THE RIDDLE

It has been more than ten days since the process began, and the fetus is growing rapidly. The parents are delighted, and they stay planting for hours in front of the tube every single day. While a natural pregnancy takes nine months, an artificial one only takes eight months. Once the embryo is comfortably set in the incubator tube, Tempéra can go home and return seven months later to prepare for the birth. In more than fifteen years of practice, there has never been any complication during births.

The couple's behaviour amuses the professor who enjoys observing them through the window of the laboratory. These clients in particular are rather uninteresting for his research. He refused their request a dozen times before finally giving in, only because of the money they were willing to pay to waste his time. The couple has no ancestries other than Asian and Caucasian, and they don't wish to modify the genetic programme of their child. As a result, the latter will not only not carry the Babel gene, but also, he will risk having a life expectancy much lower than the average population. Since his venturing through the blue door, the professor suspects that the couple's intentions are dubious. All forms of religion were banned a little over ten years ago by the World Assembly. Displaying paintings like those hanging on those walls could earn them a fine, or even months in prison. He now understands that the origin of the couple's request is neither in their infertility nor in their desire to raise a super child.

Standing by the laboratory window, his arms crossed over his chest, a witty smile on his face, Tempéra watches the Karims staring at the tube. All of a sudden, he spins around to ask one of the assistants to send him the genetic programme of the fetus in order to make sure that no anomaly has occurred. This consists of a precaution that must be taken throughout the process.

The assistant turns to his computer screen to retrieve the file.

'It's done,' he exclaims after a few minutes then he briefly looks up at the professor.

Tempéra walks towards his desk to grab his tablet, then he returns to the window. He glances furtively at the couple in front of the tube, then clicks on the file to open it. He remains standing absorbed in his screen. He frowns for a split second before turning around as if looking for something. Finally, he starts walking headlong towards the assistant.

'It's the wrong file. Can you send me the right one, please,' Tempéra says impatiently. He puts his tablet down on the assistant's desk.

'It's the right file. I've sent you exactly what you've asked me for,' the assistant politely retorts.

'Really?' Tempéra says with an irritated tone, 'Can you then explain to me who changed the fetus? Because if the data in this file is correct, our fetus...' he inhales deeply as if to swallow the aberration he is about to say, '...isn't the same.'

Astonished, the assistant looks alternately at Professor Akheeli and the fetus in the tube then he replies, 'The laboratory is open 24/7 on camera surveillance. We can check if you want.'

'I'm asking for the right file, please,' Tempéra insists, containing his anger.

The assistant resends the document then hands out to the professor his tablet before walking away silently, holding his head down. Exasperated by the results he has just reviewed again, Tempéra sits down at his computer to retrieve the data himself. Forced to acknowledge the fact that the file is identical to the other two, he gets up to walk towards the window fuming with rage. Again, he crosses his arms over his chest, and stares at the couple who are silently contemplating the fetus in the tube.