Adventures of Bert Huggins: The Lost Episode

Bert placed the needle slowly on the record and turned with the two saucers of tea towards his guest. Eugenia sat poised on the hideous floral couch with an almost automated smirk on her face. Bert placed the caucer down in front of her and smiled. "I know that the purple one is your favourite."

"You know me so well," Eugenia said though her voice cracked into a burlier voice halfway through. "You're so smart."

Bert smiled at the ground and sat across from Eugenia. She crossed her legs and tapped her finger into the tea. "It's imported Oolong from Siam. Should be 110.3 degrees, just how you like it. I measured it myself."

"Siam. It used to be called China before the collapse," Eugenia rattled off. Her normal voice had returned. "People adopted babies from there in the 1960s when the war began."

Bert looked at the wood-panneled walls. His parents smiled at him in greyscale, holding his older sister, who was sucking her fist and staring off-camera. It needed dusting. "Darling, you know I cannot give you children. It's against the rules."

"I'm enhanced for childbearing. I checked."

"Genie," Bert murmured. The record was playing an old song from the fifties, the one his brother was conceived to. "We can't raise a baby together."

"There is no anatomical reason we cannot."

"You don't understand."

"Help me understand." Eugenia sounded forceful. Bert put his saucer down and stood. He picked up a thick, dusty photo album from the shelf and sat next to Eugenia on the couch. Resting the album on their touching thighs, he opened the book to the page of his older sister, sitting in a diaper on the floral couch holding an antique rattle in her mouth. Bert glanced at Eugenia who was running her finger gently along the jaundiced edge of the picture. The next one was of Bert, his brother, and his younger sister opening Christmas gifts next to the fireplace. His father sat on the floral couch cradling a half-drank six pack of beer in his hand.

He flipped the page to a snowy day where he and his mother were making a lopsided snowman. The blue mittens that were two sizes too big were soaked with snow, and his mother wore pants that were too short. Bert eyed Eugenia again. She was still mesmerized by the pictures, though her facial expression had not changed.

"What are you thinking?"

"You were so little," Eugenia said with a hint of joy in her voice. "I want a little human that looks like you."

Bert smirked a little. "That's why we can't have one."

"What?" she whispered. Her face had fallen and she looked shocked.

"My children cannot have a sex robot for a mother."

"A--"Eugenia's mouth hung for a minute then she stiffened. "Yes sir."

"You'll just never be emotional enough." Bert looked at the picture of his mother, rubbing his index finger gently down her hair. "My mother knew our every need. She just knew. You weren't built for that. You're enhanced for it, but you'll never be there emotionally for human children. It'll be like... well... a robot is raising them."

Eugenia sat stiffly. Tears were rolling down her cheeks. "You took out my fertility chip." She whispered after a long time.

"We don't need to have children. I'm fifty-seven, Genie. I won't always be there to help you raise a child. Plus, we cannot create a life together. It wouldn't even look like you. It would basically be all mine and an anonymous donor."

"Was it when I was sleeping?"

"Darling, you know--"

Eugenia stood and picked up both saucers without another word. "Dinner will be in ten," she murmured so he couldn't hear the sadness in her voice.