Sorry, It's a Boy

By S.A. Hartman

At the beginning of the twenty-first century, as the female birthrate suddenly drops, Craig Steben joins the research staff at The Long Island Institute of Female Health. Time is running out and people are frantic over the forecast of the last female birth expected in a couple of years.

McBrian, an outcast of the medical community, clutches a cigar butt between his teeth and shouts at his staff as they prepare to deliver the baby. A cow bellows as its womb gives up a newborn seven pound, eight ounce baby girl. McBrian has perfected a temporary bovine alternative to a human uterus, but he has bigger plans to further exploit Decreasing Female Births.

Desperate to uncover even one shred of information to reverse DFB, Craig works long hours and moonlights at McBrian’s even though he comes to despise McBrian’s motives and exploitive behavior. Craig’s scientific hunger to solve DFB is further ignited by his fatherly concern for his three sons who will be doomed to a life without women.

There are ten men for each woman in college and barely one girl in each elementary class. Women are calling the shots as their numbers dwindle an even with preferential job opportunities, many become Sexual Therapists. It’s a patriotic profession that preserves heterosexuality while providing an income greater than most corporate executives.

Cooperation between countries dissolves into a “uterine war” with each government trying to solve DFB at the exclusion of their neighbors. With Craig’s help, McBrian will perfect a synthetic uterus and further enrich himself and his powerful partners. They intend to become the nation’s primary source of female fetuses when human uteruses completely fail.

Craig’s research breakthrough is about to destroy McBrian’s grand plans. McBrian will do anything to derail Craig as he races toward the solution. Craig’s quest is further complicated by his compulsive behavior and extra-marital excursions which are shattering his fragile marriage.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 13, 2004
• ISBN: 9781465320810

S.A. Hartman

The author has a Masters degree in Marine Science, received his Ph.D. in biology from NYU, and believes everyone is both a teacher and life long learner. Originally a New Yorker he now lives in Los Angeles and looks forward to writing screenplays, playing tennis, meeting new people, and enjoying the Pacific Ocean and the incredible weather. His most valuable assets include his supportive family and good friends who help to make his life a wonderful and fulfilling experience. After a life threatening brush with DVT he recommends to all his friends and acquaintances to “treat each healthy day as a gift.”

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Delivery

A cigar butt hung from McBrian’s curled mouth as

he scrubbed for the delivery and peered into the operating area. The female attendants stood ready in their tightly fitted, red surgical outfits, sterile gloves, and transparent plastic caps. Ernie, one of McBrian’s top staff people, stretched a sterile surgical glove for him to put on, but something on the other side of the glass wasn’t right. Beth, one of the new aides, was taking particular care to place every instrument in its precise place. It was her first time in the Delivery Room, and McBrian knew she hoped to be selected as part of the permanent staff. He narrowed his gaze on her transparent cap. Sonofabitch! He tore the cigar butt from his mouth and shoved Ernie aside, slamming him into the sink. Dammit! Dammit! Dammit! he screamed and charged toward the Delivery Room.

The startled staff gasped and jumped aside as McBrian barreled through the door and headed directly for Beth. Her look of wide-eyed surprise quickly changed to ice cold fear, as she seemed to sense his intensity. McBrian grabbed her arm in a vise-grip, causing her to drop the surgical tubing and clamps she had been holding. He swung her around and flung her to the floor with such force she slid into a wall ten feet away and cried out in shock and pain.

Get out of here, you sexist bitch! I don’t want to see you around the Facility again. His eyes were hot, and his body shook from the intensity of his wrath.

Beth scrambled to her feet and hobbled to the door sobbing and cradling her bleeding elbow.

What happened? Ernie asked, as she brushed past and exited the Scrub Room.

Get back to work! McBrian shouted. We have a delivery that can’t wait, and there better not be any screw-ups this time, or the whole lot of you will never forget it.

Ernie kept the door open for McBrian as he came back to finish prepping.

Is there no fucking discipline around here? When I say something once, it should be enough. Now let’s get those gloves on. If we lose this one, I’ll have your ass, Ernie. Clear? He stuck the knurled end of the cigar back into his mouth.

Yes sir, Dr. McBrian.

Ernie yanked out another set of surgical gloves while McBrian vigorously lathered his hands and arms again.

What did she do wrong, sir?

McBrian liked Ernie despite his obsequiousness. He knew Ernie needed his job and wouldn’t give him any shit.

"Look at her hair. That goddamn Vulva-part! I don’t want any of them to advertise on my property! None of them will ever work alongside of me."

Ernie held out an extra long latex glove that allowed McBrian to wiggle his large hand in until his hairy arm was covered almost to the armpit. McBrian at five foot six, with broad shoulders, large arms and stocky build, looked more like a longshoreman than like a research scientist. McBrian stood two inches shorter than Ernie, but nobody who worked for him underestimated his authority. As the force behind the McBrian Facility the iconoclastic doctor ruled like a despot. He enforced strict values, and his standards dominated every aspect of his employees’ behavior.

Ernie looked squeamish for permitting Beth into the Delivery Room without making her cover the part down the middle of her head. The Vulvina-part, named after a style popularized by a celebrity prostitute, had become a symbol the female was available for a price. Such a blatant come-on raised McBrian’s blood pressure. With fewer and fewer females in the world each year, women increasingly turned to sex-for-hire to satisfy the growing number of frustrated men. The hairstyle was not restricted to professional sex workers, but more and more females were using the subtle advertising for their socially accepted service.

Ernie cast his eyes down. It won’t happen again, sir.

Make sure it doesn’t. Now let’s move it. I don’t want to delay the delivery another minute.

At sixty-one, McBrian no longer took shit from anyone.

The voice of the attendant in the Preparation Room came through the intercom. We’re ready here, Dr. McBrian. Should we bring her in?

Yes, he snapped, but don’t let her lie down. We’ll ease her down in there when she’s ready. McBrian nodded to Ernie to follow him into the Delivery Room.

Soft yellow and pink fluorescent lights lit the room. McBrian checked the staff, one by one, to be sure everything and everyone was readied. He didn’t want anything to screw up the delivery as it did the last time.

Paul, his most competent aide, stood by the incubator, monitoring all its life-support panels. If any emergency occurred, this equipment would maintain proper life conditions for the newborn.

Everything set, Paul?

Yes, sir!

Good. Karen, are you ready? I want her monitored as soon as she’s brought in.

Yes, sir. Vital signs ready. Besides every heartbeat, I’ll get every blink.

That’s fine. McBrian surveyed the chrome and pastel-tiled room. Little monitoring lights and screens blinked and beeped. Everything appeared ready. McBrian, still chewing his cigar, sat next to the delivery station and folded his arms in front of him.

The double-doors of the Preparation Room opened and a motorized cart brought in the mother. The pregnant cow stood within a padded chrome-restraining pen, which barely held her six hundred, thirty-four, and two-tenths pounds. Brown and white spots formed irregular patterns over her body. Of the many pregnant cows at the Facility, she was about average size. Her swollen womb, just beneath her tail and above her udder, was only slightly enlarged. The fetus she carried was small.

The cow grunted as attendants wheeled her under a set of powerful lights and anatomical cameras. The technicians switched on sensors, which monitored data from a subcutaneous medical chip as they began to induce labor. The Vital-Signs monitor registered numbers, pictures, and graphs, which were simultaneously printed.

The cow’s bellowing reverberated through the room as her labor progressed. One of the biological analyzers translated the sounds into meaningful data. Two attendants continually stroked the cow to keep her calm. One of the men, who had helped bring her into the Delivery Room, walked quietly and slowly around the mobile cart to get in a better position to assist the actual delivery. As he passed the service tray behind McBrian, he stepped on the surgical tubing Beth had dropped, lost his balance, and fell against the tray, sending most of the instruments crashing to the floor.

The cow, frightened by the series of sudden loud metallic vibrations, flailed her hind legs against the retaining bars.

Dammit! McBrian said through clenched teeth. Hold her! Calm her down. He bit deeply into the stub of his cigar. If she loses this one, I’ll have your heads. Every one of them! He grabbed what was left of the chewed butt, threw it across the room, and tried to calm the terrified animal.

Her eyes gaped open; the moos came more regularly and loudly, as her legs slipped from beneath her.

She’s going down! Release the harness, lower the bars. From the corner of his eye, McBrian saw Ernie wave the staff into position for the delivery.

Easy now, take it easy, McBrian said softly, a tone uncharacteristic of his gruff manner. The animal slowly dropped to her knees and rolled onto her side.

The bellowing became almost constant, yet no head appeared at the vaginal opening. A beeping, bright red light flashed on the oxygen panel, illuminating the entire area.

Karen tapped furiously on the light, but it continued to glow. The fetus is not getting enough oxygen! McBrian cursed under his breath. He was reluctant to use ultra-sound because of its potential harm to the newborn. He had to do something to correct the oxygen flow. Give me a Fetal Display!

Yes sir. Karen turned on the laser, adjusted several control knobs, and focused a three-dimensional Holoview of the interior of the uterus. The display gave McBrian a three hundred sixty-degree view.

He rotated the image and spotted the problem. The umbilical cord is wrapped around its neck and constricting. Get my gloves. Quickly! Set the clock for anoxia damage.

Ernie poured a reddish-brown antiseptic over McBrian’s gloves. If the fetus remained oxygen starved for more than a minute, there would be permanent neurological damage and other physiological complications. Karen set the count-back timer to sixty seconds.

McBrian moved to the rear quarters of the cow. I’m going in.

Two attendants held her hind legs securely and pulled them apart to give McBrian room to work. He squatted down and eased in his fingers into the cow’s birth canal and then pushed his hand and wrist into the uterus, keeping his eyes focused on the holoview. He pinched the amniotic sac, causing a slight tear. Fluid began to leak from the sac, and then it burst through the small opening and ripped the membrane apart. Strong muscular contractions forced the liquid through the birth canal where it gushed out, soaking McBrian from ear to toe.

Her water broke, Ernie said. Sponges!

Fetal temperature down two-tenths of a degree, Karen said, but stable.

Undaunted by the unexpected bath, McBrian waited as an attendant wiped his face and eyes. He shoved his arm in past his elbow until he could see his hand appear in the Holoview. He twisted his body like a contortionist in order to untangle the constricted cord from around the fetus’s neck.

Karen continued the vital countdown in his ear. Twenty seconds, nineteen, eighteen, seventeen

Drops of sweat beaded on McBrian’s forehead as he repositioned the fetus and unwound the umbilical cord. The red light blinked then went out, and the beeping ceased. He had released the twist, allowing oxygen-rich blood to flow to the fetus. McBrian laid his head against the side of the cow and took a deep breath followed by a long relaxed exhalation. His hand was still deep within the uterus as he gathered his strength.

The muscular walls of the uterus rhythmically contracted around McBrian’s arm as the cow groaned from the labor pains. If cows didn’t have such a high pain tolerance, he would not have been able to get his hand up into her uterus without anesthesia.

Karen sat back in her control chair for the first time during the ordeal. Oxygen level normal and heartbeat is regular. All vital signs are normal.

Get ready, Ernie. When I pull my hand out, her contractions may pop the fetus like a watermelon seed from pursed lips.

I’m in position, Doc. Retract slowly.

The bellowing was constant as McBrian slid his arm out. Several attendants gathered around the cow’s rear-end to get a better view of the moment of birth. The animal began to vibrate as muscular contractions rippled down her abdomen toward her birth canal. Attendants strained to hold her legs apart. The vagina stretched slightly and the head crowned. Oh, here she comes. One of the attendants shouted. Amazing!

A new attendant giggled. I’m seeing it, but I can’t believe it.

The cow bellowed as a pink, wrinkled, newborn slithered onto the sheet with a whoosh that started her breathing. An attendant cleared the nose and mouth openings with a suction-dropper and handed the baby to McBrian. He held up the crying baby girl while others restrained the mother from instinctively reaching back to lick off the product of her labors.

McBrian placed the infant on the scale—seven pounds, one ounce. He had again succeeded in bringing a human female to birth. This one appeared to be completely healthy, but it was too early to tell if her brain had been damaged by a lack of oxygen. It was unlikely, given the short period of restriction. With a nine-month gestation period, the bovine uterus was McBrian’s first choice as a substitute for a human womb. The time was right for his brand of science to reap great financial rewards from the DFB dilemma facing the world at the beginning of the 21st Century.

Chapter 2

Fifty Boys for Every Girl

Thirty miles from McBrian’s Facility, also on the Gold

Coast of Long Island’s North Shore, stood the newest of four National Institutes of Female Health. Some of the most noted reproductive researchers in the country were among the senior staff members. The best were needed if they were to have any chance of solving the greatest health challenge to humanity. Compared to DFB, AIDS was a small wrinkle in the fabric of human health.

The door to Dr. Craig Steben’s opened, and a blonde woman in a loose-fitting lab coat entered, went to a control panel, and changed some settings. The view through the floor-to-ceiling windows continually shifted as the cylindrical building rotated with the movement of the sun.

A shadow slowly crossed the room and disappeared into the corner where Dr. Steben, Director of the Environmental Microbiology Department, peered into a microscope. He made fine adjustments as he dictated a stream of notes to his virtual assistant over his small wireless telephone that hung on his right ear. The cells seem to be dividing unusually quickly in the presence of Agent 707.

The laboratory was a kaleidoscope of colors, dials, lights, flasks, beakers, test tubes, and other apparatus. Humming computers, printers, analyzers, and centrifuges combined with bubbling solutions and the chatter of lab technicians. A large digital display titled DFB, predominately placed on the wall in the lab, clicked off another tenth with its all too familiar audible tone to 49 to 1. It was a constant reminder of the number of male births to females in the US. Steben’s concentration was unbroken by either the opening door or the busy activities in the laboratory. But that annoying tone irritated him because he knew they weren’t any closer to stopping it.

I’m sorry to interrupt, Craig, Angela said in a sweet melodic voice. I was reviewing data just posted from Korea on 707 and 708. Do you want me to send it to you or give you a voice synopsis?

Send it. I need to see all the details. Would you mind getting my wife on the phone? Craig returned to his microscope. No more than a moment seemed to pass before Angela interrupted again. I have Mrs. Steben on the line.

Hi, Deb, I saw your note last night but I got in too late to wake you.

You were late for Billy’s school play last week. Will you be home so we can sit down like a family for dinner tonight? I don’t want to tell the boys you’ll be here if you won’t.

Deb, I love being home but it’s the work. If we don’t solve this soon our kids’ future and everyone else’s, will turn to crap.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know its important but so is our family and our family is now. This problem isn’t just yours to solve. You’re too much of a perfectionist.

Well that’s me. I must do the best I can like it is only up to me

You sure you’re not driving yourself so hard just to look good.

To look good to who?

Don, the other guys at the Institute, people at conferences and everyone but me.

You’re wrong. I’m doing it for Billy, Jeffrey and Thomas. If this isn’t beat they’ll be part of a world wide boys club with only pictures to remind them of girls.

"You’ve come home late almost every night this week. You haven’t seen your kids except when they’re asleep. I don’t know how much more I can take.

Craig shook his head and clinched his teeth. I’ll call you if I’ll be late tonight. Bye. Craig pulled his earphone off, dropped it on his papers and held his face between both hands with his elbows on the desk.

Something wrong, Dr. Steben?

Craig looked up at his lab assistant, Joan. It’s my wife. She just doesn’t get it. Or maybe I don’t get it. I am torn between spending time with family and work. I’m in a no win situation. Craig’s temper rose with each word. He suddenly stood up and hurled his pencil at the DFB clock. It’s impossible. Billy and Jeff will be lucky to ever date a girl no less have a family.

Well, you can’t do everything. You won’t get an Oscar for your work but if science doesn’t fix this soon nobody will be getting one.

I guess so, but it still doesn’t feel right.

Hey, you’re a good person, doing a great job.

Thanks for the pep talk. It helps. Okay, let’s get back to this great job. Please get my notes from yesterday. Craig preferred hard copy notes to electronic data.

I’ll have them on your desk in a minute. Craig recalled the day he interviewed Joan. She wore a black suit and her blond hair was swept off to her right side. A call came in to Craig office as she entered.

Hey, Craig, we just met that new prospect you’re interviewing. We asked if she were doing any therapy on the side, because we’d be happy to sign up. She turned us down flat. Said the chance of her parting her hair down the middle was as likely as the President parting hers. She’s a good looker but no action.

Thanks for your insight and advice I’m sure it won’t help me at all. Craig smiled and stood to greet Joan. Hope the guys down the hall didn’t give you too hard of a time.

No way. If they didn’t ask, I’d be offended.

Why do you want to work here? We both know you can do much better out there.

I’ve been trained as a scientist. My dad was a researcher until he died last year. He was working on DFB at a private company. It was a division of International Plastics and was well funded. I want to continue his work. Satisfying a few guys every day won’t make a difference, not the kind of difference I want to make.

Why start here as an assistant? With your credentials you can get a research position at a number of private companies. Maybe even the one your dad worked for?

The Institute has the best people. I’d much rather work here. Hire me and give me a chance to prove myself.

Craig was happy she gave him the opportunity to hire her last year. He went back to looking into his microscope and dictating to Angela.

Joan reached out and tapped Craig’s hand, causing him to jump and slightly change the focus of the scope.

Hey, what the- When he saw Joan, his face immediately morphed into a smile and he turned his chair toward her.

I’m sorry, Craig, I didn’t mean to disturb you.

Yes, you did. What’s up?

Here are the notes.

Joan gently stroked Craig’s arm as she made eye contact and smiled. Craig watched Joan’s soft blond hair bounce gently on the white shoulders of her lab coat. Her firm, shapely backside, accentuated hips and her long thin legs mesmerized him for a moment or two. Oh, one more thing Joan. Have those samples lyophilized and prepared for sex, . . . er, I mean scanning. Craig and Joan smiled one of those flirts that keep the juices flowing among workers. Craig went right back into work mode. He retrieved a copy of an article, on his terminal that he had recently published and immediately forwarded to page three.

Damn! How the hell could I make such stupid statements, Angela?

Is that a rhetorical question, Craig?

Yes, it is. Take a look at page three of my article in last month’s issue of Human Reproduction and compare what I published with my work over the past couple of weeks. Do you see a problem?

It seems your recent findings are inconsistent with your article.

Exactly. Oh Shit. I’ll look like a fool if I don’t get out a good follow-up piece soon. Craig slammed his hand on top of the counter, gritted his teeth, and rubbed his forehead firmly with his fingertips. "I’m like all