Tw Strong Language - Blog Posts

Interlude 5-6

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now who could this be

It’s the year 2166, and people haven’t changed much. They still eat, they still sleep, there’s not been a robot apocalypse yet, and they dream. But above all this, they still desire the best for their children. That’s why, for the past century, humans have been genetically engineered. Heavily. Rather than trust the hand of fate to decide what your child looks like, what their features and their faults are, they’d rather entrust it to a Genotypist, an expert at gene therapy and study.

It’s common practice for those with them to have their ovaries removed entirely, frozen in stasis until a suitable time. Undesirable pregnancies have reached such a low that it dips below the margin of error for most studies.

But my parents, and their parents, and my grandparents (basically since the invention and legalization of the Genotypist’s trade) have forgone all that. In a world where most are conceived in a test tube, they decided to go the ‘natural’ way, and me and my little sister were born. I love my parents, but sometimes (especially when I put on my glasses, reliant as I am on them) I wish they had maybe at least consulted a Genotypist.

I remember elementary school. The other kids weren’t so bad; they were a little in awe of me, to be honest, as children tend to be of anything different. Their parents, however, were a different story. They were scared of me, I think – which is odd to say, having been five years old or so at the time. Maybe they were afraid of what I represented – the scary old days in which children died at young ages from illness, that children were born with diseases. The chance of me eventually being killed by one genetic factor or another made me a liability. They told their children to avoid me, to not interact – and I grew up with no one. Well, next to no one.

My sister was born when I was four, and I made it my sworn duty to be her friend, because I knew that it would seem the world was against her. And, maybe it was. I hoped that maybe, just maybe, I could spare her my heartache.

But still, I had a life of my own. The only other ‘organic’ my age was another boy, whose parents couldn’t afford the procedure – a rare thing in this day and age of ‘prosperity’, where people would go on the bare minimum for months just to pay for the procedure. He was the only one unafraid of me – a fact I continue to appreciate.

Middle school was where things got worse – the kids were old enough to understand why their parents hated me, and that I was different – and different was bad. I suppose that I took that to heart – I couldn’t deal with quite that level of hate, so I rejected them all in turn. My only connection to life was twofold – my sister and my only friend. Even my parents weren’t spared my rage.

I was kind of an edgy little shit. I got into fights. I vandalized a few things. I got a record. I have to give credit to my parents for putting up with me through that stage of my life.

Anyway, though, I got expelled. Something about picking five fights in a single semester made the principal unwilling to keep me around. Bizarre, really. But I wound up getting shipped out to another school, a few miles away from everyone I knew, and that’s kind of shit.

I was on the bus, sitting in the back with headphones on, when he sat next to me. I was surprised anyone would – not least of all because I tend to dress like leather and black cloth had an orgy. He was about my age – which was fitting, I suppose. Not like there was much variance of age here, save the fifty-something bus driver. Pulling down the headphones, he waved awkwardly. “Hi, I’m Nicholas.”

Thinking it through in my head, I internally figure I have nothing to lose and everything to gain. I offer my hand. “James.”

He shook my hand. “Charmed,” he smiled. He was kind of adorable, in a slightly dorky way. Brown hair, kind of scrawny. Dressed in a button-down shirt and dress pants. And what kind of kid wears leather dress-shoes to school?

“So, James, what brings you to our school? I’ve never seen you around here before.”

“Life,” I sighed dramatically. Gods I hate myself in hindsight.

Nicholas laughed. “I think we’ll get along just fine, James.”

“So, tell me about yourself,” I began. I was ready for a story, and the bus drive was taking what seemed like eternity. It’s not like I could just go back to my headphones and ignore him after he’d been kind enough to introduce himself.

“Well, I’m sixteen, I’ve got two older sisters and a younger brother, and I’m an Aquarius – that what you want to hear?”

“Just maybe. So, tell me – why is it you sat next to me, rather than by the other students you seem to know so well?”

“Well, I’m not exactly popular,” he said, looking around at the others on the bus. “I haven’t got any friends, really. My only friend was a kid named Will, but he transferred out last year. And,” he began to whisper conspiratorially, “They say you… that you’re…”

“That I’m what,” I ask, leaning back a little, hoping to avoid whatever little bombshell he felt inclined to drop.

“That you’re… organic?”

I sigh. How in the hell can I never escape that? I hadn’t even met anyone from the school and they already knew my birth status. “Yeah, yeah I am.”

“That’s… wow. So… like… you were…?”

I could see the question forming in his mind. “Yes, I was conceived the ‘old-fashioned’ way. Same as everyone was two centuries ago.”

“That’s weird.”

I scoffed a little under my breath. “So, you afraid of me now?”

“Not really.”

I looked at him, a little surprised. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said, putting his hands up defensively, “I’m a little weirded out by your birth status, but I’m not, like, going to hold it against you. It’s not your fault.”

I rolled my eyes. Another one of these. People who thought I was some kind of sub-human creature, worthy of pity for my status. Like an ape in a zoo. People would be kind enough, I supposed, if I let them sit there and talk at me and feed me bananas, but once I open my mouth, the illusion is scattered. I’m different. I’m a threat.

“What’s not my fault? That my parents fucked and nine months later I popped out? Where do you think, your entire family came from, a few generations back? Maybe most don’t do it that way anymore, but I’m not going to put up with your goddamned, patronizing bullshit. I’m just as human as you.”

He went silent then, a little numb, and then he began. “I’m… sorry…”

He looked like someone had deflated him a little bit. I suppose I had been harsh on him. But I’d dealt with this all my life – it’s not like he asked to be born the way he was, either. “I’m sorry too.”

“So… let’s start over a little. What’s your life like?”

“Got a sister. Anya. Brilliant girl. And, I’m a Cancer. That what you looking for?”

He smiled. “Yeah.”

In about fifteen minutes, we arrived at the school and disembarked. The school was a fancy, shiny new building. My parents had paid through the nose to get me here, I guess. I looked at my schedule. “Do you have Mr. Shall too?”

I looked at my homeroom class. Sure enough, Shall. “Yeah”

“I can show you to his room. He’s the biology teacher. They say his grandfather helped found the science of Genotyping.”

“And he teaches at a high school?”

“Well, his entire family can’t be rich and famous.”

I went to the class, following behind Nicholas, finally sitting at a paired table next to him. Mr. Shall was a burly man in his early forties, dressed in a dress-shirt and tie. He began class with a simple set of words. “I understand that there’s someone new here,” he said, standing up. “I’d like to give him a chance to introduce himself. James, if you would?”

I walked up to the front of the class. “Hi, the name’s James. Nice to meet you.”

I shuffled back to my seat, and we began. He handed out sheets of paper, on which was written a simple timeline going back a couple hundred years. “As you know, Genotyping began in the mid-twenty first century. Zhou Wang Wei wrote the first book on the subject in 2041, a treatise that was translated for western audiences two years later. His western counterpart was John Van Compf, who developed some of the medical equipment used in the field. The basics were simple – but the execution took years of hard work.”

He continued like this for what seemed like hours, but was probably no longer than a few minutes. “And now, there’s next to no children born organically anymore. Why is that, do you think? Who would turn down the medical procedure that can give them ‘ideal’ children? That can make perfect humans, medically speaking. Why risk it?”

A girl near the front raised her hand. “Maybe they’re afraid of it? Of society progressing?”

Shall shook his head a little. “No, Amy. Progress isn’t some measurable thing – what’s a way forward for some is often the way backwards for others. James,” he said, gesturing to me, “Why do you think people don’t hire a Genotypist?”

I looked up at him, and he winked at me. God damn it, the man knew. I stood up. “Maybe they think it’s not right to alter people with machines. After all, didn’t Darwin himself write that diversity is in the best interest for people? Isn’t Genotyping just a way to reduce that diversity? Sure, we might still have variance in eye color, hair color, skin color, but we’re still getting rid of genetic diversity in other ways. Maybe it’s going to come back and bite us.”

Shall nodded. “As good a reason as any.”

A boy across the room shot up. “But, if that happens, won’t the Genotypists figure out a way to save us? If a gene we removed is the secret to saving us, then why don’t we just add it in on the next generation? It’s better off we make the procedure mandatory; that way organics don’t wind up infecting us all with some kind of disease.”

Shall shook his head again. “Sit down, Michael. That’s hardly the – “

Nicholas looked at me, and began to whisper, “James, you’re crying.”

I felt my face with one hand. Indeed, I was. I was also gripping my pencil with such an extraordinary grip that I was surprised it didn’t break. Then, of course, it did. The snap drew attention from the surrounding students, and I used that to my advantage. Rising to my feet again, I spoke. “That’s bullshit. Do you really think that’s progress? Forcing people you don’t like to be like you isn’t ‘progress’, it isn’t ‘safety’. You’re just afraid.” I began to whisper then, “God damn it, I just want to live. Is that so hard?”

I sat down, and was silent the rest of the class.

In the future where Babies mass produced in genetic labs are normal , you are the only “ organic ” in your high school class. It’s the first day of school and the teacher asks you to introduce yourself.