Blue Genes
“Sir, have you made a selection?”
Din Bowles considered the question. He had, in fact, made a selection, at least right up until the pretty attendant asked him about it. Din had been focusing more on intelligence and strength, but now that he was just how pretty she was, a change in charisma might be just what the love doctor ordered.
“I'm...not sure,” he said, “I'll need a few more minutes to decide.”
“I understand,” she replied with a smile she must have used thousands of times on wormy male customers, “there are a large variety of selections to choose from.” With a small nod of the head, she wandered off to the next man like himself, a tiny fellow with a noticeable bald spot.
She was certainly telling the truth about the number of options that were available to him. Everything he could possibly want was on display, all in some measured form or another. The trouble lay in the fact that one really couldn't have it all at once, as significant improvements to one area would result in corresponding depressions to others. There were “gray zones”, of course, which was how the market thrived.
He had been considering the idea for a while, and after another job offer slipped through his fingertips, the brightly flashing sign on the side of the hover-way had convinced him to wing in and see what the future of technology could offer him.
“Change your genes,” the sign had said in large and friendly font, “find the genetic size that works for you!” The thought had made him smile, the thought of finally finding a set of characteristics that were more in line with who he wanted to be instead of who he was.
Din knew he was firmly middle-class – that was who the gene-sequencing market catered to, after all – and he had never been able to break the mold he'd been forced into by his own personality. Days were spent considering how he would make the most of his next opportunity, next interview, or next contact with a human being, but all fell through. Confidence alone in his apartment was easy, but out in the world with the aggressive masses and corporate go-getters, he found it was far simpler just to go with the flow and enjoy the world as much as he could from the sidelines.
Asking a woman on a date was out of the question – even virtual dating was too much for him. Stopping to help a downed hov-car was something he promised himself he would do every time he saw it happen, but that he always managed an excuse for when the time came.
It looks like they're on a communicator, he would think, or, what if they get angry with me for stopping? I can't provide any real help. They'd be better off with someone else.
The fear he felt at pushing out of his comfort zone was far greater than the drive to be different, but today he had finally had enough. His genes were constricting – cutting off what he really wanted to access. He didn't mind giving up a measure of intelligence or speed of thought if it meant that he could fit in, if it meant that he could live up to what he always imagined he would be.
“Miss,” he called diffidently, and she moved away even though she was well within earshot.
“Miss!” He tried again, embarrassed at the sound of his own voice. She turned.
“Sir,” she said brightly, “have you made a decision?”
'Yes!” He said firmly. “I'll take the Herc genes, please, but without the muscle enhancers. I like my body the way it is.”
Her eyes spoke volumes about her perception of his body, but he looked away. Soon enough, he wouldn't care what she or anyone else thought about him, and he'd be the man he always knew he could be. That would be good enough.
***
The doctor had been friendly during the prep session, and had told him just what to expect. Thanks to advancements in gene sequencing and therapy, there was no intrusive cutting or drug use to speak of, merely a five-minute long session in a radiation chamber. He'd been told it was much like the UV salons that those who still used Earth's garbage-strewn beaches would visit, but that didn't give him much of a picture to work with.
Inside the tube, he felt his heart start to race and took deep, slow breaths as he had been instructed in order to keep his vital functions under control. Studies he had read made no mention of anyone dying or even being injured in the gene-booths, but that didn't mean he couldn't be the first.
A soothing yellow glow appeared all around him, but he could find no light source to pinpoint its origin. A low humming followed, and Din began to feel an oddness in body, a sudden lack of control that was at once all over and seemed to come from a single, blazing point.
He screamed – or tried to – but his teeth were locked firmly together. Pain rose in cresting waves, and he shook violently in the tube, straining against the shackles they had placed him in.
They had lied, they had lied, and now he was going to pay the price for it.
***
“Thanks, babe,” the thing that had been Din said casually to the attendant as he passed her by on the way out. Everything had gone according to plan, and he had to admit the procedure was exactly as they had described it to him – painless and awesome.
What had been Din recoiled at the use of the thought-word “awesome”, but there was nothing he could do about it. His new version was firmly in charge, and from what he could see in the tiny back cage of his mind, had no intention of letting go of control any time soon.
Din had gotten just what he wanted – but his new genes didn't fit at all as he had expected.
- D
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