The Salesman

My entry for Ethical Futures, National Short Stories Competition, 2007

(I found this trapped in an old email attachment from 2007, it should have perished there, but I dug it out, salvaged it, untouched, unedited and inappropriately unethical as an entry to an Ethical Futures Short Story Competition.)

The Salesman

The prognosis was swift. The smartly dressed man who called himself Mr Harding outlined the defects in their combined genetic fingerprints. ‘There are indeed a number of hereditary disorders, but we can screen those out for you, that will not be a problem.’ He reached down to his attaché case and took out a thick brochure, placing it on the table he gave a warm smile and continued to speak in his concise manner.

‘The key question is, which model do you want to bestow upon your child? Rachel and Paul caught each other’s eye; this is where their views parted company. ‘I want a hard working, industrious and competitive child, of sound body and mind.’ As the words left his mouth Rachel visibly winced. Turning to face Mr Harding she said ‘so you are asking us to base our child’s characteristics on a genetic model? They will inherit the family likeness but beyond that our child is designed by committee.’ ‘Not at all, we simply want to provide the best available option for you both.’ He replied. Seeking further clarification he opened the brochure lying on the table and began reading aloud his company directive.

‘Any genetic modification to the gene pool of both parents is subject to their own aspirations and moral codes. The qualities chosen for their child will therefore not be disclosed to any third member without their guardian’s permission. We simply aim to provide parents with the right model of genetic improvements tailored just for them.’ He looked up to register their expressions and decided to continue, obviously they still needed coaxing.

‘Our code of practice is defined by the laws outlined by international legislature. The rights of the individual shall be protected against unreasonable coercion or manipulation by other private parties.’ It all sounded fair though Rachel’s frown remained. Perhaps sensing he had regained control of the discussion Mr Harding proceeded to extract coloured forms from his attaché, placing them onto the table until it resembled a garish patchwork quilt. He asked them to answer the relevant questions printed on the forms as he set up his laptop on the last uncovered patch of tabletop.

Rachel had yet to finish completing the first page when she began to flick through the following pages scanning the questions printed on each. ‘This information I am providing you with, why do you need it?’ She asked plainly. Mr Harding looked up from his laptop, he answered in his soft-spoken voice. ‘We require it to help us find the suitable model for you. There are financial benefits offered on some; however it is entirely up to you which one you choose.’ Rachel voiced her concerns. ‘That can’t be ethical surely. If I understand correctly corporations and government think tanks have written these models, even religious organizations have had an input. Whatever model we choose our child will be stamped with a patented genetic code designed by a faceless institution.’

Mr Harding sighed, removed his glasses and in a resigned voice said. ‘You are not the first idealist I have met and you certainly won’t be the last. Let me explain; we provide certainty, the desired offspring that benefits both the economy and yourselves. This is our guarantee to you both. All you have to do is choose which model you wish your child to follow and we will engineer them accordingly. You cannot escape the reality that we are all commodities, pawns in a society guided by global businesses, this is an undeniable fact. Think of a marketplace where stocks and shares are sold, except in this case institutions are buying shares in your child’s life. It is forward planning on a grand scale; resulting in a community that is more intelligent, productive and content. We are creating the people of tomorrow, your child can be one of them, destined to be economically prosperous.’

‘And what happens if we fail to pay for our designer child before we die?’ Paul asked glumly.

‘Your child can pay the remaining balance over his or her lifetime. The added benefit of choosing the extended life is that the repayments can be spread over a long period of time. At the present rate of interest your child will have approximately eighty years to pay the balance. This is a carefully structured system, your child, barring accidents or unforeseen circumstances will have an expected life-span of one hundred years.’

‘But that means they will be paying for the privilege of living for the duration of their adult life. ‘ Rachel pointed out.

‘There are schemes offered by multinational corporations and government institutions to alleviate the financial burden imposed upon both of you and your child. For example the costs to yourselves will be cut substantially if you allow a third party to sponsor your child empowering it to live a full and active life. Choose a consortium; one whose model reflects your own political and moral codes and allow it to sculpt these virtues into your child’s core. They will grow up never doubting their position in society or questioning their beliefs, because your convictions will be wired into their being. They will be a model citizen with excellent prospects to find work within the consortium.’

He paused awaiting our question; he decided to ask it himself.

‘Is this ethical I hear you ask? Well I can answer that by citing two points. Firstly the procedure can only go ahead once both of you have provided written consent as international legislature permits and secondly the interest of each parent is our primary concern. The genetic code you choose to bestow upon your child will be followed by the strictest regulations.’ The logic of his argument appeared watertight and then he sealed his case tighter still, with the single alluring proposition that all customers want to be offered.

‘And the beauty of this system is that it allows you both; if you so wish, to pay absolutely nothing. Repayments can be postponed indefinitely if the particular genetic encoding of your child is carried through each successive generation. The consortium will generously offset the remaining costs in return for the continued economic support from your descendants. But I must point out that if a grandchild or great grandchild of yours considers terminating this contract then they will incur all remaining charges plus interest to be paid forthwith. In short, if you decide to modify your gene pool today it is in the financial interests of your descendants that it remains that way indefinitely. Of course your gene archive will be presented to you as a memento, a keepsake and an heirloom to be passed onto the following generation. It also makes a striking piece of abstract art to hang on the wall.’

He finished the sales pitch with a smile playing upon his lips.

They had a choice to make.

Both of them had debated the issue; Rachel felt everything was too regulated and bound within a web of corporate red tape. She feared a program of eugenics powered by global market forces was sneaking in through the back door. Paul reminded her that the alternative would lead to corruption and social disintegration. The outcome of whom or what a child would grow up to be like was largely uncertain and this had remained true even after genetically engineered people arrived on the scene. These were the early decades of unchecked gene manipulation; the freaks and the entrepreneurs had had their day. Their stories retold countless times as urban myths. Most were pure fiction though some had a grain of truth. They were morality tales for those who considered dabbling a toe into the unlawful world of genetic experimentation. For children they were yarns to recount at midnight. Paul remembered two, told to him as a child.

A family in Kentucky chose to bestow upon their offspring a mutated gene causing a pigmentation in the skin cells to reflect both yellow and red light. The child was taught to alter her skin colouring on command, eventually she mastered the art of flashing letters across her forehead and bare arms. A media scrum ensued when she was used in an add campaign for a global fast food company. She simply faced the camera holding a hamburger as a bright yellow letter ‘M’ slowly materialized across her grinning cherry red face. The family accumulated a sizable fortune and the market price for chameleon skin cells went into orbit. However the child herself grew up suffering from a body dysmorphic disorder. She ended up a bitter recluse trapped in her palatial home; cursing the world as the skin on her face flickered like an angry flame.

Paul was told the other tale by his father. A young couple who were keen divers granted the sense of electroception onto their twin boys. They wanted children who would have the capacity to perceive their aquatic environment using their own electrical fields. Unfortunately the boys grew up psychologically damaged, trapped within a permanent neurotic state unable to talk and petrified of the world around them. They would sit in the centre of their bedroom as if cowering from an invisible presence. Their doctor concluded that the twins perceived the world as a cacophony of sensory pain brought about by each electrical field generated within their home. Living in a modern building was an impossibility, it merely amplified their suffering. Eventually a place was found where the howling of the world was reduced to a whisper and where they could exist in peace under the azure sky of a remote Polynesian island.

There were obvious limitations to what could be altered. The characteristics we all share, those governed by evolutionary laws could be enhanced, but throw a new ingredient into the recipe and the outcome could lead to an individual suffering extreme psychological or physical stress. The market for gene enhancement had to be regulated for our own protection. It mystified Paul why some continued to object to this policy, including his wife. A genetically modified child would statistically be happier have a better job and experience a higher quality of life. Rachel had pointed out that this was simply the proverbial carrot and stick scenario being played out. These were all enticements of a state governed commercially operated eugenics program. She had said on one occasion. ‘Diversity will gradually be bred out of us until even our thought patterns will have to follow government guidelines!’ Paul did not share her concern. Modifying the genes of a child was now within the grasp of most people. The opposition was dwindling; public opinion had finally swayed in favor of GM people after years of mistrust mainly based upon their own ignorance of the subject. Even Rachel had conceded that perhaps she should review her opinion now that they both wanted to start a family. Were they willing to take the risk of producing a sick child? That was probably the deciding factor for most couples.

He opened the door for Mr Harding as the salesman left. Rachel remained seated at the table, before her lay the thick brochure. Paul entered the room and stood behind her chair. He placed his arms around her shoulders to feel her warmth. As she turned to look at him a tear ran across her cheek. He bent closer and delicately kissed her moist face. Her hands reached out to hold him tight; they locked together into a frozen tableau unable to speak or move. Their eyes fixed on a single sheet of paper with two signatures upon it while outside the monotonous drone of traffic seeped in and broke their silent reverie.