Dunhill’s cloning research, secretly completed in 2038, didn’t seem to acknowledge that her corporate sponsored research would eventually be advertised as the death of standard hiring practices. It was the corporate mandate that promised to eliminate the unreliability of the standard workforce. It signaled the end of era.
In front of the director’s glass office, where it was printed and then displayed historically for the benefit of her sponsor’s credit, these lab notes were locked under a heavily secured metal framed sanctuary, thus keeping the trade secrets safe and unreadable by the general public. The sentimental displaying of her hand typed notes seemingly transcended a time when practical facts were the only thing a researcher had to pursue. When the natural-born participants felt large and perhaps less fed, but less criticized. Ultimately, the andrones produced by this ‘bright and cheerful’ discovery were advertised as the ultimate workers in a new age of human resources. And because of our accomplished reputation, the government agencies, the fortune 500 companies, and the new corporate cities soon began sucking our little red-bricked academy dry of andrones after each year-end semester – regardless of ever reading the lab notes of my humble beginning.
On the first page of her novel research, Dr. Dunhill guardedly confirmed her modest Zamyatin controls. “’We’ were searching for a way not to tamper with the DNA directly,” she wrote, “’We’ were held to strict guidelines,” “assistant Rutledge stood at ‘our’ ready” – thereby spreading the blameworthiness – as if she knew, in the back of her mind, that there might be something morally wrong with all of this.
And as a distraction, each of the rainbow colored graphs contained lightly printed analysis of thick blocks of data that bloomed into columns, surrounded by technical jargon, like buildings in heavily populated cities; and sprinkled liberally on every other page surrounding the graphs were the skinny black angled lines of laboratory formulas. The final printing was graphically sophisticated for a technical paper – even if it was commercially sponsored – and in pleasing her sponsors her conclusion exposed the cell wall to be a replaceable, cost effective appendage. Although, the one thing that wasn’t made perfectly clear was that working on a research report, so mundane as it were, was probably seen by Dr. Dunhill as the only way to jump in the middle of that dollar for two-dollar race.
“The Functional Uptake of the Plasma Membrane in the Process of Cloning,” should have been titled “The cloning of humans, for fun and profit,” or more specifically “The legal cloning of corporate slaves.” Her research had made cloning safe for humans and had proven itself an end to those unexplained early deaths of the previously cloned. Those that were cloned before it was legal often died before puberty.
As a doctoral candidate, at a first rate privately funded college, Dr. Dunhill had already published seven articles and edited a book, each publication a major testimony to her ability to delegate. Yet in spite of the confusing moral indignation that was often mollified by a crowded, claustrophobic, and paranoid corporate executive branch, whose winning over of the public trust depended on how many advertising dollars were spent, could, when so inclined, trigger the most amazing discoveries in spite of all the public opposition. This phenomenon is what produced the industrious Doctor Anna Bronson Dunhill – a homely, perfectly average, and overtly intelligent woman whose controversial research ultimately produced ‘andrones’, (androgynous clones).
The first time that I read Dr. Dunhill’s dissertation was a revelation, and it inspired me to find out more about the company that sponsored the research that led to my birthing. Unlike most people who learn about their ancestry thru ageing books and records, andrones learn of their heritage by reading a college dissertation, and in doing so, there was no wonderment concerning romantic swashbuckling stories, or great deeds of heroisms – just formulas, recipes, and corporate sponsorship all wrapped up in some brightly colored glossy folder. And all that work, which was slaved over by so many people, was eventually put on the auction block only to be bought up by the next devourer of companies.
Long before Dunhill however, the Pro Solarium Corporation was founded in 2014, almost eighty years ago, by a group of young enterprising programmers and solid-state engineers whom decided to make what they called a V8 computer. It was a very power hungry computer that consisted of eight central processing banks, eight banks of ram, and eight hard drives. Its operating system divided all of its processing into eight units of data. Some rather cheap Intel core i7 processors did the processing while a Quantonium processor was used to organize the whole setup, and through its 256 bit processing it gave the public their very first taste of a mass production supercomputer. This V8 computer literally looked like a V8 engine and had 128 transmitter/receivers for an interface. The other transmitter/receivers were built into a backpack with the computer accessible thru an optical see-through display, real time voice recognition, a chest keyboard, and EOG electroocculograph optical movement registration (it followed your eyes). And by aiming ultrasonic pulses at specific areas of the brain, it also induced “sensory experiences.” Pulsed ultrasonic signals were used to alter the neural timing in the cortex; transcranial magnetic stimulation was created using rapidly changing magnetic fields called: Pulsed ultrasonic neurostimulation. In other words, it induced hallucinations – not only of sight, but also of smell, taste, touch, and sound.
It looked like a motorcycle helmet only lighter and less aerodynamic. Sonic sensors, imbedded on the exterior of the helmet, allowed it to map you’re environment in 3D as you lived it, which also allowed the computer to superimpose imagery over the user’s vision in real time. In other words, when the computer interface was turned on, the user’s physical environment became a virtual reality simulation. It was the ultimate in pervasive computing. Every teenager begged for one and every young adult saved up for one. The word Quantonium soon became synonymous with entertainment and by revolutionizing the computer industry; the Pro Solarium Corporation soon became a primary target for mergers and takeovers.