Clown Wyrm - 13. Chapter 13 - Babies

Periwinkle looked from Mercury to the Mechanic and asked, “How did people here start controlling genetics?”

“There’s a prophecy,” the Mechanic began, but Mercury interrupted her.

“Oh, great, another prophecy.”

“Another?” Periwinkle replied.

Mercury rolled her eyes. “Yeah, Silverwinter told me about some old prophecy, something about a genetically pure chosen individual.”

Norjia looked back over her shoulder from the front seat, where reins in hand, she was controlling Candi. “That’s the one.”

The Mechanic nodded and began explaining. “The royalists have a different interpretation of the prophecy than us common people. We think of the genetically pure one as a savior who will arise from among us to overthrow the system of thaumigarchy that keeps the king in power. The royals think the pure one will rise and be given dominion over the whole earth.” The Mechanic took a breath and focused. “Now, on to discussing the entire history of the human race.” She let out a laugh and her wife chuckled. “Just joking,” the Mechanic continued, “but our genetics have been controlled for thousands of years.”

“Wait a second,” Mercury interjected, “I can tell this is about to get convoluted or confusing, so first, what’s the prophecy?”

She and Periwinkle looked attentively at the wives, who both seemed confused.

“What do you mean?” Norjia asked.

Mercury bit her lip in thought. “Well, is it some old rhyme, or a passage in an ancient text? Where did the prophecy come from?”

“Huh,” the Mechanic replied, “I don’t know. It’s just sort of common knowledge. Everyone knows the pure one will come someday. Parents tell their kids the pure one will bring them treats if they behave. When couples are granted permission to have their genetics crossed, they hope to provide the perfect balance to finally birth the pure one. Every couple permitted to procreate is said to be blessed by the future pure one, and all the work done with genetics is to try and bring the human race closer to purification.”

Thoughts had been percolating in Mercury’s mind since being locked up in Norjia’s dungeon. Their fellow prisoner had said something that did not make sense, and Mercury was finally ready for more information, and she asked, “What’s all this permitted to procreate stuff?” She was not prepared for the response she received.

The Mechanic simply said, “Humans are sterile,” but neither of the clowns comprehended what she meant.

“Sterile?” Periwinkle asked. “As in clean?”

“What? No, humans are sterile,” the Mechanic clarified, “as in, unable to reproduce. We’re genetically programmed to be sterile before we’re born.”

“Wait… what are you…” Mercury was flabbergasted.

Periwinkle took the Mechanic’s hand. “Can you back up a second, how did humans become sterile?”

The Mechanic squeezed Periwinkle’s fingers and smiled. “It began with our early scientists definitively proving the existence of the spiritual in relation to the physical, and concisely defining how that relationship works in a modality called Tuning.”

Periwinkle snickered and whispered, “See, told you so,” to Mercury, who playfully scoffed and elbowed him.

“Periwinkle and I have different beliefs about all things spiritual,” she expounded. “I’m an atheist; I don’t believe anything spiritual exists, and he’s the opposite.”

“Yeah,” Periwinkle confirmed, “I like to think all spiritualities lead to a heavenly afterlife.”

“That’s such a…” Norjia began, but she paused. “So you believe you have to get through this life, and there will be a better one when you die?”

“Your purpose for living,” the Mechanic stated, “all of our purpose for living, is to create a heavenly world here on Earth, not to hope there’s something better; you have the power to make the world better yourself.”

Norjia furrowed her brow. “And what scientists proved, ages ago, is that the individual spirit of each of us exists, but it doesn’t go on to any kind of life-after. The soul only lingers after death until our cells start to break down, during the process of decay. The first Tuners found a way to study the soul, and they discovered Humans’ spirits do indeed exist beyond the life of a body, but only very briefly.”

Periwinkle did not like what he was hearing. “Are you saying that our spirit is intrinsically linked to our flesh? Because I’ve always viewed our bodies as sort of like husks that house our spirits, which will go on after we die.”

“Well, that sounds like backward understanding to me,” Norjia replied. “That’s not how bodies and souls work at all. These bodies, these husks, are what is spiritual. Our flesh is our spiritual bodies. Your body is what’s spiritual.”

This did not make any sense to either of the clowns.

“The you that makes you unique,” Norjia went on, “is the physical. The energies that each of us emit are our physical bodies.”

“Your heartbeat,” the Mechanic added, “produces an electromagnetic frequency that is exclusively yours, and it forms a small magnetosphere out from you, which is the main part of your physical body, but there’s a subtler aspect to our physicality. Each and every one of our individual cells also puts off a frequency, and combined with the electromagnetic waves of energy pulsating from us, that’s how we have an effect on everything we come into contact with.”

Her wife continued. “Our personal perspective of reality is gleaned through the lens of our unique and constant resonance. The term Tuning was coined to represent what our bodies are doing at every moment of our existence.”

Periwinkle was shaking his head no, and Mercury said, “Our cells all have a frequency?”

“Yep,” the Mechanic replied, “the fifty-trillion cells that make up each of our bodies emit a constant frequency that is uniquely our own and unlike every other person’s anywhere else on the planet. Early researchers realized that cells taken away from a person will continue resonating with that person’s frequency, as long as the cells are kept alive and free from decay. It’s how transplant hosts sometimes pick up thoughts or feelings connected to the organ donor, even if the donor is no longer living.”

Norjia spoke up again. “Our cell-frequency was once described as if each of our bodies was singing its own secret song, and the word Tune was adopted for the phenomenon. You both are literally sending out a unique Tune to the universe at every moment, and that’s how you actually connect to the physical world around you. These husks truly are the spirit; our husks are singing the songs of our existence.”

Periwinkle was flummoxed. “No, no, no, that’s not right. This fleshy thing is the physical. It’s actually a physical thing.” He then added, “Is that really true about our cells putting off their own frequency? I really love the way you just described the song coming from our cells, which feels like it’s our soul, but wouldn’t that mean the song is actually the spiritual part of us?”

Mercury agreed with Periwinkle. “Yeah, what you’re saying doesn’t make sense. If there’s energy coming from us, wouldn’t that be the spiritual part?”

“But your energy is how you relate and connect to the physical world around you,” the Mechanic replied. “Our body is the song-creator, the spirit, the Tuner.”

“It sounds like they’re talking about radio or TV,” Periwinkle stated to Mercury.

“What are those?” Norjia asked.

“They’re essentially mechanical signal-boxes. One plays audio, and the other plays audio and also video.” Periwinkle realized the word video would mean nothing to the wives, and he added, “It shows visuals, moving pictures.”

“We listen to music or people talking over the radio,” Mercury clarified, “and we watch shows and movies over TV.”

The Mechanic looked intrigued. “So these boxes send signals that you receive?”

“Exactly.”

“Then that’s physical,” the Mechanic stated, “and these radios and TVs are just the sender, right? So the boxes are the spirits sending their physical connection to the world, and it sounds a lot like Tuning, as if the boxes are similar to our bodies, sharing this frequency, and it’s the boxes’ frequencies that you receive, just like your own cell-frequency is interacting with the physical world around you.”

Mercury and Periwinkle could not seem to grasp this opposite way of thinking.

“I guess I just think of the signal from the radio or TV as more esoteric,” Periwinkle replied, “and the radio or TV itself as very physical. Most TVs are big and bulky,” he added.

“Okay,” the Mechanic ventured, “so imagine your radio or TV died, like a human dies, but it was still putting off a partial or distorted visual, or playing garbled music for a little while longer. That’s what humans do; our Tune is still being sung by our cells after we die, and it continues until our cells’ outer membranes break down. Once the cells can no longer sing our Tune, we are truly no more.”

“Our Tune is the thing that makes us unique,” Norjia added, “more than your mind or your heart or your genetics. Your Tune is what makes you you.”

“And it’s not eternal?” Periwinkle reiterated. “Really? Because I really feel like my soul will go on.”

“Once there’s no more cells to sing your Tune,” Norjia replied, “how would your youness still exist?”

Periwinkle did not have an answer.

“So wait,” Mercury said, “how did people start controlling genetics?”

“Right,” the Mechanic replied, “when the old gods fell, and there was only R’Kathlug, people started waiting for the coming of the pure one, who would supposedly complete the magic. Commonfolk believe completing the magic means to bring an end to it, while the royals believe it means the dragon will come to its full strength.”

“And there’s been plenty of speculation written about the pure one,” Norjia added, “but I don’t think anyone knows the true origin of how people started talking about it.”

Mercury looked at Periwinkle. “Maybe this supposed pure one is like the boogeyman or something,” she guessed. “There’s no classic boogeyman story that set the foundation for belief in the boogeyman. He’s just an ambiguous figure. Like Norjia said about the pure one bringing candy to kids, parents in our world say stuff like the boogeyman’ll getcha if you misbehave.”

Norjia nodded. “I think that’s a lot like how the story of the pure one came about. People just started talking about it.”

The Mechanic continued. “The ancient technologies fell with the rise of R’Kathlug, and our ancestors began controlling genetics through magic. The dragon’s power was pouring into the royals, and they were the first to manipulate their DNA. Human genes are simple; they are blueprints for growing cells, and depending on the environment provided, they can produce every cell in our bodies.”

Periwinkle leaned toward Mercury and whispered, “This is like genetic determinism or maybe epigenetics.”

“Ooh,” the Mechanic cooed, “those are fun terms. What do they mean?”

“Erm, I think it’s the study of how genes turn on and off.”

The Mechanic did a doubletake. “What are you talking about? Genes don’t turn on and off; they don’t. They’re simply the foundation for growing new cells. It sounds like a lot of things in your world are misunderstood or just plain wrong, or maybe your world is very different than ours, but again, it’s the cell membrane that’s so important. The cell membrane is the control center for every single cell in the human body.”

“Seriously?” Periwinkle replied. “Genes here don’t define who you are?” He turned to Mercury. “I feel like I remember learning in school that the control center of a cell was its nucleus.”

“The DNA in a nucleus is extremely important,” the Mechanic replied to him, “but its purpose is to grow new cells, nothing more. If the nucleus of a cell is removed, it can go on living, but it can no longer reproduce, so the nucleus is simply the reproductive organ of the cell, the gonads. In genetics labs, our master geneticists give the membrane of a cluster of embryonic cells different external circumstances, including chemicals or stimuli, and that tells the DNA exactly what type of human cell to grow. It allows us to completely control our own genetics.”

Mercury was trying to understand. “But how did it all go from being controlled by the royals, to being common, and how did everyone become sterile?”

Norjia laughed and declared, “Humans haven’t given birth to live young in thousands of years!”

This fact startled the clowns.

“The king grants gene-manipulation magic to his master geneticists,” Norjia continued. “If any of us are hoping to reproduce, we have to go to one of the labs for testing.”

“Infants are grown in placental pods,” the Mechanic explained. “It takes about three years for a child to develop before we’re birthed. The two genetic donors who provided the material for the child are retested before custody of their child is granted to either.”

Mercury’s eyebrows shot up. “And what do you mean retested? What’s the first test?”

“That’s the one Tagoo failed,” Norjia replied. “The first round of testing involves having our individual genomes mapped and compared. There’s an extensive background check for both potential parents, and friends of the hopeful genetic donors are interviewed. If Tagoo had not been secretly psychotic, and we’d been permitted to reproduce, three years later we could have returned for full psychological evaluations and medical workups. If we passed the second round, each of us would have been granted permission to co-raise the child.”

“Why not get all the testing out of the way first?”

“Any couple can apply,” the Mechanic stated. “The population of Armonia is low, and the master geneticists are always looking for donors, but there are strict guidelines in place to help keep future generations as pure as possible.”

“If the population is so low,” Mercury replied, “why not let just one generation be not sterile so they can have lots of babies and provide a bump to the population?”

Norjia turned around in her seat, and she looked like she could not believe Mercury would even suggest such a thing. “We’re still striving to bring about the pure one. Allowing anyone to have a baby with anyone else would ruin everything we’ve done up to this point. The magic from R’Kathlug provides the power our geneticists need for their work, but the magic also absorbs life. Something like a third of births in the pods are still, meaning three years of waiting for nothing, but every new birth is one step closer to the coming of the pure one.”

“Wait a second,” Periwinkle interjected, “if you’re all sterile, and R’Kathlug’s magic is required to give birth, but we somehow manage to slay the dragon, what’ll happen to the population then?”

“I think the regent was right,” the Mechanic replied. “I think you’re setting the groundwork for the coming of the pure one. I think this world is on the cusp of great change, and I believe you two play a part in it.”

Periwinkle had a question that he knew had the potential to be taken wrong, and he gently asked, “Norjia, how did you fall for someone like Tagoo?”

Norjia laughed again. “Those types are usually charming, and Tagoo was very attractive. I didn’t realize he was bad until he was very bad.”

“How long were you together?”

“We met almost five weeks ago.”

“Wow, you knew that quickly that you wanted to have a child with him? Maybe you should have gotten to know him a little more.”

Norjia let out another laugh. “That’s the point of going through the testing. Most parents in our world aren’t together and don’t raise their child as a pair, and they share the responsibilities of the child’s upbringing separately. I wanted to raise my child with Dizriolith, and Tagoo was supposed to have his own life with our child. When we were denied, his true colors began to show.”

“All of this seems unnecessarily confusing,” Mercury stated. “Why not let people have babies the old-fashioned way?”

“Because unapproved wild or volatile genetic combinations would occur,” the Mechanic replied.

“And this is how things have always been,” her wife added.

The four were quiet for a while as they each processed the information they had discussed. Eventually, the Mechanic said, “There’s a third interpretation of the prophecy.”

“What do you mean?” Mercury asked.

“There’s a group who live outside of society that call themselves the eternal ones,” the Mechanic explained, and Norjia scoffed from up front. “Norjia thinks they’re a little nuts.”

Norjia looked back into the cart, where her wife and the two clowns were seated. “They think they’ve found a way to make a person’s Tune eternal, and they believe they’ve already found several pure ones, but those people have been dead for years.”

“Except,” the Mechanic continued for her wife, “when their supposed pure ones were on their deathbed, their followers took their organs and transplanted them into the body of a healthy young person, and they think their pure ones still exist because they claim their Tune is still being sung by the cells of the organs inside the new body. Transplant surgery has helped many people,” the Mechanic added, “and while the host may pick up tidbits of the deceased person’s Tune, like memories or cravings, the donor doesn’t take over the host.”

Periwinkle asked for clarification. “We know about transplant surgery in our world too, but how would…” He paused. “When the younger host dies, they don’t then transplant the pure one’s organs into another body, do they?”

“That’s exactly what they do,” the Mechanic replied.

“What,” Mercury interjected, “like sourdough bread?”

“Oh my god, gross,” Periwinkle replied, “human sourdough.”

The wives did not understand.

“I don’t know what sourdough is,” the Mechanic continued, “but the organs from the supposed pure ones were transplanted into those first hosts long ago, and when those people’s bodies died, the organs were removed and transplanted into a new and younger host, and they’ve repeated the process until today. They have four or five living people they call their eternal pure ones, but the transplant of the old and used organs leaves the hosts – whatever number host they’re on – in a completely unresponsive state.”

“Yeah,” Norjia confirmed, “and living is a pretty strong word for them; the hosts’ bodies are living in only the vaguest sense.”

“Totally gross,” Mercury stated, turning to Periwinkle, “it’s just like sourdough.” She pantomimed kneading bread. “Here’s a bit of living matter incorporated through this added inert material, and you’ve got a new sourdough.” She looked back at Norjia and the Mechanic. “Sourdough is delicious, but doing that with human organs is vile.”

“Oh you’re right about that,” Norjia replied.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, as did the next, and the quartet’s casual conversations as they rolled along were of little importance. Partway through their fourth day, they saw a campsite in the distance. A man was standing in front of several permanent tents, waiting for the travelers, and he was waving. As they approached, he called out to them.

“Greetings, and welcome to the Dove Hollow Public Campsite! I am Vorgos, and it would be my honor to have you as my guests.”