First of Her Kind

Identity is such a strange thing. Where in does it lay? How do we decide what is or isn't part of it? Is it a collection of personality traits, likes and dislikes, experiences…? Is it something physiological, existing in the tangible folds of gray matter inside our heads and detectable by machines that measure electrical impulses? Or, is it part of our supposed spirit inhabiting not just our bodies, but some greater, cosmic realm? What happens to it when we die? And, if our bodies can be brought back, could we ever hope to also regain ourselves?

John, a middle aged scientist, sat in a brightly lit dining room, sipping on a cup of coffee and reading over files. The repeating beep of an alarm sounded over the din of a running shower and rock music. With a glance at his wrist, he took the last swallow from his cup and walked across to the bottom of the stairs.

“Adam!” he shouted up the stairs, “your alarm!”

The shower handle squeaked as the water stopped and the ‘thump, thump, thump’ of feet running across the floor preceded the interruption of the alarm clock.

“Sorry, Dad,” the voice of a young woman carried down the stairs.

John shook his head in amusement and proceeded to the kitchen for another cup of coffee. As he returned to the table, his dark haired daughter appeared, scurrying down the stairs, wet hair darkening her blue tee shirt. She hurriedly gathered her mahogany curls into a high ponytail, tossing her back pack down by the front door.

“You’re running late,” John gave his watch an exaggerated glance for show.

“I know, I know, I know,” Adam stepped into her shoes, not pausing to lace them. “I was up all night working on a college essay.”

“Harvard?” John asked eagerly, standing to follow her into the kitchen.

“I was thinking something a little closer to home,” Adam cast him an annoyed glance. “I swear you must be trying to chase me off.” She began to scour the fridge and one cupboard after another.

John followed her around, shutting cupboard doors left ajar and putting up boxes left down. He surrendered his endeavor and opened the cupboard above the fridge, extracting a box of protein bars.

“I’m not trying to send you away,” he said, gently handing her the box. “I just want the best opportunities for you. And, I don’t want you sticking around just for me.”

“Maybe I’m doing it for me?” Adam asked. “College is expensive. Harvard is very expensive.”

“You have scholarships,” John said, following her back out to the dining room.

“Dorms are crowded,” Adam added.

“You can join a sorority.”

Adam crossed the living room lifting couch cushions and throw blankets.

“Maybe I just don’t want to live on my own,” Adam said. “Make my own doctors appointments, cook my own meals.”

“You’ve been doing all of that since you were eleven,” John said. “Coffee table.”

Adam exclaimed as she picked up a set of keys and a name tag from the decorative bowl sitting on the coffee table. She sighed and turned around to face John.

“You can’t stay here to keep me happy,” John said. “An Ivy league school is going to lead you straight into opportunities that I could only dream of. Opportunities,” he turned back to his files on the dining room table “where you don’t have to beg and barter for money to advance the world of science by leaps and bounds.”

“Big meeting with the investors today, huh?” Adam asked, her dark eyes filling with concern.

“Oh, yeah,” John groaned. “They want me to prove all their money isn’t just going towards rat food and office espresso machines.”

“You’ll do fine,” Adam reassured him.

“Big skate competition today, huh?” John asked in a pathetic attempt to change the subject.

Adam’s eyes widened and she cussed. “Yes, I gotta go.”

She dashed back to the front door, grabbing her backpack, sports bag and skateboard.

“Will you be there?” she asked, pausing with her hand on the door knob.

“I will try my hardest,” John promised.

Adam smiled, “good luck, I know you’ll do great.”

“Same to you,” John said. “Love you.”

Adam dashed out the door. John went to collect his folders as he heard the car in the driveway start and roll away. He sighed heavily, glancing again at the silver time piece on his wrist, pausing to admire the inscripted initials around the face “J.D.S, M.A.S, A.B.S” each separated by a gem. His, Adam’s and his dear, late wife, Melony’s initials; a gift for his first Father’s Day.

He shook himself from his thoughts and loaded his files into his breif case. There was much to do today and he had to get it done before Adam’s skate competition.

The lab was located only a few minutes outside of town. A rod iron gate set into eight foot high concrete walls opened the way to a cement driveway that cut through an expertly manicured and landscaped quad where a modern looking, white house was situated in front of a hulking gray warehouse. As John rolled up to the front door, he was greeted by a thin, pale, dishwater pale woman in a pencil skirt and lab coat.

“Jessie,” he nodded as he stepped out of the car, breif case in tow. “Are they here?”

“Arrived just a few minutes before you,” Jessie said. “The general seems to be in a good mood.”

John sighed heavily and straightened his wire frame glasses. “Bring on the lions.” He walked towards the door and stopped short, turning back to Jessie. “Why don’t you get Lucian and Evander ready for guests.”

“Are you sure?” Jessie asked. “Lucian maybe, but Evander still hasn’t…”

“I’m sure,” John said.

Inside a tall broad shouldered man with a crew cut, sporting marine dress blues covered in medals stood at the kitchen island sipping on a coffee cup and reading over a file while a group of formally dressed soldiers hovered about.

“General Findly,” John approached him and extended a hand.

The general smiled and heartily shook his hand.

“John, how you doing, boy? How’s that little one of yours?”

“Not so little now,” John said. “Off to college soon.”

“Great, great,” Finly barely took a breath. “You must be so proud. As you must be in your little Frankenstein project here.”

“Uh, yes, sir,” John said. “Very proud, we’ve had a few interesting developments in how our implants and microbots can interact with natural biology. I think there may be promising medical application with some, uh, reigning in.”

“Reigning in?” the general raised one bushy eyebrow.

“Yes, sir,” John said. “The technology seems to be overcompensating for the short comings of human biology but that ends up putting far too much stress on the subjects healthy anatomy.”

Finly’s jaw set in a look that could have been interpreted as disapproval or perhaps, curious thought.

“It’s really a great development, just needs further exploration,” John scrambled. “I have arranged for you to see two of our subjects today.” He gestured for the general to follow him. “You’ve met Lucian. I think you will be impressed with his progress. When you last saw him, he was still almost a robot.”

Through the living room and down a narrow hall, there was a sort of rec-room. A young man, dark hair buzzed short showing scars underneath was fiddling with what appeared to be a small engine on a table while rock music played in the background. He was engrossed in his project, his foot tapping along to the music, not even noticing the spectators lingering in the doorway.

“He’s shown preference in hobbies, music, food,” John explained in a hushed tone. “His donor profile says he was a computer tech, military drones, bomb detectors, that sort of thing. However he’s taken a liking to engines here. His music preference in life was electronica and techno, now he seems to prefer the more modern rock artists. His food preferences are almost identical to his previous tastes. What we are seeing in him is a tendency to lean towards the same kind of stimulation he sought out in his lifetime. There is still a distinct lack of any unique speech pattern though. And, we’ve noticed, um, he,” John lowered his voice even more, “he really doesn’t like war movies or video games. Even action movies with gun fire seem to cause him a little distress. He wears a wireless heart monitor. We’ve noticed spikes when he’s exposed to sounds like gunshots, explosions, stuff like that.”

“KIA?” Finly asked.

John nodded with a grim look. “We have given him no details of his life. He doesn’t have access to his donor profile. We aren’t sure if there’s a latent trauma deep below the surface or if he is simply stressed out by the concept of humans harming one another.”

The general nodded and stepped into the room. “Lucian?”

Lucian looked up from his project before standing up slowly, his head tilting slightly at the sight of the stranger before him. “I have seen you before.”

“A couple years ago now,” Finly said extending a friendly hand. “General Greggory Finly.”

Lucian began to extend his hand then stopped, looking down at it and back up at the general. “Apologies, I am dirty with grease. Your clothes are so clean.”

Finly chuckled a little and rescinded his hand. “I’ve tinkered with many engines in my day. My first tour in the middle east, four trucks all shot to hell. We pieced together four engines to make two that sorta worked, loaded our cargo and packed into them like sardines trying to get to the next base. But, I appreciate the courtesy, I have an important get together when I’m done here.”

“I am not allowed to work on trucks yet,” Lucian said with a weak smile. “This is the lawn mower.”

“The, the lawnmower?” John asked incredulously.

“It was idling out when Mr. Jameson shifted it into neutral,” Lucian said. “I wanted to help.”

Jessie came buzzing through the door eagerly. “Luce,” she said sweetly, “we buy engines for you to work on, you can’t just take apart the lawn equipment.”

“I fixed it,” Lucian said.

“Did you indeed, boy?” the general asked.

Lucian nodded eagerly.

“Go put it back in, I want to see when I’m done with my rounds,” the general instructed.

Lucian smiled and returned to his engine, wrapping it up in the cloth it sat on and leaving through a patio door on the other side of the room.

“That boy was like a toddler when I last saw him,” the general turned to John. “Now he’s rebuilding engine blocks. That is impressive.”

“Thank you,” John straightened up a little. “He really is…”

“Now, this other subject of yours,” the general interrupted. “Evander, I believe you call him? I was reading his file and I’m intrigued.”

“Evander,” John inhaled through his teeth, “is kind of a half success. Lucian is still suffering a little in the body even though his mind is getting closer to the goal we set. Evander is… well, maybe I should just show you.”

Further down the hall a bedroom door sat open. A large, muscular, bald man with a scarred scalp sat in a chair staring blankly at a TV. John’s polite tap on the frame drew his gaze to the door.

“Hello, Evander,” John greeted him. “How are you today?”

Evanders blue eyes wandered for a moment before he answered. “I am… well? Who is he?”

“This is General Finly,” John explained. “He’s here to see how you and Lucian are progressing.”

Evander stood up with all the seemingness of a robot. “Lucian is intelligent, personable and maybe even empathetic. I am strong, smart and I have a high healing factor.”

“That is correct,” John nodded.

Finly stepped forward. “How do you feel about Lucian?”

Evander looked blankly from Finly to John and back again.

“Feel,” he seemed to struggle with the word.

John felt himself become tense as Finly cast a glance in his direction.

“Perhaps,” Finly tried again, “what do you think of Lucian?”

“Lucian is weaker in the body, he has a leg that malfunctions” Evander said. “He… breaks down. He is more intelligent than me though. He understands how to feel.”

Finly stepped forward again, looking Evander over like he was judging a prize show horse. Evander didn’t move or break eye contact with John who could only hope that Evander’s superior physique would impress where his cognitive abilities couldn’t.

“I’d like to give you a demonstration of Evanders abilities, but I’m afraid he is in recovery,” John said. “Come with me to the office and I’ll show you the footage. Thank you, Evander.”

Evander turned back to the TV and rigidly sat back down in his arm chair.

John led the small entourage of military personnel to his office, extolling the advancements in his research as he went. He sat down at his desk and entered his password.

“Now,” he said cautiously. “We are trying to figure out how to reign in this particular effect. Rather than using the micro-bots to simply reanimate the cloned tissue, we were actually able to take stem cells that were dormant in Evanders remaining wisdom teeth and infuse them into the very technology of the bots. They are able not only able to replicate the tissue we initially exposed them to, which was cardiovascular tissue, they have spread like an immune system through his body and they can replicate any organic matter much more effectively than our own bodies. The application are… well… infinite.”

“So, what is the issue?” Finly asked.

“Well,” John selected a video file. “This is evander when he was first activated.”

On the screen, a fit, but slim man stood in the middle of a large cell made from two metal walls and two plexiglass walls. Work out equipment, a tv and a bed were the only objects in the space. Evander’s countenance was barely recognizable as the behemoth that occupied the bedroom down the hall now. He studied the exercise equipment before him, circling it and tapping it with his foot. With little warning, he grabbed and hurled the largest of the dumbbells at the plexi glass, causing a significant crack. The immediate consequence of his actions left Evander clutching his arm, which swung limply at his side.

“When they first come alive,” John explained, “they can be a lot like wild animals. They are frightened, confused, and lack language skills. Lucian’s reintegration was a lot smoother than Evander’s. We only just two months ago let him out of the lab full time.”

“What am I watching here?” Finly asked.

Evander’s screams of pain erupted from the computer speakers. John quickly lowered the volume as his guests watched on. As Evander writhed and screamed in pain, the limp arm seemed to draw itself back into position, first at the shoulder, then the elbow.

“His body is….” the only woman soldier spoke up in astonishment.

“Mending itself, yes,” John said grimly.

He looked up to notice that her eyes were fixed on the screen, wide and dancing with sheer horror.

“We would have sedated him if we had realized what was happening.” John added. “It wasn’t uncommon at that time for him to throw himself into screaming fits. Sort of like, temper tantrums. We can only imagine the pain of this process. He actually has a remote control pain relief system implanted in his body now. At the time of this video, we didn’t dare go in there with him when he was like this.”

“He threw that thing hard enough to dislocate his own shoulder and elbow?” Finly asked.

“And wrist,” John nodded. “He is capable of great displays of strength, and as a response…” He sped the video up and zoomed in on Evander, who now laid in the middle of the floor, unconscious.

As the time lapsed, the injured arm appeared to swell from the injury and then deflate, but not back to its original size. Toned, pronounced muscles had taken the place of his previously slender biceps.

“He develops more musculature to accommodate the stress he has already put it through,” John said.

“How?” Finly asked, staring intently at the video.

“Well, muscles are built when the tissue tears and rebuilds and tears again and rebuilds again with continued application and gradual increase of stress on the muscle,” John said. “It seems that the microbots we used to rebuild his heart, which is practically a machine, by the way, rebuild his muscles quicker and more effectively than his natural biology.”

“Get this on the market and steroids will be a thing of the past,” Finly observed.

“This process is incredibly painful and requires a great deal of energy,” John informed him. “His vitals by the morning were like that of a man who hadn’t eaten in a week. However, after a very big meal, which gained myself and the staff a little more trust from him, he recovered within hours.”

“The other one doesn’t do this?” Finly asked.

“We’ve considered injecting the same tech into Lucian, his body keeps rejecting the cloned leg we put on him,” John said. “But, his wisdom teeth were long gone. And, it’s just the one leg. He was missing all sorts of pieces when he arrived. None of the others are being rejected. I don’t know why yet. And, while Evander is a marvel on the physical side of our research, Lucian is the most promising cognitive subject we’ve had. I don’t want to risk impairing the progress he’s made. My initial goal was to be able to bring mentally and physically complete people back. Evander is great, but I don’t think I’d ever put him out in society. Lucian very well may be there in a few short years, even if he has to go back out with a standard prosthetic.”

“Not putting all your eggs in one basket,” Finly patted John’s shoulder. “I can respect that. I hope you understand where I’m coming from, my boy, when I say this. Lucian is great, but I’m interested in what I can use to stitch our boys back together with as few seams as possible when they return home. I’d like you to keep your work up on Evander. I’ll also inform your scout of the criteria for an ideal donor so you continue this work.”

“Understood,” John nodded, “and thank you, sir. I will have Jessie email him a list of qualifiers.”

The group walked out of the office and back towards the living areas.

“So, what else do you need from me?” Finly asked.

“Mostly, we need more equipment to grow clone and stem cell cultures and manufacture our microbots, cognitive microchips, the delicate stuff you know?” John said. “I could build you a robot army with the limbs and spare parts we’ve developed, but, the only thing special about those is their biocompatibility. They’re a long way from being in trauma wards yet, but they’ll get there. Then we’ll both be rich and I can quit begging you for money.”

He and Finly laughed.

“I suppose that’s not unreasonable. It’s all yours.” Finly shook John’s hand again. “I want to come back in a few months and check on Evander back there. A promising specimen that one. If there’s anything I can do for you in the meantime, you have my number.”

“Thank you, General,” John walked Finly and company to the door.

As the door shut behind them. John heaved a big sigh of relief. He retreated to the kitchen, pouring a tall mug of coffee as he tried to calm his nerves.

“I put the engine back.”

John hissed as the first sip of hot coffee missed his lips and sloshed down the front of his shirt.

“I did not mean to startle you,” Lucian apologized.

“No, no, it’s okay Luce,” John said. “I’m sorry. I think I distracted the general. He never got around to looking at your engine.”

“Adam has her skateboarding championship today,” Lucian noted blankly. “It was on your phone calendar. You want to go in time to see her compete. You needed him to approve your funding and leave quickly. I understand. Can I show Jessie?”

“Please, do,” John said. “I’m sure she would be thrilled.”

Lucian nodded eagerly and turned to leave. He paused and turned back, his eyebrows furrowed slightly.

“I heard you tell Nurse Kayla that you think skateboarding is too dangerous and that you wish Adam would find a safer sport to participate in,” he observed. “If you do not like that she does skate boarding, why be so eager to watch her do it?”

John chuckled, leaning back on the counter. “I suppose you’d have to be a parent to really get it, Luce. But, in short, I love my girl, skateboarding makes her happy and, as much as it scares me, she is very good at it. I’m proud of her, and I want her to do something that makes her happy, so I go to watch and support.”

A strange look washed over Lucian’s face for a split second before he looked back up to meet John’s eye. “I think you are good at being a father, John.”

“Thank you, Lucian, that is high praise.”

Lucian nodded and turned to go find Jessie. John could have sworn for a second he caught a glimpse of sadness or something… something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He shook himself from thought and looked at his watch. Cursing, he dumped his coffee in the sink and dashed for the door.

“She’s gonna be pissed,” he muttered to himself.

The rumble of plastic wheels rumbling over wood and board smacking concrete permeated the air. John searched the park for a familiar face. At the massive vert ramp, an announcer called out Adam’s name.

John rushed forward, eagerly looking towards the platform where Adam stood, almost indiscernible if it weren’t for her signature green and purple helmet. A horn sounded and she launched herself over the edge of the platform. John’s breath caught in his chest as he watched her fly down the curved wood structure. The crowd around him roared with excitement as she shot up the other side of the ramp. At the top, her board flew into the air and her feet followed as if magnetized to the wood. She seemed to float upside down for a split second before the boar came back around full circle and hit the ramp again with a sharp crack. John shortness of breath turned into a moment of swelling pride as she rolled back down and up the side again. Another jump and flip executed perfectly brought a deafening cheer from the crowd. Again the board came down with a ruckus discourse.

“Something’s wrong,” someone nearby stated as Adam started down again.

Suddenly, she was no longer gliding gracefully over the wood. The board wobbled and rattled as it shot past the observers and up the other side. Near the top, something was flung from underneath. John could only watch in horror as his daughter’s body was flung backwards, entangling with the board. Screams echoed through the arena. John was shoved over for a split moment. Desperately, he shoved panicked people aside and clambered over the fence panels. His heart drummed against his ribs as his gaze landed on the still, crumpled form at the bottom of the ramp. Someone tried to push him back.

“That’s my daughter,” he shouted. “I’m her dad. That’s my girl!”

He forced himself past the men attempting to hold him back. Begging any god that would listen for his daughter’s life.

“Adam,” he pleaded as he reached her. “Adam, please.”

Blood stained her pale face, and her clothes. A shard of bone protruded from one contorted leg. However, John’s pounding heart was stuck with deep, paralyzing realization as he noticed her wide brown eyes were looking straight up at the sky, but her mangled body had landed on its stomach. He dropped to his knees.

Despair filled sobs and “no, please no”s shook his body as the arena fell silent around him. EMTs rushed forward to assess the situation and, upon seeing the horror before them, resigned and turned their attention to dispersing the onlookers.

John staggered into an empty house, feeling weak with grief. He hovered at the bottom of the stares, staring at the first door at the top, decorated with skateboarding stickers. Stiffly, he took one step at a time, tears welling in his eyes again. Halfway up, he succumbed and staggered back down the steps, sitting on the landing with his face in his hands. A tap at the door barely drew him out of his misery.

“John?” Jessie cracked the door open and looked in. “John?”

“Jess,” John barely managed to speak.

Jessie’s blue eyes welled with tears as she looked around the door at him. She stepped through and closed the door standing in front of him.

“I came as soon as I could,” she spoke softly, her voice cracking a little. “I didn’t think you should be alone.”

“She’s gone,” John muttered through tears, the words echoing in his chest. “My little girl.”

Tears started rolling down Jessie’s cheeks as she pulled John into her. His sobs shook her tiny body as she did her best to comfort him.

They sat there at the bottom of the stares for what seemed like hours. Jessie’s presence was a small comfort but a comfort still, after all, she was now the closest thing he had to any family left. John’s thoughts swam with regret and dispair. Maybe he never should have let Adam start skateboarding. She would have found a way to do it anyway. How scare she must have been when she realized her board had failed. Did she see him there? Did she know her daddy was there at the end? What if…?

John’s mind suddenly became clear with a single thought. He lifted his head from Jessie’s shoulder and looked at her.

“We could get her body,” he said hoarsely.

Jessie’s brow furrowed in confusion before her eyes widened with realization. “Do you think…?”

“Call General Finly,” John jumped to his feet. “Wake him up if you have to.”

“John,” Jessie grabbed his arm.

He stopped to meet her gaze. Her eyes were filled with tears and concern.

“Are you sure about this John,” she asked earnestly.

“I lost my wife,” John said softly. “I had no chance with her, no body. No goodbye even. I can do something this time. I have to try. Jessie,” he took her hand, “I have to try.”

Jessie nodded and took her cell phone out. “Go get cleaned up.”

John started up the stares towards the bathroom. He stopped outside Adam’s door, resting his hand against the knob for a second.

“I have to try,” he said quietly to himself.

In front of the lab, John and Jessie stood on the back patio watching a helicopter touchdown. General Finly exited shouting orders. From the off side, a loaded gurney covered by a black tarp was unloaded and rolled towards the lab door by a crew of men in white clothes followed by another man carrying a red cooler.

John watched the gurney, the image of his daughter’s mangled body flashing back in his mind.

“John,” General Finly called him back to reality. “I’m so sorry John. It’s a hell of a thing you’ve been through.”

“Um, yeah,” John cleared his throat.

“John,” Finly looked at him intently. “Are you sure you want to put yourself through this?”

“Yes,” John nodded. “And, I can’t thank you enough for making this happen for me. I think our chances are good. We have cord blood from when she was born. I am also a compatible tissue donor for her.”

The general cast a glance at Jessie. “Let’s talk about this inside.”

In the kitchen, Jessie poured three cups of coffee as she started talking to the general.

“This isn’t just a personal project,” Jessie said. “With our usual donors, we have the restriction of donor anonymity. We have no idea so far if we are able to completely bring a person back because we have no way to remind them of who they actually were without running risks of violating anonymity. If…”

“When,” John corrected.

“When she remembers, we will have solid evidence that people can be brought back, whole, healthy, better than before.”

“I like that,” the general nodded. “I lost a son twenty years ago. Around the time I was read in on this project. I probably would have come to you then if I had known what I know now.”

“I’m sorry,” Jessie said softly.

“I appreciate that,” Finly said. “Now, I do have to point out that there are some… moral implication with this situation. I may receive heat from above if it gets out. We all could. We’re talking the “emminant domain” kind of heat. I’m hoping I can get a little tit-for-tat. Something good to keep my superiors from snooping around too much.”

“Anything,” John spoke up.

“Evander,” Finly said, setting his cup down, “is an interesting specimen. Very strong, resilient. Self healing. Not too… eh.. emotional.”

“Yes,” Jessie agreed. “In fact he seems to lack any but the most intense emotions, ones triggered by fight or flight instinct.”

“Survival instincts,” the general nodded.

A grim realization washed over John. “He’s the perfect soldier.”

“If he can and will take orders,” Finly nodded. “If he’s adaptable and has endurance.”

Jessie’s face grew pale as she looked from the general to John and back again.

“Speak plainly,” John said. “You want us to study him, make more of him, improve on them.”

“Yes,” Finly nodded. “In exchange, I bury your personal project deep. No one will ever bother you about it.”

Jessie and John shared a long, meaningful look. Jessie sighed heavily and nodded.

“Fine,” John said, turning back to Finly, “but, I maintain control of all the research.”

“Done,” Finly said. “You’ll have new equipment and fresh cadavers by week’s end.”

He turned on his heels to return to the waiting helicopter, pausing to look over his shoulder. “John, I really do wish you luck with your girl. The loss of a child is something indescribable, I’m sorry if I had to take advantage of your situation. Your work could potentially save hundreds of childrens’ lives.”

John nodded stiffly. As the general boarded his chopper, he turned back to kitchen.

“We’re going straight to hell for this,” he muttered.

“Is it worth it?” Jessie asked.

John looked at her, studying her face but reading nothing but the question posed.

“Yes,” he answered coolly.

“Then,” Jessie said, “we keep our heads down and we do the devil’s work.”