Interrupted by Jennifer Kelly

Dr. Gottfried watched the humanoid sleep. Lathan lay peacefully in his crib. The boy looked like any 13-month-old human, his breathing deep and regular. Monitors displayed Lathan’s vitals. All were normal, confirming yesterday’s surgery was successful.

Surgery wasn’t the right term, thought Gottfried. Modification. Yes, modification was a better description. Gottfried added gills to Lathan’s chest cavity, alongside his lungs. The gills weren’t in Gottfried’s original plan, but for some reason, he decided they might come in handy if Lathan was sent to Earth.

Gottfried knew he should report his modifications to the Martian government, but for now, he wanted the gills, along with a few other things, to be secret. Lathan might need a few super powers someday. Gottfried didn’t know what the Martians were planning for Lathan, but he liked to be prepared.

The doctor reviewed his procedure notes. Everything went like clockwork, but Gottfried knew complications could still arise. He was human after all, even if Lathan wasn’t.

Gottfried forgot his humanness sometimes, being surrounded by humanoids and Martians every day. And the fact his experiments rarely failed made Gottfried feel invincible. He knew he shouldn’t get overconfident. He was the Chief Humanoid Researcher or CHR for the Martian government and Martians did not like failure. Gottfried remembered what happened to Simmons, the last CHR. Simmons couldn’t remember his name, let alone complete his research, once he was released from the Martian dungeons.

Gottfried wanted to avoid that fate so he relied on his strict German upbringing and no-nonsense personality to keep him focused. His pristine lab and meticulous record keeping added to his success rate. The Martian government’s generous funding helped, too.

That was why Gottfried left Earth. Earth’s anti-humanoid faction villainized humanoid research. Funding vanished and scientists were persecuted. Gottfried sought refuge on Mars, where his work was welcomed and encouraged.

It was almost too easy though, Gottfried thought. The Martian oversight committee let him design his dream project. Lathan would have emotions and feelings if the project succeeded. Gottfried preferred logic and reason, but he understood the need to stretch scientific boundaries. His only concern was whether Lathan’s emotions would interfere in whatever the Martian government planned for the humanoid.

Gottfried shook his head. Doubts did not help him complete this assignment and the Martians demanded his best work. He was being paid to do a job – his ideal job. Everything else must be ignored.

He knew his devotion to humanoid technology spurred him to add Lathan’s undocumented modifications. It would be twelve years before Gottfried knew if his secret modifications worked, but he was willing to wait and see. For now, the Martian government was happy to let Gottfried monitor the project.

Twelve years later…

Lathan lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. Today was Day 3 on the routine calendar. Dr. Gottfried expected him to swim on Day 3. Lathan hated swimming. He couldn’t stay under water for long without feeling like he was drowning. Dr. G laughed at him, saying swimming should come naturally for him. Lathan didn’t know why Dr. Gottfried always said this, but he heard it without fail, each and every Day 3.

Knowing Dr. Gottfried would come looking for him if he wasn’t at breakfast at precisely 6:45 a.m., Lathan got up and walked to his ensuite bathroom. The bathroom was all white, which complimented the all gray bedroom. Dr. Gottfried kept things neutral everywhere but his lab. He always said color was for the lab. Lathan thought his room would be better with a few posters and drawings, but he knew better than to argue with the doctor. Dr. G always got what he wanted.

Lathan brushed his perfectly straight teeth, washed his acne-free skin and combed his thick blond hair. He starred at his reflection in the mirror. His blue eyes sparkled back at him. He smiled at himself and winked.

“Well, hello there handsome. How ya doin’?” Lathan asked himself. He couldn’t remember where he came up with this line, but he asked himself every morning. Dr. G was big on routine, which rubbed off on Lathan.

Lathan’s eyes landed on the three schedules posted to his bathroom wall. He knew them by heart, but every morning he still read them. Lathan’s life rotated between Days 1, 2 and 3. Day 1 – Animal Training. Day 2 – Fine Arts. Day 3 – Physical Fitness.

He didn’t mind Day 1. He enjoyed training the dogs and grooming the horses. The dolphins were okay too, even though Lathan didn’t like swimming. The lions were tricky and he wished Dr. G would take them out of the rotation.

Day 2 was Lathan’s favorite. He read classics by Homer, Wilde, and Austen. He studied Picasso, Van Gogh and Monet and then mimicked their styles in his own artwork. He relished the time he spent on the violin, always feeling refreshed after playing Barber’s Violin Concerto, OP 19. His sonnets weren’t as good as Shakespeare’s but he still enjoyed writing them.

And then there was Day 3. The dreaded exercise day. Lathan didn’t mind running, biking and weight training, but he despised swimming. The water trapped him under and he feared one day soon, he would not emerge.

Lathan returned to his bedroom, still worrying about the water. He grudgingly pulled on his blue swimming suit then added his workout pants and jacket. He slid his athletic trainers on his feet, grabbed his bag of clean towels and clothes and headed to the dining hall.

Lathan smelled the fresh bread wafting down the hall. Despite his bad mood, he smiled as his mouth began to water. Bread and jam were a treat for Day 3. In one of his few concessions, Dr. G let Lathan pick breakfast on swimming days. It wasn’t much but it was the only bright spot in…

“Mom! Where are my cleats? I have a game today,” shouted Josh.

Tonya’s hands dropped from the laptop. Interrupted, just as she was making progress. She needed to finish this assignment for her creative writing class, but she was struggling. Not only was her deadline looming, Tonya was more of a chick lit than a sci-fi writer. Luckily, her son loved sci-fi and happily gave her a few pointers.

“Where’d you leave ’em?” Tonya said. She ignored the impulse to help her son find his shoes and re-read the last paragraph of her story. She didn’t like the word “wafting” but what else could she say? Floating? Drifting? Traveling? Where was her thesaurus when she needed it?

“Humanoids don’t eat bread, Mom,” said Josh startling her.

“I thought you’re looking for your cleats,” said Tonya. “And why can’t humanoids eat bread?”

“Found ‘em,” said Josh. “And humanoids don’t eat food. They just need an energy source. Didn’t you read the outline I left you?”

“I tried, but your handwriting is terrible,” said Tonya, silently cursing herself for not making her son practice his handwriting more. “Okay, so they need energy. How do they get it?”

“Geez, I can’t do everything for you,” Josh smiled as he recited his mom’s favorite saying back to her. “If you can’t read my writing, then Google it. Gotta catch the bus. Love ya!”

“Love you too,” said Tonya, hugging her son goodbye.

Josh extricated himself from his mother’s arms, jogged out of the room and slammed the front door.

Tonya chuckled. Today, she felt more like the child than the parent. Josh was right, though. He couldn’t write the story. He gave her ideas, but she had to figure out the details.

Determined to finish, Tonya Googled “humanoid energy sources in sci-fi stories” on her laptop. She scrolled through the listings, looking for anything helpful. A link about energy sources in pop culture caught her attention as she heard the front door open.

“Mom, I missed the bus,” Josh yelled. “I need a ride to school.”

Tonya gratefully closed her laptop.

“Not a problem. We can talk about humanoid energy sources on the way,” she said.