I am Wilhelmina-Elisabeth Elara, Queen of Orange, Queen of the Netherlands, and sovereign of the House of Oranje-Nassau.
I married the love of my life, Frederik, who now serves as King of the Netherlands. Our union is one of deep affection and mutual respect.
I ascended to the throne in 2005 following the passing of my beloved father at the age of 82. Since then, the royal house has exerted persistent pressure on my husband and me to produce heirs.
While we long for children, conceiving has proven to be a significant challenge for us. The truth is, we face the heartbreak of infertility.
Seeking solace and understanding, I joined a support group of married women who also struggled with conception. It was a diverse and remarkable circle, bringing together women from varied backgrounds:
Leontien IJzerhart, the wife of Sander IJzerhart, a wealthy businessman and a close friend of my husband.
Sakina Bawaki, a Dutch woman of Moroccan heritage whose grandparents immigrated to the Netherlands.
Balela Badila, a member of the prestigious Badila family, an aristocratic lineage with branches across Central, East, West, South, and North Africa, as well as East Asia. One branch is even interwoven with the Japanese Imperial Family. Incidentally, Balela's brother-in-law is married to my younger sister, further entwining the Dutch Royal House with the Badila family.
Natsumi Sawada, a Japanese woman married to a Korean man.
Marysa Graven, a Surinamese woman wed to a Dutchman.
Ismene Floratou, my dearest friend and a Greek woman married to an Iranian.
Ismene and I founded the group, and she gradually invited more friends to join. Marysa was the most recent addition to our gatherings.
We used to meet every Friday evening, sharing our experiences and supporting one another. I vividly recall our last gathering, the one that led to an extraordinary decision—our shared desire to have daughters together…
"Ah," Marysa sighed. "My husband and I tried everything under the sun to get pregnant. But nothing works out!"
"We all feel your struggle," Balela said with a sympathetic sigh.
"I'm thinking of adopting a child now," Leontien shared thoughtfully. "A less fortunate child who needs a home."
"But that won't be your biological child," Balela remarked gently.
"I'd rather also have a child that's of my own blood," Natsumi chimed in. "Maybe we should keep trying and be patient."
"Exactly! We need patience!" Sakina exclaimed with conviction. "God can make miracles happen! Remember that Christ was born without a father. That Adam was created without parents. And how many elderly women have managed to give birth?"
"I like the sound of that!" Ismene said, her spirits lifted by Sakina's words. "Let's hope for a miracle!"
"Miracles?" I rolled my eyes. "I don't think miracles exist. And patience is great, sure. But how long must I be patient?"
Ismene rubbed my back, her voice soft and consoling. "It's going to be okay, Elara."
"Unfortunately, I am not the type of person to put my faith in a deity," I admitted, frustration seeping into my tone. "Even if I believe one exists. As royalty, I'm used to having whatever I want, however I want, and whenever I want. Notions such as patience and faith don't befit a Queen."
"I think that's strange," Balela replied. "I am a Queen myself, being one of the Noblewomen of the Badilites. Yet, I am both faithful and hopeful in God."
"You're from an African background. The divine plays a central role in African society. It doesn't hold the same sway in Dutch society," I reasoned.
"I guess that's true..." Balela conceded.
"By the way, Balela," I continued, "if neither of us gives birth, we will be succeeded by the children of my younger sister Esmee and your brother-in-law Luzadi Badila."
"We cannot allow that to happen," she agreed, sharing my sentiment.
"Come on, guys!" Ismene interjected, her voice bright with optimism. "Let's all have daughters together, okay?"
The idea struck a chord with all of us, and we shared Ismene's wish with a newfound sense of hope.
But deep down, I was on the brink of giving up, humiliated by the prospect of being succeeded by my cousins' children. Until, on a snowy December day, as I sat by the Christmas tree, my dear husband approached me.
"Honey," he said, his voice filled with promise, "there is a way for us to have children..."
Part 2
"What way could there be?" I turned to face my husband, my gaze leaving the window where I had been watching the snowfall.
I was astonished by his claim. We had tried everything to conceive, yet nothing had worked. And now, here he was, claiming there was a way for us to have children? "Didn't we already try every single method under the sun? I don't want to do this anymore. It's depressing to be confronted by our failure over and over again."
"Trust me, Elara," he said, his voice steady, "this method has a success rate of 77% in theory." His confidence caught me off guard—it was a confidence I had never seen in him before.
"What is the method?" I asked, curiosity overcoming my skepticism.
"Follow me," he replied. Without further explanation, he led me toward the palace exit, where the housemaids bowed their heads as we passed.
He paused to put on his jacket and looked back at me. "What are you waiting for? Put on your jacket."
"Where are we going?" I asked, confused. "To a physician? Haven't we already consulted the best physicians in the world? Nothing worked out."
"We're going to a laboratory to meet the scientists who will help us have children," he said.
I stopped in my tracks, taken aback. "A laboratory? Scientists? How in the world can they help us conceive?"
"What nonsense are you talking about?" I demanded, my disbelief mounting. "It's 2010. Humanity isn't technically advanced enough to create humans in a lab. Have you been watching too much sci-fi?"
"It's not like that," he sighed, his patience evident.
"Listen. I don't want to go there and feel humiliated by your newfound hope born from watching too much sci-fi."
"They invited us for this experiment," he said simply.
"Experiment?" The word made me bristle. "What experiment?"
"It's best for the scientists to explain," he replied, stepping outside into the snowy air.
Reluctantly, I put on my jacket and followed him. We stepped into the royal car, and our driver began the journey to the laboratory.
We left the car and entered the compound. I wasn't sure whether I should feel sympathy for my husband, who seemed utterly convinced that humans could be created in a laboratory, or if perhaps he was right and I was the one who simply didn't understand.
After we were granted access to the complex, we proceeded to the laboratory, where a group of scientists in white coats greeted us. They appeared completely ordinary, nothing out of the ordinary about them.
An elderly man stepped forward and said, "Welcome, Your Majesties. We are honored that you have chosen to place your trust in our method. I am Nathan Mazzi, the Head Scientist here."
"Tell me about the method," I said, trying to mask my unease.
"Has your husband not told you?" he asked, his surprise evident.
"I thought it would be easier for him to explain it to you." my husband said.
"The method we use to help you conceive children involves genetic engineering," Nathan explained. "We manipulate human DNA with advanced technology to create a new being from scratch. This could mean combining the genes of multiple individuals or inserting artificial modifications to achieve specific traits."
I hadn't expected this. Shock and disbelief washed over me, and my body trembled uncontrollably before I collapsed to my knees.
"Honey, are you okay?" My husband rushed to my side, helping me to my feet. "Is this some sort of elaborate prank? Are you mocking the Queen for being unable to conceive?"
Part 3
"None of this is a joke," Head Scientist Nathan replied firmly. "We have developed the technology to create a human being through genetic engineering. Though we've yet to test our hypothesis, the success rate is estimated at around 80%. Your husband has been exploring unconventional methods for conception, which brought him to us. After all the conventional methods failed, we believe this is the solution. If you both give your consent, and sign the necessary confidentiality and liability agreements, we will provide you with a child unlike any the world has ever seen."
"Why is the success rate 77% and not 100%?" I asked, skepticism lacing my voice.
"Well, this will be our first attempt at creating a human being. While we are certain that a human will result from this process, we aren't entirely sure how they will develop. We are 100% confident that the outcome will be human, but we can't guarantee that it will develop like a typical human."
"What do you mean by 'not developing like a regular human'?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.
"They might lack emotions, or have very muted emotional responses. They could exhibit extreme personality traits."
"Is that all?"
"Yes," he replied. "The likelihood of the child having extreme personality traits is only about 33%."
"Just 33%..." I scoffed, my mind racing.
"Perhaps you should take some time to think it over," Nathan suggested.
"I agree," my husband chimed in.
I felt compelled to voice my thoughts. "Homunculi were once believed to be the product of alchemical processes. But once science began to evolve, they fell into the realm of myth. Yet here we are, discussing the creation of homunculi in a laboratory."
"No one expected humans to possess this technology, let alone have it by 2010," Nathan responded. "The world is not prepared for such advancements, which is why we must keep it hidden behind closed doors."
My mind whirled with questions. "Does the created being possess sentience and consciousness, and, if so, do they have moral rights and protections? What defines these states?"
"Homunculi possess sentience and consciousness, and they are entitled to the same rights as humans, as they are created from human DNA," Nathan explained.
"But won't we be playing God by manipulating the fundamental building blocks of life? There could be unforeseen consequences—disruptions to ecosystems, or harm that we can't anticipate. Are we truly prepared to take responsibility for these outcomes?" I pressed.
"Just as smartphones are built from natural resources, homunculi are created using elements that God provided, like DNA. Therefore, we don't see what we're doing as any different from what smartphone manufacturers do with the materials they have," Nathan responded.
"I find it troubling that you're comparing the creation of living beings to making a smartphone," I shot back.
"We're doing this to benefit humanity," Nathan said earnestly.
"Would a homunculus have the same rights and freedoms as a human? Should it be treated as property, a research subject, or an independent being? Who determines its fate and future?" I asked, my concerns mounting.
"Homunculi would have the same rights and freedoms as humans in most respects," he answered.
"Why not all respects?"
"Because they will be research subjects—along with their children and grandchildren. We need to study the effects of homunculi on humanity and the world. If the results are positive, we may create more homunculi and reveal their existence to the public. But if the results are negative, we will know what to do."
"Will you... kill them?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Yes, and we will halt the creation of homunculi until we can ensure they contribute positively to society," Nathan replied coldly.
"But that's not fair!" I protested. "Humans can be negative contributors to society too—look at criminals, for instance. Yet we don't execute them. I want wicked homunculi to be judged the same way as wicked humans."
"Fair enough," he said, conceding.
"How will society react to the existence of homunculi? Will it breed divisions, discrimination, or fear? Can we ensure equal treatment and inclusion?" I asked, the weight of the situation pressing on me.
"It will certainly lead to divisions, discrimination, and fear. Ensuring equitable treatment will be impossible. However, we are developing strategies to address these challenges," Nathan admitted.
"What methods?" I asked, eager for clarification.
"If we make this technology available to infertile couples, individuals who choose not to have a spouse but still want children, or even those who seek a homunculus as a companion, spouse, or child, we can normalize homunculi in society. By fostering kinship between humans and homunculi, we can eliminate potential threats of discrimination," Nathan explained.
"Who decides who gets access to this technology? Will it be controlled by a select few, only deepening existing inequalities? Can we guarantee its responsible and ethical use?" I pressed.
"It will remain under the control of this laboratory, and we will use it exclusively to address infertility and loneliness," Nathan assured.
"So you won't use this technology for military purposes, or anything like that?" I asked, skeptical.
"Not at this point, no. But demographics may change in the future, and there could be a need for homunculi soldiers. We need to be realistic about potential outcomes," he admitted.
"What's the true purpose of creating homunculi? To serve humanity, to explore consciousness, or to fulfill personal ambitions? Could they be exploited for labor, entertainment, or military purposes?" I inquired, pushing for deeper insight.
"Homunculi are not meant to be our servants, but our partners," Nathan replied. "But yes, there is always the potential for exploitation, just like with humans. So, in that sense, there is no real difference."
"What does the creation of homunculi say about our understanding of life, death, and the meaning of existence? Does it challenge our notions of humanity and our place in the universe?" I asked, the weight of the question sinking in.
"Well, that's exactly what we're about to find out," he said thoughtfully.
My husband looked at me, a mix of admiration and intrigue in his eyes, impressed by the questions I was asking. I turned to him, surprising everyone with my next words: "Let's do it."
A wave of excitement swept over me. "It looks like I finally have the chance to have my own offspring to succeed my throne. Thank God." I felt a deep sense of elation as the reality of the decision set in.
Part 4
"Are you sure about this?" My husband questioned, clearly unsure about my decision to have homunculi children.
"Weren't you the one who suggested this in the first place?" I retorted. "Why are you backing out now?"
"I'm not backing out. I still want to do this. I just didn't expect you to be so open to it," he replied, his voice tinged with surprise.
The scientists brought over the paperwork for us to sign. It covered confidentiality and liability. We were forbidden from sharing any details of the experiment with anyone, in any way.
The laboratory would not be held accountable for any outcomes resulting from the creation of homunculi. The responsibility would fall on the shoulders of the guardians until the homunculi turned 18.
My husband and I signed the papers. "Good," Head Scientist Nathan said. "Now, tell me about the kind of child you two want."
"I want a daughter," I said decisively. "She must be perfect in every way: beautiful, intelligent, independent, strong, and kind-hearted. A role model for all Dutch girls to aspire to."
"Very well," he nodded. "We will take your DNA samples now. We'll begin with a pretest to ensure that a healthy baby can develop in an artificial womb before we proceed with creating your daughter."
As I thought about it, memories of my friends—Leontien, Sakina, Balela, Natsumi, Marysa, and Ismene—flooded my mind. We had once promised to have daughters together.
"Wait!" I exclaimed suddenly. "Is it possible to conduct this experiment on multiple people at the same time?"
"What do you mean?" Nathan asked, clearly confused.
"Well, I have six friends who would also love to have children, but it's difficult for them to conceive," I explained.
"The more research subjects we have, the better," one of the scientists said with an eerie smile.
I immediately called my friends, asking them and their husbands to come over. Marysa was the first to answer.
"What's up, Queen?" Marysa asked with her usual upbeat tone.
"I have a Christmas gift for you and your husband," I said. "Can you come over now?"
"Christmas gift!?" Sakina exclaimed, the second person to answer my call. "I've never received one before since we don't celebrate Christmas. I'm not even sure if I should accept it..."
"It's not a traditional Christmas gift, so don't worry," I reassured her.
"A gift from you?" Balela's voice held a note of offense, as expected. She was the third to pick up. "You know I'm wealthier than you, right?"
"What I'm about to give you isn't something your husband could buy," I replied.
"Oh, sure! Thanks for the gift and the invite!" Natsumi said with enthusiasm before I'd even explained the details. She was the fourth person to answer.
"I wonder what it is..." Leontien sounded intrigued. She was the fifth.
"Yes, I'll be there!" I could hear Ismene's smile through the phone—she was always so upbeat. With that, I had called all the women from our friend group to come to the laboratory with their husbands.
Six royal drivers were assigned to bring each couple. Leontien and her husband, Sander IJzerhart, were the first to arrive.
"I have to say, I was surprised to be driven to a laboratory of all places, Frederik!" Sander laughed. "Are you giving us this whole place as a gift?"
"Not quite," my husband chuckled, clearly enjoying the mystery.
Natsumi and her husband were the second couple to arrive, greeting everyone politely, not asking questions about the gift or why we were at the laboratory. Their politeness was always so refreshing.
Sakina and her husband arrived next. She wore a hijab and abaya, modest clothing befitting a Muslim woman, and she looked stunning in it.
"So, where's the gift?" Sakina asked eagerly. "And why are Natsumi and Leontien here with their husbands?"
"I'm going to give that gift to all of you," I said, my voice steady with anticipation.
Marysa and her husband arrived next. "What a strange place to call us to, Queen," she said, looking around. "And why is everyone gathered here? It's Sunday. And why did everyone bring their husbands? What's going on?"
"Just one moment, Marysa. I'll explain everything soon," I said, trying to keep things calm.
Balela and her husband entered, their expressions as cold and serious as ever—typical of a Badilite power couple. "Looks like everyone's here, well, almost everyone," she remarked, scanning the room.
Head Scientist Nathan approached the Badilite couple. "My daughter is in a relationship with the West African Badilite Patriarch, a young man named Yeshaya. But you Badilites refuse to acknowledge my daughter simply because she's not a Badilitess. This is putting a strain on their relationship," he said, his tone direct.
"Who are you?" Balela's husband asked, eyeing Nathan with suspicion.
"Nathan Mazzi, Head Scientist here," he replied. "I can help you both conceive children, but there's one extra condition: acknowledge my daughter as a Badilitess and bless her union with Yeshaya."
Balela's husband chuckled, clearly amused, but a glance from his wife stopped him from rejecting Nathan's terms outright. "Very well, then..." he conceded, clearly giving in to his wife's influence.
Ismene and her husband arrived last. "Assalamu alaikum, Ismene!" Sakina greeted her warmly, offering a bright smile.
"Walaikum assalam," Ismene returned the greeting with a smile of her own. "I didn't know everyone would be here with their husbands, Elara."
I handed out the papers I had just signed to the six couples. "What's this?" Balela asked without even glancing at the documents.
"Read it, and you'll find out," I replied.
"Homunculus... Not allowed to share information about this experiment... Laboratory isn't liable..." Sander read aloud, his voice growing more serious.
"Elara," Balela chuckled, clearly skeptical. "What is this supposed to be?"
"It's not a joke," I said, my tone unwavering. "This laboratory can create human beings. We can finally have children." The room fell silent as everyone realized I was serious.
"But..." Ismene hesitated, her tone filled with apprehension. I could tell all my friends shared her unease. "Should we really be doing this?"
"Remember our promise to have daughters together?" I replied, the weight of our shared vow hanging in the air. "We can finally make it a reality."
My friends exchanged glances with their husbands, silently gauging their thoughts on the experiment.
"Whatever makes you happy, Leonti," Sander said, offering his support with a reassuring smile.
"I'd prefer a son, though," Balela's husband remarked, his tone casual but thoughtful.
"If you're okay with it, I am too," Ismene's husband added, his voice calm and supportive.
"Yeah, Marysa. If you want it, I'm good with it," her husband agreed, nodding.
"Indeed," Sakina's husband said with a warm smile, turning to her. "We can go for it."
"Let's hope it goes well," Natsumi's husband added with a hopeful grin.
"That's fantastic! We can finally have kids!" Ismene exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement.
Marysa let out a relieved sigh. "I told you girls that a miracle would happen!" Sakina said, a broad smile crossing her face.
One by one, my friends signed the papers along with their husbands. The scientists took DNA samples from each couple, ensuring everything was in order.
"Your baby daughters will be born over a year from now," Nathan said, a smile on his face as he addressed the group. "We'll begin with a pre-test. That means we will create a homunculus from all of your genes to see if it develops according to our theory. We'll keep you all updated on the progress of this experiment. Thank you for cooperating and contributing to what may be the greatest scientific experiment in history."