Page 6 of CHOICE Lover
Reluctantly, I follow him to the couches and take a seat on the opposite side of the space from him. The one nearest what might be a door that leads outside.
He takes a measured breath, gripping his knees. “See, manupartners are the standard form of companionship now. Forall people. Ever since we brought them onto the market, nearly everyone gets one. Easier to get just what you want from a relationship and so on. The thing is, manupartners aren’t actually meant to be people from the past. You are supposed to be a blank slate. A programmable partner.”
“Like a sex robot,” I interject. “That is the most messed-up thing I’ve ever heard.”
How far has society regressed if this is what humans are reduced to? My liberal hippie parents would be horrified. At this point, I am refusing to consider that they are likely dead. That theyaredead. A knot builds in the back of my throat, but I swallow it down. This has to be a dream. My subconscious is incredibly imaginative.
“Yes, precisely. But more like a clone, so real. Made with human DNA from the past that has been collected and traded over the years.” He says the wordrealas if it doesn’t have the same meaning it didduring my time. As if its new meaning is more like “real, but not really real.” Real-like. Or real-ish. Faux-real.
“Okay,” I say, urging him to go on.
“There were rumors about manupartners retaining the identity of the DNA’s original vector. I had my assistant Tommy search BLACKOUT, the dark web of our time, for anyone claiming to have a manupartner who thinks they’re from the past. Of the handful he’s identified, so far they’re all from pre-2050 and linked to our competitor GROW who recently released a Realer Than Real update.”
“What is so special about this period?”
He shrugs. “It’s not that the humans from the period themselves are special. It’s just that around 2050, the birthing industry took off. Prospective parents could select their offspring’s genetic traits: eye color, height, nose shape, and so on. It became common practice. Since then, our DNA has been altered, if you will. Streamlined, even.”
“So basically, people from your time like us because we’re mutts?”
He frowns. “People from your time have a more authentic feel, which our more discerning clients appreciate. The point is, you are an unfortunate but necessary consequence of an experiment to test the DNA from that time period. Aside from you, CHOICElover, the premium manupartner, hasn’t reported a single mishap.”
I can’t help but grin, since this asshole’s pride is about to be shattered. “Until now.” I hold my arms wide for emphasis.
“Thank Zorg it happened during our trials. But at least we can reasonably guess that there is a link between the purity of the DNA from that time period and the volatility of NAM expression.” He pulls a device from his pocket. A glass cell phone? He taps the screen a few times, then he holds up a finger to silence me.
Someone must pick up because he says, “Listen, Brix, let’s pull the line pre-2050.” A pause. “No, nothing wrong with the unit. Just not worth the risk of a malfunction.” Another pause. “No, it isn’t exhibiting any signsof NAM expression.” Pause. “No.” Pause. “No, just the standard embedded functional memory.” The person must be convinced—relieved?—because the questions stop. “I’m going to hang onto this one. Get a little mileage out of it. We can always put the series back online if something changes.”
He lied to a coworker about me. That might be the greatest revelation from his call. And mileage—how callous. My skin crawls.
My thoughts must show on my face because he says, “I didn’t mean that. I only . . .” he trails off like he knows he can’t win.
I’m beside myself. I want to scream and throw things. Now my questions mount in the millions. I add to the listWhy did you lie to your coworker?I’m not sure I’m ready for the answer. “What happens when you’re done with a manupartner?”
Res6 looks away, shaking his head. “They get recycled.”
I jolt back.
“Don’t worry. That won’t happen to you.”
“But . . . but if you hadn’t lied, would that happen to me?”
“We are in unprecedented territory here—”
“Is that why you lied? To protect me or your employer?” I ask as I piece his motivations together.
“Is it a problem if I say both?”
Great. He’s only a borderline psychopath. I know the look I’m giving him is dripping with disgust. I don’t need to answer.
“It’s not what it seems. It’s an ethical dilemma we haven’t faced. And with the company, I have a duty to the workers. Do you know how many people CHOICElover employs? If NHOS got involved or shut us down, it would be bad for more than just me. I have a responsibility—”
“NHOS?” I interject to ask.
“Northern Hemisphere Organizational System, the governing body of half of the continent.” He leans back in his seat, rubbing his eyelids.
“Oh,” I say. “Well, I don’t see why you feel so responsible. I appreciate you protecting me from your corporate overlords, though. I can’t imaginethe type of greedy pervert that would invent amanupartnerwould be so accepting of someone in my situation.” I make air quotes around the strange word.
I guess something I said struck a chord because he groans, loudly. It is the most significant display of emotion I’ve gotten out of him. “I wish this weren’t happening,” he says. “But hopefully you’re the only one, and now Brix, my product line manager, will take care of it before it happens again.”
