Custom Design
Brett Mink
The office was brilliant white, from the threads of light lining the edges of the room to the nearly featureless, white stone walls. The smart-glass walls and door leading to the corridor were a foggy gray. Abidemi was not fond of people watching him work whether he was with clients or not. On one side of his desk stood a monitor perched on a swiveling arm, in the center was a small crystalline dome used for projections, and on the other side of his desk lay a collection of client folders neatly slotted into a filing stand that could sink into the desk. A single, framed photograph sat angled away from the two chairs where clients were expected to sit.
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Abidemi rubbed his amber eyes as he scrolled through the readout for the fifth time that evening. He needed to be sure that he understood what his clients wanted out of the product, and the last thing he wanted was his clients coming back and demanding a refund for shoddy workmanship. The checklist of requests and preferences dragged on for well over thirty pages. He checked and double checked that each decision was signed and countersigned. Sliders and boxes filled with specifics blurred together with each modification and change the clients requested.
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He skimmed through the section on programming and expectations. Abidemi traced his fingers along the lines of the document to track his reading, yawning as the process continued to drag on. His eyes glazed slightly as he read through the warranty agreements and liability clauses that he expected none of the customers to read. They always had some unreasonable expectation that the company kept covered in their numerous clauses and legal jargon. Even thinking about it brought a resigned weariness to Abidemi's shoulders.
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All that remained now was meeting with the clients for clarifications. The standard talk that Abidemi always dreaded. It always felt confrontational and unpleasant to talk to some of his clients. He knew they had good intentions most of the time, but at times he doubted if they had really planned everything out. He reached over the comm link on his desk, tapping one of the keys. “Hey Temi, this is Abi checking in. Would you send in the Douglases please? I've just finished reading over their paperwork and I am ready for their appointment.” A faint voice on the other end of his comm: “Right away Dr. Ayodele.”
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⎯
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Logan Douglas was much like what Abi expected to see when he read through his background information. He was somewhat bulky, a contrasting combination of vigorous exercise and atrocious health habits in almost every other regard. He carried himself like a man eager to demonstrate his physical masculinity and exuded a confidence that Abi could not really validate. His gut was beginning to develop into a paunch while his thick limbs carried obvious muscle under a layer of softer fat. His receding hairline had been shaved to disguise the effects of aging, and instead he had invested in a thick, dark beard.
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Evelyn Douglas was slightly harder to pin down for Abi. The more he looked at her, the less comprehensible she became to him. For someone attending an appointment at this facility, she had gone out of her way to pretty herself up. Abi couldn't fathom why she had gone through the trouble of putting on extravagant makeup that, while not caked on, felt glaringly obvious. When she smiled and flashed her teeth, Abi found himself rubbing his tongue over his own, wondering if he had any coffee stains.
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“Please have a seat, I hope I didn't make you two wait for too long,” Abi said as he gestured to the two fine chairs across from his desk. Logan plopped himself down upon the chair, leaning back and spreading his legs as if he were a king upon his throne. Abi kept a smile plastered on his face; a part of him desperately hoped the metal frame of the chair wouldn't need minor repairs as he heard it creak slightly in ways that he was sure it shouldn't. Evelyn took her seat, smoothing her skirt while her eyes eagerly flicked back and forth between Abi and the formidable stack of documents. Abi could see her almost vibrating with excitement or possibly nerves. He could never really tell with most customers.
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“Now then, before we begin, I would just like to give a quick reminder that we are legally obligated to review each of your requests and assess the intent behind your decisions. We will first cover the basic, core adjustments that we include as part of the package as well as the deluxe packages you have chosen and what they entail. Following that, we will cover the custom changes you have requested. Then we will wrap things up by reviewing the cosmetic adjustments you have requested.”
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“Couldn't you have just put that in the request form?” Logan asked as he itched at something below the table.
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“I'm afraid not, our legal team requires that we do these interviews in person and on record to ensure that the request is legitimate. After all, it would be extremely unfortunate if one of the products was left without an owner.”
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Evelyn placed a hand on Logan's hand as he nodded along. Her smile had since faded, as a worried look briefly flashed across her face. Abi put on a smile and hoped that it might put them at ease. He could feel his cheek muscles straining a little as they tried to tighten in unfamiliar ways.
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“Well, here's the first section, I see that you have chosen to accept the basic warranty. As per the standard array of adjustments, we will ensure that there are no major defects. Should there be any significant damage or a failure to meet expectations, we will reimburse you and provide adjustment services free of charge to correct our mistakes as per our contract.”
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Abi flipped through the printouts and scanned for the notes he had made. Every now and then he would find little clusters of notes scribbled in the margins. It had taken him a few days just to make sure he had read everything correctly. Evelyn opened her mouth to say something, but stopped herself almost as quickly. Logan scratched his chin with one hand while keeping her hand firmly grasped in his other paw.
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“How long do corrections typically take?”
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“It varies—in the rare cases of error we can expect adjustments to take roughly one or two months, as long as it is caught early. If the issues are not discovered early it can potentially take longer to make corrective adjustments.”
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Abi was thankful that for the most part neither of the Douglases brought up any questions about the standard adjustments. Some clients were squeamish discussing some of the aspects they covered. That, or they were insistent that any adjustments should be mandatory. More than once Abi had been asked why other clients wouldn't take the standard array. Abi had no answer, at least not one that felt right. After all, what parent wouldn't want to ensure their child's health?
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⎯
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It burned, everything burned. It felt like my bones were melting.
“It's for your own good. You will thank us when you're grown up.”
I lost track of time lying on that medical bed, my mother anxiously clasping my hand,
wondering if I would ever wake up. The blinds on the window were always closed, and I was not lucid enough to care. When I was awake, I tried to keep track of how many times they changed the fluid bags hanging beside me. I lost track at ten.
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⎯
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Now came the part that Abi dreaded; he found that people tended to be confrontational whenever the brain was concerned. Compared to all the other organs in the body, it was the one no one was really comfortable adjusting. He could still remember having to shove his way through crowds of protesters accusing him and his colleagues of programming babies to spy on their parents for the government. Then there was that one time the zealots insisted they were trying to program atheism into the new generation. “The standard of paranoid fear-mongering,” as his father put it.
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“We have some adjustments we can make regarding certain aspects of brain chemistry, but these must be chosen individually and require a signature for each one that you choose to include within the overall package. I should note that unlike the previous physical adjustments we make to the product, Oxala Inc. will not provide adjustments after the product is completed.”
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“Is there a particular reason why that is?”
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Abi sighed and tapped the already-processed forms back into a neat pile off to the side of his desk. He flipped through a collection of slides he had prepared earlier before turning the monitor on his desk to the prospective clients.
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“There are particular stages of neural development when it is exceedingly dangerous to interfere with the brain chemistry and the physical structure of the brain. Our adjustments function by breaking down parts of the body and replacing them with the appropriate blueprints. During the process, we cannot ignore the possibility of permanent damage. As such, our legal division has insisted that we do not and will not interfere with brain development past a certain stage of growth. Granted that we cannot provide psychiatric diagnoses on the product before release, we require all adjustments to be made during the most initial stages.”
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“But what if something is wrong with them?”
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Abi could feel a raw surge of tension course up his spine and surge around his temples. It felt like a sandbag had wrapped around his shoulders, and an uncomfortable warmth filled his chest. He knew the feeling and he hated it. He hated this part of the job. As he turned the monitor back, he made a small note off to the side where he was sure no one would see. Abi took a deep breath to calm himself and pushed himself back a bit from the desk to get some space. Evelyn's eyes were aghast as she looked at her husband like he had slapped her.
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“Mr. Douglas, I can assure you that any cerebral adjustments made by Oxala Inc. can greatly impact the odds of the product having mental illnesses, but past a certain point what matters is the environment in which the product is kept.”
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Abi leaned forward, staring directly into the eyes of the Douglases.
“We offer these services because we are aware that some clients are not comfortable with us performing adjustments on the brain. While it is not one of our primary services, we can offer referrals to therapists and psychiatric care providers.”
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He placed his hand on the remaining forms.
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“From what I understand, you have requested that we take steps to lessen the odds of all genetic disorders related to mental wellness. I will need you to sign here.”
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⎯
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Mother and Father were arguing again. About me.
“I'm not letting you put her in the hospital again!”
“It's for her own good. If we had caught this earlier maybe we could have fixed it. If we let it
go on, she'll have problems to deal with later.”
“She doesn't need to be fixed! She's our child!”
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⎯
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Abi pulled up one of the models that he kept for this particular segment of the interview process. It stood like Vitruvian Man with arms splayed wide and legs straight, its eyes staring straight ahead. Abi flicked on the projector and the ethereal figure floated in the air before them. With a few quick taps of his fingers on his screen, Abi pulled up the preferences the Douglases had chosen.
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The figure was male, that much was clear. Abi tried to hide his disdain—he still couldn't grasp why some clients were so obsessed with the genital size or breasts in general. There were enough chop-shops available in the city that there was little point in trying to make adjustments so early. It was probably cheaper as well. His manager had said something about inverse Oedipal and Electra complexes, overcompensation, and a number of other things that Abi had eventually translated as “clients have weird tastes.”
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Now that he had a chance to look at the preferences as a model beside the clients, Abi found himself in a state of mild consternation. His eyes flicked back and forth between the label on the file and the image on the projector.
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“I hesitate to ask, but does this match the specs that you sent to us? I just need to confirm this.”
Logan crossed his arms and puffed up his chest.
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“Takes after me doesn't he?”
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Abi looked back at the translucent figure floating on the desk and turned back to Logan. There were noticeable differences, like the subtle width of his shoulders compared to his hips. Compared to Logan, though, the model was lightly muscled and lacked significant body fat, and the V-shape of his torso was more pronounced than Logan's, which at a glance Abi was more inclined to describe as halfway to a “U.” The figure was tall, at a glance slightly taller than Logan by perhaps an inch or so.
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The model's facial features were sharper as well. The accent of its cheekbones didn't match either parent, they were higher than either client, more pronounced. The eye shape wasn't quite right either, more rounded. When Abi looked at the figure's face, he could not see Logan within it. Evelyn's face was absent as well. It was narrower than either of their heads, with more chiseled features than their more rounded features. In the light of the figure, Abi could see that the skin color didn't match, either. It was paler than either client’s. As the glow of the skin splashed across the clients, Abi could see the subtle difference between the makeup on Evelyn's face and the rest of her body, save for a patch of skin on her arm. Abi tapped out another note in the margin.
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⎯
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I don't look like Father or Mother. My skin is not right. It doesn't feel like it’s mine. The other kids tell me they're not my real parents. I don't look like them. My mother holds me in her arms, singing to me. I don't know the words, but they comfort me.
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“No matter what anyone says, you will always be my child.”
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She pulls down a book from the shelf, old pictures she printed on paper rather than left on some drive. They are our memories, her lying on a bed as a newborn is held warmly in her arms, tears in her eyes and a smile on her lips. In another picture she is by my side as I sleep through the adjustments. My body has so many tubes going in and out of me that I look like a puppet. She looks as if every ounce of my pain is felt within her. In her little apartment we sit there, flipping through what little past I have, remembering that she has always been there beside me.
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But father, he is never there. I see pictures of him in his white coat, but I'm not there. There are pictures of him and mother together, but I am not there. He is always at work where they don't allow cameras. There are pictures of him holding awards, his stoic pride leaves his face almost devoid of emotion. Whenever I look into his eyes, I don't think he ever really smiles at me.
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⎯
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“Mr. and Mrs. Douglas, I must admit that while it is not unusual for clients to request drastic cosmetic changes, I must inform you that such changes incur potential risks. By our contract, Oxala Inc. will not be held responsible for any issues with identity that these adjustments may incur. Additionally, our projections are not guaranteed in regard to physique. Dietary and physical factors can heavily affect the development of the product after it is delivered.”
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Logan's hand traveled to his gut and his eyes narrowed slightly.
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“I mean no disrespect, but it is typically recommended to avoid adjusting these cosmetics too much to avoid identity issues during development.”
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“Issues?”
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“What I mean to say is that there have been instances in which the product is unable to bond with the client properly. Oxala Inc. would prefer to avoid being liable for the emotional development of the product after it has been delivered.”
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Abi pressed a few keys on the console and dismissed the projection. He scribbled another small note under his previous ones. There was only one last segment to cover before the final confirmation.
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“Now then, Mrs. Douglas, this last question is primarily your concern. This is regarding the gestation of the product. If you so desire, we can either keep the product here throughout development, or you can gestate it yourself at home. If you decide to have the product developed here, we will be able to house it here until it is ready to be taken home. However, we will insist on your presence on occasion throughout the process to ensure that it bonds to you properly. The most important period will be within two weeks of the estimated birth time. You should ensure that you have time set aside for maternal leave. If you decide to gestate at home, we will implant the product and provide dietary supplements to assist in the development. Alternatively, if you can find a surrogate, we can implant the product in them instead.”
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Evelyn was quiet. She fidgeted with her dress, looking down at her hands. Logan placed a hand on her shoulder and, though it was subtle, Abi could see her flinch ever so slightly. Abi hadn’t noticed until now how silent she had been throughout their whole conversation. When she finally spoke, her voice was softer than Abi expected.
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“I . . . would prefer whatever option is safest.”
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“In regard to health and safety, your best option would be to have the product gestated here since we can monitor its health consistently and significantly reduce the possibility of miscarriage or premature birth. Do we have your consent to gestate the product here?”
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Evelyn nodded silently.
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“Very well, I will just need your signature here.”
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Abi handed a pen and the form to Evelyn while writing down a final note. As Evelyn handed it back, Abi placed it back in the pile of forms. He quickly flipped through them to make sure every field was filled and every document signed.
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⎯
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When Mother and Father separated, I felt it was my fault. The only thing he left behind was a bonsai tree. Father never approved of me. Mother always defended me. To my father I was a disappointment, an imperfection. To my mother I was a gift, flawed but beautiful. Mother and I planted the bonsai in the soil behind the house, watching it grow into the tree it was meant to be. After my father left, I was left to spread my roots. No longer Father's little girl, but free to be who I wanted to be. Mother did not cut me back or box me in: she simply let me grow.
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⎯
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“All right then Mr. and Mrs. Douglas, I will be sending this along for the panel to review, and you will be notified when to send in samples when the time comes.”
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The clients swiftly signed away the right of gestation, and Abi placed the documents in a folder alongside the collection of others in a nearby cabinet. He rose from his seat and reached across the table to shake their hands. Logan's was firm, almost crushing, compared to Abi's more gentle grip. Evelyn's was hardly there.
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“Evelyn, would you happen to have a way for us to contact you privately regarding progress?”
“Why does it need to be private?”
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“Company policy. While not all of our maternal clients gestate our products, we insist on monitoring their emotional health throughout the process. Could you just write it on one of the notes over there?”
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“Y-Yes, give me a moment.”
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She scribbled down a brief com contact and slid it across the table. Abi slipped it into the file before gesturing toward the door. As the Douglases left, Abi leaned back in his seat. It felt like these sessions lasted for hours. Sometimes the parents-to-be were overjoyed and anxious as they asked about their children. They would ask about what they needed to worry about, what they should expect. Some would even check in annually, visiting the extended family that brought their joy into the world. And then there were cases like the Douglases, quiet and businesslike. Sometimes a preliminary background check would pick up red flags. The worst cases were when something came up in the final interview. Plans would be canceled, and teams would scrap their work and move on to the next project.
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There was a sudden rap at the door. A figure hidden in the mist of the glass.
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“Door's open.”
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Temi strolled in and casually sat in the seat across from Abi. She lay back while kicking her legs onto the other chair.
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“You were in here for quite a while. Was it good?”
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“I don't think so. Something felt off.”
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“Please tell me we don't have one of those creepy grow-a-bride guys.” Abi shuddered.
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“Eugh. No, a different kind of off.”
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“Did they want the kid to look like some movie star?”
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“No, the whole time I called the child a ‘product,’ they never tried to correct me once.”
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⎯
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Mother hugged me as I smiled for the camera. I'd received my doctorate and was going to begin working at Oxala Inc. We'd finally found a suit that looked right with a lab coat over it. We stood next to the tree that had just grown tall enough that it offered a bit of shade, like a natural beach umbrella. I remember my mother beaming at me as she called me Dr. Ayodele for the first time.
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