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AM NOT HUMAN (part one)
chapter one
chapter two
CHANGE AGENT
Chapter 1
chapter 2
chapter 3
chapter 4
chapter 5
chapter 6
chapter 7
chapter 8
chapter 9 and 10
chapter 11
chapter 12
Chapter13
Chapter14
chapter 15
COMEDIES
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JOKES
INFINITY STARS COMEDIES
MOVIES
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SHOP
ABOUT US
CONTACT US
TERMS OF SERVICES
PRIVACY POLICY
DISCLAIMER
infinity stars entertainment
Home
BOOKS
HORROR STORIES
FANTASY
SCI-FI
AM NOT HUMAN (part one)
chapter one
chapter two
CHANGE AGENT
Chapter 1
chapter 2
chapter 3
chapter 4
chapter 5
chapter 6
chapter 7
chapter 8
chapter 9 and 10
chapter 11
chapter 12
Chapter13
Chapter14
chapter 15
COMEDIES
MEMES
JOKES
INFINITY STARS COMEDIES
MOVIES
COMICS
INFINITE MOTIVATIONS
INVENTIONS
BLOGS
SHOP
ABOUT US
CONTACT US
TERMS OF SERVICES
PRIVACY POLICY
DISCLAIMER
More
Home
BOOKS
HORROR STORIES
FANTASY
SCI-FI
AM NOT HUMAN (part one)
chapter one
chapter two
CHANGE AGENT
Chapter 1
chapter 2
chapter 3
chapter 4
chapter 5
chapter 6
chapter 7
chapter 8
chapter 9 and 10
chapter 11
chapter 12
Chapter13
Chapter14
chapter 15
COMEDIES
MEMES
JOKES
INFINITY STARS COMEDIES
MOVIES
COMICS
INFINITE MOTIVATIONS
INVENTIONS
BLOGS
SHOP
ABOUT US
CONTACT US
TERMS OF SERVICES
PRIVACY POLICY
DISCLAIMER
Chapter one
Before we begin, have you any questions about genetic editing, Mr. and Mrs.
Cherian?” The counselor took a whopping bite from a vada pav sandwich
as he clicked through their file.
The young Mumbai couple exchanged uncertain looks. In their late twenties,
well-groomed, and dressed in crisp business casual clothes, they appeared a step
above the cramped, dingy, and windowless office around them. Nonetheless here
they were. The wife appeared especially ill at ease.
The husband shook his head. “No questions at the moment, no.” He looked
to his wife reassuringly. Patted her on the knee.
She spoke up. “How does the procedure work?”
The counselor answered with his mouth full. “Ah, an inquiring mind.”
She narrowed her eyes at him.
The husband cut in. “My wife and I are both attorneys. Given the legal status
of this enterprise, we were understandably reluctant to research the topic on our
own devices.”
“Well then . . .” The counselor finished chewing and wiped his fingers on a
crumpled napkin. “I have something that should address your questions.” He
noisily rooted around in his desk drawer and in a moment produced a device the
size and shape of a paperback book, which he placed on the cluttered desktop
between them. When he pressed down on the device it unfolded into a pylon
shape—sporting several lenses facing forward and back. It booted up, white light
glowing within.
The wife drew stylish mirror glasses from her purse and donned them to
shield her eyes. “A glim? You think we’d allow you access to our retinas? This
is out—”
“No retinal scanning, I assure you, Mrs. Cherian. Merely a brief in-eye
presentation.”
The husband looked to his wife. “They have our DNA, love. Retinas are the
least of it.”
“Neelo, I want our embryo transferred back to the clinic.”
“Neelo, I want our embryo transferred back to the clinic.”
“My love, we—”
“This place is a rat hole. A defunct export office by the look of it.”
“All part of the disguise, Mrs. Cherian. We must not attract undue attention
from the authorities. But rest assured, our labs are well funded—run by the
largest genediting syndicate in the world, Trefoil. None are more sophisticated.”
“My love, remember: they came highly recommended.”
She grabbed her bag as if to go. “Neelo, we are law-abiding people.”
“We’ve discussed this, cherub. Principled positions are admirable, but other
parents are doing this. We as well must do everything we can to prepare our son
for the world in which he will live.” He gestured to the glim on the table. “Why
don’t we watch the presentation and see how we feel afterward?”
She sighed—and reluctantly removed her mirror glasses.
The counselor beamed. “Very good. Please look forward. It will find your
retinas in a jiffy.”
In a moment, from their perspective, the air above the desk filled with a
highly detailed 3D model of the double helix of DNA. It rotated there, an utterly
convincing virtual object—seemingly as real as the desk. Yet the floating DNA
existed only as a rich, plenoptic light field projected directly onto their retinas
and unseen by anyone not targeted by the glim.
Light field projectors like these had largely replaced physical televisions,
computer screens, and mobile OLED displays in the last decade or so. Beaming
imagery directly onto a viewer’s retinas instead of spraying photons all over the
place had many advantages—authentic augmented reality being one.
Environmental sustainability another. Privacy another still.
A female narrator’s voice came to them via a focused acoustic beam.
“Initially developed in 2012, CRISPR technology is a search-and-replace tool
for modifying DNA—the blueprint of all living things.”
The word “CRISPR” appeared with the letters expanding into full words in
turn.
“Shorthand for ‘clustered regularly interspaced short palindromic repeats,’
CRISPR derives from a naturally occurring process in bacterial immune systems
—and it has been adapted by modern science to permit targeted genetic edits of
plant, animal, and human embryos.”
The 3D animation showed a labeled RNA molecule enter the scene.
“The process begins by seeding a ‘guide RNA’ with both a target and a
payload genetic sequence . . .”
Labels identified them in turn as they were inserted into the RNA molecule.
Labels identified them in turn as they were inserted into the RNA molecule.
“This guide RNA is then injected into an embryonic cell’s nucleus . . .”
The RNA clamped onto the double helix of DNA, unzipping it.
“. . . where it reads the embryo’s DNA. Wherever a match for the target
sequence is found . . .”
The 3D image highlighted a match between the RNA target sequence and a
segment of the cell’s DNA.
“. . . a natural cutting protein acts as a molecular scalpel, severing the DNA
chain . . .”
The animation showed the double helix of DNA cut.
“. . . removing the matching segment . . .”
The animation showed it being removed.
“. . . and inserting a copy of the payload DNA in its place.”
The RNA’s payload sequence copied itself into the gap, and the DNA
quickly rejoined.
“In this way human embryos may be safely and reliably ‘edited’ in vitro to
correct deadly heritable genetic disorders.”
Moving music swelled as the scene dissolved to a life-sized 3D projection of
a beautiful but despondent little African girl with cloudy blind eyes. She looked
as real as if she sat in the room with them.
“CRISPR-developed cures for cystic fibrosis, muscular dystrophy, sickle-cell
anemia, Huntington’s disease, hemophilia, and more have already saved or
improved the lives of hundreds of millions of people worldwide . . .”
The scene dissolved into a new image—one of the now smiling girl with
clear brown eyes, reaching up to smudge flour onto her mother’s nose. They
both laughed and embraced as they made cookies together.
“Ending a legacy of suffering and for the first time putting humanity in
control of its own genetics.”
The image tilted skyward to show a brightly lit horizon. A new dawn.
“Theoretically there is no limit to the desirable edits CRISPR can perform.”
Dark clouds moved in, obscuring this glowing horizon. Ominous music
rumbled.
“However, international law currently prohibits edits beyond those designed
to correct a short UN-approved list of genetic disorders. Despite this, our expert
researchers have perfected hundreds of highly beneficial CRISPR edits. Edits
that increase both the quality and the quantity of human life.”
The music rose as the image ascended, finally bursting through the gray
cloud layer into an endless expanse of sunlight beyond. No horizon in sight.
“And unlike other gene therapies, CRISPR edits are heritable—meaning
they will be passed down to all future generations of your family line—what’s
known as ‘germ line engineering.’ This means your investment today will pay
rich dividends for all your child’s descendants.”
The scene transitioned to a life-sized and utterly realistic projection of a
healthy five-year-old South Asian boy, who rotated slowly before them.
“For example, a minor edit to a human embryo’s DAF2 gene could add
thirty healthy years to a child’s life. A change to BCAT1 could add even more.”
The image of the boy aged to an adult and then beyond until he had a full
shock of gray hair—but an otherwise healthy frame. He lifted up a laughing
grandchild with ease as they ran toward a zoo exhibit.
The imagery then dissolved to show a young man, studious and attentive in a
classroom.
“A change to gene DLG3 can improve memory, while a series of edits within
the M1 and M3 gene clusters can substantially increase intelligence.”
The image morphed to the teen wearing a valedictorian cap and gown. He
smiled as he took the podium amid applause, ostensibly to address his
graduating class.
The imagery shifted to an athletic young woman running on a track against
several close competitors.
“A tweak to the MEF2 gene can bestow type II ‘fast-twitch’ muscle
fibers . . .”
The young woman outpaced the other sprinters, raising her arms as she burst
through the finish tape to cheers.
“. . . increasing physical prowess.”
The imagery resolved again to a double helix of DNA, with segments
snipped and replaced here, there, and elsewhere.
“Other even more exciting edits are being developed to meet the demands of
our increasingly competitive world. Be sure to ask your genetic counselor for a
full list of edits in your price range. No matter which you choose, you’ll be
giving your child a timeless gift, one that they will be able to pass down to their
own children—the first truly priceless family heirloom.”
The DNA looped as the image zoomed out to soft, inspiring music,
transforming into a three-cornered continuous shape.
Text appeared above and below the logo as it pulsed with life:
TREFOIL LABS
Evolution by design.
Moments later the virtual logo blinked out of existence as the counselor
pressed down on the glim to fold it. He scooped the glim back into his desk
drawer. “I trust that answered your questions.”
The husband and wife both looked somewhat dazed at the sudden
disappearance of the alternate reality.
The wife was first to recover. “Could such edits be done on an adult
person?”
The counselor laughed, putting his sandwich down and clasping his hands.
“Now that would be valuable indeed! But alas, no, Mrs. Cherian. Editing the
DNA of one cell out of thirty-five trillion would not accomplish much. That’s
why these changes need to be made while your child is but a zygote—a single
fertilized cell.”
She nodded to herself. “I see.”
“You and I will remain as we are, but your child has no such limitation.” He
studied her expression, pausing with the experienced cadence of a true salesman.
“Shall we discuss the desired edits for your future son?”
The husband took his wife’s hand. “Are you ready to proceed, my love?”
She visibly struggled with powerful emotions.
The counselor had seen it before. “Mrs. Cherian, all creatures select genetic
preferences when they choose a mate. But science now gives you and your
husband the ability to adjust your child’s genetics just a bit further—together.”
The husband again placed his hand on her knee.
She shook her head. “It seems against Nature.”
The counselor spoke softly. “This is the very same process Nature follows to
eliminate viral DNA in bacteria. The same process used under the UN’s Treaty
on Genetic Modification.”
“Yes, but to cure deadly genetic defects, not to tailor-make a child.”
The husband shook his head. “We are not tailoring our child. We are
correcting genetic weaknesses. Is not a weak memory fatal to a future doctor or
attorney?”
“Where does this sort of thinking lead us, Neelo—eugenics?”
The counselor shook his head slowly. “No, no, Mrs. Cherian. There are three
billion letters in the human genome. Most people edit six to twelve—minor edits
indeed.”
indeed.”
“Remember, love, what did you say when you saw the Persauds’ little boy?
Is that not why we are here?”
She fell silent.
The husband turned to the counselor. “We don’t want many edits, of
course.”
“Nor would you need them, Mr. Cherian.” He started tapping at an unseen
screen. “But even minor edits can go a long way to help your child in a rapidly
evolving world. Some edits are more costly than others, of course, but who can
put a price on parental love?”
The husband studied his wife, who was literally wringing her hands, but he
spoke to the counselor. “Which edits would you recommend?”
“I always suggest the DAF2 edit. Why not start your child out with up to
three decades more of healthy living? So they can be there in your twilight
years.” The counselor made some entries on the invisible screen. “How could
such a thing be wrong?”
The Cherians exchanged appraising looks.
“Longer life, of course, suggests related edits—LRP5 for extra strong bones,
PCSK9 for a greatly reduced risk of heart disease . . .” He clicked unseen UIs.
“The next question is whether you prize intellectual excellence over physical
prowess. Heightened intellect requires more complex edits—and is, thus, more
costly. You can choose both, of course, budget permitting.” He looked up at the
parents.
They stared, frozen by the magnitude of the decision.
“Well, let us see what the Greek ideal—body and mind—would require.”
The counselor displayed the price to them.
“That’s more than a year of university, Neelo.”
“But with these edits our boy could very well win a full scholarship.”
“I am uncomfortable with this.”
“Why? Because some government bureaucrat says it’s not allowed? Do you
really think the wealthiest families are not doing this, my love?”
She sighed and looked away.
He took her hand again. “We must do it. For our son’s sake—no matter how
uncomfortable it makes us.”
Just then they heard a BOOM that caused them all to jump in their seats.
The wife turned. “What was that?”
The counselor was already clicking away at invisible screens. “Oh, my . . .
Mr. and Mrs. Cherian, please . . . a moment.”
The wife grabbed her husband’s arm. “What was that, Neelo?”
The husband stood as the counselor did. The sound of running feet and
muffled shouts came from the hall. “Speak up, man!”
The counselor motioned for calm. “It would appear that the Brihanmumbai
are raiding this facility.”
“The police?”
“Do not be alarmed. We have made contributions to the appropriate
authorities. This is clearly a mix-up. In any event, we have numerous concealed
exits for just such a contingency.” He gestured to his office doorway. “If you
would please follow me . . .”
The counselor moved quickly out his office door and into a narrow corridor,
which was quickly crowding with other couples and their counselors. Some
clients shielded their faces from one another with handbags and scarves.
The husband clasped his wife’s hand and followed closely. “This is
outrageous.”
“What about our embryo, Neelo?”
The counselor glanced backward. “Not to worry, folks. As I said, we’ll get
this mix-up sorted.”
Someone shouted in alarm behind them. The Cherians looked back to see the
door at the far end of the hallway kicked in. Police in black body armor poured
through, shouting, “Zameen par sab log!”
Someone screamed and the crowd of clients stampeded.
A lab security guard emerged from a side door—pistol in hand.
The police shouted it in unison, “Bandook! Bandook!”—red laser dots
clustering on the guard’s chest as he stood slack-jawed. Deafening POPS filled
the corridor. Screaming as everyone scattered. The security guard dropped like a
bag of cement.
The husband pulled his wife down to the floor alongside him. “Down, love!
Get down!”
People ran past them in a panic toward an unseen rear exit—some trampling
the husband and wife as he shielded her. “Watch it, damn you!”
The police shouted again, “Zameen par sab log!”
Their counselor was nowhere to be seen. The husband spoke into his wife’s
ear. “We must say nothing until we’ve seen counsel, love. I need to phone
Anish.”
His wife was silent.
His wife was silent.
The husband noticed blood on his hand. Panicked, he padded his sides down.
“My love, I . . .” And then, finding nothing, he looked to his wife.
A small bullet hole pierced her temple.
“No . . .” He cupped her head. Blood pooled beneath them both, expanding
quickly across the cheap, dirty carpet.
He tried to form words—then finally screamed in horror as police
approached behind him, guns raised. “No! No!”
He hugged her body close, shrieking in anguish.
The helmeted and armored police tried to pull him from her, but he would
not let go.
“My love. No, my love
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