It was almost dark when Lucia Dawn arrived with her family at Dr. Mele's home, but still light enough that she could make it out, and feel intimidated by its height and majesty. It could only be described as a massive pile of stone and steel, bricks and bronze, wood and wonder. The walls were a composite of red brick, cinderblock and gravely concrete, and the windows were fused glass of many colors and textures. Everywhere were delicate statuettes and grotesque gargoyles, some in stone, some in steel and still others in bronze. Some held flowerpots bursting with countless varieties of green life, all crammed together in iron or bronze. Other gargoyles stared out icily from alcoves in the wall, their tongues long and curved. Lucia thought that a house said something about the man who lived inside it, but what this chamber said was in a tongue too scaly and foreign for her ears to make out.
Clay, the husband of Carol and father of Lucia, was the one to lift the iron knocker on the door and use it to alert those inside that they had arrived. The sound echoed through the tall, autumnal trees that surrounded the doctor's home.
A long moment later, a tall, slim man opened the door. He looked the family over very critically with his light blue eyes, his purple lips wrinkling with displeasure. His skin was pale and yellow, like the pages of an old book. He appeared wonderfully ancient, yet healthy and agile. "Are you Carol Dawn?" he asked Lucia's mother, his voice deep and melodious with accents of old Europe.
Carol stood a little straighter, clearing her throat. "Yes. Are you Dr. Mele?"
"Yes," he said simply, nodding his graying head gravely. His salt-and-pepper eyebrows arched as he examined them. "Are you really prepared to pay the fee for my services? It is quite costly."
Clay wrung his hands together anxiously, not aware of the impertinence of the question. He was an eager man of business and "the bottom line," but his knowledge of etiquette and the finer rhetoric of society ended with the handshake. "Yes, of course we are. I earned it all." He was sweating profusely, even thought a chill breeze was blowing in from the west.
The doctor nodded again. "Very well. But who is this?" He stared at Lucia. She unconsciously moved closer to Clay.
"That is Lucia, our first child," said Carol. She seemed about to say something else, but remained silent.
"She's very pretty," mused Mele, suddenly grinning. "It is not enough for you, though?"
Carol glanced at Clay, then turned back to the doctor. "We love her, of course, but we thought that, with your help, our next daughter could be even more. A girl that can win every contest, not just the local ones. A girl who will succeed."
"So beauty is your dream," said Mele warmly, his gaze moving slowly from Lucia to Carol. "An exotic wonder that will delight the eye, and drive even the oldest miser to poetry. I would suggest to you that what is beautiful is a trick of the eyes, an illusion or trap to ensnare the ignorant, and what is endearing and good is a law of a mind that is unaffected by it." The doctor shrugged. "Step inside," he said at last, moving aside to allow them entrance. "You will sleep now, and tomorrow we will begin our acquaintance. I refuse to perform for anyone who is a stranger to me."
"I'm well aware of that, Doctor," blurted Clay. "I know all about your way of doing business. It's fine with me, I've taken off an entire month for this. It's paid, even." Clay grinned as though this was a grand joke, but no one smiled.
The Dawn family walked inside, the last one in being Lucia, who had not said a word for the past three days. The Doctor himself would show them their quarters.

Lucia hadn't quite known what to expect as a guest of Dr. Mele, but this room of dark woods and enormous Victorian and Edwardian furniture was a pleasant surprise. The huge wooden sleigh bed that Lucia lay upon completely engulfed her, though she was tall for a girl of 13. There was a massive chest at the foot of the bed, though it was locked securely, and a marvelous dresser with a large oval mirror.
Despite her appreciation of the room, she was far from comfortable. Her throat was dry and her stomach empty, yet she refused to break her silence to ask for respite.
There was a knock on the door. She nodded, then realized how silly that had been. Who could see her nod? She finally climbed from the bed and opened the door.
He was a young white man, with some Spanish features, who was perhaps 20. His body was small framed and delicate, and his face was smooth with deep green eyes capped with dark brows. His hair was long and slightly wavy, so that it shimmered in the dull light of the chamber.
"Greetings, Miss Dawn," he said. His lips were sensuous and deeply red, and when he extended his hand to shake hers, Lucia found it smooth and graceful, but too firm to be effeminate. "My name is Salebra," he said softly, "the ward of Dr. Mele. I have come to offer you something to eat, or perhaps something to drink."
"Sure," blurted Lucia, thus ending her silent protest. Salebra's beauty had chased all that from her mind, at least for the time being. "Are you one that he made?" she asked, then blushed when she realized the rudeness of her tone.
"Yes," answered Salebra, and smiled. "It is an honor to be a living work of art, Ms. Dawn. And I am hardly his best. Are you to bear his next one?"
"No!" exclaimed Lucia. She blushed again, then shook her head. "I mean, no, I'm far too young. I'm only 13. It's my mother who's doing it. I-I wouldn't have it done, though, sorry."
"I am not offended," shrugged Salebra. "There are many who feel as you do. That is why this home is so carefully guarded."
"I didn't see any guards," said Lucia.
"Yes," said Salebra, his mind elsewhere. "And what about a glass of water, perhaps? Or are you hungry?"
"Sure, anything," she replied. "Some chicken soup, maybe."
"Of course," bowed Salebra, closing the door behind him.
Lucia sat on the edge of the sleigh bed, resting her head on her hands. She knew she had probably offended Salebra, which bothered her, but she was also questioning her initial convictions about this affair. After all, he had been extremely beautiful, far more beautiful than - well, than she could ever be. Her new sister would undoubtedly be her superior in every way, and please her mother in ways that she never could. Perhaps it was just simply jealousy, like her mother insisted, that fueled her hostility towards genetic engineering.
A few hours and a bowl of chicken soup later, she lay upon the big, fluffy bed and dreamed.

The next morning, the Dawns were awakened by dreamy orchestral music, wired into hidden speakers in their bedrooms. Lucia yawned and stretched, rising from her rest with great reluctance.
Carol opened her door and stuck her head inside. Her face was a bit overdone with makeup. She was always asking Clay if he could see any wrinkles. "So, are you talking to us now?"
"I guess," shrugged Lucia.
"It's good that you're finally acting your age," snapped Carol. "Get dressed, and for God's sake, put something on your face."
"Okay," replied Lucia, too tired to argue.

An hour later the Dawns were brought to the dining room, where an immense marble table was being set with breakfast. In the very center stood another small statue, this one was a woman with enormous breasts carrying a baby in one hand and - Lucia almost choked. The other hand was holding her penis!
"What is that?" asked Lucia. Clay's mouth was agape, but Carol scowled at both of them.
"You primitives," she sighed. "You have no conception of art. You have no idea what this represents - and I am hardly surprised. It is a work of sophistication."
"Good morning," said Dr. Mele, emerging from the other end of the hall. "I see you are admiring the work of my ward, Salebra."
"Yes, it is very good," muttered Clay.
"Is it a woman or a man?" asked Lucia. Carol gave her a fierce glance, but Mele only chuckled. His voice was warm and reassuring when he spoke.
"That is one of the great questions," he explained. "Is it a man, because he has a penis, or a woman because she has breasts and a babe? It is a question that affects us all, especially when we refuse to ponder it."
"Salebra did it?" Lucia asked just as her mother began to speak.
"Yes, my ward is quite talented in almost every artistic pursuit," nodded the doctor. "If I were to die, he would obviously stand to take my place."
"Well, we all have to pass on sooner or later," said Clay, trying to smooth things over between Carol and Lucia. His wife's face was growing very dark and cloudy, despite the abundance of makeup on her face, and Lucia looked quite bemused.
"Yes," said Mele slowly, shaking his head gently. "Now, I hope you will find my unique tastes satisfying, for I am a firm believer in variety."
A moment later, Salebra and some other servants appeared, all carrying trays and platters of food. Lucia couldn't decide which deserved her attention more; the collection of beautiful and exotic men and women that were serving them, or the bizarre combinations of food which they were serving. There were six in all, some more male than others. At least, some had breasts and daintier features than others. They were all tall and slender, long and graceful. She took a deep breath of wonderful perfume as one of them bent next to her to set a dish.
"What is that fragrance?" asked Lucia quietly. The server turned toward her and smiled.
"That is my own body," the server declared proudly. "My body manufactures it."
"Oh," replied Lucia, her old mood returning somewhat. She turned her attention to the food as the servers left.
"Now," said Dr. Mele, "you will notice that this breakfast is truly international. Alongside the cuisine of Tibet you will find the American hamburger. There is pizza made with strawberries and the larva delicacies of certain small African countries. Here you will taste the apple orange, or the grape apricot, whose meats are truly something new and wonderful. There is no end to the combination, to the abundance of variety. Here you will find no firm and fast, no straight and broken, no black and white. I glorify that which refuses to be either."
"How poetic that really is," nodded Carol, her eyes wide with admiration. She seemed almost ready to cry. "Oh, I'm so happy we chose you, Dr. Mele."
"Excuse me," said Clay. "Now, where exactly is this larva? I don't know if that would really agree with me. You said in the pizza?"
"Shut up," whispered Carol. Clay stiffened.
"I'm sorry, Doctor," he replied grimly. With sudden gusto, he began to fill his place with whatever was near him.
The doctor looked on with quiet amusement. "Now, we shall eat of many fruits, and when we are finished, we will discuss the design of your daughter."

Lucia's stomach was feeling queasy after the meal - she had been careful in her selection, but was completely unaware of what she had actually eaten. Some of it was tasty, but the strawberry pizza was revolting. Somehow, her mother had eaten a sample of everything, and Lucia's ears were still ringing from the shrill and emphatic compliments by which her mother had declared each item the most wonderful food she had ever tasted.
Now they were following after the Doctor and Salebra to the "design room." To get there, they walked through long and exotic hallways, decorated with bizarre paintings, more sculptures and even shrunken heads. On these last, Mele had remarked, "Always remember that art is above moral values. There is no morality where art is concerned, only beauty."
"So true," agreed Carol.
"Yes, morality is better left to books," added Clay.
"Please stop embarrassing me," snapped Carol viciously. Clay's face whitened.
"I'm sorry, dear, I'm just trying to fit in," he said earnestly.
"And doing a wonderful job of it, Mr. Dawn," declared the doctor when he stood before double doors. He turned to face them, making a gathering gesture with his hands. Salebra stood sentinel nearby, his face blank. "Come, see the design room, and see what you pay for, Mr. Dawn. I do appreciate your money, my good Mr. Dawn."
"Call me Clay," he replied, some of his waning confidence returning.
"Very well, Clay," said Mele, almost teasing him. He opened the double doors and showed them in.
Lucia gasped as they proceeded into the room. Nude statues were everywhere, which she assumed to be representations of the doctor's former work. Some of them were beautiful; delicate nymphs with large breasts and waists so narrow that seemingly a strong push could break them in half. Some were muscle bound males with strongly chiseled faces, all heroic, and large penises that hung several inches lower than any nudes Lucia had ever gazed on before. A few were so long and wide that they appeared deformed. It was one of these that Mele paused to discuss.
"Some patrons, my dear Ms. Dawn," he said quietly, his melodious voice filling the room, "are quite discontented with their own shortcomings. This is expressed most clearly when they say unto me, 'Doctor, my son must have 10 inches.' That is when I say, 'Why not 10 and 10 again?' I always satisfy, though I cannot say I love such work. In my refinement, such work is typical and droll, with my hands segregated from my imagination."
"Who sculpted these statues?" Lucia asked, gazing at Salebra, who had remained still and silent. The doctor glanced at him, nodding.
"It was I, Ms. Dawn. I do all the sculpting here. It is my specialty."
"They are so detailed," said Carol. "You are truly gifted."
"Yes, gifts from my guardian, Dr. Mele," bowed Salebra.
"Oh, don't be so hard on yourself," said Clay loudly. "Hell, I'd be proud if I could do something like these statues. This is very artistic."
"Thank you, sir," said Salebra, nodding. Carol sighed.
"Now, my question to you," said Dr. Mele, "is whether you have some idea of what you want, or do you want me to let my imagination roam free?"
"Excuse me," said Lucia, and her mother hissed. Lucia was standing next to one of the large breasted statues.
"Yes?" asked Mele.
"Can she walk? I mean, normally? Her feet are so small, and those breasts are really large, I mean, too large." Lucia pointed at the statue's narrow waist; it couldn't have been more than eight inches in diameter.
"Ms. Dawn," replied Mele, "an artist must suffer for his work. What arduous work is a work of genius! How one must suffer, as he brings from the depths of his soul the most beautiful and hideous emotion, to wreak those terrible images upon a canvas, or to break them into shape from solid stone, or even to summon words to paper, as though one were summoning devils from hell or angels from heaven! How many artists have given in, and taken their own lives rather than face that inevitable beast within them, that forces them, again and yet again, to communicate the incommunicable, to shout that which cannot be shouted, though it tear the lungs apart! And, why must not the art suffer, as well? For, if the artist must suffer in the creation, the created suffers in existence. It is a sacrifice one makes to art, and there is no nobler. Such was God's way, and such is mine."
Carol sniffed; the doctor's speech had reduced her to tears. Her makeup was running, and she was dabbing at it with a napkin Salebra had given her. "That is really the most beautiful thing I have ever heard," she said softly. "Doctor, what an honor this is. And, of course, of course, of course, you can let your imagination roam free. Take my egg, and this man's sperm, and do what nature cannot. I care not what you do. I am as much your victim as your patron - a victim of art!"
"Well, we did say we wanted a daughter," muttered Clay. "No offense, of course."
"Aw, but you can tell Dr. Mele wants her to have a penis and a vagina," said Lucia. She wished she hadn't when her mother turned.
"You little bitch," she hissed, and Lucia knew she had gone too far. "I won't tolerate this. I won't do it. Do you understand me?" There was hate and danger in her eyes, and Lucia knew well how awful her mother's wrath could be.
"I'm sorry," said Lucia. "I'm really sorry, Doctor."
"I found it an amusing comment," said the Doctor, walking to stand beside Lucia. He put his hand on her shoulder, and she had a hard time not wincing or writhing from his touch. He smiled. "This girl is truly a natural, and if her manner seems unrefined, is there less beauty in that? Again, I urge you to ask yourselves, Mr. and Mrs. Dawn, if this is not good enough? Or do you seek more? Is the dream of beauty one from which you cannot awake?"
"Well," began Clay, but Carol stopped him short.
"Doctor, I demand it. I implore you." She folded her arms. "I'm the one that's having it, and I will choose exactly what I want - which is, of course, whatever you design. I am not some idiot who doesn't understand art, Dr. Mele."
"Yes, you are definitely not that type," agreed Mele, then continued suddenly. "However, I must first collect the specimens, which would be of course, an egg from you, and a sample of sperm from Clay - if, that is, you are still sure you want sperm at all. It is possible to use another line. Are you familiar with the procedure?"
"I am, I mean, we are," mumbled Clay. "And I do want her to have mine, that is. It's our daughter, you know. Hers and mine."
Carol sighed. "Yes, I suppose his will do."
"Very well," nodded Mele. "We will begin the process. Salebra, if you would be so kind, would you take young Ms. Dawn to the garden, and entertain her there?"
"Of course, Dr.," acquiesced Salebra, bowing humbly. He smiled at Lucia. "Would you please come with me?"
"Sure," she nodded, eager to be away from the statues and parents. She followed after Salebra, breathing deeply when they exited the house and into sunlight. "I'm glad to be away from all that," she sighed, but immediately sucked in her breath afterward.

continued next issue