Qualityland

WHAT’S IT GOING TO BE?

Denise gently caresses her large baby bump.

“And? Can you tell us yet what it’s going to be?”

The gynecologist looks at the monitor.

“Yes, of course. If you want to know. Some parents prefer to leave it as a surprise.”

“We want to know, don’t we, Martyn?”

Martyn mutters something incomprehensible, but nods. It’s been a long day. He’s tired and wants to get this over with.

“So, what’s it going to be?” asks Denise.

The doctor clears his throat. Then he says: “She’ll probably be a drug-dependent sex worker, estranged from her family, with occasionally reoccurring depression and a particular fondness for old romantic comedies starring Jennifer Aniston.”

“Excuse me?” asks Denise in shock.

The doctor turns the monitor toward her.

“Here’s the projected life cycle. As you can see, the problems will begin in Education Level II. She will have to repeat a year two times. By thirteen, she will make her first suicide attempt. But because we know about it in advance, we can intercept that. First sexual intercourse at fifteen. An older man. Presumably one of her teachers. A father figure. Then, at sixteen—”

“Well, I didn’t want to know in that much detail,” says Denise.

“Of course, this is only a projection based on the available data. It could turn out differently. But this life cycle is the most likely.”

“Is it too late for an abortion?” asks Martyn.

“Honestly!” Denise hisses at her husband. Then she turns back to the doctor. “What kind of data is that anyway? There must be some mistake!”

“The data is compiled from the tests we carried out on your child, and from all the information about external life circumstances.”

“And by that you mean us?” asks Denise. “We’re the external life circumstances?”

“Listen,” says the doctor. “I don’t know how the system calculates its prognosis either. I just know that they turn out to be correct with astounding frequency.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, you don’t know how the system works!” cries Denise, outraged.

“I only know some of the particulars,” says the doctor. “For example, babies with hormone-chipped siblings are often predicted to have dysfunctional familial relationships. And this gene here on chromosome four, this is often found amongst substance addicts. Where the liking for romantic comedies with Jennifer Aniston comes from, I have no idea. But then again, it’s a complete mystery to me how anyone can like Jennifer Aniston films. Have you ever seen one of those old flicks? They’re really terrible. Unfortunately my wife likes them. It must be some new trend.”

“Wonderful,” says Martyn. His own genes on chromosome four are clamoring to him to get out of the doctor’s practice as quickly as possible and go get a beer.

“We can do something about that, of course,” says the doctor. “We can try to reprogram the gene sequence, but…”

“Let me guess,” says Martyn. “It’s not cheap.”

“But worth every cent,” says the doctor.

“You know how it is,” says Denise. “Standard children have no chance in today’s job market.”

“All this newfangled crap!” exclaims Martyn. “It’s all completely unnecessary. Look at me. I wasn’t upgraded as a baby.”

“Exactly” is Denise’s only response.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Exactly?” Martyn flares. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” says Denise. “Only that it’s true that you weren’t upgraded.”

“Now and then, evolution gets lucky,” says the doctor, trying to suck up to Martyn, “like it did with you. But that’s very rare, believe you me.”

Martyn hesitates.

“And of course there’s the third possibility, which you touched upon already,” says the doctor, before drawing his index finger across his throat.

“Honestly!” cries Denise indignantly.

“Oh, excuse me,” says the doctor apologetically. “It didn’t say in your profile that you’re religious.”

“I’m not,” sniffles Denise. “Do you have to be religious nowadays to not want your child killed?”

“Well, at your high level, terminations are socially undesired anyway and therefore relatively expensive since the last health reform,” says the doctor. “The Useless, on the other hand, can terminate their children free of charge. Fully subsidized. Did you know that? If you ask me, they should even be paid to do it.”

“We discussed that in parliament,” says Martyn. “But the experiences from QuantityLand 1 with abortion awards spoke against it. The Useless there started knocking up their women continuously in order to constantly cash in with the awards. The incentive was done away with after nine months and sixteen days.”

“I didn’t know that,” says the doctor.

“Even our system gets abused,” says Martyn. “Some of your colleagues pay Useless women pregnancy awards in order to be able to carry out a higher number of fully subsidized abortions.”

“Interesting.”

“Some doctors are allegedly so benevolent that they even take on the impregnation themselves, free of charge.”

“Be that as it may,” says the gynecologist. “At your level, an abortion would cost almost as much as the genetic upgrade.”

Martyn sighs. He hates doctors. All they want is money. Even if they have to kill you in the process. He wonders whether it had always been that way.

“We’re doing the upgrade,” says Denise.

The doctor looks at Martyn. Martyn is lost in his thoughts. If they really had to have a second kid, why hadn’t they just ordered one? There are some exceptional babies on offer at TheShop from certified high-quality genetic material. They’re not exactly a bargain, admittedly, but you save yourself nine months of the fat belly and the throwing up and the blood and slime at the end. The babies are delivered ready to use. Clean! With accessories! A smart cart pram, which constantly measures the baby’s temperature, breathing, and nappy status. The things even give practical tips. Presumably along the lines of: “Your baby is crying. Say something calming.”

“Martyn,” Denise drags him out of his thoughts. “We’re doing the upgrade. Okay?”

Martyn gives the only answer he knows his wife will accept: “Okay.”