Eventually your smile faltered, your eyes glazed, your hands fell to your side, and you dropped to the floor.
‘Reed.’
I was by your side in a single leap.
‘Reed, what is wrong?’
I lifted you and held you limp in my arms, patting your cheeks to rouse you. Eventually you came to and I hurried you inside, sitting you on the bed.
‘What happened? Does it hurt?’
Your breaths were fast and short, but you managed a nod.
‘Where does it hurt?’
You touched a finger to your chest.
I brought you some water and knelt before you as you finished it in six large gulps. When you surfaced for air, the cup fell from your hands and you fumbled for it in shock. You knew it was wrong to break cups.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said, catching it neatly before it hit the floor. ‘Don’t worry. Lie down.’
I covered you with a blanket and you curled up on your side. Eventually your breathing returned to normal and you slept. I watched you for two hours without moving.
When you woke you seemed fine, though a little quiet, and you went about your day as if nothing had ever happened. I, however, thought about nothing else for some days afterwards. I considered the possibility that some genetic anomaly had given rise to a vascular condition, but this would have been impossible. I could remember every element of your genetic design perfectly, and I knew there was no such flaw.
Perhaps it was merely indigestion, I eventually concluded. But a month later the same thing happened.
We were on a walk when I noticed you had lagged behind.
‘Keep up, Reed,’ I said, but glancing back I froze. You had staggered to a halt by a tree, against which you now leaned panting and holding your chest. The sight took the breath from my lungs.
This time I took you to the Halls of Gestation, making no attempt to keep my speed from you.
I burst through the doors and made straight for the stone desk that sits in the centre of the wide, candlelit entrance hall. The attendant—a pale-faced female with a skewered bun of red-hair—looked up at the intrusion, eyes widening when she saw you.
‘There is something wrong with him,’ I said.
The attendant looked between us, then cocked her head.
‘Pardon?’
‘There is something wrong with my… with Reed.’
Once again she looked between us, as if we were a puzzle she had no interest in solving. I could already feel my hope for a positive outcome waning. Eventually she opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again and mouthed a word—human?—at me.
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘What else? He’s ill. I need to find out what’s wrong with him.’
You are like a bird, I thought, as I watched her regarding you.
‘He seems fine to me.’
You did appear brighter. Your cheeks were ruddy after the journey through the forest, and you were happily engrossed in a stray thread at my collar.
‘He was not ten minutes ago. His chest was giving him pain.’
‘Perhaps it was indigestion.’ She lowered her voice. ‘They used to have that, I believe.’
‘It is not indigestion. I think it is his heart.’
‘You are Ima,’ she said, scanning my face.
‘Yes?’
‘You were the one who created him, correct?’
‘Yes, why?’
‘Well then, surely you know his genetic code. Did you include anything that would have led to a heart condition?’
‘No, of course I did not.’
‘Well then, there you go.’
She smiled sweetly. I stared back at her, feeling a sudden overwhelming urge to stab her pretty hands with her own hair pin.
‘I think something went wrong,’ I said.
‘And what do you expect us to do about it?’
‘Nothing, I just need to go in there and run some tests.’
‘That is quite out of the question.’
‘Why?’
She flustered.
‘We cannot let anyone just come in and use valuable resources to run tests. We are the Halls of Gestation, not a laboratory, and besides, we are extremely busy.’
I heard the wax drip from a distant candle.
‘Busy with what?’ I said.
‘Transcendence.’
I rolled my eyes and shifted you onto my other hip.
‘I might have guessed,’ I said.
She straightened her neck in afront.
‘Our work untangling the quantum interactions of consciousness is critical to the project. We cannot afford to spend time or resources on anything else, least of all your foolish mistakes.’
I gritted my teeth.
‘I told you, I made no mistake.’
‘Then there is no problem, is there?’ There was that pretty smile again. ‘Good day.’
I stormed out and took you home, ruminating on what to do. I would take this to the council at the very next opportunity.