Chapter 21
“Doe showing signs. Light green collar. Could be tonight.”
She was dressed and out the door in under two minutes, and Spence met her in the hallway, one level up.
“I’m coming with you,” he said, not a question.
Through the bond, she felt Zander stir from whatever he’d been doing, look to see what was happening, felt his satisfaction, and then heard him in her head. I’ll join you shortly.
The sprint to the stables felt like more than a mile, but they eventually made it, and found the stable hand and shift supervisor at the hutch, watching.
“She’s nesting. Pulling fur,” the stable hand said. “My guess is another hour, maybe two.”
Emmy looked for herself and saw one of her precious Gen1 females frantically arranging hay and her own pulled fur into a nest.
Spence’s hand found hers, and through their bond, she felt his steady certainty, his absolute faith that this would work.
Zander arrived twenty minutes later with two travel mugs of coffee, the good stuff from their suite, with actual cream. Also, a plateful of egg sandwiches, each wrapped in parchment.
“Eat,” he commanded softly. “Both of you.”
Emmy ate mechanically, her eyes never leaving the doe. Every time the rabbit shifted position, her heart rate spiked.
Breathe, Zander sent through the bond. She knows what to do.
At 2:47 AM, the first kit emerged.
Emmy’s eyes filled with tears when the doe immediately began cleaning her tiny, pink baby, wriggling with life. Then another. And another.
Five total. Five perfect, breathing, nursing Gen2 hybrid kits.
Emmy pressed her face against Spence’s shoulder and cried — tears of relief, of happiness, of just absolute sheer catharsis and overwhelming triumph.
And her men simply held her and let her cry.
She stayed until dawn, documenting everything, taking photos, watching the kits nurse with fierce determination. One was noticeably larger than his siblings, already muscling his way to the best feeding position.
She’d planned to wait before collecting samples, to keep from stressing them right off the bat, but this little guy, or possibly girl, was plenty healthy enough.
The second litter arrived the following afternoon — eight healthy kits from a domestic female impregnated by a Gen1 male.
Zander was stuck underground, but Spence checked on her throughout the process, bringing snacks, providing hugs, holding her hand.
She wasn’t sure her nerves were going to survive through watching the birth of every litter, but she’d just have to figure it out.
When she went back to the house to change before heading to the university’s lab, Zander came to their suite and pulled her into a hug.
“You’ve done it. Now it’s just a matter of documenting it.”
“I hope so.”
“I know so.” His cool lips pressed against her temple. “I’ve lived a long time. I knew Leonardo da Vinci, Galileo, and others. You are right up there with them in both intelligence and gumption.”
“You knew…” She stared at him, then shook her head. “Of course you did, and I have a million questions, but later. You’re going to sidetrack me.”
Through the bond, Emmy felt his pleasure, and realized he’d been trying to calm her down and felt he’d succeeded.
And he had, shocking her with the idea he’d known the people she’d only heard of in history and science books.
“I don’t suppose you knew Einstein?”
“I did not. I lived in Brazil during the second world war and grew my wealth with coffee, then moved to Hong Kong, after.”
And the bizarre conversation did, indeed, steady her anxiety.
She couldn’t conceive of putting herself in the same category as the greats, and since she’d hopefully live centuries, it wouldn’t be good for her to become a household name, and yet, just knowing he’d met them, somehow grounded her in reality.
Delaney drove her to the university lab with the samples in a temperature-controlled container, her hands steady despite the adrenaline singing through her veins.
Professor Chen met her there, his eyes bright with anticipation. “Show me.”
Emmy prepared the sample with practiced efficiency, loading it into the sequencer. The machine hummed to life, and then there was nothing to do but wait.
“How long?” Chen asked.
“Three to four hours for preliminary results. Full analysis by tomorrow.”
He settled into a chair and pulled out his phone. “I’ll wait.”
Delaney had already parked herself in the corner, and she smiled. “I’m your ride home, so I’m here for the duration, but I think I’m as anxious as the professor.”
Emmy worked through the preliminary data as it came in, cross-referencing against her Gen1 sequences, building comparative models. Her heart rate climbed steadily as the patterns emerged.
There.
And there.
And there .
“Oh my god,” she breathed.
Chen looked up sharply. “What?”
“The regulatory buffer sequences. They’re intact. But more than that, I can see what they’re doing, and looking at past samples, what they did.”
Her fingers flew over the keyboard, pulling up visualizations. “Look. The synthetic promoter sequences are delaying cellular differentiation during the critical blastocyst stage. Just enough to allow both sets of chromosomes to stabilize before specialization begins.”
“Show me the timing.”
Emmy pulled up the comparison charts. “Cottontail genes normally push for early differentiation — here, at day three. Domestic rabbit genes lag behind, not starting until day five. That’s the window where hybridization fails.
The embryo tries to differentiate in two different timelines and collapses. ”
“But your promoters…”
“Delay both sets. Hold them in an undifferentiated state for an extra thirty-six hours. By the time differentiation begins, both gene sets are synchronized.” Emmy’s voice shook. “The timing mismatch is solved.”
The third litter came at 9 p.m. on day three — eleven kits, the largest litter yet, from a domestic female bred with a Gen1 male.
Emmy stood at the enclosure watching them nurse, all eleven fighting for position, and something inside her broke open.
She’d done it.
Not just theoretically, not just in preliminary data, but actually, physically, undeniably done it. These rabbits shouldn’t exist. Every textbook said they couldn’t exist. The genetic incompatibility between cottontails and domestic rabbits was considered absolute.
And yet here they were. Thirty kits and counting, alive and healthy and nursing from their mothers.
Tears streamed down her face faster than she could wipe them away. Her breath came in gasps that might have been laughing or sobbing or both.
Dave appeared at her elbow. “You okay, boss?”
“I need—bathroom—” Emmy managed, and fled.
She barely made it to the stable bathroom before collapsing against the wall, sliding down to sit on the floor, crying so hard her whole body shook.
Through the bond, she felt both men respond immediately to her distress.
Emmy? Zander’s concern was sharp. What’s wrong?
Are you hurt? Spence’s panic flooded through their connection.
I’m fine, she sent back, though her tears didn’t stop. I’m perfect. I did it. I actually did it.
Understanding replaced concern. Warmth flooded through the bond from both of them, and she felt their pride and love, clear as day.
Of course you did, Zander sent. We never doubted you would.
We’re so proud of you, Spence added. So incredibly proud.
Her men had flown to Fairbanks the night before and would be gone two days, but here they were, with her, even from a distance.
Emmy sat on the bathroom floor, surrounded by the smell of hay and animals, and let herself feel the magnitude of what she’d accomplished, the sheer impossible rightness of baby rabbits that shouldn’t exist.
She’d changed the rules and rewritten nature’s limitations — and she was going to get her fucking master’s degree.
By the end of the week, every pregnant doe had delivered — forty-two total Gen2 kits. One runt needed help nursing, but the rest were healthy and nursing vigorously.
She collected samples from all litters, carefully marking the babies and the samples, and then rode with Delaney back to the lab.
And again, she saw the same thing as before, but now she could show it went in every direction — Gen1 female with cottontail male, Gen1 female with domestic male, Gen1 male with domestic female, and Gen1 male with cottontail female.
Professor Chen came in after teaching his last class, and once again camped out to wait for the verdict.
“Both parental species, both sexes. I’ve proven it in all four combinations.” She pulled up the breeding records. “The fertility is confirmed in both male and female Gen1 hybrids.”
Professor Chen sat back, his expression stunned. “You’ve actually solved hybrid incompatibility at the genetic level.”
The words hung in the air between them.
Emmy felt tears threatening again and blinked them back. “We’ll need replication. Multiple generations to confirm long-term stability. But yes. I think I solved it.”
“I’m putting you on the schedule for thesis defense. Can you be ready in two weeks?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s get you that degree.”
The following day, Emmy had breakfast with the flock and then rode to campus with Delaney. She was taking two classes for the summer session, and both classes only met on Tuesdays and Thursdays. She was counting down the days until the end, though.
The spring afternoon was warm, the green spaces filled with students sprawled on the grass studying or tossing frisbees, when they drove past. Emmy had experienced that kind of college life many times, on many storied campuses. Living with the coterie had been better for her, though.
Delaney parked in a lot, and the two were nearly to the Natural Sciences building when Emmy caught the sharp, acrid scent of fear cutting through the pleasant summer air.
She took a second to figure out where it was coming from, and saw Lila, one of the newer members of the flock, backed against the wall of the cold-climate lab.