Ten baby Einsteins lay sleeping in a giant modular crib.
Ten baby Einsteins lay sleeping in a giant modular crib. Implants constantly monitored their vital signs, pseudo-mothers continually nursed them. Large-screen televisions fed them a steady diet of information. Mozart, Bach, all the classics were piped in to the brightly colored laboratory twenty-four hours a day.
At two years of age they were introduced to the outside world. They played in vast gardens. The scientists spoke to them in a number of languages, and taught them sign-language in hopes they’d start to communicate.
They were given as much love as one can give to clones.
The scientists observed them, looking for that genius spark. Every child was an Einstein. None of them would talk.
On their sixth birthday the staff wheeled a large cake into the lab. Everyone celebrated. The children ate quietly. They were happy, but as usual they were silent.
Ten little Einsteins gathered themselves in a group, waved their tiny hands, and disappeared into thin air.
“Oh no,” yelled the Director of Research. “Not again!”
Agnes Dee stories have appeared in Crime And Suspense, and soon to appear in Flash Shot. She lives in the Midwest.
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And then there were none. Very clever little piece. Thanks for sharing.
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Bit of a vicious cycle, eh?