Vashti Suda waited until the day shift ended before opening the late Dr. Weingarten's notes. Some kind soul had transcribed the originals sparing her from trying to decipher the crazy genius's crabbed handwriting. The procedure must have been divided into three stages. A cloning expert, Weingarten would have had access to ova from human females. The original genetic material would have been irradiated and removed from the tiny cell.
Genetic material from Ilya and an unidentified donor was substituted. A gap in the notes obliterated the next two pages. It seemed these missing paragraphs must have contained details regarding the genetic composition of the embryo and the means used to create an artificial amniotic sac. The mad doctor noted the zygote had begun to replicate itself after a week's occupancy in a test tube filled with viable amniotic fluid harvested from God knew where. The tiny embryo was implanted within the in situ amnniotic bubble. The pump containing the required hormones and growth accelerant was also implanted. Micro- surgery enabled Weingarten to resect Ilya's abdominal artery.
This nutrient source was attached at the nearly invisible bud which under normal circumstances would be the embryo's contact point with its mother's umbilical cord. The artery's normal path was restored on the posterior surface of the fluid sac; allowing wastes from the embryo to be processed eventually through Ilya's kidneys. The main problem was the accelerated growth of the fetus. As it developed, the abdominal artery was being subsumed. Even if the extraction went smoothly and clamps successfully put a temporary halt to blood flow, there would not be enough artery remaining to enable surgeons to reconnect it.
Vashti made notes in Sanskrit and smiled. No one in the lab would be able to translate what she had written. She also took the precaution of changing the pronouns to female ones. References to ectopic pregnancies should obscure the truth from all but the most discerning. Just as Weingarten's observations reached a discussion of harvesting techniques, the notes came to an abrupt end. Vashti realized safe extraction or termination would have to be the first problem solved.
NS*IK*NS*IK*NS
Ilya was furious. Low doses of analgesics merely took the worst edge off the almost constant pain. No position was comfortable: sitting, standing, lying down... it did not matter, they all hurt. Napoleon was wakened one night when he heard Ilya weeping in the bathroom. Ilya had discovered hot water afforded some relief and he often took long showers or sat up to his neck in the bathtub until he resembled a blanched prune.
Napoleon found his partner staring a his reflection in the full- length mirror. At just over three months, Ilya's belly resembled that of a woman at the start of her third trimester. The sight of his mis- shapen physique had sent the Russian over the edge. "What is wrong, moi liubov?"
"Look at me! Isn't it obvious?" Ilya snapped.
Secretly, Napoleon thought Ilya looked wonderful but knew better than to voice his fascination with his lover's new silhouette. He liked living and wanted to be able to continue. Not trusting his fatigue- fogged brain to make sense, Napoleon stepped up behind Ilya and put his arms around the irate man. Gently stroking Ilya's arms, Napoleon was not surprised when Ilya turned towards him and began to sob with renewed intensity.
"Shhh, strong heart. You must feel awful. This is a terrible thing to have happened. I don't know how you've managed to make it this far without throwing things. I'm sure Vashti, Geoff, and Sidney will come up with something. They're working almost around the clock."
"You keep saying that and so far, they've come up with nothing! I'm sick of this, Napoleon!"
"Okay, then tomorrow we ask Sidney to remove the thingie. You've suffered enough dushka moi. I would have done it weeks ago." Napoleon continued his soothing strokes. Ilya said nothing. Thanking God that peace was reigning once again, Napoleon started to suggest Ilya lie down when he noted the extremely odd look on Ilya's face: a combination of shock, bewilderment, and wonder. "What happened? Are you alright? Should I call Sid?"
Ilya took Napoleon's left hand in his and placed it over his swollen stomach. At first, Napoleon too wondered what was going on then he felt it---a fluttering motion that was actually distending the muscle wall. "What in the name of God?..."
"It's moving." Ilya's voice was reduced to a whisper. "I think it turned over."
"Are you sure?" Napoleon had been briefed fully regarding possible complications one of which was spontaneous abruption of the fetus from its supporting muscle wall.
"It doesn't hurt any more than usual, Napasha. In fact, the pain is not as bad as before." Ilya was smiling at his lover's reflection. Napoleon thought he'd never seen such tenderness in his partner's eyes.
"Do you think you could manage to get a little sleep?" Napoleon asked softly.
"I'll try."
"Come to bed then, I'll hold you until you drift off." Napoleon followed Ilya back into their bedroom and eased him down onto his side of the bed. He covered his partner with the duvet and then crawled in on the other side. Ilya rolled over onto his right side and into Napoleon's arms. "Sleep, strong heart. You must be exhausted. Close those magnificent eyes of yours and dream sweet dreams." Napoleon gently kissed Ilya's lips and was surprised when the Russian opened his mouth and sucked on his partner's quiescent tongue."
"Don't start anything you'll be too sleepy to finish." Napoleon chuckled when Ilya released his mouth."
"Shut up and kiss me again."
What followed was the most erotic experience of Napoleon's life. Ilya seemed to forget all about the pain and was using his hands to harden his eager partner. Frottage was a vastly under-rated sexual technique and Ilya had obviously made a study of it. Lying on their sides, belly-to-belly, both men's hands were happily occupied stroking, teasing, and pleasuring each other. Suddenly, the third party decided to get into the act. Or maybe the "thingie" was performing the embryonic equivalent of pounding on the walls to make the neighbors hush up. At any rate, when Napoleon felt the strong fluttering against his stomach he came violently; sperm coating his lover's fingers.
Ilya hadn't achieved his own climax so when his higher brain functions returned, Napoleon scooted down on the mattress and swiftly inhaled the throbbing cock. Ilya's moans were music to his lover's ears. This had nothing to do with pain. Napoleon took his time, laving the shaft with his tongue, teasing the weeping slit at the tip, then swallowing the lovely thing once more. Ilya's release was explosive and once again, the fetus responded.
"Oops, I think we woke the baby..." Napoleon spoke before he realized that silence may have served him better. "I mean...", he shut up.
"It's okay, Napasha. He'll go back to sleep." Ilya's smile was incandescent.
"Let me get a washcloth." Napoleon offered.
"Leave it, my love. It's been too long. Tonight I want to sleep in a bed that smells like our love. Remember?"
"How could I forget?" Napoleon grinned and licked the last trace of Ilya from the corner of his mouth. In the earliest days of their sexual relationship, they'd been unable to get enough of each other. Ilya was a closet hedonist and liked nothing better than going to sleep with the essence of his partner permeating his nostrils and tastebuds. Normally a fastidious man, Napoleon was shocked to discover he too, like waking in the morning with the aromatic aftermath of their nocturnal activities spurring him to repeat the actions of the previous evening.
The two men resumed their recumbent positions wrapped in each other's arms. "Goodnight, Emperor of my heart." Ilya's voice was slurred with impending sleep.
"Rest well, my love." Napoleon settled Ilya's head on his shoulder and sighed with repletion.
NS*IK*NS*IK*NS
Ilya's changing profile had forced him to take a leave of absence from the office. Now Sidney suggested both men return to headquarters. He wanted Ilya close at hand for examinations and in case of emergencies. A VIP suite, normally used for visiting dignitaries and senior UNCLE officials was "closed for renovations" and the couple moved in. No one observed Ilya, swaddled in an over- sized coat, come in through the delivery entrance and proceed to the twentieth floor.
Sidney also devised a means for getting his patient down to the infirmary and back up to the apartment without being seen. The private elevator adjacent to the suite connected it to the conference rooms located one floor above the infirmary. From there, Ilya would only have to step across the hall into the elevator reserved exclusively for the Medical section.
The pain had not stopped. Now, its intensity depended upon the position of the fetus. Ilya could not eat solid food. His stomach was under too much pressure. Napoleon amused himself by cooking meals as usual then pureeing the hell out of Ilya's portion. The Medical team was racing against the clock; trying to devise a way to preserve Ilya's life. Three weeks after the agents had taken up residence in their temporary quarters, Ilya surprised Sidney by insisting that whatever procedure they devised would have to be altered so the fetus had the better chance of survival. As the once graceful agent made his ungainly way back upstairs, Sidney shook his head.
Napoleon wasn't too happy either. Late one night, he woke up to find Ilya out of bed. He found his lover in the kitchen warming a sauce pan of milk. Ilya was rubbing his stomach and singing something softly under his breath. Feeling like an intruder, Napoleon quietly tiptoed back to the bedroom.*
"I know you're awake Polya. What's wrong?" Ilya turned on the light and sipped his hot milk.
"You've changed your mind about all of this." Napoleon propped himself against the pillows. "How come?"
"I can't put it into words that make sense, Napasha. I suppose it started the first night I felt him moving."
"Him?"
"Yes. Don't ask me how I know, but I believe it will be a boy."
"Ilya, that's impossible. All in vitro conceptions are female."**
"That's not a proven hypothesis."
"Whatever. So, you felt it... him moving and all of a sudden you developed maternal instincts?"
"Please Napoleon, I am not about to start knitting little booties. No, I simply realized that just as *I* didn't ask to be experimented on, neither did this baby. Why shouldn't it have every chance to live?"
"Because that would result in your death?" Napoleon couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"Not necessarily. I think Sidney may be able to find a way to preserve both our lives."
"And then what?"
"Then the pain will begin again." Ilya hung his head.
"Ilyusha, forgive me, but I don't understand."
"We can't keep him, Polya. It wouldn't be fair to any of us."
"You've lost me totally."
"Think about it. We both love our work and why not? We're very good at what we do. Also, unlike a professor or stock broker, our work is vital. You and I both know that on at least two separate occasions, we saved a good portion of the world's population. And this provides another reason for giving him up. Our faces adorn THRUSH dart boards from here to Outer Mongolia. We are at the top of their two-most- wanted lists. If our child were taken by the enemy could you live with yourself if you didn't use any means in your power to have him returned safely? I know I couldn't." Ilya set down his mug and turned to face Napoleon.
"So, if neither of us is willing to retire, as if THRUSH would leave us alone even if we did, and the child's presence compromises our ability to do our work; what else can we do?"
"We could go away somewhere..."
"Oh yes, an excellent idea. We find some private island and never leave it again. What happens when he grows up and starts asking questions about his mother? Do we lie and say she was a 'close friend' who died? How do we explain our relationship? Could you deny a child the opportunity to go to school, make friends, have a pet, fall in love and have children of his own someday? None of these things will be possible if he remains in isolation with two aging queers." Ilya frowned. Napoleon had never heard Ilya refer to either of them using any of the disparaging terms for homosexuality.
"So, to be fair to everyone, we must give him up. I don't want to, but I'll have to. Unless you've thought of something I missed?"
Napoleon shook his head. Damn it, Ilya was logical, sensible, and right. So why did he feel so disappointed?
"Polya, this will not be easy for me. Although I have no regrets about our partnership, our love, I have sometimes wished that after we're gone, we could leave behind some evidence of what we meant to each other."
"Ilya, I had no part in this." Napoleon objected.
"Yes you did. You were missing for a week while I was in Weingarten's lab. Sidney confirmed it today. This child possesses genetic factors that could only have come from you, dushka moi. This is *our* child, yours and mine. I shall remember this when he's gone and take some small comfort in the knowledge that somewhere in the world is proof of our love for one another. It won't be the same as raising him ourselves, but it will have to suffice."
Napoleon closed his eyes to keep the sudden moisture there from spilling over. He'd suspected his own involvement all along. He vowed to himself that if Ilya and child survived, he'd find some way for them to be together.
NS*IK*NS*IK*NS
Sidney's talk with his colleagues had resulted in his search of the existing peer-reviewed literature on the subject of vascular surgery. Ilya was now bed-ridden. The weight of the child was placing an unprecedented strain on the abdominal artery. When Sidney's study of the medical journals yielded nothing, he was at the point of consulting a ouija board; anything to get the vitally important information.
Just when Napoleon thought the situation couldn't get any worse, a crisis flared up in South America and he was sent to deal with it. Ilya assured him he would be fine; that they both would be fine, but Napoleon had a funny feeling. His stoic partner was preternaturally calm. It was as if Ilya had gone away, leaving only a watered down imitation of himself to interact with his lover and the doctors who were growing frantic.
Vashti Suda kept her head. She was not a medical specialist, but she was very intelligent. The problem confronting them was a physical one. Somehow, they had to stretch the remaining arterial tubing in order to reconnect it after the child had been removed. Ideally, the substitute vascular material should be inserted prior to the child's extraction. This way, blood flow to the surrounding tissue would not be interrupted while the complex operation was performed.
Early one morning, the solution came to her: the growth accelerant. If it could cut the human gestation period in half, surely an augmented version of this compound could be used to cultivate the cells needed to "grow" the additional arterial tissue. Vashti jotted down some notes and vital questions before putting on her clothes and heading to the lab.
She, Sidney, and Sid's partner had also moved into headquarters; camping out in the infirmary. Once she was dressed, Vashti set out a hypodermic and three vials. She would need to harvest three separate samples: one from the pump itself, another from Ilya's blood stream, and the last from the child's. Interaction between all of them needed to be mapped out in detail. Sighing, Vashti rode the private elevator to the twentieth floor accompanied by the newest member of the team, Nurse Jenkins.
Ilya wasn't asleep when the two women entered the VIP suite. He was lying in bed, with what looked like half a library.
"Ilya Nicolaievitch? We need you to come to the lab with us. I may be on to something."
Ilya nodded and pushed the books out of the way as Nurse Jenkins brought the wheel chair to the side of the bed. She and Vashti assisted the Russian as he moved off of the bed into the chair.
"When was the last time you slept?" Ilya asked as they rode down.
"I could ask you the same thing." Vashti yawned.
Local anaesthetic was applied to the two abdominal harvest sites and Dr. Geoff carefully inserted the long needle. The embryonic sample was procured first. When the tube was filled and set aside, everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Nurse Jenkins extracted Ilya's blood sample. Then Geoff drew off some of the growth accelerant from the rubberoid reservoir. He handed all three tubes to Vashti who headed for her own lab. The analyses would be complicated and they didn't have any time to spare. Ilya was "due" in less than three weeks.
Rather than risk moving Ilya back upstairs, Sidney admitted him. "We're going to need access to you twenty-four hours a day. I don't want to have to wheel you through the halls too often. We've been lucky so far, I don't want to push it."
Ilya nodded. He'd resigned himself to dying. A ghost of his wry smile played across his pale features. "I'm getting harder to hide behind a lab smock."
Sidney nodded. He was familiar with this eery calmness in terminal patients. As soon as Ilya was settled, Sid went to call Mr. Waverly. "Send who ever and what ever you have to in order to get Solo back here. Things look bad. Very bad." Returning to the semi- private room he was sharing with his lover, Sidney tried to get some sleep. He had a feeling he would need it.
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