— e.e. cummings
I didn’t start out as a revolutionary, but that’s what I became.
You’d never know it to look at me—you’d think me a model citizen, an ordinary woman—blandly ingratiating.
But I’m a dangerous person, a subversive.
I work in the social planning sector of the New York Central Block facilitating implants and robotic betterment.
Our motto is simple: Be the best you can.
I just completed my assignment for 2145 and have already started laying the groundwork for January 2146.
My task is to convince identified citizens it’s in their best interests to accept technological accommodations or enhancements.
An accommodation enables citizens to perform physical tasks at the level specified by the National Health Council.
An enhancement is an elective procedure that will improve physical appearance and thereby, enhance self-image.
The problem is, I’m becoming more and more opposed to what we’re doing.
Helping citizens overcome physical and mental challenges is one thing—but redesigning citizens to conform to the State’s image of a perfect human being is quite another.
“Do you believe what that woman said, Eva? She told me she was quite happy with her body. The cow’s at least twenty pounds overweight.”
I looked at Marie’s taut, immobile expression—she’s had so many faclifts, I doubt she could even arch an eyebrow or make an expression.
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her we’d cancel her health insurance unless she reported back in ninety days at the specified weight.”
I had to bite my tongue and appear sympathetic.
I looked at the woman—she’d actually be considered voluptuous and desirable by the standards of the last century—now she was being forced to measure up to national standards.
“I’ll write an article for The New Lifestyle. People have to learn that unhealthy choices affect us all.”
“And did you see that schnozzle?” Marie went on, “My God, she looked like a female Cyrano de Bergerac!”
“Unfortunately, personal appearance is still a matter of choice—but why anyone would want to offend others?”
I hated myself for the deceitful remark. It made me feel smarmy. I also hated lying, but the truth was, enhanced women ruled—they were everywhere—perfect specimens and near-identical clones of one another.
The only way I managed to avoid enhancement was having the good fortune to be born beautiful—not that I cared about that.
My genetic inheritance protected me from having to accept robotic accommodations or being cosmetically turned into a Barbie Doll
.
But truth be told, I loved being a primitive woman in a world full of artificial hybrids.
Later that night, I sat in my darkened penthouse staring down at the innumerable stars of New York’s Great White Way.
Viewed from above, the city was lovely, but I couldn’t escape the spooky feeling imagining millions of citizens walking the streets like toy soldiers and dolls.
Enhancement—the very word maddened me—a perfect example of human folly.
Laws were being passed to make physical enhancements compulsory and turn everyone into plastic clones.
My days were numbered—that’s why I sent my Hail Mary into the ether hoping like an MS in a bottle it would wash up and be found by a like-minded individual—a primitive man wanting a primitive woman like me.
Even the term primitive was pejorative—natural would be more appropriate.
I knew the difference between natural and the artificial—why was that realization so hard for others in this society to grasp?
I put down my wine glass and went back to my computer wall. My heart skipped a beat—someone had responded to my message!
Unaccommodated and available—was his reply.
I felt giddy—I knew it wasn’t the wine—it was the possibility of being with someone like me.
I didn’t want a mass-produced mannequin—I wanted a person with a heart.