For the children.
The children.
Children.

Robert's words echoed in my head. I had my hands over my face, so I couldn't see him. I didn't want to see him. I didn't want to deal with this. I wanted this cursed day to be over. I wanted to wake up to a lazy Saturday on my comfortable, straw mattress, sip some hot cocoa, and read a trashy novel or two. I wanted my emotions under control. I wanted to stop crying.

Robert pulled me into his arms; I was powerless to stop him. He held me protectively, stroking my hair as the emotional tidal wave washed over me then drained me in its wake. It was suddenly 18 years ago, and I was sobbing in Robert's arms. We had lost our first baby, and the doctors said I would likely never get pregnant again. Robert was so strong. Confident. Telling me science was only limited by our perception. Assuring me that we, that he, would find a way. Then there was Danya, our miracle baby. We're doing it for the children.

I pulled away, sharply. "Where's Danya?" If Robert was alive, then so was she. I just knew it. His sudden change of expression said differently. Disbelievingly, I shook my head from side to side. "No... No... NO!" I screamed. He opened his mouth as if to respond; then he closed it, looking away. I kept screaming. "YOU'RE ALIVE, SO SHE'S ALIVE! YOU'RE ALIVE, SO SHE'S...SAY IT!" He only stood there, looking at me. Then the folds around his eyes crinkled in sorrow, and even in my agitated state, I noticed how much he'd aged.

"She's...she's dead, Maribel." A trace of regret was in his voice, a grief long-healed by time.

For me, the words pierced my heart like a sharp, heavy dagger. Agonizing and precise. It was like losing her, losing my baby, all over again. My eyes welled up, and Robert moved in to take me back into his arms.

Smack.

My hand tingled, and Robert touched his face, surprised and hurt. "I suppose I deserv..."

"You son of a bitch."

"Maribel, please let me explain..."

"Explain? Explain where you've been the last 12 years? While I grieved for you. While I buried you and Dan..Danya, and your family thought I'd killed you, and I had to leave, and I mourned for you, and longed for you, and missed you, and...you bastard. You GODDAMN BASTARD." I was breathing hard, the outburst exhausting me.

He tried to approach again, but I just held up my hand. "Don't."

"Well, isn't this a beautiful family reunion." A grating voice, followed by a snicker. I'd forgotten we had an audience of one, fat lunatic. "This must be some surprise, Maribel. Back from the dead. Boo." Lockley stepped up behind me.

"Shut the hell up, Lockley." Robert barked coldly, in a voice I'd never heard him use. It did the trick. Lockley fell silent, and I decided to take advantage of the apparent hierarchy.

"You're this cretin's boss?" Robert shrugged. "Good enough." I turned around and gave Lockley a swift punch in the solar plexus. As he folded in agony, I bent down, reached a hand into his jacket, found his holster, and disarmed him. Not going to make that mistake again. Then I straightened up and gave him a thoroughly satisfying roundhouse kick to the jaw. He dropped to the ground like wet cement. "That's for kidnapping me at gunpoint and for generally being an ****."

The mayor was lying on the ground, holding his stomach and breathing in short painful gasps. I put my boot on his neck, and his eyes bulged. "Where is my suitcase?" I let up the pressure a little, so he could respond.

Lockley's face was beet-red as he wheezed, "In. The. Trunk. Bitch."

"Keys." I held out my hand.

He awkwardly pulled them out and threw them at me. The car remote had a trunk release button, and I was soon reunited with my valise.

Robert had been watching these events transpire without expression. "Maribel, if I can just..." He started towards me but stopped when I pointed the gun at him.

"Stay right where you are, Robert."

Robert stopped walking. "I know you aren't going to shoot me." He sounded more confident of that fact than I was.

"We'll see. First, I need to know what the hell is going on here."

"I can explain everything, but it's easier if I show you." Robert pointed to a nondescript, two-story building sitting adjacent to our parking lot. The weather-worn brick exterior and several boarded up windows made the structure look abandoned, or nearly so.

"You want me to go with you into there? I know twelve years is a long time, but I haven't turned stupid."

"Just come with me. You can keep your weapon on me the entire time."

He had a point. But first, I needed to even the odds a little. "Lockley."

The injured mayor was painfully struggling to stand up. He looked at me, an expression of pure hatred on his face. My next move would do little to erase that.

"Climb in here." I indicated the now empty trunk, more than sufficient to fit a person.

"Go to hell," he snarled.

I clicked off the safety on the gun. "Your body is going into this trunk, one way or another." My tone made my meaning clear.

Lockley, needing no more encouragement, reluctantly grimacing his way into the cramped space. "Phone." I demanded, and even more reluctantly he gave me his cell. I slammed the trunk shut, and turned back to Robert. "Now we can go." He offered his arm, but hurriedly withdrew it at my glare. "I'll follow you." I pointed the gun at him again, and we walked over to the building.

Robert put his thumb on a tiny, nearly invisible pad, which I realized was a high-tech thumbprint scanner, incongruous to the rest of the old building's exterior. I heard an electronic lock disengage, and Robert opened the door. Flickering fluorescents lit up the dusty-tiled hallway dotted with dozens of closed doors to apparently vacant offices. Robert led me to a pair of brass-doored elevators and hit the call button. He turned to me. "There's so much I want to tell you, Maribel. I'm not sure where to begin."

Where to begin? I'd interrogated numerous suspects in my line of work, and I'd heard this question dozens of times. I gave my usual answer. "You choose the beginning, and I'll choose the ending."

He grinned at that, but I was not smiling back. Then his face took on that professorial look I had fallen in love with back when he was a teaching assistant working on his PhD in Molecular Biology and Genetics, and I was a lowly undergraduate, struggling to pass Biology for non-Majors, or "Bio for Dummies" as it was more commonly know. His help had led to more than a passing grade, and we were married right after the summer we both graduated with our respective degrees. I never imagined that one day I'd be holding a gun on him.

Robert seemed totally indifferent to the weapon. "As I said before, its an experiment, Maribel. You may remember, when we first moved back to Iowa, that I had been hired by the university to conduct advanced research on developmental genetics: gene therapy, genome mapping, DNA projection and analysis, etc. The university equipped me with a state-of-the-art laboratory and eager lab assistants working for credit. I was happy. We...were happy."

"I remember." We had moved back to Robert's hometown in DeKalb, and had bought our first little house. It was a wonderful time.

"We had our whole lives ahead of us. Then we started trying to get pregnant. It took almost five years, and when it finally happened, we lost the baby. You were depressed for weeks. Months. I wanted so badly to comfort you. To give you that child. That's when I started doing something a little, unorthodox, in my research." He started to look a little uncomfortable. From my experience, I could tell he was about to reveal something he still felt guilty about.

"I stopped simply isolating and studying genetic material. Instead, I developed a process to replicate it. Driven by hope and desperation, I may have crossed a few ethical lines, but I made some incredible, miraculous advances. Soon I was generating organic cells, tissue, and body parts. Then I did something... something I always regret not discussing with you first." He hesitated, for the first time looking uneasily at the gun.

"Just spit it out, Robert. I'm not going to shoot you for something you did eighteen years ago." Probably. Not like I could get much angrier.

"After your miscarriage, I had taken some tissue samples from the fetal demise. Once my research started yielding stable results, I replicated the fetal DNA. I was able to regenerate the rest of its genetic material, only stronger and healthier. I...I tricked you into seeing a fake doctor, and implanted the replicated embryo into your uterus." He was looking at me for my reaction.

I processed this for a moment. I remembered seeing a fertility specialist who had conducted an invasive pelvic exam under general anesthesia. Robert had said the guy was a quack, and we never went back. We didn't have to. Two weeks later, I found out I was pregnant.

The ding of the elevator delayed my response, as the nearest set of doors opened up. I followed Robert inside, and watched as he opened the panel below the buttons marked L and 2 to reveal another cleverly-placed thumbprint scanner like the one on the front door. In a moment, and despite the lack of any such elevator button, we were heading in a downward direction. A secret underground lair? I wondered if I had made a mistake. Despite the close quarters, I kept the gun trained on him.

Then it dawned on me what he'd just said. Danya -a replicated embryo? "So our daughter was just a science experiment? Cooked up in your test tubes?" I was wrong before. Apparently, I could get much angrier.

"Maribel," he said softly, "Danya was my little girl too. I loved her. I loved her so much that I destroyed all my samples and locked up all my notes. I chose Danya over sharing my research findings with the world." He swallowed hard. "At least I tried."

The elevator stopped, and the doors opened. I did not get a chance to respond to this, as I was overwhelmed by the stern gazes of two black-clad men pointing rifles at us. I quickly stepped behind Robert, gun to his back.

Robert was unfazed. "Put them down, gentleman."

"Sir," one of the men spoke up, "Mr. Lockley called from upstairs and said you were in danger. He said some crazy bit..." He caught himself and rephrased. "Some crazy woman was holding you at gunpoint."

Lockley. How the hell had he gotten out?

"Relax, Maurice. I'm not in any danger, and this woman is not crazy. She's my wife." Robert looked at me tenderly. "Though the gunpoint thing is true."

"Robert, what is going on?" I gritted through my teeth.

"I'm guessing Lockley found the release latch that's standard inside the trunks of all luxury sedans." Well how was I supposed to know about that? I'd never driven so much as a luxury compact.

Robert addressed the armed guards again. "Gentlemen, I must insist you allow my wife and I to proceed."

There was a brief argument as the guards insisted I give up my weapon, and I responded that I'd blow the good doctor's head off first, which probably made them rethink the whole crazy bitch/woman thing. They finally let us pass.

Robert led me down a long, sterile hallway. "I told you that after Danya was born I locked up my research. Well it didn't stay hidden. Somehow they found out about it, and...well they could have ruined me, but they offered me a job instead to continue my research. Limitless funding, no regulations. Pure hard science without the bureaucracy. They had even somehow arranged with the university that I could keep my old lab. The only catch: I wasn't allowed to tell anyone. Not even you."

I was not upset about the secret part. I understood the double-life thing all too well, as I had been leading one too, even back in Iowa. I had landed a clerical job with the Department of Agriculture, and had taken what I thought were standard tests for all federal employees. The Bureau had gotten hold of my results, which apparently fit some specific psychological profile for ideal undercover operatives. They recruited me, insisting on total secrecy. I became their agent in the field, literally, reporting on corruption, organized crime and other illegal activities among the various groups that conducted agricultural commerce in the mid-western United States. For the public, I remained a secretary with the D of A, Iowa division. Even Robert was kept in the dark.

But I didn't like being in the dark now. "Robert, who is 'they'? Who recruited you?"

"They call themselves the Society. Funded by anonymous benefactors, they identify research on the cusp of scientific breakthroughs and fast track developments through financial sponsorship. Then they integrate the developments into the realm of existing knowledge, usually with very little financial gain. Their aims are noble, even if their methods sometimes seem less so." He shrugged apologetically, apparently referring to my manhandling by Lockley.

We arrived at a set of double-doors which he now opened grandly. "The Society paid for all of this." He led me into an auditorium-sized room filled with expensive equipment and giant fluid-filled containers, each holding what looked like body parts, and in some, bodies. I gasped, involuntarily. Then something suddenly clicked.

"You said they recruited you after you replicated DNA and made a new embry...and made our child." I pointed to the bodies floating in their giant test tubes. "Those are clones, aren't they? Danya was a clone."

"You always were smarter at science than you gave yourself credit for." Robert looked at me with apparent pride. "Not clones, though. Replicants. Cloning splits a single cell/embryo and gestates the organism naturally. My replication process generates new genetic material, coaxing it, so to speak, into an exact copy of the source DNA. Along with replicating body parts for transplant, we have been able to successfully replicate human beings up to age 10."

Replicants. Children. It's an experiment, Maribel. For the children.

"Before I was dragged out of town, I saw hundreds of children." I was confused. "Are you building an army?"

Robert barked a laugh, but stopped himself at my glare. "I'm sorry, no, we're not taking over the world. We're...Maribel, we're giving parents who lost a child a second chance. Our replicants are identical in almost every way, including memory and life experience. However, the replicant child is disease-free. We send families to small town settings to ensure privacy and anonymity, while allowing healthy psychological and physiological integration. We're the good guys, Maribel." He walked over to me and reached for my hand. I pulled mine back.

If what he said was true, he and the Society were doing incredible things. Performing real miracles for grieving parents. So why hadn't he made a miracle for us.

"Why not Danya?" My voice was accusatory.

"I tried," Robert answered sadly, "more times than I want to remember. But the process only works on original genetic material." Of course. Our beautiful daughter had already been a replicant. The constant failure to bring her back again must have hurt him terribly.

"I'm so sorry, Robert." My heart ached to believe in him. Just one more question, which I asked him tenderly. "But why the disappearing act? Why make me think you were dead all these years?"

Robert was silent, for a moment. "Maribel, the day that biplane hit our house, I was outside smoking on the porch. I know you hated my habit, but, I swear, that cigarette saved my life. The blast from the house knocked me out cold. Next thing I know, I'm in a bed at one of the Society's private hospitals with some aches and bruises and a minor concussion, but not dead."

Robert took a deep breath. "The biplane had been filled with explosives. That crash was no accident. It was a deliberate attack because of my work with the Society." His voice cracked, as he choked up. "And our daughter paid the price."

"So you..."

"I had become too dangerous because of my work. I couldn't risk your life as well. I should have died that day." He looked at me, eyes filled with tears. ""It was better for you that I did."

I broke down. "Oh, Robert, I would have taken the risk." Lowering the gun, I took his hand and tugged him into my embrace. My heart nearly burst as all my old feelings for him rushed back.

Finally, we disengaged and Robert took my hand, our fingers grasping with longing familiarity. "I'm so sorry about the way Hiram treated you. He was only supposed to bring you to me before you contacted your bosses at the FBI. He didn't harm you did he?" He really hadn't, so I shook my head.

I replaced the safety on the gun and started to put it in my pocket when I felt it jostle the cell phone. The one, I just realized, that was still connected to FBI headquarters. Oh no. "Sweetheart, why didn't you want me contacting the Bureau?" I asked warily.

"The same reason I needed to stay dead, Maribel. The FBI has a black-ops division that's been trying to shut us down for years. Their methods are more than brutal." He suddenly looked scared. "They have been known to use biplanes..."

I gasped. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the cell phone which he stared at in horror. "It's too late, Robert. They heard everything."

I put the phone on speaker. "Agent Wilkes? Is what my husband says, true?" I demanded. "Did you murder my little girl?" I wanted to hear it from them.

A short pause. "This isn't Wilkes." The voice on the other end had a deep, smoky quality, that I immediately recognized. "Thank you for your service, Maribel. Now we can move up our timetable." He hung up.

Robert had panic in his eyes. "They have our location. We need to evacuate now." He pulled a switch on the wall that set off a blaring alarm throughout the underground facility. "Baby, how long until they get here."

I ran some quick calculations in my head. "It will take them at least half an hour to pinpoint my exact location from the cell tracker. The underground facility should make that a little more difficult. I would say you have at least an hour."

"Good. That should be enough time to evacuate all the children."

I didn't understand. "Why would the FBI care about the children?"

"Oh honey, that's all they care about. Their directive is to destroy replicants on sight. They don't consider them to be human." Destroy all the replicants. Jake. Amy. Danya.

"Danya was the biplane target. Not you." I exclaimed. Robert nodded sadly.

"Robert, we need to get to the town! Now!" I grabbed my suitcase and started to run towards the elevator.

"Maribel, not that way!" Robert called after me. He grabbed my hand and pulled me through a doorway which opened out onto a small garage filled with a dozen vehicles, from sports cars to SUVs . "This way." He ran up to a sleek, silver Mercedes convertible, threw my suitcase in the back, and we jumped in. Another thumbprint pad started the ignition, and we pulled out onto the underground driveway, which fed into an automobile elevator. In under a minute, we were peeling out on the road to town.

"I thought you said we had an hour." He yelled, in the roaring wind.

"An hour for the FBI to find your laboratory." I yelled back. "They already have an agent in the town."

Robert kept his eyes on the road. "What do you mean?"

"The man on the other side of the phone - the one from FBI headquarters? I know him from the town. He must have been deeply embedded for years. He's going to go after the children. You need to hurry." I felt the engine kick as Robert stepped on the gas pushing the speedometer to its limit.

Voices were swirling in my head.

Dead by Monday.
Move up the timetable.

Now I knew whom Jake had overheard.

We pulled into a ghost of my former town, full of empty streets and lifeless homes. All the bustling activity that Lockley had dragged me through seemed like a distant memory. I needed to think. Where would somebody take schoolbuses full of children?

"Drive to the school. Quickly." I directed Robert to the old schoolhouse, where we spotted dozens of empty buses in the lot.

I jumped out of the car and ran up the stairs, my gun in hand. The door opened just as I reached the top. There he was, ready to greet me, like always, on my arrival.

This time his deep, smoky voice sent tremors through my spine. "Good morning, Ms. B. How are ya?"

"Morning, Pete." I responded, and pointed the gun directly at his chest. I spoke slowly and deliberately. "Where are my children?"