By: Fariha Karim
It was the year 3040. Humans had reached the peak of civilization, yet it wasn’t the robots and the gadgets that had caused this massive shift. All the credit went to the life extension program. A program that involved the surgical enhancement of the human body, that allowed human beings to live ten times their original life span. Although the work load was demanding, and surgery hours were long, I was proud to be a member of this process.
The patient reminded me of my daughter – young, frail, and sickly. My gloved fingers worked their way through the intricate web of blood vessels and DNA, the surgical equipment feeling like a part of my body. Custom-fitted membranes expanded and contracted along with the heart. A strange calm had descended upon me. My colleagues, the anesthetic patient, nothing could disrupt my focus. I felt the flow of the operation. There were no more tremors. Instead, the wonderful anatomy of the heart, lungs, and great vessels awed me. I was taking a life and molding it into something new, something indestructible. It was as if I was a God at work.
It was almost midnight by the time we were done. With half-lidded eyes, I walked down the blindingly white corridor, my soiled coat folded neatly under my arms.
A man with steel-rimmed glasses looked up from his book when he heard me approaching. His eyes betrayed a hint of panic.
“Head Surgeon?”
I nodded, taking in his expensive grey suit and furrowed brows. “You’re the patient’s father, I believe? The operation was a success. You have nothing to worry about.”
He exhaled a breath of relief. “But of course. My family and I never had any problems ourselves.” He thumped his chest with triumph. “231 years old and still living!”
I looked at his features with a bit more curiosity. He was 20 years older than me but looked so much younger. Most probably got plastic surgery done too. The industry’s been in a boom lately.
We gave each other a firm handshake and parted ways.
As I headed towards the exit, my brisk steps picked up the pace and I broke out into a sprint.
“Xenon – HO7!” I yelled into the dusty air of the car park.
I hopped into my car as it parked itself in front of me.
By the time I was making my way through the wide, fume-filled streets, the city was ablaze with neon lights. A handful of humans and robots drove about, minding their own business. I looked at myself in the rear-view mirror, noticing my eyes were red and swollen. I was sleepy but could not sleep, hungry but could not eat; at least not today. Today I was focused on meeting Lizabeth, my only daughter. Images of her fiery red hair contrasting against her pale, skeleton-like body flashed through my head. She lived with my ex-wife, Janette, and due to my erratic working hours, I rarely managed to spend time with her. At least today, on her 11th birthday, my baby girl would find her father beside her. And I was going to give her
a present which very few people could – the gift of life.
The government did not allow permit anyone under the age of 25 to undergo the life extension program. But my team and I had an experience of over sixty years. With our medical expertise, we knew we could save Lizabeth. We could breathe new life into her frail and sickly body.
The drive to Janette’s house took about half an hour. After parking my car in the garage, I made my way to the front door, only to notice an alarmingly large crowd in front of her doorsteps. Howls pierced the air – I recognized the cries belonged to Janette. A sense of unease growing by the minute, I pushed through the crowd. Some of the people recognized me. They thanked me for my contribution to humanity. I did not understand.
It was only when I saw a tiny, pale body on a stretcher with Janette kneeling beside it, that I knew. I could recognize that red hair from a mile away. The crowd blurred into an anonymous sea, their voices merging together and forming one deafening sound. I stood deathly still for what felt like an eternity. When my mind registered what had happened, I opened my mouth to scream, only to feel the cold, crisp air cut the inside of my lungs. It was too late.
I thought Lizabeth had died, but I was wrong. As I found out later, she hadn’t died. She had been murdered.
The government was getting rid of children with a record of chronic illnesses and disease to control the surplus population generated by the life extension program. They were starting off with the surgeon’s children, because we were, in their words, more practical, and had the capacity and understanding to see the bigger picture. It was for a noble cause, people told me. I was unable to find comfort in their soothing voices, unable to see the logic behind their inhumane actions. Despite the long lives we lived, humankind was still unable to find a shred of humanity in them. The experience scarred me for life. In the end, despite everything else, I was unable to trump cruelty.
(Image from here.)
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