When I finished defending my thesis, the committee asked me what having a doctorate in Human Bioengineering would mean to me.
I told them it meant never wondering. It meant always knowing. It meant power.
I told them I had always believed it was God’s fear of the potential for human knowledge that got Adam and Eve kicked out of Eden.
I told them above all, that is what my education meant to me; knowledge at all costs.
It was this statement that ruined my entire life.
---
“Knowledge at all costs. You know, Aeschylus says Prometheus stole knowledge in the form of fire for humanity,” Dr. Novak, my committee chair said to me enthusiastically after commencement. “That’s why the new project I’m working on is codenamed Prometheus…and I can’t help but to think your beliefs would make you an excellent intern, Cielle. Good pay as well.”
Dr. Novak is now happily enjoying life in prison.
It’s better than the death penalty given to our more invested colleagues.
I visited Dr. Novak last year and he still doesn’t think we did anything wrong. He said we just created a new understanding of life.
He was our creation story. No ribs or sand required.
Henry told me he had it made this way on purpose so people waiting to see him couldn’t get too comfortable.
When his receptionist clocked out she offered me her chair, but I was too afraid moving would wake Adam up and he’d start crying. Every moment he is conscious he cries, even when his mind has the words for what upsets him.
He deserves to cry all the time.
He was our creation story. No ribs or sand required.
***
Our Adam sits cross legged on my bare legs, his head lolling against my chiffon covered breasts, his golden hair just under my chin. The chair I’m sitting in is made of expensive black leather and imported bamboo, but it’s hard as a rock.Henry told me he had it made this way on purpose so people waiting to see him couldn’t get too comfortable.
When his receptionist clocked out she offered me her chair, but I was too afraid moving would wake Adam up and he’d start crying. Every moment he is conscious he cries, even when his mind has the words for what upsets him.
He deserves to cry all the time.
I want to cry all the time.
He’d been created in a nurturing safe space and allowed to exist with only natural instincts and infinite potential. One bad information leak and he was out in the real world with all its dangers and suffocation.
I’d been made to enroll him in in person daycare to see if he could socialize, but he wasn’t ready. He mostly cried and didn’t know what the other kids knew; he was scolded for calling us Cielle and Henry. The older school-aged kids in daycare called him cruel names.
I’d been made to enroll him in in person daycare to see if he could socialize, but he wasn’t ready. He mostly cried and didn’t know what the other kids knew; he was scolded for calling us Cielle and Henry. The older school-aged kids in daycare called him cruel names.
Thankfully, Adam doesn’t understand these names yet.
I had crueler names; zombie, walking corpse, a mix of machine in living skin that will grow and age as his natural nano programming seems fit.
I had crueler names; zombie, walking corpse, a mix of machine in living skin that will grow and age as his natural nano programming seems fit.
Like Victor Frankenstein’s monster. Only in our version the townspeople killed the creators. Our creation lives. Our creation is Victor.
Through the office door I hear Henry laughing loudly with his colleagues. Chairs scratch the hardwood as they trade banter about weekend plans. His office door swings open and he walks out with Mr. Kyto and the other Tempus executives at his heels. I glimpse the stars, large and twinkling in blackness from his large window before he shuts the door.
As Henry’ colleague’s pass they greet me as the Mrs.--which still makes me uncomfortable.
Once the executives have left, Henry leans down kisses me lightly on the lips. I crave more. Being home and practically friendless all I think about is spending time with him. Time our Victor doesn’t ever give us because even a year into our little arrangement, he needs to see my face to sleep at night.
Henry gestures to the elevators, but I’m hesitant. I look at the sleeping toddler (monster) in my arms. If Victor wakes up he won’t stop crying and we can’t go to dinner and nosy grandmas at the restaurant will tell me my child is too old to not use his words.
“It’s okay, Cielle,” Henry says, taking Victor gently out my tiring arms. Holding the boy firm, he doesn’t wake and Henry turns the volume off his private elevator so it won't ding. I remove my heels so they don’t click.
“You look beautiful, sweetheart,” he whispers, indifferent to the wrinkles in the off-white dress. I’d purchased it because it looked similar to a classic wedding dress. I had gone less traditional on our actual wedding day in and this seemed appropriate for our anniversary.
It was a great dress, the tight bodice added definition to my chest and (when I could put them back on) the heels elongated my legs. It would have been perfect if not for the wrinkles on the skirt caused by the burden in his arms.
Tempus employees working the late shifts stare approvingly or disdainfully as we descend 47 floors in the clear elevator to the executive garage. We must look like the perfect young family and in some ways we are meant to be. The government banished me from ever working in the sciences and Henry offered me the tired role of wife and mother on one knee. I wasn’t thrilled, but I planned to excel at this role if it's all I could have.
Henry has a new new car, all I know is it’s a Maybach that barely fits the three of us. He prattles off the list of features that sound like the features on his other 4 vehicles. It’s a frivolous purchase we can barely afford, even on his salary, but what can I say to the man who agreed to take in Victor just weeks after our marriage ?
He knows the truth about Victor’s creation. I had to tell him and he had to sign the same contract I did. If we tell anyone what Victor really is, even tell him of his own origin, he will be terminated and we will be put to death. If just one of us screws up, we will both go down.
Henry now lives with the fact that his employer, Tempus—who treats us so well—is also secretly Eternus Unlimited, the most shamed, immoral tech firm in the world.
The two of them seem to get along so well I sometimes think of him as Henry II. Henry had always been driven and career focused, but he showed more patience and love then I would have thought. During the trial proceedings , before the lab was officially shut down, I’d recoded Henry II DNA to make his appearance more like Henry.
We get through dinner without Henry II waking up, which is rare. I drink half a bottle of red wine and listen to Henry’s many stories of daily successes and triumphs. A piece of me is jealous of his life, but he’d done things right and I’d have to live vicariously through him for a while.
We talk about our wedding a year ago to this day, and of which Tempus employee got the drunkest at the reception.
Henry pays the bill and on our exit we hold hands in anticipation; perhaps he will sleep through the night and we can finally be alone again. In the car, Henry hits a speed bump and I hold my breath as Henry II lids lazily open, but blessedly they close again.
We avoid the elevator and walk the four flights of stairs to the apartment and as I lay Henry II head on his own bed his pretty dark blue eyes blink up at us.
They still aren’t right, not like Henry’s.
“You slept well, sleepyhead,” I tell him. Grateful he’s not fussy.
“Look who finally woke up,” Henry smiles from the door, his tie loose over his neck and shirt open. He gives me a disappointed look before walking back to our bedroom.
Henry II immediately starts wailing and he jumps out of bed, he fights my restraining arms and runs after Henry. I know immediately Henry II is afraid that Henry is going off to a late night reception,.
I follow him out into the hallway and watch as Henry picks him up, and the boy is instantly quieted by Henry’s hugs and kisses. I want to stream this to the government officials who are still lobbying to have our son terminated. Affection was not coded into his genetic or his bio makeup. Paternal bonds were never going to be part of the equation. But this ability to love a man he didn’t know a year ago shows me he is more than a perverse science experiment or an illegal biological android system.
In my first year at the MIT doctoral program, I had to take a prerequisite course in bioethics. We were required to read a novel by an author named Phillip K. Dick about a future where bounty hunters kill fugitive androids. The assignment felt beneath me. The fictional science in the story was an insult; but I now know that wasn’t the point.
In the story, to tell an android from a human, they give them an empathy test because androids were not programmed with empathy.
I follow Henry into the bedroom where he collapses into our bed with Henry II, kicking off my shoes I take my spot across from him and Henry pulls his arm around us, so He, Henry II and I are in one embrace.
“Did you have sweet dreams ?,” I ask him and then in a silly voice. “What kind of sheep did you see jumping over fences ? Where they big living sheep or genetically created android sheep ?”
Our boy laughs and nods enthusiastically and Henry looks at me quizzically.
I never finished that book for bioethics, but the class got into a heated discussion over if artificial empathy can ever be genetically written in the lab. Looking at Henry and his son I know it doesn’t matter—because it can be created.
---
A/N
Retcon: Alan’s Dad knows he is an android now. Before he didn't know.
So, the title of this short is a reference to the Phillip K Dick novel, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sleep ? Which is more commonly known as the inspiration for the cult movie Blade Runner. I always liked the title of the book and I wanted to work it in since I started getting into the cyberpunk genre.
Also, yes there is a dress-piration
Through the office door I hear Henry laughing loudly with his colleagues. Chairs scratch the hardwood as they trade banter about weekend plans. His office door swings open and he walks out with Mr. Kyto and the other Tempus executives at his heels. I glimpse the stars, large and twinkling in blackness from his large window before he shuts the door.
As Henry’ colleague’s pass they greet me as the Mrs.--which still makes me uncomfortable.
Once the executives have left, Henry leans down kisses me lightly on the lips. I crave more. Being home and practically friendless all I think about is spending time with him. Time our Victor doesn’t ever give us because even a year into our little arrangement, he needs to see my face to sleep at night.
Henry gestures to the elevators, but I’m hesitant. I look at the sleeping toddler (monster) in my arms. If Victor wakes up he won’t stop crying and we can’t go to dinner and nosy grandmas at the restaurant will tell me my child is too old to not use his words.
“It’s okay, Cielle,” Henry says, taking Victor gently out my tiring arms. Holding the boy firm, he doesn’t wake and Henry turns the volume off his private elevator so it won't ding. I remove my heels so they don’t click.
“You look beautiful, sweetheart,” he whispers, indifferent to the wrinkles in the off-white dress. I’d purchased it because it looked similar to a classic wedding dress. I had gone less traditional on our actual wedding day in and this seemed appropriate for our anniversary.
It was a great dress, the tight bodice added definition to my chest and (when I could put them back on) the heels elongated my legs. It would have been perfect if not for the wrinkles on the skirt caused by the burden in his arms.
Tempus employees working the late shifts stare approvingly or disdainfully as we descend 47 floors in the clear elevator to the executive garage. We must look like the perfect young family and in some ways we are meant to be. The government banished me from ever working in the sciences and Henry offered me the tired role of wife and mother on one knee. I wasn’t thrilled, but I planned to excel at this role if it's all I could have.
Henry has a new new car, all I know is it’s a Maybach that barely fits the three of us. He prattles off the list of features that sound like the features on his other 4 vehicles. It’s a frivolous purchase we can barely afford, even on his salary, but what can I say to the man who agreed to take in Victor just weeks after our marriage ?
He knows the truth about Victor’s creation. I had to tell him and he had to sign the same contract I did. If we tell anyone what Victor really is, even tell him of his own origin, he will be terminated and we will be put to death. If just one of us screws up, we will both go down.
Henry now lives with the fact that his employer, Tempus—who treats us so well—is also secretly Eternus Unlimited, the most shamed, immoral tech firm in the world.
The two of them seem to get along so well I sometimes think of him as Henry II. Henry had always been driven and career focused, but he showed more patience and love then I would have thought. During the trial proceedings , before the lab was officially shut down, I’d recoded Henry II DNA to make his appearance more like Henry.
We get through dinner without Henry II waking up, which is rare. I drink half a bottle of red wine and listen to Henry’s many stories of daily successes and triumphs. A piece of me is jealous of his life, but he’d done things right and I’d have to live vicariously through him for a while.
We talk about our wedding a year ago to this day, and of which Tempus employee got the drunkest at the reception.
Henry pays the bill and on our exit we hold hands in anticipation; perhaps he will sleep through the night and we can finally be alone again. In the car, Henry hits a speed bump and I hold my breath as Henry II lids lazily open, but blessedly they close again.
We avoid the elevator and walk the four flights of stairs to the apartment and as I lay Henry II head on his own bed his pretty dark blue eyes blink up at us.
They still aren’t right, not like Henry’s.
“You slept well, sleepyhead,” I tell him. Grateful he’s not fussy.
“Look who finally woke up,” Henry smiles from the door, his tie loose over his neck and shirt open. He gives me a disappointed look before walking back to our bedroom.
Henry II immediately starts wailing and he jumps out of bed, he fights my restraining arms and runs after Henry. I know immediately Henry II is afraid that Henry is going off to a late night reception,.
I follow him out into the hallway and watch as Henry picks him up, and the boy is instantly quieted by Henry’s hugs and kisses. I want to stream this to the government officials who are still lobbying to have our son terminated. Affection was not coded into his genetic or his bio makeup. Paternal bonds were never going to be part of the equation. But this ability to love a man he didn’t know a year ago shows me he is more than a perverse science experiment or an illegal biological android system.
In my first year at the MIT doctoral program, I had to take a prerequisite course in bioethics. We were required to read a novel by an author named Phillip K. Dick about a future where bounty hunters kill fugitive androids. The assignment felt beneath me. The fictional science in the story was an insult; but I now know that wasn’t the point.
In the story, to tell an android from a human, they give them an empathy test because androids were not programmed with empathy.
I follow Henry into the bedroom where he collapses into our bed with Henry II, kicking off my shoes I take my spot across from him and Henry pulls his arm around us, so He, Henry II and I are in one embrace.
“Did you have sweet dreams ?,” I ask him and then in a silly voice. “What kind of sheep did you see jumping over fences ? Where they big living sheep or genetically created android sheep ?”
Our boy laughs and nods enthusiastically and Henry looks at me quizzically.
I never finished that book for bioethics, but the class got into a heated discussion over if artificial empathy can ever be genetically written in the lab. Looking at Henry and his son I know it doesn’t matter—because it can be created.
---
A/N
Retcon: Alan’s Dad knows he is an android now. Before he didn't know.
So, the title of this short is a reference to the Phillip K Dick novel, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sleep ? Which is more commonly known as the inspiration for the cult movie Blade Runner. I always liked the title of the book and I wanted to work it in since I started getting into the cyberpunk genre.
Also, yes there is a dress-piration
