Aphasiac

Chapter Twenty-Two

Nelson Residence
September 21, 2000

Robyn loved to help in the kitchen. Help or get in the way, whichever was more appropriate at the time. That was usually getting in the way. She and her mother were making cookies. Chocolate chip. It seemed Robyn was eating more than she was baking. No surprise. No child can resist cookie dough.

Paula let her stir, pretending she didn't notice the fingers that would dip into the bowl for another taste. And another. And another. Robyn had wanted to make her own, very big, cookie and so Paula supervised as Robyn flattened the dough over an entire sheet. It was almost a tradition now. A big cookie every time they baked. There was a system to it. First Robyn would flatten the dough over the sheet with her own rolling pin. Then she'd squish in the sides "just because it looks pretty that way". Then she'd make a face with the leftover chocolate chips. A name was the final touch. This child named everything. Today she named the cookie Ernie "because he looks like an Ernie".

Paula opened the oven to put the cookie sheet in. Waves of heat radiated into the kitchen. Robyn, three years old and curious came in too close and reached out her little fingers before Paula could stop her. The tears and look of surprise on her daughters face was enough to let Paula know that the oven was more than hot enough. If Robyn could have cried out she certainly would have.

Sutton's Supply (level PB)

Kari's daughter, Summer, was a beautiful child, one of the oldest. She had just turned three. Her hair was dark and her blue eyes framed by thick lashes, the kind that would never need mascara. Unlike her donor who had been born with a mild form of cancer, Summer had been born perfectly healthy, not a trace of the disease in her body.

Summer had been the only clone to make it past the blastocyst stage of fetal development, the only clone out of twenty attempts, all of whom had donors who were infested with some kind of life threatening disease whether that be cancer, AIDS, or whatever.

It had been a huge issue of conscience for Harold to even consider producing clones from diseased donors; however, his increasing hunger for more knowledge put all moral decisions in a shadowed corner. Harold's humanity and wish for the good will of others had to be somewhat put aside if he was to ever reach the plateau of complete understanding. This was how he justified his decision to continue. This was not a question of morals. It was a business decision and in a world evolving as quickly as it was Harold wasn't going to be the one to hinder what would soon be normal and accepted.

Though he feigned disappointment and played up his disapproval with the crew, like it was their fault the fetus' refused to develop, Harold was secretly relieved when Donna nervously delivered the news that only one had survived and even more so when Summer was born cancer-free.

In the three years since this had all taken place, Harold had never again attempted the use of purposely-faulty cells. It seemed too much of a burden to risk producing a child only to die of an illness Harold purposely put in its way. No, he wouldn't try that again. Through Summer he had enough information gathered to make a general statement in his book that diseases, at least cancer, do not necessarily carry on into the clone, at least no more than a disease passing from mother to fetus in normal conception. In the beginning, Harold knew, this would be accepted as truth, he being the first to proclaim publicly the success of human cloning, a hero in some ways. Harold also knew that it wouldn't take long before the scientific world challenged him arguing that such a generalization was completely, utterly, and totally unreliable as only one subject was involved in the study.

Harold didn't care and he had a lot of time before that day came. He wouldn't sacrifice the lives of innocents to satisfy some proud, stuck-up scientist.