Mixed Feelings

The tinted-window SUV rolled down the dirty asphalt between warehouse buildings. The car door opened, and reporter Chris Lippard was deposited at a set of cement stairs leading to a bland pair of steel grey double doors on rusty hinges. It was all bland and ultimately forgettable. No numbers, letters, or other signs indicated this was the studio of revolutionary BioArtist Laurent Steif.

Of course, nothing this anonymous is accidental.

Lippard had undergone a lengthy background check and signed many NDAs. The route here involved a series of blindfolded transports. At one point, her journey was in a small box that could only be described as a luxurious oversized coffin. It had no windows and was large enough for her to sit and lounge comfortably. It reminded her of one of those Japanese capsule hotels crossed with a litter. She'd felt it stop at least three times. She assumed those were box transfers.

Her time in recline wasn't terrible. Some of her favorite snacks were included: Coffee Crisp bars and bags of cheese and onion Taytos. There was an entertainment system with movies and games. There was even a plastic bottle labeled "portable female urinal."

She went through all this to meet with the "Banksy of BioArt."

Elusive and mysterious, Laurent Steif's identity wasn't a complete mystery. Yet, as far as anyone knew, he'd only ever conducted three interviews. This was to be his fourth, his first in more than a decade. People said, "as far as anyone knew," because Steif had appeared in the press as other people. He was even his own harshest critic.

The New York Times discovered his ruse shortly after his last public interview (also in the Times). Steif had posed as a prominent art critic, "Rona Crown." Crown was most famous for an extended takedown of Steif's most renowned work. Officially titled Zuckerman's Son, colloquially, it was known as "Baby Wilbur."

Zuckerman's Son was controversial even without Rona Crown.

Steif had a surgical background. At one point, he specialized in the then-emerging field of xenotransplantation. Having worked on the 10-gene pig project, he was well-versed in manipulating a pig's DNA using CRISPR.

He "liberated" one of the modified pig embryos for this piece. Each embryo had been modified to have organs designed for human implantation. But he didn't just steal the embryo; he also continued the modification process. He altered the pig's vocal cords so that they could approximate some rudimentary human speech.

He trained Baby Wilbur to say. "Hi, Dad."

After a protracted legal process, Steif's pig was auctioned for $100 million. He was suddenly one of the most famous artists in the world.

Other works followed. This included a bed of flowers coated in what looked and felt like human skin. Then, in a piece entitled Revenge of Peniz Rat, he let loose 100 rats in New York's Central Park. Yet each rat had what appeared to be a human penis growing out of their backs.

He was denounced and vilified by zealots and ethicists worldwide. As a result, Steif often completed projects long before claiming them. He worked in secrecy. Due to everything from death threats to criminal charges, he used the money from his art to fund an underground life.

The public projects made headlines. But it was widely understood that he made most of his money on private projects for the super-wealthy. There was even an unverified story that he'd constructed an entire zoo of oddities for one wealthy patron.

But now, the reclusive artist had reached out to writer Chris Lippard. She was an unusual choice as the Health and Medicine Bureau Chief of The Wall Street Journal, and she felt like this interview fell outside her scope. Yet, it was also the interview no writer would pass up.

She entered through the nondescript warehouse doors. After traveling through a winding corridor, she encountered a second set of double doors. These doors were ethereal and pristine. They were covered mainly by mother of pearl and accented with gold.

Behind these doors was a large and nearly vacant room. It had hardwood floors, white walls, and abundant sunlight. Four comfortable couches, centered around a coffee table, were in the center of the room.

He sat on one of the couches and drank from a teacup. He arose when Chris entered. Steif was a tall, lean man with milky white skin and no visible hair besides his blonde eyebrows. He dressed like a middle-aged college professor with expensive eyeglasses.

"Coffee?" he asked, gesturing towards a steaming mug of black coffee on the couch opposite him.

"Actually," she responded, "I need to use your bathroom first."

The interview started with the usual background conversations about inspirations and influences. They covered everything from Eduardo Kac to Amy Karle to the movie Jurassic Park.

One rumor was that his latest project had been an attempt at a real-life Dinosaur amusement park. It was a rumor he had heard and promptly dismissed. He was eager to chat, and by Chris's estimation, it took almost three hours to get to the real start of their interview.

It began when Steif pulled open a drawer and took out a white plastic lint roller with a rotating cover. He explained that this was a carefully designed instrument for collecting DNA in public spaces. This DNA was then used for the project he'd brought her here to discuss.

"Wait," she clarified, "you've been scraping public spaces. You're collecting random strands of DNA?"

"Right and correct. I call this project Mixed Feelings. It will most likely be my most controversial piece to date. It's also my most profound." he looked excited.

"I'm afraid to ask,” She said the last part with a sly smile, “but I suppose that is why I'm here."

"Ha! Yes. I was inspired by Dewey-Hagborg's Stranger Visions, where she collected public DNA and used it to reconstruct people's faces. However, I collected the information and combined it all. I made it into a DNA cocktail. Then, using a combination of AI and CRISPR, I did a spell-check. I took random detritus and turned them into, well, real people."

Chris paused, "Are you telling me you cloned human beings?" she completed the thought in her head, without their consent?

"I didn't clone anyone directly. I collected random data and reorganized it. There's most likely nothing recognizable as any single person. There were a few of these blueprints composed of no less than 15' parents.'"

She pressed, "You created multiple viable humans using engineered DNA?"

"Yes." It was his turn to pause. "Well, wait, no. Don't call them 'engineered'... That sounds like eugenics. Their DNA hasn't been optimized; it's been randomized. It's as if these random donors had participated in generations of orgys. Each person could easily have occurred naturally. I just accelerated the process."

Chris was finding it harder and harder to conceal her thoughts from her face. Laurant was reading her like a book.

"The Quiverfull folks inspired a big part of this. You know, those people striving for world domination by having enormous families and getting into politics? I'm combating that. The children all went to homes I vetted. Sane people. Rational people. People of science." Chris remained quiet and forced a thoughtful look to her face.

He continued in her silence, "I mean, I view this as the ultimate act of feminism and egalitarianism. Right? I'm creating life for people free of charge. I give these babies away. I don't even use human surrogates. No woman has to sacrifice her body for this cause."

Chris suddenly thought about his early work on pigs with human organs.

"How many babies so far?" she asked.

"Well, this was the very first project I ever pursued as a BioArtist. This project predates Zuckerman's Son. It's been more than 20 years. A thousand so far."

Staggered, Chris pressed. "You’ve made one thousand genetically engineered children and surreptitiously placed them in homes over the last 20 years?"

He nodded. "That’s how it started, but I wanted to talk about it now because I'm proud to report - I'm a grandfather."