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HOW TO BUILD A HUMAN

[ REBIRTHDAY + 7 ]

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[ HECTOR HERRERA ]

People don’t smell themselves. They only smell change, or the difference between themselves and the rest of the world. 

Hector Herrera couldn’t smell a thing which was lucky because he smelled as bad as he looked, and he looked like a haggard dog that just stumbled into a firework show. He couldn’t see much, either, sitting behind the wheel of his pickup truck. Every square inch of the interior was covered with the same scribbled note written on torn napkins, sugar packets, gas receipts, envelopes, anything Hector could stick up on the wall.

One stood out, a birthday card with a sparkling number four. It was carefully taped to the headrest of the middle back seat. Hector could see it that way then when he looked in the rear view mirror. 

A small clearing on the driver’s side window gave a peak out to the buzzing people and cars in the busy underground parking garage. Hector checked his watch, then turned the radio up a notch before double checking the rearview mirror. The glittering number four and that same goddamned note written over and over again. 

“You are safe,” he read out loud, powerless to control the voices swirling in his head. Hector was beyond that now. 

Instead, he squeezed the tender spot beneath his ribcage, ripping himself back to attention. The stab wound oozed through the gauze wrapping and torn stitches. Hector tried to sop up what he could with a few scavenged napkin pieces pulled from the window. 

He pressed play on the podcast and tapped a red pen against his temple to keep his focus.

“Let’s get right down to it. Here on What’s up Tomorrow, we’re talking about a new technology that is going to blow your mind. Don’t believe me? Well, you can believe my guest, Dr. James Roland, Chief Scientist at the Rebirth Project. Thank you for joining us, Dr. Roland. Especially on such a busy week for you.”

“Quite the introduction there. The pleasure is mine. Sorry to make this quick. We have a milestone this afternoon at the Rebirth Project and I need to make sure the team is prepared.”

“Sounds important. Why don’t we start there, if you don’t mind? What are you working on?” 

Hector beat his temple harder. 

“Well, today is REBIRTHDAY +4 in our lab. That is because four days ago, for the very first time in recorded history, our brilliant team of scientists and engineers at the Rebirth Project were able to resurrect five human beings from the dead.”

“A resurrection?” said the host. “Did I just hear that right?” “Like of a real person?”

“It sounds pretty crazy, but I assure you, it’s completely possible. And as it turns out, completely safe.”

“I’m floored, Dr. Roland. Tell us, what does this mean? Who did you even bring back?”

“First, let’s start with how. This isn’t cloning we’re talking about here. I want to make that clear.”

“I figured, because the government won’t admit any cloning technologies since the Xang Lab accident back in 2042.”

“As it should be. But our technology is different. With the latest in 3D bio-printing and quantum computing technologies, paired with our own patented entanglement algorithms, we’ve invented a way to resurrect a human being from a single strand of their DNA.” 

“How is this different than cloning?” 

Harder and faster the pen drummed against Hector’s skull. He heard someone yelling outside of the truck. “Murderer,” they said at the top of their lungs.

“I’ll save the technobabble because I really do need to get going.” Dr. Roland continued, “For a clone, you grow a human using the same genetic script as another human. Akin to baking a loaf of bread that is the same as another loaf because the two were made using the same recipe. They’re not really the same loaf of bread, are they?”

“We’re not baking bread here, Dr. Roland.”

“Exactly, and this is where the analogy gets interesting. As we see it, there are two ways to make a loaf of bread. Put the ingredients together, bake it, and see what comes out. Or, you can assemble that loaf of bread particle by fundamental particle. Do you see? 

At the Rebirth Project, we’ve chosen the latter. Not only can we 3D print a complete loaf particle by particle, but through our novel technology, we can use the exact same fundamental ingredients as the original loaf. 

That’s how you make the same loaf of bread. You put it together, crumb by crumb, exactly as it was in the first place. Do this, and you pull a person from the past and print them into the present. We bring people back to life by averting their death completely.”

Hector didn’t feel the pen break against his head. He didn’t notice the red ink flowing into his ear canal until he couldn’t hear anything else but the yelling. 

Many voices chimed in now. “Murderer,” they said, over and over again.  

One deft flick of the wrist and Hector opened his Buck knife. With the razor edge, he chiseled away at what his finger tip could not clear. Normally, he could skin an apple with just one hand. But sobriety made Hector sweaty. And there was so much goddamn chatter. He didn’t even feel his earlobe as it fell between the seat and the center console.

“This isn’t science,” the host said, “It almost sounds like magic. You’ve cheated death. Part of me doesn’t believe it. Honestly, I could talk to you all day, Dr. Roland, but I know you’ve got to get back to it. By the way, who did you choose to resurrect in this first round?”

“That’s the fun part. We’re actually holding special unveiling, sort of like a product launch, if you will. It will be this Monday night, or as we say in the lab, REBIRTHDAY +7, at the Palace of Fine Arts in San Francisco. So get tickets if they’re not already sold out. 7 PM we will have something brilliant planned.”

Hector checked his watch.

“Amazing. You can count me in, Dr. Roland. Final thing, I’d be remiss not to ask about your mentor, Dr. Sebastiaan Prins.”

Hector stopped dabbing the red goo seeping down his chin.

“He’s sort of like the godfather of the Rebirth Project, Dr. Prins. Is he not?”

“Uhm, yes. Certainly, without him, the project would be nowhere near what it is today. In fact, that goes for our entire longevity industry. I’m sorry, I really must be going now.”

“Of course, and congrats on the new promotion by the way. Pretty big shoes to fill, I imagine. Can you just leave us with a tidbit there? Why the sudden departure? Where did Dr. Prins go after so much work?”

Hector checked his watch again. No more time. He paused the podcast and zipped up his canvas jacket. With a wince and a sigh he was out of the pickup and into the chilly bay air. 

A line of people filed into the grand entrance at the Palace of Fine Arts, but it was three young men loitering in the dimly lit alley tucked on the side that grabbed Hector’s attention.

“Gotta light?” Hector said, approaching the group with his head down.  

One of them grunted and offered his.

“Smoke, too?” Hector refused to look up as he kept his hand out. 

The young man offered that as well but the interaction was weird enough to nudge the group on their way. They disappeared through the side entrance. Hector slid his heel into the door jam and snuck in silently behind them.  

A dozen others stood in the entry tunnel beneath the auditorium stands. The energy was electric until the house lights dimmed. Hector disappeared into the shadows and took up a vantage point that afforded both a view of the stage and of the crowd. 

A spotlight appeared and an angular woman with military posture floated to center stage. Her reflective, skintight pant suit threw light like a disco ball and made the subtle illusion of a hovering head above a missing body. 

“Tonight is a special night,” she said softly into the microphone. “We’ve done something magnificent at the Rebirth Project. But if I tell you about it, I’ll only spoil the magic. Instead, we’ve decided to show you. For the first time, ladies and gentleman, a performance from our very own Rebirth Subject Number Five!”

The lights dimmed and a curtain opened, and when the stage lights rose again, a small man with a tussled mop of black hair sat hunched over a baby grand piano. Smoke machines swept a weepy haze across the stage, and a single soft note began to play behind the mist. 

Hector couldn’t hear anything except the voices. He studied the crowd, searching for his mark, but the fog made it impossible to see anyone’s face clearly. 

“Murderer,” he heard someone yell from the high seats. He squeezed his rib to shake it off and felt the warm blood pooling in his jacket.

Hector’s eyes eventually fell on someone in the third row. Vacant to the musician’s rising tempo, Hector watched as a man’s face was illumined in the reflection of light. Twirling smoke pushed across the stage and flickered along with the musical rhythm, and in a split second during a powerful chord, Hector found himself transported. 

He sat in the third row, now. On stage before him, smoke danced into an elegant display of dense green foliage as it twirled in and out of light beams to the steady rhythmic build. Birds chirped and a euphoric feeling of ease washed over Hector. 

But as a woman coughed a few rows behind him, Hector felt the same jolt again when he saw her face through the rolling mist. Pulled into her eyes, Hector’s attention shifted to the pooling smoke, now, as it collected on the theater’s ceiling. A terrifying monster emerged from the oscillating grayness with a serpentine tail that swayed to the powerfully somber melody. It’s drooling mouth and bloodied teeth lowered towards Hector until someone grabbed his shoulder.

He was yanked back into the tunnel under the stands, heart beating out of control. Hector couldn’t hear that the melody had softened. Only the chanting crowd. “Murderer!” they cheered. Squeezing the rib didn’t work this time. All that was left was red hot rage. 

In the rising smoke on stage Hector saw flames lapping at a sturdy tree. Melting from it’s branches were coolants and pieces of crumpled plastic and metal car parts. He could smell the burning rubber, the burning hair.

“Hector Herrera?” A man stepped out from the shadows. He took his hand off Hector’s shoulder and extended an envelope. “Jesus, you’re face is bleeding, you know?”

Hector turned but he didn’t really see the bald man and his purple patch of hair below the bottom lip. His eyes went straight for the envelope, to what he knew was inside. 

“I hear you’re looking for the truth,” the man said, putting a ball cap on to hide his face again.  

Hector didn’t hear it. Didn’t hear any of it. His reach went beyond the envelope until his hands took firm hold of the bald man’s neck. 

“Stop,” the man pleaded, “It’s me. It’s Prins!” 

Hector squeezed tighter until the voices fell silent. Finally, he could hear the music’s chaotic crescendo as it drew back into a single soft note. 

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