G is for Genome
Author: Iain Rob Wright
Date: 2015-04-22 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Horror
Description: History should stay in the past Dr Lester Solberg is an old man with ambition far behind him, but when a lucrative offer to work at a secret science facility is made to him, his curious nature will not allow him to refuse. He could never have known what he would find in rural Slovakia, but he soon understands that whenever man tries to imitate God, only disaster follows. Faced with the biggest ethical dilemma of his life, Lester must decide which side he is on: science or humanity. Short Story by bestselling author, Iain Rob Wright
Publisher: SalGad Publishing

BOOK SUMMARY

Dr Lester Solberg is an old man with ambition far behind him, but when a lucrative offer to work at a secret science facility is made to him, his curious nature will not allow him to refuse.

He could never have known what he would find in rural Slovakia, but he soon understands that whenever man tries to imitate God, only disaster follows. Faced with the biggest ethical dilemma of his life, Lester must decide which side he is on: science or humanity.

“Living in your genome is the history of our species.”

– Barry Schuler

“Hitler was good in the beginning, but he went too far.”

–Marge Schott

With thanks to Claire Hill

-1-

“I hope you forgive us for the ordeal of getting here. Our research is rather delicate.”

Lester Solberg M.D., Phd, FRCP and previous head of the Austrian School of Psychiatry stood in front of the chrome plated Jeep Wrangler that had delivered him to his destination and smiled at his chaperone. The other doctor, Dr Oliver, spoke with a quintessentially English accent, as opposed to the thickly accented one that the Austrian native Lester used.

“It is quite alright,” Lester said. “I must admit that it is rare that this old man gets excited. However, I am eager to be informed on why you want me here, and at such an exorbitant price.”

Dr Oliver smiled delicately. Everything about the middle-aged, balding doctor was gentle – reminiscent of the English actor, Ben Kingsley. “I am certain that whatever the foundation is paying you, Dr Solberg, is money well spent. You will be an asset to what we do here.”

“And what do we do here?”

Oliver waggled his finger and grinned. “Soon, Dr Solberg. I promise.”

“Must I keep reminding you to call me Lester?”

“Lester, of course. Right this way.”

Lester took in a lungful of fresh, unpolluted air and set off after his colleague. Since leaving the airport in Bratislava, he had been driven through endless, beautiful countryside. He had visited Slovakia once before in his younger, traveling days but had not ventured outside the capitol then. His experience this time was far different. Scintillating to witness such untouched greenery after so many decades of watching Austria pave over itself.

Ahead was a wide, four-story building, as unremarkable as any other office block in a city – all glass windows and smooth grey brick. But this was not the city. It was the middle of nowhere, woods and streams on all sides. The office building was hidden from civilization. It also looked as though the top floor – the fourth floor – had had all of its windows boarded up. Strange.

“Do you all live on site,” Lester asked as he kept stride with the taller, younger Dr Oliver, “or is there a town nearby?”

“The nearest town is twelve miles away, Lester, and all that lies between is a farmhouse or two. Yes, this is most definitely a live-in position, as explained to you before accepting the job.”

Lester nodded. He had known the position entailed a live in residence, but was expecting something more homely than an office block, something more akin to the tree-lined college campuses he was used to. This was going to be a mighty adjustment. Maybe more of an adjustment then he was capable of.

At sixty-two, Lester had been looking towards retirement, but then Dr Oliver had strode into his office one sunny Tuesday afternoon and offered him a salary three times what he was currently making and ominously spoke of ‘a chance to be involved in something world changing.’ Lester might have been old, but the young man inside of him had been too curious to decline the offer. So he had given six month’s notice to the University and now here he was: standing in the wilderness of Slovakia and heading into the only building for miles.

There was a guard at the gate, but thankfully the man wore no firearm. Lester did not like guns and would not want to work at a place where they were needed.

Dr Oliver waved at the guard and made the introductions. “James, this is Dr Lester Solberg, one of the world’s leading psychiatrists.”

“Very pleased to meet you,” the guard replied in an English accent that was as skewed as Lester’s own.

They shook hands.

“Good to meet you too. You also are Austrian?”

The guard, James, smiled. “Salzburg.”

“Ah, myself, I am from Vienna. You speak very good English, my friend.”

Oliver interjected. “We all try to speak in English as much as possible. As a multi-cultural team it is easiest to adopt a single language and most of the team speak English natively or as a second-language. Come, you will soon meet the rest of your colleagues.”

“Speak again,” James said.

Lester nodded, then allowed himself to be ushered past the gate and over to the front entrance of the office building. Dr Oliver unlocked and opened the left of the two double doors allowing them both to step inside. They entered a featureless corridor, barely lit.

“Most of our work is done on the fourth floor,” Dr Oliver explained, “but we live on the lower floors. There’s a lift just this way.”

They walked along the corridor until they reached a set of shiny lifts. Dr Oliver pressed the call button and the doors opened immediately, the carriage already on that floor.

“Step inside, Dr Solberg. Great science awaits you.”

Lester raised a wispy grey eyebrow at his colleague, considering the Englishman a little dramatic, but he stepped inside the lift without comment.

Dr Oliver thumbed the button for the fourth floor.

The lift was so smooth that Lester hardly felt it ascend. It was only the fluttery sensation in his tummy that told him he was moving at all.

Once at the top, Dr Oliver removed a small keycard from his coat pocket and swiped it in front of a sensor above the lift’s command panel. There was an agreeable pinging sound and the doors began to open, revealing a small reception room outside.

From the way the tangle of strangers were all bunched together, Lester thought they might yell ‘Surprise!’ at him, but instead they all grinned invitingly and waved their hands.

A heavyset black man stepped forward eagerly and offered his hand. “An absolute pleasure to meet you, Dr Solberg. I am Dr Stacker.”

Lester shook the man’s meaty hand and took in the sight of his jowly face with recognition. “The renowned Dr Grant Stacker? Winner of the Noble Prize for Chemistry?”

“One and the same.” The renowned genius beamed.

“But you went missing over two decades ago,” Lester said. “People still speak about your work in the field of genetics like an urban legend. It’s said that you disappeared right before a major breakthrough.”

Stacker grinned widely. “Missing but not forgotten, aye? Nothing happened to me, Dr Solberg. I took a job here, retired from public life. My work never stopped and I made that breakthrough. And many others, I might add. I am in charge of the research here and I selected you myself to join this team.”

Lester’s jaw was hanging open and he flinched to correct it. “It’s a huge honor to be chosen by a scientist as prestigious as yourself. Your work on the Human Genome Project was peerless.”

“Thank you. Let me introduce you to your colleagues.”

And so Lester met the team. Eight scientists (including Lester), three security guards (including James), and four assistants – seventeen people in total at a building big enough to house a thousand.

“I can show you to your suite if you would like?” Dr Oliver asked Lester, but Lester declined.

“I would much rather see why you have brought me here. You said you needed a resident psychiatrist, and now I would like to find out why.”

Oliver and Stacker exchanged glances, then Stacker nodded. “Okay, Dr Solberg, let me show you why I brought you here. Brace yourself.”

***

Only Dr Stacker accompanied Lester on the short trip down the corridor until they were stopped by a thick set of polished bars. Stacker pulled a set of keys from the breast pocket of his lab coat and unlocked the gate like a jailer. He must have noticed the confused expression on Lester’s face because he shrugged and said, “We like to feel secure.”

“From what?”

“From whatever may come. A careless scientist is a danger to the world, wouldn’t you agree, Lester?”

“All science is careless.”

Stacker replied with an amused smirk. He opened the gate and stood aside so that Lester could go in first. Up ahead was a less portentous set of double doors more befitting a modern office building. They, too, required unlocking by Stacker.

“Are you ready?” he asked Lester.

Lester nodded. “At my age, I can’t afford to waste time.”

Stacker opened the doors.

Lester took a step back, expecting a fright, but then took several steps forward. He entered the cavernous space before him, surprised by what he saw.

A row of easels held half-painted canvasses next to an indoor rockery and a collection of beanbags. Plush chairs lay tucked up against several tables, all of which were stacked high with various board games and worn paperback books.

The faint sound of violins piped in from somewhere, the symphonic perfection of Lester’s fellow countryman, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

What brought the greatest confusion, however, was the fact that two-dozen men and women milled about the large room calmly, almost disinterestedly. There was something familiar about some of the strangers, but it was unclear exactly what. Perhaps it was that they all seemed so ordinary.

Lester turned to Dr Stacker with a gormless expression he knew probably made him look like an ignoramus. “Is this some sort of care home?” he asked. “What kind of conditions are you studying here?”

“History, Dr Solberg. We are studying historical conditions, in a way you will barely believe.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will in time. Allow me to introduce you to some of our guests here. Albert?”

Lester glanced around, no less confused then when the doors had first opened. He now saw that the vast room was bordered by several dozen glass-fronted annexes. Inside each was a bed and a sink, making it clear that people lived there.

Several orderlies lazed about, chatting amongst themselves. Their pale blue uniforms highlighted them amongst the other people in the room. They seemed under no stress.

A young man appeared before Lester and Dr Stacker. The man possessed prematurely greying hair that stuck up like a clown’s and seemed at odds with his youthful complexion. His eyes were small and dark. A furry, black caterpillar lined his upper lip.

“This is Albert,” Stacker announced. “He is a brilliant mathematician and physicist. He is currently working on a formula to reduce the half-life of plutonium. Purely theoretical of course.”

Lester shook the man’s limp hand. “So you’re a scientist here, Albert?”

“No, I just live here.” The man spoke in plain, unaccented English. “But I enjoy my experiments and Dr Stacker gives me mostly what I need. Although I would rather like to get my hands on some enriched plutonium. My theories would fare much better in practise than theory alone.”

Stacker chuckled. “You’ll have to gain you knowledge from assumptions, I’m afraid, Albert. Plutonium is far too dangerous to have around.”

Albert huffed. “The only source of knowledge is experience. You stifle me.”

Stacker folded his arms and grinned. “Ah, but you also once told me that the true sign of intelligence is not knowledge but imagination. Therefore I am doing you a service by restricting your experiments to the realms of theory.”

Albert’s expression ruffled for a moment, but then he swore and stomped away.

“Albert has quite the temper,” Stacker explained.

“Who is he?” Lester asked. “Why is he here?”

Just then, a young woman appeared before them. Her hair was plain and chestnutty, but her breasts and bum were rounded to almost cartoonish proportions. The dark dot of a mole sat on her cheek and somehow added to her subtle beauty. She had set her sights on Lester and reached out both hands to grab his. She held him tenderly and gazed warmly into his eyes.

“It’s so good to see somebody new,” she gushed. “My name is Norma. What’s your name?”

Lester was stalled by the intensity of the woman’s staring dark blue eyes. He struggled to reply and his shyness elicited a childlike giggle from this woman, who proceeded to pat him playfully on the shoulder like they were old friends.

“This is Dr Solberg,” Stacker announced, rescuing Lester. “He is the newest member of the clinical team and is here to help us. You’ll be seeing a lot of him.”

The young woman did a little twirl on the spot and then placed her open palms against each of her cheeks. “Oh, how wonderful. You’ll have to tell me all about yourself,” she said to Lester, “and all about the world.”

Lester frowned. “All about the world?”

Stacker cleared his throat and interrupted. “Could you give us a moment, please, Norma. Thank you.”

Norma smiled, curtsied, then sauntered off like a fairy.

“There’s something familiar about that woman,” Lester mentioned. He noticed Stacker was grinning at him. “What?” he asked. “What is it?”

“The woman you just met was Norma Jeane Mortenson.”

Lester took a moment, but then gasped. “Marilyn Monroe? Yes, that’s exactly who she looks like.”

Stacker shook his head. “No, Dr Solberg. That is who she is.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That was the real Marilyn Monroe. At least, genetically it is.”

“Genetically?”

Stacker wrapped a thick arm around Lester and squeezed him affectionately while moving him into a quiet corner of the room. “That breakthrough you spoke about me having led to this. I found a way to recreate people from their DNA. I took specimens from some of the greatest people in history and I rebirthed them.”

Lester was shaking his head, feeling equal parts excited and queasy, with a healthy dose of perplexity thrown in. “You rebirthed them?”

“Yes,” Stacker spoke quietly, “I spliced their DNA into an embryo and grew them in a lab. They are exact replicas of their historical counterparts.”

“You cloned them? But cloning is outlawed.”

“Hence the secrecy of this facility. We are a private institute conducting mundane research, as far as anybody knows. The donations we make to the Slovakian government and local farmers ensure our privacy. We have been here for thirty years without the slightest incident.”

Astonished, Lester peered around at the ‘guests’ but quickly felt revulsion. Cloning was not only illegal, but also unethical. To engineer a human being in such a way... What was going on here? What had Dr Stacker done?

Lester spotted Albert and contemplated the fact that he had just been talking with a young Einstein – or at least the great man’s clone. “These people have been held here for thirty years?”

“They are well looked after, I assure you. All their needs are met. We even take them out into the countryside for some fresh air. The more trusted guests even get to venture into town, chaperoned of course. No one here is unhappy.”

“Then why have you brought me here?” Lester demanded. “You don’t need a psychiatrist to treat happy people.”

“Dr Solberg, you are not here to treat these people. You are here to study them.”

“Study them?”

“Yes, we want you to ascertain whether the paths these people’s progenitors took was destined from their DNA or if it was the circumstances of their lives that led to them to be who they were.”

Lester rubbed at the loose skin of his sagging chin. “You mean nature versus nurture?”

“That’s exactly what I mean. If we were to breed a hundred Einsteins, would they all go on to make great scientific leaps for mankind, or was the original an inimitable coalescence of outside factors?”

Lester glanced back at Albert, who was now sat with his feet up on one of the tables and scribbling feverously in a journal. His unfettered brows were furrowed and he looked deep in concentration. “Is that why you are doing this?” he asked. “You want to bring back all of the world’s geniuses? To harness their potential?”

“In part, yes.”

“Then why Marilyn Monroe? What do you expect from her?”

“She may not have been a great thinker, but she was remarkable all the same. There is much to learn from any great figure from our past, whatever their skillset. They all share something that made them rise above their peers.”

Lester sighed, let his head drop under its own weight. “This is wrong,” he muttered. “The future should be discovered by our own youth, not by the dead and buried. We must allow our own Einsteins to rise, not create them in a lab.”

Stacker nodded solemnly. “Perhaps you are right, Lester. That is why you are here. We need you to tell us what these people are capable of, and if the risks in bringing them back were worth it.”

Lester frowned. “The risks?”

Stacker inhaled deeply then said, “Let me introduce you to the other guests. I’ll start with Adolf.”

-2-

In the two weeks since arriving at the facility, Lester had met twenty-six of some of the most famous people in History, going as far back as the bard, William Shakespeare, to the more recent Albert Einstein, Marilyn Monroe, and Adolf Hitler. There were great thinkers like Charles Darwin and Thomas Edison as well as fierce statesmen like Napoleon and Disraeli. Charlie Chaplin was a close companion of Edgar Allan Poe; both were morose and unfriendly. Surprisingly, Lester most of all enjoyed the company of a man more reviled than any other in recent history. Adolf Hitler.

Adolf was a pleasant man, nearing thirty years of age. He was an avid painter and adorned the entire facility with bright watercolours and scenes of garish beauty. His talent was unremarkable, if admirable, and the act of creating seemed to bring the man a great and endless pleasure. A smile rarely left Adolf’s clean-shaven face. He was also always happy to sit and chat with Lester and today was no exception as they sat in his office sipping tea.

Lester’s reservations about what was being done here still lingered in his mind, but there was no denying the unique opportunity being presented. No psychiatrist in history had ever been given such an opportunity to explore the weight of genetics on a man’s destiny. The findings were already remarkable. Hitler was a prime example.

Allowed to focus on his artistic passion, Adolf was a compassionate and jovial young man, not the hate-fuelled monster who had waged World War 2.

“How are you feeling today, Adolf?” Lester asked from his side of the walnut desk.

“Very well, thank you.” Adolf spoke in the same plain English accent that all the guests did. It had been decided not to teach each guest their native language, as it would unduly complicate things. As a result, William Shakespeare and Adolf Hitler both spoke in the exact same dialect. It was disconcerting at first, until one understood that they were not the men from history, but brothers of a strange fashion.

Lester sipped his tea and then set the mug down on a coaster. “Is there anything you would like to talk about, Adolf?”

“Many things, yet I fear the answers would not be forthcoming.”

“You want to know more about the outside world?” Adolf often asked about current events. The man was inquisitive and yearned to know all he could about everything.

Hitler’s clone chuckled. “Wouldn’t you, Doctor? I know there is more to life than this building, and the trees and streams outside. The books I read describe a great many things that I fear I will never see.”

Lester swallowed. Stacker had explained that they tried to provide the guests only the briefest exposure to the outside world. Day trips were rare and meticulously organised so that the chosen guest never had chance to move beyond their joyous bewilderment of being out. The less they knew about the modern world the better, it had been decided. Yet, Lester thought to himself, the nature of man was to explore, and now at ages varying between twenty-seven and thirty-two, many of the guests yearned to break free of their modest existence. Adolf was the most eager of all to leave, despite his sunny disposition.

“I wish I could tell you what you want to know, Adolf. Perhaps one day all will be explained. I would very much like to be the one to explain it to you, but that is not my decision.”

“You would let me leave?”

“Perhaps.”

For a moment, Adolf’s constant smile slipped into something approaching a frown. “Stacker will never let me leave. He took me to town once. We sat and drank coffee at a little bakery on a delightful spring afternoon. The owner had a daughter who spoke English and she was most friendly. When I went to make use of the toilet, I bumped into this young girl and started a conversation.” He stopped for a moment, seeming to remember the moment fondly, but then his expression saddened. “She asked me where I was from, Dr Solberg. What on earth was I to say? That I lived in a warehouse with a family of some thirty-odd? No, of course not. I could only stare at her in confusion. Still she persisted in her interest of me. She requested my telephone number, to which I replied I had none. She laughed at me and I got upset. When I raised my voice, Dr Stacker came at once and grabbed me. I have not been outside this facility since. The consequence of me daring to have human interaction.”

Lester nodded. He knew the story. Slovakia was an ideal place for the facility because few of the natives spoke English, yet in recent years many of the younger generation had worked abroad and learned to speak it quite well. It made visits into town much more complicated now that the locals were able to question their strange English visitors. Now, only the most obedient guests were allowed on daytrips. Adolf Hitler was too headstrong to be among them. His inquisitive nose would lead him astray in the same way as a bloodhound’s.

“You are happy, though, yes?” Lester asked, not wanting his patient to dwell.

“I am healthy and alive. Many have less, I am sure.”

“You are correct, Adolf. The world is not so great a place. Your place here is unique, but not altogether unenviable.”

“Men envy power and I have none. My position is not enviable.”

Lester said nothing. He found it interesting when Adolf spoke. The man thought about concepts rather than details. Perhaps it was a part of his artistic nature that he often saw the big picture first and allowed the details to trickle in afterwards.

“You and Norma have been getting on well recently,” Lester commented, having noticed that Marilyn Monroe and Adolf Hitler were the greatest of friends.

Adolf actually blushed, fidgeted in his seat and fought a smile that sought to betray him. “Yes,” was the only reply he uttered.

“Do you care about Norma?”

“I care about all of my family.”

“Do you care about her in a way different to how you feel about others?”

Adolf shifted awkwardly in his chair. “Of course I do. No man and woman are the same, and neither are a man’s feelings towards separate individuals. I admit, however, that Norma is quite to my liking. Her spirit lifts me to soaring until I can think of nothing else but her smiling lips.”

“That’s quite beautiful, Adolf. Feeling that way is good.”

“Is it? I would like to think so, but a shared existence is not enough for a man and a woman to endure as one. I think I will pursue our friendship no further.”

Lester nodded sombrely, secretly glad to hear it. A relationship between guests could become messy and, as such, was not encouraged. “A shame. Anyway, I have detained you too long, Adolf, and I fear I lower your spirits when we talk.”

Adolf stood up briskly and offered a handshake. There was a warm, genuine smile on his face. “Not you, doctor; just the nature of things. I try not to think too much, but when forced to do so I find that my happiness eludes me in lieu of deep consideration.”

Lester frowned, wishing he understood the comment more, but knowing he had more guests to interview and a schedule to keep. “Take care, Adolf. We will speak again soon.”

“A pleasure I look forward to.”

***

Lester was still in his office come nine o’ clock, but the lights were dimmed and he sat alone with a bottle of brandy and a glass. He wasn’t expecting company when Dr Stacker walked in, but he found himself glad of it all the same. His mind was low and while he instinctively sought solitude, it also gave him little solace from his thoughts. Maudlin was how he would have described himself.

“All okay, Lester?”

Lester leaned forward and straightened himself.  “Yes, all is well. I’m afraid I have only one glass.”

Stacker waved a hand. “I’m not a drinker anyway. I find it hard enough to get my thoughts in order without clouding them.”

Lester sniffed. “Sometimes it takes a little cloudiness to bring clarity. What can I do for you?”

“It’s been a few weeks now. I was just wondering how you were settling in. Wonderfully, from what I can see.”

“You have made my arrival very pleasant and the work is fascinating.”

Stacker leant forward. “But…?”

“But I still feel that this is unethical. I’ve allowed myself to be enticed by the wonder of the science at play here, but I still feel like a…”

Stacker laughed. “A criminal?”

“I was going to say monster.”

There was silence for a few moments until Stacker said, “Speaking of monsters, how was your interview with Adolf this morning?”

“Adolf is part of the reason I am feeling so very conflicted. He is a spirited soul. I feel like we are caging him here.”

“We are,” Stacker said abruptly. “Can you imagine what would happen if we let Hitler’s clone out into the world? To us, and to him. It is the reality of science, Lester, that we must do what others will not. We are doing this for the betterment of our species.”

Lester rolled his glass in his hand, staring down at the sloshing, amber liquid. “To what end? What do we hope to accomplish here?”

“Many things. Can you honestly say that you have made no deductions from your short stay here? What are your thoughts on genetic destiny now that you have observed our guests?”

“I believe that our genes give us a framework, but what we do within that framework is very much up to circumstance. Adolf is a passionate and feeling man. I believe that is his genetic destiny – passion, perhaps obsession. The original Adolf turned that passion to things that were important to him at the time – misguided though they were. Our own Adolf is no different. Painting is his passion and that is where his focus currently resides. But I worry that the focus of his passion may one day change.”

“To what?” Stacker enquired, tilting his head curiously.

“To escaping. Adolf Hitler felt his country was unjustly treated by post-war Europe and he became a hate-fuelled monster as a consequence. I think our own Adolf is beginning to feel that he and the others are being unjustly treated. If there truly is such a thing as genetic destiny, then his may be war against circumstance. Defiance.”

Stacker was chuckling to himself now. “I must admit I thought your findings would be very different, Lester. Every doctor here has always found Adolf to be extremely affable. He’s a happy man, free to paint to his heart’s content. His ego is not stifled or restricted here. He has no reason to lash out. He is definitive proof that a man’s environment is more responsible for who he becomes than his genes. Adolf Hitler was not born evil, he was made to be.”

Lester refilled his glass from the bottle of brandy and took a large swig. “Perhaps. I am an old man and it is late. An old, tired mind is prone to wandering the fearful pathways of insecurity. I will continue to observe Adolf and the other guests and continue my findings. It is most interesting, I will admit that much.”

Stacker grinned. “We will change the world before we die, Dr Solberg, I promise you that.”

Lester took another swig of brandy and sighed. “For the better? Or for the worse?

***

Another two weeks and Lester had started to feel completely at home. He looked forward to waking up each morning, having breakfast with his colleagues and then heading into the common area where he spent his days conversing with Marie Curie, Edgar Allan Poe, and, of course, Adolf Hitler.

Hitler had been true to his word about not entertaining a romantic relationship with Norma, despite her obvious interest. She orbited his vicinity constantly and had taken up painting to impress him. Her skill with a brush produced nothing more than multi-coloured atrocities, but Adolf seemed to tolerate her company happily, if warily.

Speaking of paintings, Lester had noticed that Adolf’s style had evolved. Instead of the bright green meadows and gardens, he had taken to illustrating his fellow guests, spreading great joy amongst the vainer personalities. His remarkably lifelike pictures adorned the wall of every bedroom. Adolf had become the most popular person in the building. He seemed to gain some satisfaction from that.

Einstein had given up on his formula to reduce the half-life of plutonium, having wiped his backside on his journal some days ago and thrown it at Dr Stacker. They had continued to deny him plutonium and thus had stifled his genius. That genius had now become sullen and petulant, doing everything he could not to cooperate with the orderlies and doctors.

Lester once again wondered if what they were doing was right, then reminded himself that, no, of course it wasn’t. They were playing God, like all true scientists strived to. It was in their nature to push the limits of responsibility in order to gain greater gifts for tomorrow’s generations. Einstein’s genius indeed demonstrated that IQ was genetically assured and that it was possible to bring back humanity’s greatest minds for worldwide benefit. One day, couples may be able to elect to give birth to a genius or a great artist and release him into the world. What could an Albert Einstein achieve if raised in an environment of learning from birth? He would surely surpass the original.

“Dr Lester? I’m not feeling good.”

Lester glanced up from his notes to see that Norma was standing before him. He was sat in the common room, getting some work done at one of the table, but now had to look up at the image of Marilyn Monroe. Of course, her hair was the natural brown she was born with and not the bleached blonde that the original had favoured. This version of Marilyn Monroe looked anything but glowing and beautiful right now. Her eyes were bloodshot and her lips were dry and cracked.

“Norma? What’s wrong?”

“I…I feel…”

She threw up at once, hot vomit streaming onto the floor in an endless torrent. Her entire body lurched until her legs gave out and she crumpled to the floor.

Lester knees hated him for it, but he dropped down beside Norma and quickly lifted her head. She was choking on her own vomit so he shoved his fingers into her mouth and cleared her airways as best he could. He was horrified when they came back bloody.

“I changed my mind,” she whimpered. “I take it back.”

Lester moaned. “Norma, what have you done?”

By then the other guests had formed a circle around Lester and Norma and all stood in silence, except for Adolf. Adolf broke free of the crowd and joined Lester on the floor where they held Norma between them.

“My sweet, Norma,” Adolf said in a voice thick with worry. “We shall get you help.”

Marilyn Monroe was reincarnated in that moment as blood stained her lips a sumptuous red. Her eyes settled on Adolf and seemed at once happy and sad. “Adolf. My darling, Adolf. If only you had loved me as I love you.”

Adolf swallowed, painfully it seemed. “But I do love you, my dear. It is because I love you that I keep you at bay. I do not wish to love you if I cannot love you completely. You are too good for anything less.”

Norma smiled, blinked slowly. “You’re a good man, Adolf. I’m sorry.”

Adolf wiped at his teary eyes. “Norma!”

Lester shook her. “Norma. Norma, what have you taken?”

“I…drank…”

“She drank this,” said a dull voice in the crowd. Edgar Allan Poe stepped into view, and held in his hand an empty plastic bottle of bleach. Bleach.

Lester stared down at Norma and felt tears fill his eyes. “Oh, you silly girl.”

“I don’t want to live…without…you…” She was looking at Adolf, but her eyes soon turned to lifeless gems and she said no more. Lester eased her down onto the floor while Adolf wept beside her silently.

“It is the worst of times,” muttered Charles Dickens.

Adolf turned his gaze on Lester, a dark shadow. “Help her.”

Lester almost recoiled, but held himself in place. “I cannot.”

“Help her.”

“Adolf, she’s gone.”

“You don’t know that. You can still help her.”

“She would need a hospital and there is no way to get her to one in time. We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“What is going on?” Stacker demanded as he pushed through the crowd. When he saw Norma lying in a pool of her own bloody vomit, his face fell and the colour drained from his cheeks. “Oh no.”

Adolf sprang up like an athlete and moved in front of the far larger man. “Norma has killed herself and there was nothing anyone could do. How do you help someone who is locked inside a cage? No help for miles. No life. Just this place driving us all insane. Norma may have killed herself, but it is you who gave her no alternative.”

Stacker reached out a hand to Adolf, but Adolf slapped it away. He pushed through the crowd and disappeared.

Stacker looked down at Lester. Lester looked up at Stacker. “She drank bleach,” he said. “She killed herself.”

Stacker looked mortified. Lester imagined he probably looked the same way. Of all the guests, none had ever been lost for any reason. Ironic, that this Marilyn Monroe had taken her life like the old one had. No, ironic was not the right word. Tragic.

“We need to hold a staff meeting,” Stacker stated.

“And what about us?” Napoleon asked. “Should we all behave as if death is nothing?”

Stacker answered the diminutive general sternly. “You will be addressed shortly. In the meantime, please return to your pods while we take care of Norma.”

For a moment it looked as though the crowd would not disperse, but eventually Napoleon raised an arm and bid them to depart. The mob shuffled its feet and left.

The orderlies arrived and carried Norma away, while Lester was helped to his feet by Stacker.

“She killed herself,” said Stacker. “Perhaps destiny is genetic after all.”

Lester caught a glimpse of Hitler as he left the common room, the man’s face like a thundercloud ready to release deadly lightning.

“If it is,” said Lester. “Then we may be in a lot of trouble.”

-3-

Everyone gathered an hour later around the large conference table in the boardroom, each seated in a comfy, high-backed chair. Lester sipped coffee, hoping to restore his fallen spirits.

“A grim affair,” Stacker stated.

“Was there nothing we could do?” Dr Oliver asked.

Lester bristled at the question. “No. She was already bleeding internally by the time she came to me. How on earth was she able to imbibe an entire bottle of bleach?”

“It was taken from an orderly’s cart,” said Dr Hannigan, a female chemist from Brisbane. “Edgar told me he saw her take it.”

Lester’s eyes widened. “What? Why didn’t he stop her?”

Hannigan shrugged. “He said it is a person’s right to take their life, and by the time he realised what she was doing it would have been too late to stop her anyway.”

Stacker folded his arms and grunted. “Edgar has always been somewhat detached.”

“The same cannot be said about the others,” Lester said. “They are upset. Some of them seem to blame us, and perhaps they are right to.”

“Nonsense,” Laramie said. “A person who kills themselves has only themselves to blame. Even if we had got her to a hospital she would not have pulled through. Her insides were ruined.”

“Do you even care?” Lester asked.

“Of course I do, but what is done is done.”

“I don’t think Adolf is going to see it that way. He is angry, it is clear to see.”

“Anger fades,” Stacker said.

“Not in a man like Hitler.”

“Adolf is not Hitler,” Laramie said. “He is not the same man.”

Lester exhaled loudly so that all heard his displeasure. “Are you that much a fool? Of course he is the same man, down to the very last strand of hair. He is Hitler incarnate. You people grew him from a dead dictator’s remains and now here he stands, angry and resolute.”

Dr Hannigan began to chortle. “Are you afraid we may have World War 3 on our hands, Dr Solberg?”

Solberg sneered. “He is dangerous. A woman I believe he cared deeply about has just died in our care. He had already been voicing discontent with the conditions here and this will strengthen his desire to leave.”

“The conditions are fine,” said Laramie. “The guests are treated extremely well.”

“They are prisoners,” Lester almost shouted, “and Adolf is under no illusion otherwise.”

Stacker cleared his throat and took the reins of the conversation. “What exactly are you trying to get at, Lester?”

“I think we need to go public with what we are doing here. We cannot in good conscience keep these men and women confined here until the day they die.”

Hannigan chortled again. “Since when did science have a conscience?”

“There is such a thing as too far,” Lester snapped at her. “We need to allow these people lives. Real lives.”

“They can never have real lives,” Laramie said. “You know that.”

Lester nodded. He was under no illusion that Adolf Hitler could work at a petrol station and raise a family, but the man could still have something. “They can have their freedom. That is the least that we owe them. We have enough data to be done with this experiment.”

“You’re right,” said Stacker. “We should release them from here before any dissent is allowed to grow.”

Lester sighed with relief. He unfolded his arms and placed his palms flat on the table. “I am so happy to hear you say that. Do we have a plan in place, on how we should proceed?”

“There’s always been a plan,” Stacker said. “The guests here will eventually be moved to Dubai.”

“Dubai?”

Despite being a similar age, Stacker looked at Lester as though he were a child. “Lester, are you really so naïve? This is a private institution, an investment. This entire experiment has been an investment. For thirty years we have studied and raised these great historical figures into adulthood. While it is true that men such as Albert Einstein may benefit mankind through the sciences, the likes of Marilyn Monroe, Napoleon, Edgar Allan Poe, Charles Dickens, are not scientists. Their value is not in making great leaps forward. Their value is in who they are.”

Lester felt everyone’s eyes on him. He was ignorant of something that everybody else obviously understood. “I don’t know what you are saying, Dr Stacker. Please explain it to me.”

“Money,” Stacker said bluntly. “The men and women here are going to be attractions at a park in Dubai. Just imagine it, people will be able meet their idols in the flesh, talk to their heroes. A picture with Charlie Chaplin, an autograph from Dickens, the opportunities are endless. The descendants of Holocaust victims can look upon Adolf Hitler and finally get some closure. Once we go live we will be able to get almost anyone. Abraham Lincoln, Queen Victoria. We could bring back Amy Winehouse.”

Lester exploded. “You’re insane. You are monsters.”

“You are one of us,” Stacker said.

“No, no I am not a part of this. I quit. I am leaving this place.”

Stacker laced his fingers together on the table and shrugged. “Fine. You are not our prisoner. You can leave if you wish, but you will be sworn to secrecy. And if you are foolish enough to speak, our benefactors will surely silence you for good.”

Lester shook his fist, his heart beating fast. “The world will decry you for this. It will never be allowed to happen.”

Stacker rolled his eyes. “The UAE are already involved. They are prepared for the worldwide backlash, but once the tourist dollars start pouring in, it will quickly become worth their while. The entire world is run on greed. Money tops humanity every time. And science ignores both.”

Lester leapt up from the table, knocking over his chair. Then he stormed out of the room, feeling sick to his soul. He felt Hell beckoning to him, and felt that it was exactly where he deserved to go.

***

Before he gathered his things, Lester headed back to the common room. He couldn’t disappear without first facing the human beings he had failed so terribly. He had a duty of care to the men and women who had become his patients, and he wanted to be there for anyone who needed to talk about what had happened to Norma.

Adolf Hitler was at the forefront of his mind.

The room was empty, save for the orderlies who were wearily clearing up the mess Norma had left.

Lester asked one of the orderlies where everybody was and the man nodded towards one of the bedroom pods. It was Hitler’s.

While not spacious enough to accommodate everybody, Hitler’s bedroom had become packed with bodies, the overflow spilling out into the area immediately outside. As Lester approached he saw the Adolf standing on his bed and addressing everyone.

“It is time for us to take what is ours by right of being human. To be free is to be human. We are not cattle, to be penned in like animals. Norma was a kind woman with a heart and feelings. So much feeling that she was driven to take her own life because she felt that her life was not worth living. Are any of our lives worth living in this place? Edgar, I know you yearn to explore the nature of man. Will you be able to do so in here? Charles, you have dreams of visiting London. Will you ever get there? You will find no plutonium here, Albert.”

“They will not allow it,” Albert spat.

Lester hurried over and waved his arms, trying to break the thrall that Hitler had the crowd in. “Everyone, please, calm down. What happened to Marilyn was an accident, a tragedy, but we must not turn on each other.”

Hitler turned his gaze to Lester, his dark eyes like lumps of coal. “Who is Marilyn?”

Lester went to speak and found himself confused. “I…I meant to say Norma.”

Hitler growled. “These ‘doctors’ do not even know our names. We die and we are nothing to them, but if we fight we are human. It is time to take what will not be given freely. We must snatch our freedom and take charge of our destinies. We will be free or we will be nothing. Those who want to live must fight.”

The doors to the common room swung open and in strode Dr Stacker and all of the other staff members. With them was the orderly who had directed Lester. He must have run for help when it was clear things were turning bad.

“What is going on here?” Stacker demanded.

Lester felt like a little boy reporting to his father, but he was desperate for support. “I warned you about this. They are not content to be confined. Hitler is inciting violence.”

“I incite nothing. Allow my people to leave and no blood will be shed.”

Stacker shook his head with a look of disbelief. He strode up to the crowd and stared up at Hitler who was still standing on his bed. “Your people? I have raised you all from birth, kept you all safe and well looked after. No one is leaving here unless I allow it. For thirty years I have been your guardian, your carer, your father.”

Hitler sneered. “The only father of mankind is struggle, and ours begins today. I beseech you all to fight, or forever be the victims of circumstance.”

Lester saw Edgar Allan Poe out of the corner of his eye. The ghoulish man did not come for Lester but for Stacker. He leapt at the heavyset doctor and rammed his thumbs into his eyes, not letting up until Stacker was screaming animalistically and bleeding from both sockets.

The sight of blood was what finally tipped the mob towards violence. Hitler’s speech had led them up the hill, but it was Stacker’s screams that had pushed them over the edge.

Dr Laramie was the next one to bleed. Marie Curie attacked him from behind, clamping her teeth down on his neck and savagely tearing loose his jugular. He fell to the ground in a spray of blood while the Nobel Prize winning physicist stood over him like a snarling beast.

Dr Hannigan grabbed Lester and screamed in his face. “Do something. You have to do something.”

Lester shook his head wearily. “I’m just an old man.”

Napoleon lifted Hannigan into the air and tackled her to the ground. He broke her nose first with a meaty punch, before wrapping his small hands around her neck and squeezing the life out of her.

Lester stumbled around in a daze as fights broke out all around him. One orderly was able to hold his own with a mop handle, but all the other staff members fell quickly, heavily outnumbered. Eventually even the orderly with the mop handle saw that it was hopeless. His arms tired and his swings grew slower. Charlie Chaplin and Albert Einstein double-teamed him to the ground and began stamping on his skull.

Yet Lester still stood unaccosted. The mob moving around him, rather than through him. Eventually the fighting calmed down when there was no one left to oppose Hitler and his people.

The mob surrounded Lester who did nothing to resist them. What could he do but beg their mercy?

Hitler came to meet Lester in the middle of the group. “Dr Solberg, I am sorry that it has come to this.”

“As am I.”

“I do not understand the nature of this place, but I am not so ignorant as to think we are ordinary people. Tell me why we are here, who we are?”

Lester looked at Hitler and tried to speak. How did you tell a man he was one of the world’s worst mass murderers reborn? It was a cruelty.

Hitler growled. “Tell me or I will kill you. Who are we? Who am I?”

Lester tried to answer but still he could not. It was wrong to condemn a man for actions he had not taken. Adolf was in this place because of evil men. That did not make him evil. Perhaps, this Adolf was destined to lead his people to freedom and become a hero. There was a chance he could become something other than what he had been in the past. Maybe Adolf was mankind’s purest chance at redemption.

Lester sighed. “I wish you all luck, truly. Answers, though, I will not give you.”

Hitler blinked slowly, appeared sad. “Then you leave me no choice, my friend. I had hoped to spare you, for mercy is a strength all of its own.”

Hitler pulled a stainless steel fountain pen from his pocket and drove it into Lester’s neck, caught him as his body went limp and eased him to the ground tenderly.

As Lester felt his life slip away, he gazed up at Hitler who continued to hold him. “Enjoy your freedom,” he uttered. “You tried to take it from us all once.”

Hitler’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “I would rather die than take a person’s freedom as has been done to me. I wish only to see my family free to live as they choose, as should be the right of any man or woman. I am not a monster.”

“No,” said Lester, “Not for certain.”

He smiled and closed his eyes.

END.

About The Author

Iain Rob Wright is one of the UK's most successful horror and suspense writers, with novels including the critically acclaimed, THE FINAL WINTER; the disturbing bestseller, ASBO; and the wicked screamfest, THE HOUSEMATES.

His work is currently being adapted for graphic novels, audio books, and foreign audiences. He is an active member of the Horror Writer Association and a massive animal lover.

Check out Iain's official website or add him on Facebook where he would love to meet you.

www.iainrobwright.com

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Copyright

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Part of the SALGAD PUBLISHING GROUP

Redditch

UK, Worcestershire
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G is for Genome copyright 2015 by Iain Rob Wright
www.IAINROBWRIGHT.com

Cover Art Copyright 2015 Iain Rob Wright

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