Preserving Will Page 6

  Eva nodded. “I understand.” She looked around. “I was under the impression you would be leaving today.”

  Adam nodded. “That’s the plan.” He glanced at his bed, where a set of luggage sat empty. “At some point I guess I’ll need to pack, won’t I?”

  “I came to offer my assistance.”

  Adam shook his head. “I can handle that on my own, thanks.”

  Eva cocked her head. “Is something bothering you, Adam?”

  “Not at all. I’ve just… lost track of the time. I really should get started on my packing, shouldn’t I?”

  Eva paused for a moment, and then nodded. “You missed our status call. I suspected you might be distracted by your final preparations for your departure. Everyone reported that all is well, that they are in place, and their roles are developing as expected.”

  Adam nodded absentmindedly. He was in charge of keeping everything on schedule for the events of the year 2030, but now he’d need to leave the centralized hub of the Cavern. It was difficult to think of something beneath Antarctica as the central hub of an operation that would concentrate itself in a few of the United States, but that had been the case. “Good to hear.” He arched an eyebrow. “Speaking of people with current roles Outside, what brings you here?”

  She shrugged. “It is apparently fashionable for women in my position to have some… what do they call it… plastic surgery?” She snorted. “My people tell me that I must get my nose altered. I told them to tell me what they think my nose should look like and I will go to my own doctor.” She arched an eyebrow. “It is convenient that such procedures are expected to keep the person out of sight of the public for a few weeks, so I am using the time to come here to the Cavern and visit.” She stood up. “I sense that you prefer to pack for your own journey without assistance, and I will respect your wish. It was good to see you again, Adam.”

  Recognizing that he’d been a poor host, Adam stood and gave her a hug. “It was good to see you as well, Eva. I… guess I’m just nervous about heading back Outside for an extended period once again. It’s been nothing but short trips for the past few decades.” He smiled. “Tell Aaron I said hello.”

  “I will do that,” Eva replied, smiling back in a manner suggesting all was forgiven. She headed out the door.

  Adam teleported to the underground lab before the door finished closing.

  The air was over-oxygenated, optimized for the infant whose body he’d been desperately trying to rebuild for over a decade. Adam flipped a switch, and the ambient light came on with a level of intensity reminiscent of twilight, bright enough to see in, but not bright enough to harm sensitive new eyes. The lights generated a slight humming noise.

  The girl rested in what he’d dubbed her “bassinet,” the top of the cloning machine he’d built in the center of the room. His primary living quarters were cold, not because he’d grown accustomed to the cooler air of northern climates as popularly believed, but because he diverted huge amounts of power and nearly all of the warmer air in his home into the underground bunker. It was a sacrifice he was willing to make. The “bassinet” top was closed at almost all times, and the air he pumped inside was even more purified and oxygenated than the air in the larger room. A nutrient rich paste and pure fluid were fed into her body through tiny feeding tubes, tubes that he frequently moved from body parts dying to body parts living. He’d built a specific tube to directly feed her brain, the one part of her body that had never faltered. He’d set that up early on; he wanted to ensure that, even when he was away for several days, her brain had no chance to suffer a fatal event.

  At this point, if the girl died, Adam wasn’t sure he’d want to survive. Not even if it meant the failure of the plan to bring about Will Stark’s future survival. Her life and survival had become his own personal, private mission.

  He’d been accustomed to her body looking, literally, like death: tiny, unmoving, pale, and sickly. Today, her appearance literally took his breath away. Her skin was smooth and pink, and her chest rose and fell rhythmically as her budding lungs processed the air inside the bassinet. Her eyes were closed, and her face, so often scrunched in an expression of intense pain, was peaceful, the face of a cherubic child sleeping. Her arms and legs twitched, testing muscles and ligaments and tendons, daring to expend the energy needed to move.

  Her breathing was inaudible inside the “bassinet.” But the steady pulse on the heart monitor broke the silence of the lab and brought tears to his eyes. This was different. This was it. He knew it, knew it to the depths of his very soul, knew that this child would finally, truly, live.

  Adam moved to a chair against the outer wall, sat down, and let the relief and joy spread through him. He reached out to her mind. We’ve done it. I’m certain of it this time. You’ll finally be able to live a true life.

  He could feel the joy pour from her. I can feel it as well. There is no pain, no sense that my body is failing. Telepathy meant he could have a conversation with someone who, physically, had the body of a newborn. Her mind had continued to develop, and he talked to her in this fashion about the world in which he lived, his studies, and anything else she found interesting.

  Adam rocked back against the wall. This must have been what his father had experienced. Like him, the elder Adam had been taken with a helpless young child, had given an inordinate effort to help that child live, and had protected her against any who might do her harm until she was able to defend and take care of herself. His father had many faults, but when he felt the call to protect, nothing would prevent him from accomplishing his goals. That relentless drive to protect those he chose was a trait he was glad he’d inherited.

  He had a problem, however. The child his father had protected, now known as Hope, had two parents, parents well-known in her home village. He was the only one who knew this child’s parentage. Even if he said he’d just been trying to perfect the cloning process and had succeeded, others would want to know who he’d cloned… and why Adam had opted to perform his research in private when cloning had been a topic of interest to the Alliance for decades. Will had never been told he’d had a sister. In fact, Young Will was now considered an only child after the tragic death of his brother five years earlier. At no point in the videos of Will’s memory had they found any indication that he had a sister, living or dead. And he, Josh, and Angel had never referenced a sister in the diaries sent back in time to provide guidance until they’d developed the ability to extract Will’s memories.

  Why? Why hadn’t they mentioned her?

  Had she died at some point in the future? He truly believed she was viable outside the artificial womb he’d constructed for her. The thought that she’d perish in the future, becoming a nonessential bit of information to Will Stark and his journey through the past… he shook his head. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, allow that.

  If he wouldn’t allow her to die, then he must assume she’d lived. And if she’d lived, there must be some reason he’d seen fit to keep word of her existence from Will.

  Had he kept her true identity a secret from Josh and Angel as well? This infant, strange as it might seem, was their aunt, the sister of their father. Wouldn’t they have every right to know about her?

  And then he remembered it, a brief conversation he’d seen from a memory Will relived for them, the moment he’d learned that surly Fil and sweet Angel were brother and sister. Will had turned to Adam and asked if the man was their cousin. Adam, curiously, had offered a faint smile, and a comment that he was happy Will hadn’t asked if Adam was their uncle.

  He’d thought his comment from the future had been a mere amusement when he first watched it, an opinion reinforced by the fact that he’d run his hand through his eternally thin hair, as if poking fun of his appearance and his seemingly advanced age. And to Will, who at that time hadn’t realized he was two centuries into his own future, talking to people centuries old, the comment had been just that, a self-deprecating joke.

  Adam now wasn’t so sure
it was a joke. Had he sent himself a message from the future, in the same manner Hope had used to provide a clue to the nature of his future job? Why, specifically, state that he was glad Will hadn’t asked if he was their uncle?

  Was he perhaps giving himself a clue that the children’s aunt lived, in secret?

  He couldn’t be certain of the full meaning of the message just yet. For now, though, he’d keep her survival—and more importantly, her identity—a secret.

  That survival would prove a difficult secret to keep. She’d grow, need more food, and need the freedom to move around. She couldn’t move around, though. Not here. Not in a place where people would know from her very thoughts the very scientific nature of her origin. Not where a simple blood test would reveal her parentage and very famous sibling.

  But he couldn’t keep her caged like some animal. The solution would need to come to him… somehow.

  With a sigh, he teleported back to his main room—and froze.

  “Your emotion was a bit strong, Adam,” Eva told him. “You will need to learn better control if you mean for the girl to live and keep her existence a secret.”

  Adam stared at her.

  “Very little happens around here that I do not detect. I try to avoid listening, but many people shout to my sensitive Energy ears.” Eva sighed. “How long will you need, before you are confident the girl will live?”

  Adam’s jaw dropped. “How… how long have you known?”

  “One does not approach the Cavern as if one is a meteor crashing to Earth without drawing attention, Adam. I have known the entire time. And yes, that knowledge does include her ancestry.”

  “Why not say anything, then?” Adam asked.

  “I suspect it was for the same reason you are looking to remove the girl from the Cavern. There is no indication from our various sources of intelligence about the future to suggest anyone knew she existed. That may change; perhaps we simply said nothing to keep Will from learning the truth, whatever the reasoning for such a decision might be. But it is apparent to me by various bits of logic that this girl will not be raised here in the Cavern.”

  Adam sighed. Oddly, knowing someone else knew—and ostensibly approved—of his actions, and understood his current concerns, was a relief. “I feel a tremendous bond with her… and yet I realize that I must take her away, and soon.” He shook his head. “What’s wrong with me? Why am I not fighting to find a way to keep her here?”

  “Perhaps you recognize that a home here would be no home,” Eva replied. “Her parentage would not long remain a secret, which would prematurely reveal the truth of the origins of Will Stark to an audience far too large to keep silent in in the face of future Aliomenti threats. She would grow up with unfair expectations in terms of Energy ability and leadership skills. She would be far better served growing up elsewhere, with periodic checkups by the very few who know her true story.”

  Adam glanced at her, realizing that she meant to relieve him of the burden he most feared. “You mean to take her with you when you return from your supposed surgery, don’t you?”

  Eva nodded. “I do. Humans have orphanages, homes for children who have lost their parents, and I intend to place her in one and ensure her treatment there is exemplary. I will likewise ensure that her eventual family is composed of people we would be proud to invite to join the Alliance. And I will tell you where she is at all times so that you may check in on her as you see fit.” She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Do not fret, Adam. You have done a wondrous thing. It is time to let go, and to let this girl live the life she is meant to live… a life only possible through your Herculean efforts.”

  Adam said nothing for several minutes. He finally looked up and nodded.

  “You did not answer my original question, though,” Eva added. “How long will it take you to ensure she will live outside the artificial womb she resides in today?”

  “Two weeks,” Adam said, after a moment’s consideration. “I need two weeks.”

  Eva nodded. “You recognize that you will miss the start of your schooling if you remain here that long.”

  Adam dropped his head. “I hadn’t thought of that. But I won’t leave her until I know for sure. If something goes wrong, I’m the one best suited to attend to her.”

  “I agree,” Eva replied. “But it is also a well-known fact that you were planning to leave for your next trip Outside today, to meet the admissions director at your chosen university and plead your case for admission, since you are, by the records they have, one without a high school diploma, and thus do not qualify for admission through normal channels. You will lose one year of schooling for her, a price I am certain you are willing to pay. However, you must devise a plan to explain your failure to depart as scheduled to those living here, and it must be a plan fit for public consumption.”

  Adam thought about it, came up with his plan, and grimaced. “I know what I must do, Eva. But I’d prefer you were not here to witness what will transpire. You will be as surprised as others when it happens. As you should be.”

  Eva nodded. “I shall depart, then. We will speak again in two weeks on this subject.”

  She left, leaving Adam alone with his thoughts of the large hammer in his laboratory.

  It would hurt.

  But she was worth it.

  ●●●

  Two weeks later.

  Adam expected the knock at the door this time.

  Eva walked in and shut the door behind her, glancing at the cast covering Adam’s lower right leg. He sat in a large, stuffed chair with its back facing her at an angle, his damaged leg propped up on a stool.

  “Why the leg, if I may ask?” Eva’s tone indicated she was not questioning his choice, merely curious about his thinking process.

  “A bruise or a strain wouldn’t prevent me from traveling, not with the way we heal. A break or a ligament tear in an upper limb couldn’t reasonably keep me here, either; I could still travel, and I’d be able to head to campus and meet with the admissions director without much issue, outside some initial pain tolerance concerns.” He glanced at the leg propped up on the couch. “The leg, though? As badly mangled as it was, even one of us couldn’t heal quickly. And if I showed up there in this condition? The humans would wonder how someone with a leg broken in three places, with an injury that ought to require surgery, could possibly heal so quickly.” Eva could see his shoulders rise from behind as he shrugged. “I did talk to the university, though. They’re willing to let me enter next year after interviewing me and recognizing that, even without a high school diploma, I could still test out of most any subject and start my collegiate career as a sophomore. With that performance, and the ability to pay cash for tuition, they’ll wait for me as long as necessary.” He paused, and in the midst of the obvious pain, his facial muscles moved as a smile covered the face Eva couldn’t see. “Most importantly, all of it cleared me to remain here as long as needed.”

  Eva pulled a chair out from the table with an audible thud on the wooden floor and sat down. “The performance to sell the accident was masterful as well. I cannot imagine the pain.”

  Adam grimaced, remembering. He’d needed to shatter the bone before leaving his home. He couldn’t get the leverage with his arms, and so he’d used Energy to swing the sledgehammer into his shin. The pain had been incredible, but he’d managed to hold the screams inside. Teleporting to the nearest bridge, he’d started to walk across—an action that drove an additional surge of pain that nearly paralyzed him with agony—before allowing his foot to slip between the side slats, trapping his leg. He lost his balance and fell awkwardly. A sound clip of a huge branch snapping, played through a hidden music player and speaker, had left no doubt to those watching that the slip and fall had snapped his leg, in three places as it turned out.

  He’d refused the advancing nano-sized surgical robots for treatment, asking that he undergo surgery. He wanted his recovery to be human-like, for he’d need to go Outside again soon, and the s
tory of his shattered leg and recovery would be one he could then share with humans he’d meet. The successful surgery involved inserting pins into his leg, stabilizing the bone and allowing it to heal. His leg would heal faster than any human even without the added assistance of nanobots. But his goal had been accomplished, even if it had been at the expense of his pride and a not insignificant amount of pain.

  He nodded at Eva. “I suspect I’ll endure future snide comments about my clumsiness as a result, but I’m fine with that.”

  She paused, and then asked the key question: “How is the girl?”

  In answer, Adam rotated the chair to face her.

  The infant was swaddled in tightly bundled blankets and slept soundly. Eva only then noticed the soft cooing noises she made as she slept.

  Eva wiped the tear that had formed from her face. “You have performed a miracle, Adam. I hope you are proud of yourself.”

  He nodded. “When are you leaving?”

  “As soon as possible,” she replied, with a heavy sigh.

  Adam had expected it, and looked down at the sleeping child. “My friend will take you to your new family now,” he whispered. “I want you to remember something. I will always know where you are, and what you are experiencing. My friends and I will always protect you from any calamity. One day, perhaps, when you are older… I hope that we can be reunited. Until then, though… you are in the best possible hands.” He wiped a tear from his eye with his free hand, and grudgingly handed the child over to Eva.

  As Eva left, as he allowed the tears of grief to fall without shame, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d done the right thing.

  V

  Alone

  2011 A.D.

  It would be one of the pivotal events in Young Will’s life.

  The crash that would claim the lives of Richard and Rosemary Stark, the accident that would leave a sixteen-year-old boy an orphan, would occur this day. Will’s memories of the event were vivid, clear, full of the sounds of screaming and compacting metal, the scent of gasoline and oil and fire and fear, and the emotion of a boy wondering how he’d survived—and if his life would, tragically, be better for being left all alone in the world.