The Inheritance Paradox
Thirty-Five (My Story)
AFTER LABOR DAY, life sped up. I helped Dad apply for a passport and it went through without a hitch. Mom’s passport was out of date, so we got that renewed, too. They’d spotted a seniors’ cruise in the Caribbean and booked themselves on it.
Things really started heating up at work and it seemed like we were under a lot of pressure, after releasing the alpha version of our software, to get it connected to the actual hardware it would operate. Of course, all the way through the development cycle, the implantable device would function without being implanted. Later, our partner company would experiment with implanting it in various animals. That probably wouldn’t occur until at least summer.
People had bought into the falsehood of Bill Gates using the COVID-19 vaccine to implant tracking chips back in 2020. We knew there was no kind of technology we could devise to date that could be implanted through a vaccine needle. Not to mention that everyone was already trackable via the device that was always in their hand.
Smart watches were pretty common these days, but they had limited ability to track what was in the blood. They couldn’t reliably tell when a person needed insulin, for example, no matter how they advertised it. There were continuous glucose monitors available that operated with a small electrode under the skin to constantly evaluate blood sugar. These could be paired with an insulin delivery device and monitored through a smartphone app. I wondered if the new device would include an insulin delivery system. I needed to dive back into the spec.
The new implant would be able to perform a host of other blood tests: sodium, potassium, and chloride levels would be among the first. Active diseases could also be detected through blood samples—even some forms of cancer.
What people didn’t realize when they fantasized about being tracked by a chip, was this device would be close to an inch square when it was finally released. Even for so-called nanotechnology, a tiny device was still big when put beneath the skin. Our partners were working on reducing the size. It seemed possible. There were pacemakers available now that could be implanted directly in the heart. They were just an inch long and about a quarter inch in diameter. But they had just one function and limited monitoring—just send the signal to keep the heart beating.
Megan got back to town before Dad’s birthday on the eighteenth of September. I’d occasionally witnessed my sister when she was focused on a task. She could go for days, it seemed, with little or no sleep when she was on the scent of something.
The University clinic and lab took dozens of blood samples each day. A new release form, when signed, allowed them to send a sample to the genetics lab. I didn’t understand everything about the release specifications, but essentially, Megan could identify everything about the subject except their actual identity. General genetic information was forwarded back to the subject via the clinic. That information was essentially the same as what one would get through a commercial genetic testing site that told general characteristics and heritage, plus any discovered pointers to genetically inherited disease vulnerability.
Since the test didn’t cost patients anything and offered the same genealogical information, the percentage of people opting in was quite high. But they weren’t necessarily the target clientele that Megan needed. She began advertising through local community sites for ‘people from Ann Arbor with particularly good health.’ Those were a little slower coming in.
Nonetheless, she was quickly able to test DNA samples for the genome and found about one out of fifty showed positive for MBD4, a VUS or unknown variant gene that seemed to be where the qRNA was encoded.
Another of the advantages she had in working at the University was that she and Simon—her partner in this—were able to recruit lab assistants to process the samples and record the data.
“Well, I could do that,” Dad said when we were all having a Sunday dinner in October.
It was the first time we’d all met Simon, and he was getting along great with the family.
“How would you be able to do it?” Simon asked.
“Well, what you are describing is pretty much what my job was for nearly forty years. You have a questionnaire and you interview the subject. For me, it was people on the phone or responding to a survey. For you, it’s a spreadsheet of data that you need to generate statistical information from. It seems like the same thing,” Dad said.
“I think you’re right, Dad,” Megan said. “I never stopped to think about how close it was to what you did for a career. You developed some automated systems to collect the data, too, didn’t you?”
“Oh, yes. We were as frequently called upon to do satisfaction surveys for all kinds of businesses as we were to project the results of the coming election.”
“Mr. Holbrook, could we book a little time to talk at the office about the comparison? We might be able to improve some of our current processes just by looking at a similar business,” Simon said. “Meg and I are both trained in statistics, but I for one am always interested in finding a new inspiration.”
“Only if you start using my name,” Dad said. “It’s Eugene, in case Megan hasn’t informed you.”
“Dad, of course I told him your name,” Meg laughed.
“Aunt Megan, does it really look like this mystery gene is linked to our good health?” Lisa asked.
“It’s still too early to make a definitive statement on that,” Meg said. “Our first paper, which is in peer review now, focuses on simply having identified the gene and some of its components. It will move it from a variant of unknown significance to a catalogued variant. Everything else is speculation at the moment. I think if we can get a thousand positive tests, we’ll have enough to draw comparative health data from.”
“That’s so cool. How soon can I come to work for you?”
“You’ve got a few steps to go yet, but I’ll help you get there,” Meg smiled.
Having her near us was definitely having a positive influence on Lisa.
I still was compiling the family genealogy, though I didn’t think I’d actually put it in the book of Dad’s adventures. It was more for our personal gratification. I’d located a cousin in Marquette, and we had a really nice chat. Marcus Holbrook was the son of Dad’s brother, Vincent. That was where I got my middle name, so apparently Dad didn’t completely deny his family when he left the ministry.
“I remember meeting your dad once. Only that it was very funny that my uncle was eight years older than I was. We were about seven and fifteen at the time.”
“What took your family up to Marquette?” I asked. “Seems like an odd place to migrate to.”
“Dad was a career Air Force officer and was stationed at Sawyer. The base closed in 1995, which is when Dad decided to retire. He really liked the area,” Marcus said. “I graduated from high school in Marquette in ’76, then went on to the Academy in Colorado Springs. It was a nasty time to be a pilot. I missed having to fly over Vietnam, though. I flew over the Gulf of Sidra and Libya, but I was a trainer in Texas during the Gulf War. Couldn’t wait to leave that heat and come back to Marquette when I retired. It’s nice and peaceful up here.”
I was sure it was. Marcus said he’d done some genealogical research and knew the family back a couple more generations than our grandparents. He agreed to send me his research via email but warned me it wouldn’t include anything about my aunts who had moved to Indianapolis and Richmond. He knew Sharon, who had moved to Virginia, died fairly young of a brain tumor. He didn’t think she had any children. He didn’t know what happened to Leah’s kids.
So, my assessment was that none of Dad’s family had stayed close to each other. That was truly strange to me. I had known my aunt and grandmother on Mom’s side. I sent electronic season’s greetings to half a dozen cousins on her side who usually responded. They, too, lived at a distance, but we were cordial and close enough that Megan had felt comfortable in asking Aunt Judy for a DNA sample, which she provided. Aunt Judy’s middle name was Megan, which was where my sister got her name.
I didn’t consider it to be necessary to try to locate the family of my dad’s sister Leah. They wouldn’t have been carriers of the genetic marker and Marcus would be a data sample for Dad’s family before he was ‘changed.’
“So, here’s a problem,” I said when Megan and I met for our Sunday evening chat. We’d kept up that habit even after she moved to Ann Arbor. I was glad because we didn’t really seem to see each other that often otherwise. “If Dad’s mysterious doctor implanted the genetic material he took from here circa 2080, where did it come from? It couldn’t have been from someone Dad was the ancestor of because he wouldn’t yet have traveled, right? It seems like a paradox.”
“Only sort of. We’ve got well over a hundred samples now that have the MBD4 gene variant. But only about thirty percent show a likely common ancestry with us. Which means seventy percent had the gene without having Dad as an ancestor,” Meg said.
“So, it existed. It seems like that percentage shouldn’t have made a real difference in discovering it,” I said.
“I thought that at first, but a thirty percent increase in an affected population is pretty significant. And the numbers are higher here in Ann Arbor, based on what we’ve collected so far,” she said.
“So, he was really targeting Mom,” I speculated.
“Assuming he was even capable of making a specific target, I doubt he had more than a statistical likelihood that she was the key. You know, I first discovered this when I analyzed my own DNA. I wanted to know if I had a genetic predisposition to cancer. It was kind of a standard test when we were learning about the significance of genetic markers. If this is something that really affects health like we think it is, and if it was truly affected by Dad’s genetic courier role, it could all have been targeting me. Try going to sleep at night with that idea.”
“My God, Megan. It seems so incredible I can’t even wrap my head around it!”
In fact, it made my head hurt. All Dad’s time travel and increasing the target base by thirty percent, and it all came down to his daughter with Mom.
In my spare time—ha ha—I was still working on the book of Dad’s stories. I’d transcribed and expanded everything I’d written in my journals and wove in what I’d learned from my contacts with Mary Sinclair, Richard Erickson, and Marcus Holbrook. I kept editing and revising with input from Dad and both Brenda and Megan. It was really an interesting story to see how Dad had been sent back in time to find and love women. And based on Dad’s reminiscences, he had loved every one of them—at least to some degree. A few had been such hurried encounters that no real relationship had been built. But he still remembered them fondly when he pulled a treasure from the box.
I decided the next step would be to make a book out of the whole thing. That was an education. I needed someone to make it look like a decent book, which it wouldn’t look like if I used the software I had available to me. I knew I couldn’t control the look of an eBook to any great extent, but it was more important to have a nice paper book. Dad, I was sure, would not want to read his story on a tablet. I wanted something we could put on our library shelves and share with our progeny.
I located a graphic arts student at the University who would take on the job at a reasonable price. She formatted the book, designed a nice-looking cover, and put together all the files I’d need to publish it. I managed to get it uploaded just before Thanksgiving, so I might manage to get an actual copy to give Dad for Christmas.
By Thanksgiving, Simon had become a regular visitor with Megan. We didn’t roast him too badly at dinner. It was clear the relationship between the two of them had progressed beyond the stage of colleagues.
“I went over all of Lisa’s school progress,” Megan said at the table. “I made one adjustment to her planned classes for the spring term. With her parents’ permission, she can graduate at the end of this school year.”
“Hooray!” Lisa shouted. She slapped hands with Zach.
“Hmm. Do we want our seventeen-year-old daughter loosed on the world?” I asked Brenda.
“Same question we had to ask about Megan,” Dad said.
“Only she was only sixteen,” Mom added.
“Please, Dad? I’ll be good. I want to get started on my college degree.”
“Where?” I asked. Lisa looked at Megan.
“With your permission, I’ll sponsor her at the University. She will need to live at home for her first year and stay focused on her studies. There won’t be any internships available for at least the first two years. But I think she’ll do well,” Megan said.
“Uh… Correct me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t that mean you’ll be at the University next year when she starts?” I asked.
“I guess so. In fact, we’d like to have a little family celebration at Christmas,” Megan said.
“Eugene, I guess I should formally ask you for your permission to marry your daughter,” Simon said.
“Oh, my!” Mom exclaimed. “Marriage at this late date? You’ve only been in town for a couple of months—well, three.”
“Mom, Simon and I have known each other and worked together for several years. This isn’t quite as sudden as it seems. But if we wait any longer, I might not be able to conceive.”
“Conceive?” I practically shouted. “Megan, you’re forty-two years old!”
“I’m well aware of how old I am. That’s why Simon and I decided not to wait for the wedding to get started.”
We were all stunned.
“You’re pregnant?” Lisa blurted out.
“I’m pretty sure,” Meg said.
“Well, at least I don’t need to go out and buy a shotgun,” Dad said. “You might have asked permission before you knocked her up. But the answer would have been the same. Yes.”
We all were in good spirits for the rest of the holiday. We planned the wedding for the weekend before Christmas, on the twentieth.
The week before the wedding, Val got home from California. Zach’s entire demeanor changed. He hadn’t been in a noticeably bad mood, but he was so focused on his own studies that he often stayed in Dearborn with a friend and worked at the shop for long hours. The day Val got home, she moved into Zach’s bedroom with him.
Of course, she spent time with her own family, but she was with Zach every night. It looked like they’d done a pretty good job of maintaining their long-distance relationship.
Megan was still barely showing. She estimated she was just about to the second trimester. She asked Lisa and Val to be her bridesmaids. Simon asked Zach to escort Val and had his own brother escort Lisa. The wedding was held at a small chapel with an independent minister, who happened to be another of their colleagues at the college.
It was beautiful, simple, and brief. We filled a side room at the Pagoda Restaurant for the reception dinner.
During the course of the evening, I stood up to give a toast.
“My sister has gotten me into a lot of trouble over the years,” I said. “She told on me when I skipped school to go skiing. She spied on me when I was dating. And she uncovered the family’s bones through her DNA research. Then she told me to write it all down. So, I collected Dad’s stories he’s been so fond of telling us over the years, and I wrote them down. Megan and Simon are in their forties, so I know the honeymoon will be filled with long rest periods. I figure they’ll need something to occupy them. Here is a copy of the new book of Eugene Holbrook’s remarkable adventures. And Dad, I’ve got a copy for you to take on your cruise, too. I hope Megan and Simon have a long and happy life together, and an opportunity somewhere along the line to read about all the trouble she got me into this year.”
As soon as the book had been accepted by the printer, I ordered three ‘proof’ copies on a rush. I gave one to Megan, one to Dad, and Brenda and I would read the last one. I figured there would still be corrections and a lot of changes after Dad read it and before I released it to the public, but these were the most important three copies that would ever be printed.
Megan and Simon disappeared for three days and were back with the family on Christmas Eve. Zach and Val figured out how to manage being with both sets of parents over a holiday. Lisa was already reading ahead in her studies for her last semester of high school.
Amidst all that, Mom and Dad left for their cruise the day after New Year’s and Val left for Stanford two days later. Everything suddenly seemed eerily quiet in our lives.
Brenda and I spent several evenings reading the book to each other in bed. Zach and Lisa wanted to know how soon they could read it and we agreed there wasn’t anything in it they couldn’t handle. They just had to fit their reading time around their schoolwork and each other’s schedules. They also had to put up with all the pencil notations we made in the book about things that needed to be clarified and general editing. I wouldn’t start seriously editing the manuscript, though, until I saw Dad’s comments. He might remember more. I wanted everything in it before I released it.
Mom and Dad got home from their cruise on the tenth, but they said they were too tired for any event that night. Instead, we all got together for Sunday dinner at our house. Lisa shook free of her homework long enough to take over cooking a couple of roast capons that were just delicious. Of course, the highlight was just listening to Mom and Dad talk enthusiastically about their trip.
“You know, I had to keep an eye on Eugene the entire time. Those island girls certainly wanted him to know they were available,” Mom said as they related stories.
“Oh, that’s nonsense. I didn’t even notice them. I had my own island beauty by the hand. Had to make sure she didn’t wander off with one of the rich fellows who had his eye on her,” Dad laughed.
“We’re going to cruise the Mediterranean next,” Mom said. “They actually gave us credits toward our next cruise right there onboard. And there was dancing almost every night.”
“Every night we could stay awake long enough to dance,” Dad clarified. “Lynn can sure cut a rug.”
“Then we’d spend at least an hour in the hot tub the next day. Or getting a massage to relieve our sore muscles,” Mom laughed.
“It sure sounds like fun,” Lisa said.
“I know they have cruises that specialize more in young people,” Dad said. “The one we were on was mostly older retired fogeys like us.”
“You’re not fogeys, Gramps,” Zach added. “Maybe I’ll ask Val if she’d like to take a honeymoon cruise.”
“Are you announcing something, Zach?” Megan asked.
“Oh, no. I just figure that if we decide on that, I’ll need all the time between now and then to save up the money for it.” He paused and looked at the rest of the family at the table. “We talked about it. When I finish this year of my automotive certification, I plan to move out to California with her. I mean, we’ll live together. I want to get my certification at the Classic Car Restoration School in San Francisco.”
“How’s that Corvair of yours doing?” Dad asked, curtailing discussion of his romance.
“Good. I’m constantly tinkering with it as I learn new things. It drinks oil. You’d think it was a two-stroke engine. I investigated a lot of online forums and talked to the senior mechanics at school. There are some good tips for remedying it. I just think I can come up with something that solves the problem completely. There’s no reason that engine should use so much oil.”
“Now that’s a real trip to the past,” Eugene said. “I think I put a quart of oil in mine every month. Almost burned up the engine before I realized how fast it was using it.”
“Speaking of the past, Dad, did you and Mom have a chance on that luxury cruise to read the book?”
“Oh, yes. I’m reading it again and will make more notes. Now, don’t go thinking I didn’t like it when you see how marked up the pages are. It just brought up a lot of memories when I read it. We should talk about it.”
“I want to read it, too,” Zach said.
“I’m almost finished with it,” Lisa said. “It’s fun! Dad’s a good writer. I loved that he made Grandpa the main character.”
And gradually, my project at work matured. I was writing docs and notes almost constantly. By March, we’d connected the software to an actual monitoring chip that the lab attached to various animals to test. It was working well, but we’d all feel a lot better when we saw it implanted in a human or twenty.
That spring we had our own little family book club. It was really fun in ways I never expected. Dad had seldom exposed his stories of time travel to the kids, and they had a ton of questions for him. They were absolutely entranced by the idea that he was both their grandfather and great-grandfather. He gradually opened up about his life before he met Mom.
We all had difficulty with accepting his time travel as more than what Mom called past life regressions, even with the evidence in the cemetery and Lennox House. Dad was content with that. Now that the stories had been told and recorded, he seemed much more at peace.
The first shipment of books arrived at the same time as Rachel Lynn Holbrook-Hunt. We were all celebrating what looked almost like twin births. I got some honor as a new author in Ann Arbor because the book had so much local history included in it. They said it was a time travel novel—a category of fiction that strangely wasn’t included in science fiction, as if someone creating the categories understood that it might not be.
For our family, though, it was the story of our family learning about ourselves and each other and what made us the Holbrooks. It didn’t mean I could retire, but I did start squeezing out a little time each week to write in my journal and sometimes to transcribe a story here and there to submit for publication. Maybe one day, that’s all I’ll do, but for now, this book will stand as my entry into the literary world.
Dad and I both have copies on our library shelves.
Please feel free to send comments to the author at devon@devonlayne.com.
