BOULDER, COLORADO

Sunday—September 25, 2016

            The research facility was built along a mountainous edge of the city. Atop the seven story building, the aircraft’s blades were still spinning and clacking in the sunlight—as the soldier drove the cart out of the elevator and then across the roof over to the helipad.

            Moments later, the soldier’s face entered the inside of the helicopter. “Welcome to Hightain!” he shouted with a smile.                  

The soldier helped them down one by one.  First, the mom, then the toddler, finally the dad, each dressed for the cool weather.

            Once the soldier had the family reunited on the roof, he introduced himself as Army Corporal Brad Bridges.  He smiled down at the little girl.   “Hi there, lollipop!  Was it fun riding way up in the clouds?”

            Grace MacKay grinned shyly.  With a finger hooked over her lower teeth, she bounced her head up and down.

            Corporal Bridges laughed, bending down to her, hands on his knees.  “And just how many years young are you, lollipop?” 

            She turned away playfully.

            Tom MacKay put his hand on her golden hair.  “Grace, tell us how old you are.”

            “Al-most two!” she exclaimed to her dad and nobody else. Everyone laughed, and her daddy scooped her up and kissed her giggly face.

            The family was assigned the rear seat of the cart, where Grace started bouncing on Tom’s knees.  Bridges slid behind the wheel and spun the cart towards the elevators.

            “Corporal,” Tom said,  “Can you give us some idea of what will be required of us here?   Not much has been shared with us so far.”

            Brad Bridges smiled.  “Sir, you’re asking the wrong guy.  All that us military personnel do here is provide the security.”  He pointed up ahead at the glass-enclosed security station.   As they passed by it, the soldier sitting inside waved. “We keep it locked at Hightain.  Maybe you’ve noticed that the grounds below are fenced with chain link and barbed wire.  No one is allowed to pass through that front gate without an ID.”  He motioned down the mountain and out at the city.  “Not that we tend to get a lot of street traffic—being way up here, we’re kind of isolated.”             

            The cart coasted into the elevator enclosure.  One of the two elevators was already open, and Bridges eased the vehicle inside of it.

            While Tom explained to Grace the theory behind an elevator, Allanna contemplated the events of the last twenty four hours.  Yesterday morning—Saturday—she attended her required weekly prenatal monitoring session over at their local hospital.  A routine ultrasound, some blood work—nothing unusual.  Then Saturday afternoon, this sudden invitation.  Presto—today a  private jet flying them clear across the country to Colorado.

            The elevator stopped after descending one floor.

            “That was a short trip,” Tom remarked, jostling Grace’s nose.

            “Yes, sir.  They have it all set up for you along the upper floors.”

            The elevator doors opened onto a central lobby, where the building’s twin wings connected.  Directly across from the elevators was a work station, around which a small group were congregated.  The arrival of the vehicle onto the floor had gotten everyone’s attention.  Two of them were now approaching the MacKays. One was a studious older man wearing a suit and tie, and reading glasses—the other a friendly young woman dressed in a colorful medical uniform.      

                 Doctor Les Wesmore—Hightain’s director—introduced himself to the couple, shaking the hand of each, heartily thanking them for agreeing to come.  He quickly informed the couple that he and some of his colleagues were assembled down the hall, prepared to meet with them.  The physician recommended the services of a supervised playroom for Grace. Her parents found no problem with that, and neither did Grace—with no coaxing, the little girl was scampering adventurously down the corridor hand in hand with the woman.

            When the MacKays were guided into the room, the pair who were already there, stood.

            “I’d like to introduce you to two of our reproductive endocrinologists—specialists in fertility,” Wesmore said to the MacKays.  “Doctor Isabel Hubbard and Doctor Sajag Yadav...”

            And, everyone was soon seated around the table.

Wesmore, with pen and notebook, smiled across at the married couple.  “What have you been told thus far regarding us here at Hightain, and the reason why we asked you to come visit?”

            Tom glanced aside at his wife.  “We’ve been assured,” he began, “That nothing is wrong with our baby.  We were told that specialized neonatal and genetic testing is routinely requested these days of expectant parents.  And that the more elaborate tests are conducted at federally funded places, such as Hightain.  That our giving permission to these tests will serve as an important contribution to the research...”

            Tom deferred to Allanna, and she smiled.  “But, so far,” she said, “Everybody who’s talked to us has hedged on giving us a definite answer to how long the tests are going to take.  So I guess that’s our number one question.”

Wesmore peeked at the other physicians.  “Just to reassure you again, Mrs. MacKay,  everything is telling us that all is well and healthy with your pregnancy.”

Wesmore leaned forward toward the couple.  “Hightain has been designated by the federal government as the flagship research institute of our Pandemic Project.  Hightain’s stellar reputation for genetic and reproductive studies is long-standing.”      

 “According to our latest daily census tally,” Isabel Hubbard told them, “The number of women in the United States that we are aware who are pregnant is five fifty five. Just five hundred and fifty five pregnancies.  That’s why you two are such assets to all of us.” 

            Wesmore’s eyes were shuffling between husband and wife.  “We are requesting that both of you—and of course your daughter—that you stay with us at Hightain for an extended interval.  To assist us with our work.  Let me explain by telling you that on this same floor—but along a segregated wing—we’ve constructed a number of attractively designed living units available for the use of our guests.”

            “However,” added Sajag Yadav, “We would only expect you to remain with us until you, Mrs. MacKay, give birth.”

            Tom and Allanna turned to each other, dazed.  Tom probed the faces of the three physicians.  “Let me get this straight,” Tom said.  “You’re asking that we live here full time for seven months?”

            “Mr. MacKay,” said Wesmore, “We have marvelous amenities for both living and recreation, as you’ll discover once you and Mrs. MacKay have had an opportunity to tour the complex.”

            Allanna could sense the turbulence beginning to churn in her husband.  Her hand journeyed under the table to soothe his knee.  “So, how many other couples are there here at Hightain?” she calmly asked.

            “We have couples checking in and out nearly everyday.  But residing here on a more permanent basis—you two would be the first.”

            Tom shook his head.  “We’d be happy to do the patriotic thing and come out here regularly for whatever.  But, realistically, that has to be where it ends.  I’ve got a business back home to help run.”

“If that is what is distressing you,” Sajag Yadav interjected, “Then you should know that it’s already being handled.”

            Wesmore looked aside somewhat irately at his associate, then turned again to the married couple.  “Mr. and Mrs. MacKay, we’re not much further along now than from where we began in seeking a solution to the fertility breakdown—let alone identifying the basic cause of it. Let me share with you some background...       

            “In prior times—in normal times—anywhere from fifteen to twenty percent of all couples of child bearing ages suffered from infertility.  For ninety percent of them we could diagnose their specific problem.  Roughly, in a third of the cases—male factors were involved.  Another third, female factors.  The final third, combined factors were judged responsible... 

            “In prior times—utilizing methods ranging from teaching relaxation techniques, to drugs, to surgery—we had much success in treating infertility.  Actually, in more than half of all cases we were able to attain a pregnancy.  Overall, for approximately one out of ten infertile couples, no physical or metabolic factor could ever be identified to account for their inability to conceive.  Such couples were labeled as normal infertile.  But now, normal infertile categorizes virtually every healthy couple—no identifiable reason for the inability to conceive... 

            “To date, exhaustive analyses of the historical causes of infertility have offered little insight.  There’s proven to be no degradation in the quality of spermatozoa—sperm counts are normal, as are sperm motility, fluid volume and liquefaction.  No evidence of disruption by either organic toxins or industrial poisons.  Blood studies inclusive of both sexes have disclosed no pervasive hormonal or biochemical imbalances—nothing whatsoever is testing faulty within the endocrine network...

 “Interestingly, women are ovulating normally, and experiencing  regular cycles.  There are no apparent structural problems with the ovaries, nor the fallopian tubes.  No common dysfunctions have been documented in either of the sexes.  Chromosome or genetic abnormalities?  No trends.  In other words, we in the reproductive business are still bewitched, bothered, and bewildered...

            “It was—and is—our optimistic expectation that if we closely work with fertile couples such as both of you, we can strengthen our discovery process.  That is, to allow us to learn what makes couples like you two so wonderfully different.”  Wesmore stood up.  “Although we do have the authority to keep you at Hightain, that is not the way we want to conduct our relationship with you.  It is our preference that you would agree to stay  as willing volunteers.”

            Tom turned to Allanna to measure her reaction to all of this. Her expression was one of resignation and exhaustion.  She said nothing to him, but instead reached aside and covered her hands over his.  Tom slowly nodded at his wife, then pivoted towards the trio of physicians. “Explain something to us.  If you supposedly possess the power to imprison people, why aren’t any other couples being warehoused here?”

            Still standing, Les Wesmore folded his arms over his tie. “As you are about to learn, Mr. and Mrs. MacKay, you two—apart from all the other pregnant couples—are truly cause for celebration and hope...                            

            “You see,” he said, speaking to the young woman, “You, Allanna MacKay, are the only expectant mom in the United States who is known at this time to be carrying...twins.”