Prototype
Prologue

Fifty years ago, this technology didn’t exist, even in the most forward thinking novels.

Today, science-fiction technology of the future was his.

The ability to grow human beings and manipulate their development for his own use was at his fingertips. His ultimate success was imminent; the fetus growing in the synthetic uterus was almost ready to be “born” into the world he was preparing for it.

The fetus’ status began to change, ready at last, and the fluid started to drip out; this was the moment of truth. This moment was the birth of the first human to be grown entirely in an artificial uterus under the supervision of genetic researchers instead of health staff and to a set of parents.

The fluid drained from the top and out the bottom; air bubbles escaped to the top as the volume of air increased. The bottom of the tube opened slowly allowing precious space for the fetus to be taken into the arms of its creator. The child took a deep breath of air and considered crying. Instead of crying, the newborn yawned, and glanced around the room at its new surroundings.

The newborn, this success, was a little girl.

She was cradled in a warm blanket to absorb the excess embryonic fluid and her umbilical cord was cut, separating her from her old environment. The research staff took her statistics to determine her birth health, measured her, photographed her, and began charting all her details. This was a monumental moment for science, and for Granat’s research; this child was utterly perfect.

For years, decades even, Granat attempted to synthetically gestate a child, but never before was he successful. His previous experiments proved useful, but they lacked a “normal” appearance; they were genetically spliced which denied them the most basic human characteristics. However, this one was different; she would blend in perfectly to the world around her.

He hoped for a boy – all of his previous samples were male, but when the opportunity presented itself for such a healthy zygote, he jumped on it. She was gift-wrapped for him, presented on a silver platter. Truthfully, there was no scientific or even significant reason he could see for having a male, other than stages of puberty and still poorly understood reproductive hormones, but he decided this little female fetus was perfect. He wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

Stealing the fetus was easy; far easier than he expected it to be. His plan was expected to launch years down the road, but one of his medications worked and the woman came to him with a developing fetus. If it wasn’t his destiny to complete this work, then why did everything present itself so perfectly? His experimental technology with safely removing a developing embryo from a womb worked perfectly and he was able to grow a perfect creation. No suspicions, no questions, no consequences.

Granat laughed inwardly at his own brilliance; this kind of technology – of project - was years away from reaching the light of day, and much longer before becoming commercialized. He was on the brink of a wonderful new discovery; he felt like Charles Darwin with his theory of Evolution; he knew something the world was not yet ready to accept, but the information needed to reach the general public eventually. His plan was so brilliant; he would become a millionaire at least a hundred times over.

The infant opened her eyes and abruptly closed them in response to the harsh laboratory lightly. The little fists began to turn and flail and the infant began to cry.

Granat cuddled her closer, and she started to fall asleep in his arms, humming awkwardly as an aftermath of the heartfelt tears.

“Happy Birthday, young lady,” Granat said to the newborn. Overwhelmed with his own success, he caught himself tearing up, and cuddled the infant in toward his chest.

There, she nestled, and dozed off.

“I will name you Reggie… Reggie Ramone.”