Institute of Molecular Genetics, Moscow, Russia.
Nikolai Vavilov D.Sc., Nobel laureate for “Advancements in Genetic Editing,” paced the hallway before the elevators. Further down the hall, a glass-paneled door led into a soundproofed conference room. The email which summoned him there specified he was to meet a new patron. An elevator dinged, and the head of the facility stepped through the opening doors. Nicolai closed the distance and spoke through gritted teeth. “Administrator Popov, the man in the conference room. He is Pavlo Mogilevich, a notorious Ukrainian criminal. You cannot be serious about this!”
“Nikolai, my friend,” Popov’s voice soothed. “I understand your concern, but my concern is for the entire facility.” He waved at the walls with the cracked and peeling paint. “The government grants are gone. Without outside funding, we will soon have to close. If you wish to continue your work with the human genome….” The administrator waved at the closed conference room door and the man seated within.
“What does he want?”
The director lowered his voice. “He seeks his perfect woman.”
Vavilov’s shoulders sagged. This perversion of science would taint everyone before running its course. For this, he’d spent a decade earning his post-graduate degree. He’d been a fool.
Popov patted his arm. “Come, Nikolai, we will do our best. Mogilevich may be a criminal, but he is a wealthy criminal.”
Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
Mogilevich stood when Nikolai and Popov entered the conference room. The new patron was tall, with broad shoulders, dark blonde hair, and piercing blue eyes. Under different circumstances Nikolai might have asked to test the man’s DNA. The chance of Varangian ancestry was high.
Popov introduced himself, then Nikolai. “This is Academician Nikolai Vavilov. He is the world’s preeminent expert in human genetics. Let’s be seated and you can tell him your requirements.”
They took their seats and Nikolai felt the full effect of Mogilevich’s gaze. There was boldness in those eyes and pride, but also, a hint of embarrassment. Perhaps even this man might feel shame? From an inside coat pocket, Pavlo produced a many-times folded sheet of lined paper. He laid it on the table but kept a hand on it. His surprisingly intelligent eyes studied Nikolai. “Can you truly create a woman to my specifications?”
“There are certain practical limits,” Nikolai qualified. Underneath the table, Popov kicked his ankle. The scientist covered his surprise with a cough. “But I may be able to come very close.” Next to Nikolai, Popov nodded.
“Good, I want you to create the perfect woman.” Pavlo pushed the sheet of paper across the table.
As he lifted the paper, Nikolai suppressed a cringe. What would top the list, impossibly huge breasts, or an unquenchable thirst for semen?
The handwritten list had seen many edits, and from the circular stains, it had also served as a drink coaster. A quick scan confirmed one of Nikolai’s predictions. At least this perfect woman wouldn’t have back problems. His attention returned to the first requirement. Of all the items, this would be the most impossible. There wasn’t such a gene. The other items…well, Nikolai lay the list down.
Across the table, Mogilevich’s eyes burned. “Can you do it?”
Nikolai took a breath and considered his reply. Although impossible, that first item intrigued him. “Many of your requirements, for example, the physical attributes, are attainable. Some of the others will require discussion and study. However, your desired primary characteristic, perfect loyalty, is a problem. You see, there is no loyalty gene.”