(rough draft, needs serious work)
At bars, Ken was never quite sure what to say about his job to the women that asked. It's not like he had much choice in the matter, because The Computer had chosen for him.
Didn't It do that for everybody?
The Computer ruled all. It chose what everybody did for a living, kept the economy running smoothly, built the society in which Ken was having a relaxing Friday drink in, and even raised everybody from the smallest zygotes out of the shattered DNA and iconic templates left from the previous civilization.
"No, really," said the cheery blonde to his left. "What do you do?"
"No fair holding back," said the other to his right.
Not bad looking, he thought, looking up and down his drinking companions. A little top-heavy, but the more the merrier. He considered going for both and trying for a Ken Sandwich when he took in a breath.
They reeked. Horribly. Stale, sweaty... almost like urine...
Ken smiled and excused himself to a table in the corner.
"He's no fun, Barb," said the first blonde, and they went over to the next guy.
What the heck do I do? he thought. My card says I am a genetic reconstruction engineer, but what does that really mean? Okay, so I get assigned various segments rebuilt from the scarred ruins of this world and I put them together to reform the fauna and flora that once roamed and populated this planet, but that always bores people. They're used to dealing with cheerleaders and teachers and models and folks that just play on the beach... not hard scientists.
Ken shrugged and knocked back his drink. He itched at his back for a bit and thought some more.
Maybe I'm an artist, he thought. It isn't just genetic material I work with, but I also incorporate elements from the symbols, media, and objects left behind by that civilization. It's how we were brought back from extinction. The Computer somehow managed to isolate the necessary strains of DNA from humans, rebuild the broken and irritated segments with some deductions from the movies and toys and dolls and symbols they'd left behind, and sure enough that's how we've come to be here.
He stood up, proud and tall. The first generation of The Computer's glorious recovery effort. He raised his glass in a silent toast... and then put it back down.
And probably the last, he thought. Sure, they were repopulating the world and rebuilding and cleaning up the wreckage the wild humans had left behind, but The Computer hadn't quite figured out the endgame strategy of where the second generation was going to come from.
What a day it had been.
- - - - - - - - -
"Have you considered my proposal involving the re-engineering projects based on the new findings?" said Ken. "There may be a few things you might have overlooked with your original sample of material from the Toys Are Us Dig Site.
"I think we got some good material from there," said The Computer. "I made you and all the others out of that stuff and the frozen gametes, right?"
"Sure," said Ken. "But the recent find of the Video Store sure has some enlightening information from the side antechamber. You must admit we haven't seen things like that from the first few sites. Fills in a few gaps that even you must admit don't make sense, right?"
"Yes," said The Computer. "Nice ideas. Might actually make things more fun, too. Still working on a retrofitting plan involving surgery and recombinant virus regeneration techniques, a little beta testing, and we'll have a hit on our hands, I think."
"Great!" said Ken. "When should I start working up the specs?"
"Hold your horses," said The Computer. "We've got such a backlog with species that haven't been recovered. Years. Many years of work there. I think we'd better go through the first pass before cleaning up our oversights. Right?"
Ken winced. The Computer was never going to let him forget the orange bug-eyed Horse incident with the green lopsided-head creature... the Gumby? He spoke up. "Well, I think we ought to go species by species, perfecting each before moving on."
"Nah," said The Computer. "We'll rough draft over the whole biosphere, then polish it up. If we start to run short of population out there, we'll just clone up some more. Let's get back to Square One and then worry about the next squares, okay Kenny-pal?" The Computer always called him something chummy. "By the way: Giraffe."
A file virtual folder appeared in his hand. Even had a few pictures of the thing, and there was a 3-foot-tall stuffed representation of the beast.
He squeezed it. It squeaked.
"I want that squeak just right," said The Computer. "I know how hard it was for you to get the pants and shoes and gloves on Mouse, but this time I really need the squeak. I'm counting on you, Ken-Ken."
"Sure thing, Boss," said Ken, and he went to work.
"One more thing," said The Computer. "Mind cutting down on the 'research' of the dig-site tapes?"
"Cutting down?" asked Ken. "But if we're going to get things working properly and engineered right-"
"I know," said The Computer. "But still, too much of that stuff, well, you'll go crazy or something. Just stick with giraffe, quit doodling so many of those shapes on your virtual blotter, and we'll come back to the rest. Giraffe was featured pretty prominently at the archive site, you know."
Ken nodded, and logged back on.
- - - - - - - - -
Ken looked down. He had another drink. He drank it, and sighed.
Sure, he liked to drink. Who didn't? But it was the aftermath of drinking that left him unhappy like most people. Drunk, hung over, swooning, stumbling...
And having to throw everything back up. Just like meals, too, and sweating out.
"How's it going, Ken?' asked a pal from work at another table. He waved.
"Going great, Ken," said Ken. "How's your wife?"
"Doing great," said the other Ken. "Barbie's all excited over our getting our dream house down by Malibu. And my brother Joe just got another promotion... he's a Sergeant!"
"Wonderful," said Ken. It was bad enough that he felt his gorge rising naturally, but this conversation wasn't helping. "If you'll excuse me."
"Sure," said the other Ken.
Ken ran to the bathroom and ran for an unused sink. Along with all the other Kens and Joes, he leaned down and vomited up his dinner and the drinks he'd had for the evening.
He felt a nudge on his shoulder, and he stared into his own face on somebody else. "Sure was better going down, wasn't it?" said the other Ken and he chuckled. "Must have been really messy when there were billions of people all doing this at once."
"Sure," said Ken. He shrugged, and decided to spill the beans. "I heard that The Computer's sitting on some stuff that might fix this whole binge-and-purge nonsense. Turns out that the original templates overlooked a thing or two."
"Like what?" said the other Ken.
Ken whispered it in his ear.
The other Ken thought for a moment. "Yeah, that sure would be handy. Wouldn't have to taste all this stuff coming back up... and the sweating and other excreting wouldn't suck so bad."
"See?" said Ken.
"Yeah," said Ken. "But imagine the hassle. I mean, having to take your pants down? We'd have to redo the whole fashion industry for that to work." The other Ken finally vomited, wiped his chin, and left the bathroom.
Ken looked in the mirror and wondered if he needed any more drinks to face Giraffe tomorrow.  |
Linear Mode
