“It might be just a random mutation,” said the doctor, trying to look optimistic. “Or perhaps there was some chromosomal damage due to the zygote’s long immersion in liquid nitrogen. We just don’t know enough about the long-term effects of cryogenic temperatures.”
It’s the drugs, she knew. All those years and all those uppers and aphrodisiacs and designer specials. They must have done the damage, carried to the poor helpless embryo through my bloodstream. My son will pay for my weakness.
So the baby will be born with chronic anemia, Amanda thought. Martin will just have to accept that. He’ll be unhappy about it, but he’ll have to accept it. As long as he believes it’s his son he’ll do whatever is necessary for the baby.
The doctor had hesitated and stammered until he finally worked up the courage to suggest, “There’s nanotechnology, of course, should you choose to use it. It’s banned on Earth, and I couldn’t recommend it there. But here on the Moon you might be able to use nanotherapy to correct the baby’s faulty gene. And your own.”
Amanda thanked him for being so open. But she knew that nanotherapy was impossible for her. Martin would find out about it. Not even Doug Stavenger could keep it a secret if she went to the nanotech lab in Selene. The news that Martin Humphries’s wife wanted nanotherapy for her unborn child would flash to Martin’s ears with the speed of light. The only nanotechnologist Amanda could trust was Kris Cardenas, and she’d been living in Ceres for years in self-imposed exile from Selene. Now she was on the Saturn mission, going even farther away. No, nanotherapy is out, Amanda swiftly decided. I’ve got to handle this without using nanotech.
I’ve got to protect my baby, she said to herself as she lay in the darkness next to her sleeping, dreaming husband. I’ve got to protect him from Martin.
Which means I’ve got to live through the birth. Unconsciously, Amanda clenched her fists. Women don’t die in childbirth. That hasn’t happened in years, not in a century or more. Not in a modern medical facility. Not even women with weak hearts.
She had known that the years of living in low-gravity environments had taken a toll on her heart. All those years living in Ceres, practically zero gravity. Even here on the Moon it’s only one-sixth g. Bad for the heart. Deconditions the muscles. It’s so easy to enjoy low g and let yourself go.
Amanda had exercised regularly, mainly to keep her figure. Martin had married a beautiful woman and Amanda worked hard over the years to remain youthfully attractive. But it wasn’t enough to strengthen her heart.
“Perhaps you should consider aborting this pregnancy,” the doctor had suggested, as tentatively as a man suggesting heresy to a bishop. “Work to get your heart into proper condition and then try to have a baby again.”
“No,” Amanda had replied softly. “I can’t do that.”
The doctor had thought she had religious scruples. “I know abortion is a serious issue,” he had told her. “But even the Catholics permit it now, as long as it’s not simply to terminate an illegitimate pregnancy. I can provide medical justification—”
“Thank you,” Amanda had said, “but no. I can’t.”
“I see.” The doctor had sighed like a patient father faced with an intractable child. “All right, then we can use an auxiliary heart pump during the delivery.”
It’s very simple, he had explained. Standard procedure. A temporary ventricular assist pump, a slim balloon on the end of a catheter is inserted into the femoral artery in the thigh and worked up into the lower aorta. It provides extra cardiovascular pumping power, takes some of the workload off the heart during labor.
Amanda had nodded. When I go for my prenatal checkup at the hospital here in Selene, they’ll find out about my heart and make the same recommendation. Martin will know about it but that’s perfectly all right. He’ll call in the best cardiovascular experts. That’s fine, too. As long as no one realizes I’ve switched Martin’s genetic profile for Lars’s. That’s what I’ve got to avoid. Martin thinks his genes are perfect. He’s got a six-year-old son to prove it.