Story #5 D-N-Ain't

D-N-Ain't

“Well,” the Doctor said, hedging his bets, “you're not exactly...human.”

It was delivered in classic doctor style – a hint of resignation mixed with arrogance all rolled up in a “it'll cost ya” package. I didn't think much of doctors, and this lowered my opinion to almost rock-bottom.

Nineteen years old and I was inhuman.

Great. Thanks, mom and dad.

I glanced at my parents, both of whom had taken up residence along the exam room's west side. Dad had his back to the paper-thin drywall and was staring blankly ahead; mom just looked at me, bottom lip quivering like the time I told her I'd be spending Christmas with Bertie's family in the Alps. This time the guilt was on her but apparently the face was the same.

No one else seemed willing to ask the question so I ventured out of my own head to fend for myself – something that was happening far too often of late.

“Then just what the hell am I?” My voice was deeper than it should be even after puberty; I'd had some fairly strong hints something odd was going on for a few years now, but most of it could be chalked up to what my parents had “done” for me.

It's not like Mutos were illegal or anything, just expensive to create and with no guarantee of success. I didn't remember it, but apparently I'd been a pretty stupid kid; stupid enough to fail the first grade twice and walk like I was drunk. Dad had borrowed money from my aunt and the rest was history.

Now, I appeared to be making history.

The Doctor still hadn't replied so I repeated my question, this time with a few swearwords thrown in for good measure; mom “tsk'd” but the sound didn't have any heart to it. I could hear the deepening breath in dad's throat that meant he was about to go postal on our medical friend if an answer didn't show up in the next ten seconds or so.

I could also hear the rattle at the top of dad's lungs and knew it was the early stages of emphysema. I shouldn't have been able to but there it was, clear as a struck bell to my ears. I'd told him and he believed me, but no doctor took him seriously when he stated with “my Muto son told me I have emphysema...”. Needless to say, it went undiagnosed.

The doctor finally spoke, though to my parents and not to me.

“Where did you have his resequence done?” There was an interest there, a curiosity about a puzzle he didn't understand. I played his words again in my head - there was also a fear.

“Palmetto. Thirteen years ago,” dad had backed off a bit, but if this didn't get informative soon, the doctor might just lose some teeth.

Stepping to the small desk he pulled up the Vi-Med database and started typing away frantically. I could have figured out just what keys he was pressing – each key on the board resonates with a specific frequency – but he'd tell me soon enough what he'd found. If I didn't like what I heard, my memory would store a perfect replica of his keystrokes and I'd just go through it myself to see if he was lying or just stupid.

After a minute, he snapped his fingers and stood up triumphantly.

“I knew it!” He exclaimed, nearly tripping over his own untied shoelaces as he made his way back to the bed. “Palmetto didn't just do resequencing. A portion of their facility was contracted by the government to do work on BioRepliactive Mimicry. Organic robots!”

Not much stunned me, but the doctor's obvious enthusiasm set me back just a little bit.

“So you're telling me my son has,” Mom started up, voice breaking.

“BNA additions. That's right.” His voice was bright, happy. “We'll never know if it was by accident or on purpose, but your son was given BioReplicative Nucleic Acids in addition to the standard human treatments. The two appear to be working well together, as your son hasn't died or had his heart burst, but this is going to require a great deal of further study.”

“Study?” My voice was low and carried a tone that brought my father a half-step away from the wall.

“Yes, yes.” The doctor was oblivious to me now, his eyes too focused on his own name at the top of research papers and in the byline of famous science media publications. “Nothing too serious. A year or so in a lab at best. You understand. It's for the best. The common good.” His words were hollow, quick. He expected obedience. The government allowed Mutos only on the condition that they submit for medical screenings when asked by an authorized agent.

Too bad I wasn't exactly a Muto.

“BioReplicative...” I let my voice trail off as though I were confused. “That means I'm invincible, right?”

He met my eyes, finally and for the first time since I'd sat down. There was that fear again. “No. Just...extremely resilient.”

I smiled.

***

Fifteen minutes later, we were in the car and on our way to dinner. Mom and dad felt that a nice steak was the best way to say “sorry we screwed up your DNA”.

“Could you really do that?” Mom asked, not bothering to look at me in the back seat. “Break his bones one at a time and force him to live in unending agony?”

I shrugged. “I dunno. Probably, yeah.”

“That's nice, but don't talk like that anymore. We raised you better than that.”

“Fine mom, whatever.”

She couldn't see it, but dad caught my eyes in the mirror and slowly nodded.

I'd made it to manhood; too bad I wasn't exactly a man.


- D