Atlantea Ch. 09

I got into the back of the Mercedes SUV, noting that the windows were indeed completely blacked out. There was a black Lexan partition behind the front seats, preventing those of us in the back from seeing through the front window. Before we pulled away, Xanthia swept a small device all over my body, keeping her hand about two inches away.

"My apologies," she said softly, "I am required to check for electronic devices. Also, may I have your passport? I will return it at the end of the day."

After briefly verifying that my passport picture matched my face, she tucked it into a leather bag lying on the seat next to her. She took off her hat and glasses, revealing almond-colored eyes, and long, straight black hair, which she shook out vigorously. She took my hand as the vehicle pulled away from the curb.

At first, it seemed like the driver was lost, as they kept making turns, seemingly at every intersection. It finally dawned on me that this was intended to shake off anyone who might be tailing us, as well as ensure I was not able to somehow keep track of where we were going. Xanthia passed the time by asking me about my past. I suspected this was secretly part of the interview process, but she made it seem casual.

"And do you have children, Mr. Walker?" she asked, at one point; we had been in the SUV for about an hour.

"Yes, quite a few, actually."

"Oh," she said, "how many is that?"

"Twenty-one, so far," I said.

"That is a lot," Xanthia said, her face registering genuine surprise. "In fact I don't think I've ever interviewed someone with so many, before. If I might ask, how many mothers were involved?"

I did some arithmetic in my head. Beyond Phoebe and the Twins, there were five other women from the first conception session, with one of them having had twins. Then, ten of the twelve women from the second session had gotten pregnant, as well, albeit with multiple tries in some cases. Two of the ten had had twins as well.

"Eighteen."

"And, if I might ask, were they friends of yours?" she asked.

"They are mostly lesbians," I added, realizing as I said it that I was probably just confusing matters. "A friend of mine set most of the sessions up, and kept their identities anonymous. I ended up meeting most of the moms at various get-togethers, later, but even then we pretended like nobody knew who I was. It's all pretty weird, I know, but I swear it's the God's honest truth."

"For what it is worth, I don't think it's weird," she said, and I noticed the look of surprise had faded completely from her face. "Might I ask whose idea these 'sessions' were?"

That seemed like an odd question, and I had not thought about it for a while. At first, I was going to say that the idea was Rosalind's, but then I remembered Phoebe telling me it had come from her friend, Rhea.

"It's funny you should ask, it was this woman named Rhea. After she found out I'd gotten my friend Phoebe pregnant -- that's a long story -- she suggested the idea of the insemination sessions to her and her wife."

"Rhea, did you say?" Xanthia asked, leaning forward.

"Yeah, she was a post-doc at the Department of Public Health at our university, but she disappeared after a while. And then it seemed like nobody at the department had actually heard of her, which was odd."

"What did she look like?"

"Unusual, I'd say. Like my girlfriend, it was really hard to tell where she was from. I actually first met her when I filled out a survey about breastfeeding in my family. She kind of hit the jackpot 'cuz I have more female relatives than usual."

I went on to describe Rhea's features in more detail. Xanthia, to my surprise, seemed nonplussed by all of this information, and I began to suspect she already knew most of what I was saying.

"Might I ask," Xanthia asked, "Of your children, how many are boys?"

"Let's see, there were three boys out of the twenty-one, although it's a bit unfair because there were three sets of twin girls," I said. "Like I said, I come from a kinda weird family, genetically, I think."

"How many were identical?" she asked.

"I think all of them; that also seems to run in the family."

She did not have time to ask any follow-up questions, as the SUV had come to a halt, and she asked if she could put a blindfold around my eyes. I assented, and she kept hold of my hand so that she could lead me out of the vehicle. We walked over a gravel surface, and then up a short stairway. I heard a metal door close, and lock, behind me. Xanthia removed the blindfold.

I was in a small, well-lit, windowless room. Based on its dimensions, I suspected we were in the back of a large trailer, such as might be pulled by an eighteen-wheeler. The walls in this section were lined from floor to ceiling with flat, black plastic squares, each about the size and shape of a baseball base. Each had a warning written on it, varying between "No Smoking", "No Open Flames", and "Danger: High Explosives".

"Is this place rigged to blow?" I asked Xanthia, worriedly.

"Yes, you are correct," she said, squeezing my hand reassuringly, "But it is just a precaution, and has never been used in the history of the program."

I must have looked nervous because she put a hand on my shoulder.

"Mr. Walker," she said, "The next step is a medical exam, and it will require that you remove your clothing. Are you okay with that?"

"Okay," I said.

We stepped into the next room, which had a tall cylinder in the middle, open along one side.

"Would you please disrobe and then step into the scanner?" Xanthia asked. "I will be in the next room."

"What does it do?"

"It's completely touch-less, and it can detect a number of diseases, and physical conditions and bodily dimensions, and can detect any embedded electronic devices on your person."

"No worries there!" I joked.

Xanthia exited through a far door. I stripped and stepped into the unfamiliar contraption.

"The door will close now; please don't be alarmed," Xanthia said over an intercom. "You will see blue lights while the tests are running."

The cylinder slid closed around me, and shortly thereafter, the interior of the device came alive, with an azure glow. The light emanated from a number of round panels, each roughly the size of a dinner plate. The plates began to rotate around, presumably doing some kind of body scan. Before I had much time to think about it, the procedure was done.

"Perfect," came Xanthia's soft voice, "everything checks out."

"You can tell already?" I asked the room.

"We have made a few medical advances in our country which have not yet made their way to the outside world."

I was directed to put my clothes back on and head to the next room. On one side, a woman wearing dark gray body armor had a sub-machine gun slung over her shoulder. There was also a comfortable chair, with six square blue panels mounted on arms that extended out from various points along the sides. Xanthia directed me to sit down, and I could see that the panels were all angled towards my head.

"Again, I want to apologize for this procedure. This is a lie detector, and I promise it will become clear, in time, why this is necessary."

I nodded. She was sitting right across from me.

"As a first step, it is important that you believe in the infallibility of the mechanism, so I will ask you to intentionally lie to at least a few of the following questions. I will tell you if you are lying. First, have you ever broken your leg?"

"Yes," I said.

"And how old were you?" she asked.

"Nine," I said, deciding to lie.

"That is a lie," she said softly.

"Okay, eight," I said.

"Also a lie," she said.

"Ten," I said.

"Truth," she said.

These trivial questions went on for a while, until I was convinced there was no obvious way to beat the machine. The first serious question finally explained why Calista had been so careful not to tell me anything about her country, or the visa application process.

"Has anyone told you the name of the country you are applying to visit?"

"No."

"Has anyone explained any part of this procedure to you?"

"No."

"Has anyone provided hints, or any other information that would to make your visa application process more successful?"

I gulped. Had Calista screwed up? There was no point in lying about it, though; I was fully convinced that the machine truly worked.

"Just to work out a lot... and focus on my glutes?" I ventured.

Xanthia laughed.

"Good advice, and, before you get concerned, no, that doesn't disqualify you. And you do have a cute butt; nice job!"

'When did she notice that?' I wondered.

The questions continued, mostly to ensure I was not an agent of any government, or engaged in corporate espionage. She also went back over some of the questions she had asked me in the SUV, verifying I did have that many children. When the questioning was done, she again apologized profusely for having put me through the experience.

We moved on to the next room, which looked like an attorney's office. She put me on a video chat with a woman who spent an hour asking me questions about physical therapy and athletic training, clearly designed to ensure I really was in the master's degree program I had claimed to be in.

Then Xanthia connected me, over video chat, with Donald Sprague, who had a PhD from a well-known university, and who was also Director of Sports medicine at an NBA team on the East Coast. I recognized the name, as he had given the keynote at a seminar I had attended, and I head read a few of his numerous publications.

"I know you'll have lots of questions, and I won't be able to answer most of them, however I do want to tell you I attended Diamandis University for grad school, not where you think I did," he explained.

I recognized his craggy, handsome face from when I'd seen him give the keynote address.

"How can that be?" I asked, my jaw dropping in surprise. "I mean, I even checked out your thesis once!"

Sprague had written a widely-cited dissertation on IT band injuries in full-contact sports. He had, supposedly, done it at a famous university. Now I was learning that was all a sham.

"This will sound crazy," he said, anticipating my next question, "but Diamandis has a program where your graduate-level work will transfer to certain US universities. Basically, in a way nobody can tell."

I just stared at him.

"So did you ever even set foot at your, uh, alma mater? Or I guess supposed alma mater?"

"Only much later, for a seminar. Look, I know this sounds nuts. I was in exactly your situation, many, many years ago. All I can say is that everything they told me turned out to be true. Everything. And you'd be a fool to pass up this opportunity. Uh, in more ways than one."

Sprague leered as he said the last part.

"Look, I gotta run," he continued. "Don't discuss this conversation with anyone, and of course I will deny everything I just said if ever asked about it."

With this, he winked, and signed off.

"I know this is a lot to process," Xanthia said, "So if you want to talk to another professional in your field, that can be arranged."

"No," I said, "I know that guy pretty well, actually. That's... convincing. I'm just kinda stunned that something like that is even possible."

"Perfectly reasonable reaction," she said, "Let's take a break for lunch soon, shall we?"

* * *

Before eating, Xanthia had another test for me. She brought out five lidded cups from a refrigerator under her desk, and lined them up in a row. They were made of carbon fiber, sort of like hi-tech sippy cups, and with their lids on, I could not see the contents.

"In my country, it can be difficult to get by without having a tolerance for certain substances, that you might not be used to, or which you might find too unpleasant to be consumed on a regular basis. Please sample from each of these cups, and try to drink as much as you can, comfortably."

"Is this safe?"

"I assure you, it's perfectly safe and nutritious. I would be happy to drink from each first, if you like."

"No, that's fine, I trust you," I said, picking up the leftmost cup.

Having recently nursed from Natasha's breasts, I immediately recognized the mystery fluid. This liquid had a slightly more sour taste than hers, but there was no mistaking the slightly watery substance for anything other than breast milk. Excitedly, I sucked down the entire contents. Xanthia stared at me, jaw hanging slightly agape.

"You do not need to finish the samples, if you don't want to," she informed me. "Most subjects do not. We simply need to make sure you do not have a severe dislike of the contents."

I moved on to the next cup. Although I believed it to be breast milk as well, I could not be entirely sure. It had a sweet, almost citrus-like taste to it, and also seemed to have less water content. Again, I drank the entire contents.

"Is there more of this one?" I asked, hopefully.

Xanthia blushed, and absently flicked her long hair over her shoulder.

"You... liked it?"

"Oh yes, I mean the first one was good too, but this was sweeter and creamier."

"Well, why don't you finish the rest," she said ambiguously.

I slugged down the next two cups, which were both, unlike the second sample, obviously breast milk again, close in taste to Natasha's. The fifth cup was similar to the second, but seemed like it had been watered down.

"What did you think of the fifth sample?" she asked.

Somehow her hair had migrated back across to the front of her torso, and she was now fiddling with it, absentmindedly.

"Um," I said, "kinda similar to the second sample, I'd say, just not as sweet or creamy."

"How interesting," she said, "men usually pick the fifth one, if they have an opinion at all."

"Is there more?" I asked.

"I don't think," she said, "anyone's ever asked that before. I guess, why not?"

She brought out five more containers, and we repeated the process. As I finished the last of them, her eyes went wide.

"Which one did you like the best?" she asked, still playing with her hair.

"Hmm," I said, "the second one wasn't as good this time, the fourth was the best."

For reasons that I couldn't fathom, this made her blush furiously, seemingly taking on several shades of red all at once.

"Would you, um, like to eat now?" she asked.

"Sure, although honestly I'm not that hungry any more," I said, smiling.

* * *

We had chicken souvlaki, salad, and white wine for lunch, then returned to her desk. She brought out a black metallic tube, and squeezed out a pea-sized drop of grainy-looking paste onto a disposable wooden spoon.

"This is a lifestyle supplement that is commonly used in our country," she said. "Most men can only take it in small doses at a time, and a many have a strong allergic reaction. Would you mind trying this sample?"

"Could I see the tube?" I asked, to her surprise.

"I assure you, it's perfectly safe," she said, evenly.

"Oh, I know, I just want to see," I said.

She handed it over. I recognized the seven-sided cap, the odd, flexible carbon fiber metal that the tube was constructed from, and also the small amount of the stuff that she had just squeezed out. It was the super Viagra that Rhea and Calista had once procured for me. Feeling bold, I squeezed the entire contents into my mouth, and swallowed, before Xanthia could stop me.

"Mr. Walker!" she exclaimed, and ran around the side of the desk with a bright orange bucket. It had the Home Depot logo on one side.

"Quick, lean over this!"

"What?" I said innocently, as the familiar, but brief, wave of nausea passed over me.

"You... don't feel sick?" she queried.

"Nope!" I said. "Sorry to give you a scare, I've taken that stuff before though. Rhea had a supply."

"Didn't she tell you to try a small amount first?"

"No. I think the label fell off the first one, so I just assumed I should take it all. But even the second, which did have the label, still said to take half every twelve hours."

"Oh I hate that, it causes nothing but problems!" she said, "Those directions are for men who have built up full tolerance."

Her face had flushed red again, and she glanced down at my midsection before she caught herself and looked up again. She was still holding the giant orange bucket.

"I promise, you won't need that," I assured her, putting my hand on her forearm.

We sat back down, on either side of the desk, and she brought out four small square pads. I recognized them from my first visit to the medical clinic with Calista; they had short needles on the bottom, and were part of some kind of rapid medical test.

"Next we are going to do a quick procedure to rule out a number of common diseases," she said, "And just to show you it's perfectly safe, I'll go first."

"There's really no need for you to bother, I trust you," I replied.

"Oh, but I insist," she said, looking at me intently; her face was still flushed.

She poked her forearm with two of the pads, then instructed me to do the same with the other pair. Then she placed them into a small device that resembled a microwave. After activation, it glowed blue for a minute, then shut off. When she opened the door, all four pads had taken on a faint green tint.

"Good, neither of us has any sexually transmitted diseases," she said, then added hastily, "among other things."

She laughed as she said this, as if it were a joke, but her face remained flushed, and I noticed she still had not stopped fussing with her long black locks. We spent the next hour going over logistics. If I accepted the offer, I would be flown to their country, and would stay for a minimum of six months. Whether I could stay longer would depend on "performance", she said, although she was not able to provide many concrete details.

"We have," she explained, "a sort of 'sponsorship' system, and a portion of the visa holders who have the most sponsors, at the end of each period, are granted extensions."

I did not pay too much attention to what she was saying, to be truthful. I was so excited to see Calista again, she could have told me I would have to work in the pits of Hell for six months, and I would have accepted.

"Sure, sounds great!" I said.

"There is one last thing," she said. "In my country, everyone has an embedded chip in their wrist. It is used for a number of purposes, including payment, identity verification, and a few other things. Would you be comfortable with this?"

With this, she waved a device over her upturned right wrist. It displayed a full-color ID, including her photo, birthday, and other personal details.

"I've come this far," I said, "sure."

Perhaps I should have had some qualms about the privacy implications of such an implant. However, I've never been a technology person, so, at the time, didn't think through any of the implications.

"Wonderful," she said. "We need two days to process the information we gathered today. If you are admitted, you may then choose to accept or decline our offer. Also... I'm not supposed to tell you this, Mr. Walker, but I am certain you will be accepted."

"Wow, really?" I said enthusiastically. "Look, I don't care how many microchips you want to inject, nothing could make turn this down, so if I do get in, can you just accept for me?"

We wound up the interview, and headed out the door. Since I had passed the lie detector test, there was less need for secrecy, and the two of us walked outside together, without my having to wear a blindfold. I could see that indeed I had been inside a long, black trailer. It was parked in a clearing, surrounded by forest, at the end of a dirt road. The Mercedes SUV we had driven in was still parked outside, sitting next to another, identical vehicle. Xanthia motioned for me to get in the closer of the two. On the ride home, she invited me to dinner at her apartment.