Page 10 of Perfection

Chapter Three

Ignoring the instruction to wait in the hall, York blocked the door with his hand before it closed. Inside, it looked more like a council room than a conference hall. It was large and spacious, with the lighting falling on the committee members seated below. He slipped inside. Keeping to the back of the room, he moved into a shadowed corner, knowing full well that if someone caught him here, he’d be evicted.

Anticipation surged through him. This was the chance of a lifetime. He’d always been curious about how the elite scientists of the Committee accomplished the selection process, what their better-than-human attitudes produced.

Four men and four women, each illuminated by a spotlight, sat in a semi-circle around a table. Holographic nameplates on the table identified them. They were an intimidating group—arrogant, exclusive, untouchable. No wonder Dr. B-Zaika seemed nervous. He recognized the privileged assembly from media broadcasts. Detested them, too. Not one had bothered to return his calls years ago when he’d sought expert advice about his son’s condition.

Dr. B-Zaika strode to the light-encircled podium, visibly pulling her shoulders back and standing taller. She fumbled as she inserted the computer key into the console housing the hologram electronics.

He held his breath, neck tensing sympathetically at her effort.

Lifting her chin, she faced the renowned committee of repro-geneticists, biologists, and sociologists. The presentation hologram started to glow.

“You may begin, Dr. B-Zaika,” Chairman B-Cobb said.

“Thank you, sir. I’m here today to respond to the recommendations the Committee has proposed for E Generation. Although I don’t doubt these changes are possible, I fear that we haven’t explored the ramifications fully.” She paused, and he could see her throat work as she swallowed. “Each generation has made quantum leaps in its advancement over its predecessor. However, what began as a health cure has strayed far afield, and I question if it’s in humanity’s best interest to initiate the projected enhancements outlined for E Generation.”

Also, who can even afford the process, York thought. Then again, what she was speaking of was out of reach for Coders anyway, wasn’t it?

“Once illness was eradicated, our improvements grew bolder. A Generation that came with symmetrical appearance and select eye and hair color. B Generation eliminated excess body hair and turned to intellectual enrichment.”

One of the repro-geneticists leaned forward, directing her comments to the chairman. “Do we really have to sit through this? We’re well aware of genetic evolution.”

Chairman B-Cobb waved the doctor into silence, then nodded for Kindra to continue.

She referred the Committee members to their screens and the itemized list of advancements where she felt their recommendations had crossed the line. “For instance, why is blond hair the only choice?”

“Because seventy-eight percent of parents chose blond in D Generation,” one of the women answered.

“Are you saying we respond to fads?” Kindra replied.

“Statistics prove—”

“Whose statistics?” Kindra interrupted, her English accent more prominent. “Perhaps you should select a different source of data.” Her voice cracked. She swallowed and pressed on. “What you’re proposing is nothing short of government intrusion into a free market. The choices need to be broader, more than pandering to the wants of professionals, athletes, and entertainers. The gap between GEIs and Coders is ever widening.”

York narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t help his admiration of the doctor’s boldness in challenging the Committee, but it irked him. He suspected his deep-seated negative opinions about GEIs made him dig in his heels, resist her, maybe question her more than was logical. He locked his arms over his chest. There were damn few of her kind he trusted.

“And something needs to be done before it’s too late,” she went on. “Scientists once predicted humanity would someday be divided into two separate species. That time is clearly approaching.”

“Really, this is all overly dramatic,” another woman on the panel retorted, her fair hair sweeping over high cheekbones as she looked quickly from Kindra to the chairman.

“I disagree,” said Dwight A-Isaac. The director of Seville was a good-looking man with blond hair, perfect white teeth and bronzed skin that practically glowed under the spotlight. “We’ve hired the best for a reason. We should listen to Dr. B-Zaika.”

Despite the director’s smooth defense, York noticed a flash of irritation cross Kindra’s features. “Why, I ask the Committee, do we need echolocation? We’re not Microchiroptera.” She inclined her head to the sociologist, who wore a slightly confused expression. “Bats,” she clarified. “Our sensory development is already light years beyond what it was a century ago.”

York swallowed a laugh. Kindra’s gaze darted in his direction. Her eyes widened, then flashed like blue diamonds caught in the light. She’d spotted him. Their exchange lasted less than a second, but it was long enough for him to feel her intensity. For some reason, it nudged a protective desire inside him. He smothered the impulse, along with any concern that others might notice him. The Committee members were too self-involved to ever note the presence of an unremarkable Coder police lieutenant in the back of the room.

Everyone began speaking at once. Their voices rose to talk over one another. Kindra returned her attention to the quarreling group.

“Silence.” The chairman stood to gain the members’ attention. “Dr. B-Zaika, please forward your report to the panel. We’ll take it under consideration at our leisure.”

“But—”

“Thank you for your concern.”

And just like that, she was dismissed. York fought unexpected sympathy for her as she grabbed her computer key and gathered her pride. She bolted past him and exited the committee chamber. He followed her out.

In the hallway, she leaned against the wall, drawing in rapid gulps of air. “Damn them. Damn them. Damn them.”