Juliet enceinte


By Diomedes | Robert O'Reilly | 27 Dec 2023

I resume my unfinished novel, after a long intermission caused by a string of unforeseeable sublunary vicissitudes.


It was hard to fall asleep with such a clamour of voices only a few rooms away, even after the lively engagement of sex with the both of them, they were both so excited. But I did finally fall asleep, as the talk continued on in the other room, wild with delight at such a novel proposal, and this glimmer of hope and a chance for a true resolution of human destiny.

Dora despised our weaknesses but at the same time she was intrigued by them. In fact, she was fascinated by us and with her vastly more comprehensive intelligence she knew that there is something in us that she didn’t have but desired with an almost irrational ardour, our power of intuition and pure creation that no computing powers could ever formulate.

I know there is another aspect of our supposed weakness that she admired completely, our mortality. It's a famous line in Homer, “the Gods envy us”, the first and basic poem that said so much it practically shaped and defined the entire tradition of western civilization which certainly conquered and vastly surpassed all others leading to Einstein and AI. The verbal contests of the immortal gods watching from the heights of Olympus the heroes fight at Troy are amazing, some fly down to Earth in their passions to talk to their human heroes directly. As the poem and death rages on some of the Gods almost begin to cry at the death of Patroclus and Hector's charioteer Cerbriones, and feel envy that mortals live and die in an exciting experience they can never taste or fully comprehended. The death of the one mortal horse, Pedasos, tethered to the three immortal horses given to Achilles by his mother for his four horse chariot is the most affecting scene in book four, where he is wounded and dies though he was an equal in power and beauty and talent to the other horses, which they recognized and regretted, and a scene I can never read without tears.

No being, if any exists with powers above ours, can look down upon us without some degree of admiration if such an emotion exists its in them, because it is the crux of life in daily survival, our contest, which to lose spells the end of our brief existence, and if they our are superiors, and have no such contest, I consider them the losers for having no such fight, no such plight at all, some kind of lame existence, unenviable in its ease, something worse than death in its permanency, something dead in its permanent continuation, as we can imagine no greater curse than the constant repetition of the same thing, Sisyphus with his rock, Prometheus chained to a cliff and having his guts torn out and regrow each day, a ‘Groundhog Day'.

We spent the next month at Juliet’s bedside, now wheeled into our laboratory, designing an embryonic sac that could gestate a human fetus. We knew it would require a flow of blood, which right away necessitated a heart and lungs, but not so large as ours, as they didn’t have to one-tenth the flesh of a human body. Ted designed a heart, a pump, the size of an acorn and each of two lungs to oxygenate the blood the size of packs of cigarettes, placed inside the newly expanded breasts, with two skin hidden, porous vents to inhale and exhale the air, which expanded and contracted them exactly as if you were watching a live woman, shirtless, breathing.

The blood vessels were short and succinct, installed just under the skin from the breasts to the embryonic sac with the tiny heart, the pump placed right above it, inside the chest. It was a beautiful design, an architectural wonder, mirroring nature herself. The best part of it was that Juliet sensed and could monitor and control the heart, giving her the most human sensation of being alive. This wasn’t ‘Paradise regained’ but it was close to that, mortality regained, and she felt it the moment we turned it on.

Now she had a mission to perform, a purpose to maintain herself and betoken a new life, totally dependant upon her. It elevated her in stature, in her own computational mind and in everyone else's eyes, to the rank of divine motherhood, a creator, almost a goddess for whom one steps aside and bows to, as surely any civilized being would.

She was fully conscious as we performed all these operations upon her and explained in detail exactly what we were doing. The fact that she was bedridden made her the perfect host for this experiment. But we weren’t using her handicap against her will.  The opposite was true. She wasn’t unwilling. She was the most grateful and encouraging of every cut we made, every implant, and as each piece came online to her consciousness, she was ecstatic as if she was developing into a new, higher being.


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B.A. in Latin and Greek from U.C. Berkley. Writer, Blogger and retired Electrician.

Robert O'Reilly
Robert O'Reilly

I am educated in the Western Classical Tradition, B.A. from U.C. Berkeley in Latin and Greek, English major, one year at U. of Toronto, studied under Alain Renoir and Northrop Frye, read most classics full time for many years after university in French, English, Latin and Greek to the modern day. I am interested in the near future of technology, what changes it imposes upon our heritage and character as humans. Short stories and Essays are my medium.

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