made sure that they ate nutritious meals.

Their diet was closely monitored. All the supplies were cataloged, and most of the food was packaged in tiny portions that were made just big enough for each meal. The demmies did not have much say in what they ate because Dr. Lud and his lab techs did most of the planning of menus, although Nancy did have some input. The Kenyons were vegetarians, though dairy products figured high on the list of foods eaten. Eggs and cheese were favorites. Nan had a special interest in wild plants and their uses.

Tom, their second son, was a botanist; his special interest lay in genetically engineering miniature food crops for the family’s use. He had been in charge of the greenhouse garden for the past year.

Felix was the budding mechanic of the family. He’d been trained by the maintenance staff to fix the electrical system, the plumbing, and other machines in their home. He was the one who helped the lab techs and the companies they employed to design the miniature products that the demmies used. He had helped with the miniature stove, washing machine, and dryer, and with the wireless computer terminals that had been installed in the downstairs living room. His special interest was in designing a miniature automobile. He worked on it in his spare time.

Alex stepped out of the shower and toweled himself vigorously as his thoughts continued to flow. Aye, that felt good after last night’s work, he said to himself.

Mary had given birth to their tenth child during the night. All had gone well, thanks to Laura, and he was proud of her. They had named the boy Daniel because he had been born into a den of lions.

No one knew that. To the world, they were the Kenyons, star attractions of the past eight years, the toast of presidents and prime ministers, the idols of millions of children. But a shadow of evil stalked their happy world, turning their luxury accommodations into a prison.

One morning—a Wednesday morning two years before—the telephone had rung, and Dr. Albert Lud had informed Alex that his adoptive father had died the night before of a heart attack. You’re under me, now, he had continued briskly, and things are going to be different.

They were, all right. Lud installed bars on all the windows of the dollhouse. He put cameras and microphones in every room except the pantry. After that, everything they did or said within those hated walls was recorded by the electronic eyes and ears. They had recorded every moment of last night’s birth.

The sound of the phone ringing downstairs jarred Alex back to the present. He had turned off the ringer on the extension in their bedroom so as not to disturb Mary. He could hear Peter answering.

Yes, doctor. Last night. A boy, yes. Daniel. Thank you, sir, I will. He’s not up yet, sir. I’ll have him call you as soon as he comes down. Goodbye, sir.

Peter had learned to protect his parents, ever since the day when he was a year old and Dr. Maxwell had been on vacation in Scotland. The child had picked up the phone and heard the soft voice say, Oh, Peter, may I speak with your father?

No, Mommy and Daddy are in bed all cuddled up, and they told me that they didn’t want to be disturbed.

Peter had scarcely hung up the phone before the eye of a handheld video camera was at the master bedroom window. Then had come the soft, insidious laughter.

Alex and Mary had continued their performance because they loved each other. But Mary’s tears had burned Alex’s cheek, and he had trembled for hours afterwards.

Peter did not have to be punished. He had seen the results of his action and had wept all night.

Richard Maxwell had never found out about that isolated incident, but the Kenyons had had a premonitory look at what their futures would be like.

As Alex got out his razor and began to shave, his active mind showed him pictures of their four youngest children. They were given little opportunity for advanced study. Dr. Lud claimed there wasn’t enough money for the tuition for the online university courses needed for college degrees. So Ruth, Franny, Joey, and Ali had to make do with the material available. They learned to read and write, as well as some elementary mathematics. When Ella Murray offered to teach the children, Lud replied that he couldn’t pay her. She taught them without pay until she was killed by a hit−and−run driver on a street in Houston two weeks prior to this day.

The children were allowed to read anything that was stored in the vast, interconnected computer banks of the world. Ruth, their sixth child, in spite of restrictions, had recently bloomed into a writer. She answered most of the fan mail, edited the articles written by the other Kenyons, and was also keeping a private journal on paper she scrounged from the rolls of paper towels in the kitchen and bathrooms. She wasn’t officially allowed to keep any sort of journal, but Alex knew that for Ruth, writing was a compulsion, so he let her scrounge in odd moments the paper she needed, and he said nothing about it to anyone.

Franny, Joey, and Ali were still children. They had no marked preferences for careers, yet.

And what about Daniel? he mused, as he opened the bathroom door and stepped into the bedroom. Aye, what about the little one? Other things have been happenin’ lately. The bairns have been disappearin’ at night and comin’ back mysteriously sick or in tears. Ah, Lord, they never speak of their ordeal, but Mary and I know because we’ve been subjected to the hand that grabs, the steel cages, the voice that urges us to run the damned maze one more time, the needles, and the examinin’ table where we’re tied down so we canna escape. He almost killed me the other night, Lord, but for your grace. Remember the decompression chamber?

Alex clenched his fists. We’ve got to escape, Lord, please. I canna do it mysel’.

All of a sudden, a frightening vision of standing in the middle of a busy street confronted Alex, and there was a car coming. He shuddered violently, pushing the thought of escape away.

Lord! he screamed silently.

But there was no answer. Ah, well, I’ll just have to wait for ye. I canna do anythin’ without ye.

He came farther into the room. Mary turned over and gazed at him with those blue eyes that could melt ice.

Ah, lassie, ye’re awake, he said softly. How are ye and the babe?

I’m fine, Sandy, only... Her lip trembled, and there were tears on her lashes.

Wsht, now, he soothed. There’s naught we can do for him, yet a while. He’ll be all right. Dinna fight yourself, Mary. Love him. Ye weelna lose him if I can help it.

But to bring him to this! She began to sob.

Alex wondered fleetingly if he really wanted to escape, in spite of their plight. It’s so big out there, he thought. He trembled inwardly, remembering the recent vision.

Wsht, now, wsht now, rest ye quiet. I’ll get Laura for ye. Alex came to her and kissed her softly.

Thank you, Sandy dearest.

He left the room, thinking that no one but Mary and Florence MacKnight had ever called him Sandy.

But I canna stop lovin’ her, Lord, I canna. She is all I have, besides the bairns.

Downstairs, Alex found Nancy in the kitchen making breakfast.

How’s Mom? she asked.

All right. Where’s Laura?

She’s in the exercise room, said Fran, who came in tossing her brown pigtails.

Be a good girl and fetch her to your mother, will you?

Fran left without a word. Alex thought how uncanny it was that even the littlest ones knew that there were times when conversation need not be heard by the monitors.

Sit down, Dad, and have some oatmeal and coffee, said Nancy.

Right, he said, thinking out loud. I have to fix young Ali’s tricycle, and I want to go around and see what Peter’s up to.

The rest of the family appeared one by one. Oatmeal was followed by scrambled eggs, toast and marmalade, and orange juice.

The conversation around the table was about inconsequential things: the cat who’d had kittens two days before in Nancy’s closet, the TV show the night before on experiments on Space Station B, the new material that had come for clothes, and Daniel, of course.

The phone rang again, and Alex went to answer it. Yes, Alex speaking.

Hi! I’m Ralph, Dr. Lud’s new assistant. He said to tell you that he wants you to meet me in half an hour for tests. Can you come to the roof?

Aye, lad. I’ll finish my breakfast and be with you. It’s nice to meet you, Ralph. And what about the bairn’s tricycle? thought the father grimly.

All right. I’ll see you later. Ralph hung up.

Why can’t he train them to say thank you, or at least goodbye? Alex fumed to himself as he returned to his interrupted breakfast.

* * * * *

As Alex sat down to eat his oatmeal, Fran Kenyon closed the back door, went down two steps, turned to the right, and walked along the passage that led through the wall behind the dollhouse to the exercise room. It ran for twenty feet, then turned to the left and debouched into the greenhouse.

At the beginning of the Demmy Project, Dr. Maxwell had insisted that his charges have room to spread out. They need to feel that they have land of their own, he explained to the Congressional Finance Committee. I also want them to care for the demmy–animals and vegetables.

The usually tight Finance Committee had seen the wisdom in this. So now Fran entered a 200–foot, glassed–in square. Its floor was covered with grass, except for the concrete path running around the perimeter. There were flower beds separated by grassy bridle paths. The fern forest was large and contained several clearings. Tom’s garden took up half of the south side of the square.

The 5’x3’ foot swimming pool was the joy of the whole family. It was located in the ferns, so that they could have privacy. This was the only place where the family could talk freely, for Dr. Lud had not installed any monitors in the exercise room, fearing discovery by the press or the government committees who supervised him closely.

In another clearing stood the picnic table, a miniature grill, and the playground equipment.

The other reason for the existence of this communal place was that it was only here that the press and the public could meet with the Kenyons face−to−face. At the north end of the exercise room was a three−foot−high platform, faced by a semicircular gallery of seats. It was here that the weekly press conferences were held.

Fran stopped as she entered the room and picked up her bicycle, which stood in a rack by the entrance. She mounted and rode to her left, around the square, looking for her sister. She found her in the herb garden. She parked her bike and ran down a path toward Laura.

Hi, Laura! she cried.

What’s up?

Dad sent me for you. Mommy needs you.

Okay, dear. Will you finish weeding this basil for me before you go back to start your lessons?

Sure, but how long should I do it? I wanted to ride Pal.

Not long, you little shirker. You just keep at it till I come back. You can ride Pal later, after you’ve gone to school.

Yeah, all right.

Laura winked at Fran as she came out from between the waist−high leaves, dusting her hands, and gave her sister the hoe.

The hoe was just like any other but for the fact that its blade was only a half an inch wide and its handle only eight inches long. Fran sighed as she hoisted it over her shoulder. It was heavy.

* * * * *

Laura found her mother and the new baby in the master bedroom. The sun still came through the barred window and fell across the bed, as it had an hour before. The baby was nursing, and Mrs. Kenyon looked content as she fondled him.

How are you, Mom? Laura asked.

Okay, I think, though I feel weak. It seems to take more out of me each time, but... She began to cry softly. Oh, I can give him nothing, nothing for the future, but this. Oh, oh, oh!

Hush, Mom. Dad wouldn’t want you to talk like this. She glanced significantly toward the monitor. I’ll get you something to make you sleep.

She left and returned in a minute with a cup of herb tea. Drink this. I could give you a sleeping pill, but I don’t think you’ll need it. I’ll look in on you in a little while.

* * * * *

Alex climbed the stairs to the flat roof of the dollhouse, where he was to meet Ralph. His heart beat fast with hot anger at the new assistant’s cavalier treatment, but he knew that he had to keep his temper. He had to think of Mary and the children. He must not rouse Lud’s anger. The techs mustn’t suspect that they were doing anything wrong. After all, that would reflect on their mentor, and Alex hated to think of Lud’s kindled wrath. He opened the little door and stepped out into the main laboratory. The space was fenced, so that a demmy standing there couldn’t plunge the four feet to the floor. This put a full−grown demmy at eye level with most big folk, making this a perfect place for face−to−face meetings.

Alex stood and stared into the hard, cynical eyes of Ralph Burgess. Ralph was six feet tall, broad shouldered, and quick moving. He stared at Alex. What he saw made him roar with laughter. Before him stood a man, one foot tall, clad in a business suit and holding a bowler hat in his hands. His shoes were polished, and his tie was perfectly adjusted.

Oh, ho, ho, this is really rich! I’d never have believed it. He comes to me dressed like that. Oh, ho, ho, ho, ho!

You wanted me, sir, said Alex.

Ralph Burgess was convulsed. He had to sit down on the lab stool behind him. Ye–e–es, I want you. You’re supposed to run a maze for me, so I can check your reflexes. Oh, just wait till I tell Elsie. I thought you got dressed like that only for the press. Oh, ho, ho, ho! C’mon, Squeaker. Let’s get started. I’m gonna pick you up and put you in this maze. Now be a good chap, and run it for me.

Ralph, still laughing, picked Alex up by the waist and placed him at the entrance to the maze.

You ready, Squeaker? asked Ralph.

Yes, said his experimentee, trying not to blaze with anger.

Okay, responded his handler.

The experimentee put on his hat and ran along the twisted corridors, his footsteps drowned by the grad student’s laughter.

Thirty seconds, cried Ralph. Let’s see if you can do any better, Squeaker.

Alex was dumped unceremoniously at the entrance, where he plunged again into the twisting passages that smelled of animal dung.

Oh, God, he prayed silently. Why did You let Richard die? Why were You not there to say, Stay on earth. You are needed? Why do you need him? He was our protector.

Finally, after two and a half hours, it was over. He had run the maze ten times. He had stood on the scales while Ralph had laughed some more. He had lifted weights and copied lines onto paper from a projection on the laboratory wall. He had also been shut up in a box to see if he were claustrophobic. All these things had been done in the name of Lud’s well−known theory that a new lab tech must test at least one demmy in all the basic tests so that he or she could be sure that the reports were true.

There’s nothing like hands–on experience, Lud had said at a press conference just after his installation as director. The lab techs can work from first–hand knowledge instead of from the records in the computer.

When questioned as to the waste of time on the part of these aspiring people, Lud had replied that he thought the experience so valuable that he planned the first week around it for each new recruit.

Ralph had enjoyed his morning. Goodbye, Squeaker, he said, placing Alex on the roof again. It’s eleven o’clock. I want you back at 2:30. That should give you a break and time for your dinner, right?

Alex didn’t answer, but climbed down the stairs to his family. The door above closed with a clump. Alex sank down on the bottom stair. He sat there for a while, stunned, thinking that no one ever asked them, the demmies, whether they minded being tested like that. He sighed, got up, straightened his clothes, and went down the hall to his wife.

He found Mary asleep, so he changed into jogging clothes and proceeded to the exercise room. He went through the tunnel, picked up his bike from the rack, and rode like a demon around and around the track.

At last, all the tension of the morning was gone, and he could dismount near the barns to talk to Peter. Son, he called as he strode up, how goes it, then?

Fine, Dad. Come and see.

Peter stood twelve inches tall and had his father’s dark hair and his mother’s blue eyes. He was a catch in any circle. He smiled as he showed his father his newest project, a demmy–dog and his mate. They were six−inch replicas of German Shepherds.

I thought we needed a dog or two, said the experimenter. All the books say that a dog is man’s best friend. They’re not ready for releasing to the kids, yet. I want to be sure I didn’t add any inherited diseases or bad characteristics by mistake.

Right. That will be fun. Ali’s been followin’ Bitsy all over the house, and she’s petted most of the fur right off the poor kittens. She hardly leaves them unless she’s called.

They both laughed as they turned again to the kennel that stood next to the stalls for the demmy–horses. There were ten of these. They stood nine inches at the shoulder and were a beautiful chestnut with white manes and tails.

They look well, don’t they? said Alex.

Yes, replied his son. It was one of Lud’s better ideas.

Alex and Peter looked at each other and smiled grimly.

What else are you workin’ on, son?

Well, you remember the chickens that I had to write to Dr. Lud about before I could tamper with them? Their laying has improved. Come in and see them.

They entered the coop and inspected the miniature Rhode Island Reds. They were sleek and well−groomed.

They seem to think my research is worth something. At least they don’t bother me much. They make me write official reports, and they sometimes take animals for testing, but our friend is very careful that the tests are always on the up and up. Always asks me if he can take them, too, the hypocrite.

That’s good, son, fine, sighed the father.

As they continued to talk, they moved from the stable into Peter’s office, where he poured them both some coffee and offered some sweet rolls.

How’s Mom?

She’s well enough, but I think she’ll stay in bed today and tomorrow. What’s that outside, there?

Oh, that’s Morris, one of the techs, having his lunch and goggling again, said Peter. I wish they wouldn’t do that. You’d think they’d know better. The public does it, but they can’t help it.

Ah, well, son, it’s a lovely day, replied Alex mildly.

It was. The noonday sun beat down through the glass, warming the room outside the tiny office where the men sat talking. In the stable, the horses snorted and swished their tails.

Peter showed his father the reports he was working on for the techs. They were stored on the main computer at the lab and were accessed by means of a miniature computer terminal. This computer, and all the others in the complex, had miniature demmy–sized keyboards, monitors, mice, cameras, and microphones. Each computer was connected to the mainframe in the lab building by a wireless network. They had been modified from existing tablets for big folk.

His father gave him some suggestions for improvements. They worked on in this way for an hour and a half in companionable contentment.

The mood was broken by the sound of the electric bell mounted on the wall of the greenhouse. It was the signal that dinner was served.

Let’s go, said Peter. It’s tofu meatloaf, potatoes, and vegetables today, and Nan’s baked some new kind of bread she wants us to try.

They left the office, closing the door behind them, and turned from the livestock to mount their bikes and ride for the house.

Entering the kitchen, they found everyone except Mary and Daniel seated at the table.

They all looked healthy today. No one had the sunken eyes that bespoke the midnight visits to Dr. Lud’s private laboratory. Alex was pleased. He suspected that Dr. Lud was so busy looking on at the birth of another subject, he hadn’t had time to call on anyone else in the family.

The conversation around the table was general. Nan got lavish praise for the whole wheat bread with sunflower seeds. The meat loaf was demolished. There was a deal of talk about the new baby. The younger children were mainly concerned about how babies were made, and they put forth some interesting theories.

Joey said, Do the lab techs bring them? Was I brought by a lab tech?

No, silly, said Nancy. Mom and Dad get babies by themselves.

It’s the only thing we do get on our own, thought Alex wryly. Everythin’ else is either commissioned or planned or delineated by some big sod somewhere.

He turned to look at Ruth. Ruth, Franny, Joey, he said aloud. It’s time for school. Go sit down at the terminals in the living room and continue your lessons. Turn on the computer terminals, and don’t fight over them. They’re all the same.

No, they aren’t, Dad, said Fran. The one on the far left is slow.

Never you mind, now, poppet. Do as you’re told.

The three children got up and went through the swinging door that led to the living room. This room covered half of the ground floor of the dollhouse and was tastefully decorated with two sofas, some stuffed chairs, and several tables. There was a picture window that looked out on the main laboratory. The children didn’t glance that way as they trotted across to the four computer terminals.

They sat down and keyed the commands that displayed their lessons. As each child keyed in a lesson, a face appeared on the screen. It was that of Ella Murray, Mary’s foster mother and their teacher. When the Demmy Project had expanded and Mary had become the mother of a family, Ella Murray’s role had shifted from mother to teacher of the children. Her forte was English, but she was adept in history, geography, general science, arithmetic, and Latin. In an age when most teachers were specialized, Ella Murray remained a general teacher, much like a general practitioner in medicine.

Miss Murray had designed many self−study programs, using the wealth of information on the Net for home−schooled children of the same age. It was these to which the children were applying themselves.

Since the death of Richard Maxwell, Dr. Lud had restricted Ella Murray’s freedom to teach until she was only permitted to give them the basics of reading, writing, and arithmetic. Lud felt that they needn’t know too much. However, Lud made one mistake. He permitted the children to read anything that could be accessed by logging onto the Internet. That was the whole knowledge of mankind. Ella Murray had only to place a coded number at the bottom of a corrected paper for the student to file that number in a special file called books to read. Murray didn’t know that anything was wrong, so she kept a running tally on each family member’s reading. She supplemented each person’s list with comments. The file was in an open directory on the mainframe computer at the lab.

Time was running out. Lud suspected that he was being circumvented. He wasn’t sure, but he didn’t trust Ella Murray. Since her untimely death, he had begun to look at her files, and especially the reading lists.

The children had been given two weeks’ work on Monday because of the death of their beloved friend. They had all been crushed by the news. There was no replacement planned.

They worked at their lessons for two hours. Occasionally, a face would peer in at them through the picture window, but they paid no attention. They were used to being watched.

When they finished their lessons, they turned to their email boxes. There they found letters from their pen pals in various schools across the country. There were attached pictures and some sound files and videos that they enjoyed thoroughly. They replied in kind, sending photographs over the Internet to the computers in the classrooms of their friends. The children enjoyed this correspondence. They loved reading about and seeing pictures of how the big folks’ children lived.

At 4:30, the picture on each screen faded and was replaced by the face of Ms. Barstow, Lud’s secretary.

It’s 4:30, children, she cooed. You can go now. Be sure to eat something before you go out to play.

The young students turned off the terminals and trooped into the kitchen, where they found milk, cookies, and fruit awaiting them. They gobbled their snack and then ran for the exercise room.

As Fran entered the greenhouse, she noticed a lab tech on the other side of the glass. She hadn’t seen him before. It was Ralph Burgess. He was seated on the pavement outside, eating his lunch and watching all that went on within. Fran waved, as she had been taught, and turned away to the stables to find Pal.

After greeting her horse, she proceeded to the small tack room. Peter had made bridles from scraps of metal and leather. She took down her gear and returned to open the door of Pal’s stall. Fran thought Pal the most beautiful and intelligent creature in the world. His liquid brown eyes regarded the girl with love and anticipation as she slipped the bridle over his head and led him out to the bridle path that twisted through the center of the greenhouse.

Fran mounted and trotted away. When she came to the cement track, she turned and galloped along it. Ralph, still watching, was fascinated. He had gotten over his initial amusement and was now keenly interested in his new charges. Like most of his contemporaries, he half believed the demmies were fakes, trick photography. He was finding the truth intriguing. He had never been in such a position before. For years, he had been a loafer, priding himself on his lack of interest in anything, living off his father’s money. Because of his interest in animals, gained in years of ranch living, he had decided to get a degree from the University of Houston in biology. This job was his field experience.

Now, that’s not a bad little beasty, he said softly, suppressing a chuckle. It’s kinda cute. Looks different from on TV.