The tightness in her chest faded from Lucy Templeton only to give way to a feeling of lightness in her stomach. It was understandable; she was approaching the Director’s office.

She had to face Bernardo sooner or later, and she couldn’t slow down to delay the meeting or back down; her sandals echoing as she walked had surely made him aware of her proximity; Bernardo worked nights with the door of his office ajar.

She pictured him waiting for her, sitting with his elbows on the desk, his hands clasped under his nose, and the sour expression she knew well. Bernardo’s expression said nothing but: ‘I’m sick of having to talk to you.’ And she usually felt like saying, ‘It doesn’t make me happy to do it either.’ However, he was the director, and even when she wasn’t just another employee but a prestigious scientist, she had to behave like his subordinate.

You’re still a submissive girl, you haven’t changed a bit; she heard the voice of her mother in her mind, the mother she’d been estranged from for years now. Submissive or not, she couldn’t disrespect her boss; he had been waiting for her for about half an hour, and she couldn’t ignore him, could she?

Anxious, she shook the folder with files she’d taken after visiting the nursery and prepared to see the director.

There was a possibility that if she told Bernardo the real reason for her delay—not the part of having passed by the nursery, but that she’d learned about the loss of her pregnancy—perhaps she could avoid the tantrum Bernardo surely had ready for her. That look of contempt and that tone of voice, calm but with an underlying message that said, ‘I hate you,’ hurt more than any scolding. Perhaps telling him about her loss could make him more sensitive and…

No. Skinny Lucy lowered her gaze. She was tired. If she had to put up with being yelled at, no matter how unfair the reason was, so be it. If she had to talk about the loss of her baby, that was another issue. Doubts assaulted her, and she was flogged again by the terror that chewed her entrails. Then she recalled what that horrible person she had as a director told her when she’d suffered her second miscarriage: “Face it, you’ll never be a mother.”

Doubt resolved. For the moment, she’d keep the loss for herself.

She gathered strength, more than she’d needed to enter the nursery; she pushed the door—which was, indeed, ajar—and took the first step into the room.

The office was in darkness.

It turned out Bernardo wasn’t waiting for her with his hands clasped on the desk, or with his eyes ready to shoot those bullets of contempt at her, with the face that said: ‘It’s been over half an hour since I ask for you to come. Don’t you know how much I hate to wait?’ The project director was on his feet, watching the slides of a building’s blueprints projected on the wall; with one hand on his chin and thousands of ideas behind his glasses.

Bernardo was so deep in his own thoughts it took him a moment to realize she had entered.

“It was about time,” that was all he said.

The clock showed 5 minutes past midnight, and Bernardo was still wearing the same white lab coat he’d put on, eighteen hours earlier, and he still wore it all buttoned up. He was a long-faced man with premature baldness, a little taller than her, and just as scrawny.

“Tell me what they say,” he asked, waving one of his long fingers at the documents; he didn’t even bother to take them. He always did the same.

Lucy didn’t need to open the folder to explain its contents; she herself had run the tests and written the report. She took a long breath, encouraging herself to speak as if nothing was happening, and said:

“What we thought. The comparison between the behavior of the twins and the stars in a binary solar system couldn’t have been more accurate.”

“Two stars orbiting each other,” Bernardo said, “so close they exchange matter until they become one. Or a very dense star cannibalizing its partner, rushing it to collapse.”

“Something similar to what’s going on here,” Lucy continued. “The Binaries’ brain neurotransmitters act in a synchronized manner; if one of them experiences an increase in Serotonin, the other will suffer a decrease in it. Before the… intervention, we’d detected irregularities in Brun’s tyrosine levels; while in Broga we’d found an excessive production of norepinephrine, epinephrine, and dopamine.”

Bernardo noted. “Three neurotransmitters that are synthesized from tyrosine, an amino acid that is altered by psychiatric disorders,” he said. “That would explain the Binary-C’s schizophrenic breaks.”

Broga, she corrected him in her thoughts. His name is Broga, not Binary-C.

Bernardo dropped a gurgle that was intended to be a burst of laughter. “Now that the mind of the Binary-R is…let’s say, absent,” he pointed out, “the Binary-C likes to do art. Two people experiencing opposite sensations at the same time, and basically, through the same body.”

Lucy nodded.

“Their synchronization helped metabolize the first dose of Primary Plasma,” she said. “However, studies have confirmed your fears.”

And at that moment, she noticed how hope escaped from Bernardo through a sigh.

“The drugs situation, right?” he said and asked for the files to see the result with his own eyes.

With the Director’s focus on the documents, Lucy took the opportunity to give herself the luxury of smiling. That something turned out as Bernardo had expected but not as he had wanted used to cause her a secret joy, but that just happen only a few times, so she couldn’t miss this opportunity. Trying not to show how much she enjoyed giving him this news, she announced:

“Now that the Binaries’ DNA works in conjunction with that of the Primary Plasma, long-term abuse of sedatives and other chemicals would alter their neurotransmitters and proteins significantly. You won’t be able to keep those children in a constant vegetative state as you wanted. You’ll have to give them autonomy, keep them healthy, and take the trouble to monitor them until they reach the physical maturity we need for the project to be a success.”

The Director closed the folder with the files and threw it on his desk. He was so disappointed with these latest results that he made no disparaging comments. Good. Lucy’s emotional state, beyond the recent fleeting joy of just, made her vulnerable to the extreme, and she didn’t want to start crying in front of him.

“All right, then. All the more reason should we put this into operation,” Bernardo said and pointed at the slide projected on the wall. The photograph of a room with four white tubs interconnected through pipes. Everything looked new and clean.

“What we see?” she asked without real interest. She just wanted to go back to her room, take a pill, and sleep.

“Our new home,” the Director replied. “They have refurbished the lab in the Duane archipelago, we’ll move there at the end of the month.”

Move? Again? she thought, but something else came from her lips: “It looks nice.” Every compliment was allowed in order not to confront the Director.

Sadly, she forgot Bernardo knew her well, and just as she used to detect the emotions hidden behind his monotonous voice, he could also recognize when a comment of hers was shallow or had some underlying meaning, such as now: ‘Yes, yes. The slides are fantastic, but I’ve come to give you the files and I’m gone. Goodbye.’

Snorting, Bernardo tucked the tip of his fingers under his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “How can you be such a brilliant scientist, and at the same time, be so stupid not to understand our need to move?”

There were his hurtful words! The truce had been too brief.

“You know well what will happen if the Empire finds us, what will happen with the project,” Bernardo said. “Remember that we once worked for them; they are not idiots.”

Lucy pursed her lips. She was sick of hearing that same speech. Damn! She had just lost her fifth pregnancy at forty-one; her fifth pregnancy! And the person in front of her did nothing but treat her like crap. Enough with the submissive little girl attitude!

“You want to know what will happen?” she said, and just like what happened in the nursery room, the words came out of her mouth. “I’ll tell you what will happen: if the military busted us, they’ll pretend to be horrified by our actions; then they’ll offer us a millionaire contract so that we can continue with the project and they’ll give us a lab we can go to without using a freaking map. That’s what will happen, Bernardo!”

The director stood still, with his eyes open and a nasty grimace on his face.

It’s done. Lucy had told him. And without stuttering! And immediately afterward she realized what she had just done and felt the blood drain from her body.

This time she didn’t turn red—tomato red—this time, she went pale like spoiled yogurt; and when she was about to apologize, the anguish over her recent loss prevented her to do so.

Bernardo’s mouth became a curved line pointing down, highlighting the lines that came down from the dimples of his hooked nose to the end of his pointed chin. He cleared his throat.

“We’ve already discussed it,” he said, and oddly enough, he didn’t swear. “It’s decided. At the end of the month, we’ll move back to the Duane archipelago, and after a few months we’ll move again if necessary.”

Bernardo turned off the slide projector.

“You know there’re powerful people who’re putting down a lot of money on this project,” he continued; “so we can stay away from the Empire’s noses. If our research comes to light, the military would take advantage of the scandal to keep everything for themselves. And if that were to happen, Lucy, dear, you’re delusional if you think those same powerful people who put down a lot of money will not be angry knowing they won’t receive what they’ve paid for. They’ll ask for our heads on a plate, maybe even literally, you understand? And that’s without talking about the betrayal we’d be committing, right?”

Okay, Bernardo was right. God, did she hate when he was right!

“We’ll take the Binary-C to the Duane archipelago with us,” Bernardo announced.

“His name is Broga,” Lucy said, more abruptly than she’d have wanted. Again, that untimely defiant attitude had circumvented her inhibitions. Binary-C sounded too cold and inhumane.

Bernardo gave her a look as if to say, ‘Stop with the nonsense, will you?’.

“The Binary-C,” he emphasized, “will come with us. We’ll send the Binary-R to another country. Maybe to another continent. And it’ll be as soon as possible.”

‘I’ll bring him with me so you can say hello’. The promise Lucy had made to Broga a few minutes ago burst into her consciousness with the same force as the image of the child smiling at the prospect of seeing his brother again, and her tongue tangled with the words and the emotions.

“W-why are you going to set-set them apart?” she asked.

“If we can’t keep them in a vegetative state,” Bernardo said, “it will be better to put as much distance as possible between one and the other. These types of blood must be prevented from touching each other before their time. Besides…” With a sign, he asked her to close the door. Lucy obeyed. “I’m worried about what happened yesterday,” he added quietly. “I imagine you’ve heard the rumors.”

“Some-someone tried to steal a dose of the Primary Plasma. They-they say it was a misunderstanding, that they took it to lab B to try to replicate it.”

Bernardo snorted.

“I would have believed such a silly excuse if it had been told me a few decades ago,” he said. “Today we all know that replicating something like that is impossible.” He slumped into the chair. “I haven’t discussed this with anyone, but…” He took a long sigh and rubbed his eyes under his glasses again; “I think they did it because they seek to speed up the project.”

“Are you serious?”

“Come on, Lucy; you know as well as I do there are several impatient people who want results now.” Bernardo gave another long sigh; the issue had him truly worried. “Fortunately, this little robbery was solved, but what would have happened if… There are only a couple of doses of Plasma left; they cannot be wasted.” And there came the third sigh. “I’ll separate the Binaries as a preventive measure. If they want to continue cloning them, fine by me; but they will have to do it from a distance. I don’t care how much of a ruckus they raise because of it. Better that than everything goes to hell, now that we are so close to the end.”

Lucy blurted out an Uh! “Twenty-one years close,” she remarked, and there was silence.

Had that been a statement that sounded like sarcasm, or had it been a sarcasm that sounded like a statement? Not even she knew; what she did know was that none of the alternatives was to Bernardo’s liking.

“Even if there were forty years to go,” he said, “after everything we’ve been through, it would still be ‘close’.”

And again, Bernardo was right.

‘My brother? My brother is coming with you?’ the little one had asked her.

‘Tomorrow I’ll bring him with me so you can say hello,’ she had replied. All right, the separation didn’t have to be tomorrow, but it might be the day after tomorrow.

And with that child’s hopeful smile in mind, Lucy knew she had to flee before she started crying right there. She was afraid of breaking down and telling Bernardo about the loss of the baby.

“Well, you-you wanted the tests…” She pointed to the files on the desk, turned around, and opened the door. “There they are. Goodbye.”

“Wait,” Bernardo stopped her. “I didn’t just call you to bring me the tests. I want you to get the Binary-C ready for surgery as soon as possible. We’ll implement the Major Surgery on him, and I want you to take care of the intervention.”

Lucy’s jaw dropped as if an invisible hand had pulled from it. She was short of breath; she blinked quickly, and her eyes looked for any point to settle on other than the Director’s face.

“M-m-major surgery?” Why the hell she didn’t stop stuttering?! “You’ll also do it with that p-p-poor child?”

“I won’t, you will,” Bernardo said; “just like before.”

“I operated on the Binary-R…” Lucy said, and corrected herself, “Not on the Binary-R, on Brun! I operated on Brun! I ma-managed to synthesize his genetic material. We-we’ve already learned how his neurotransmitters work; what else do-do you want? W-why are we going to get Broga through that same hell as well?!”

Bernardo’s eyes widened, and his mouth clenched. “You want to keep your voice down, goddamn it?”

Lucy pushed the door ajar just to satisfy Bernardo. What did it matter if someone overheard them arguing? By now, every person in that building knew what kind of relationship they had; yelling at each other was an everyday thing.

“Bernardo! I have performed a brain lobotomy on a child, do you understand what that means?” she insisted, restraining her voice’s attempts to make herself heard. “I have disabled a child for-for the rest of his life! What-what would his mother say if…?”

She was hushed. She was about to burst into tears.

Bernardo stared at her.

“His mother and father are one of us, Lucy,” he answered; “and they were willing to assume the sacrifice from the day the babies were tested positive.” He left the chair, picked up the documents again, and began to walk in circles around her. “I am very sorry that, of all the children, they have had to pay the price.” He shook the results as if they were the little ones he was talking about, “But neither we nor their parents are responsible for their being born with the mutation. A mutation that, I must remind you, Lucy, has been eagerly awaited by all of us.”

Lucy couldn’t believe the words that came out of the Project Director himself. Was the pressure the rest of the Order put on him so much he didn’t realize how far they were going down the rabbit hole?

“We haven’t given their parents or them a choice, Bernardo. Fool yourself if you want, but don’t try to do it with me. All we do is to satisfy our ego, to satisfy the ambition of a lot of heartless jerks!”

“Enough with sentimentalisms, Hikaru!” Bernard barked. “What’s the matter with you, Lucy?! I don’t remember you doing such a pitiful scene when you operated on the other twin. You had your doubts, but nothing compared to this babysitter whining.”

Lucy was frightened to hear him speak like that, so unemotional, and it terrified her to think of the number of times she had acted the same way in the name of science. Of course, losing another pregnancy had been a punishment! And maybe that had been for the better. With so many atrocities committed, she didn’t deserve to become a mother.

She remembered what had happened a few weeks ago, in the operating room. She saw herself getting ready to perform the surgery, cleaning her hands, putting on the gloves and mask; while the nurses, supervised by Rosa Tyler, shaved little Brun’s head, who slept on the operating table without knowing what was going on around him. She saw herself opening the little boy’s skull with the laser and then removing part of his brain.

If this child were yours, would you be doing this? she had questioned herself then.

It was possible that, at that moment, Lucy had her doubts because she was carrying four miscarries, and her mother’s voice was telling her how unqualified she was to take care of someone besides her. Maybe her mother had been right all along. That time, Lucy had gotten rid of those thoughts and she’d done her job, and she had done it well. However, now…

“I won’t.”

“You will,” Bernardo said, calm but relentless. “Everyone is satisfied with our progress and wants us to do the same with the Binary-C; and as the director, I can’t refuse.”

“I will not operate on that child, Bernardo. If you’re so eager to satisfy those monsters, you do it.”

“Lucy, they want the Binary-C’s brain on a surgical tray by tomorrow, and their Binary proteins extracted before the weekend,” Bernardo said.

“And you were talking about impatient people?”

“Look, Lucy, I don’t have enough time to please everyone,” Bernardo confessed. “I have to check on the rebuild of the lab, and I have to get the retarded Binary-R ready to move. Besides…” He lowered his gaze. “We both know there’s no one better qualified to perform that surgery than you, Lucy. I’m not as good a neurosurgeon as you are. I’m better at commanding everything behind a desk than doing it on the operating table. You’ll do it, whether you like it or not. That’s an order.”

Tears ran down Lucy’s face.

Bernardo stood up, puzzled and concerned. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked.

Then, she confessed: “I lost our fifth baby.”

Bernardo took a deep breath, put his hands back, and raised his chin; his brown eyes, hidden behind his glasses, became two rocks with no emotions.

“We should have stopped trying when you lost the second one,” he said, though his lips trembled a little.

Lucy pivoted and left the office the way she didn’t want to do it: crying.

“The operating room will be ready and waiting for you first thing tomorrow,” he reminded her.

Lucy hated Bernardo as a boss, but she hated him even more as a husband.