It was on Monday when I first
went to dna2099.com.
They had a free trial on there. I downloaded the specs and sent them
to the printer. What emerged was a mist that smelled faintly of cinnamon.
As the instructions said, I took a sniff. I waited about fifteen minutes.
Nothing seemed to happen. Then, on my arm, a square logo began to appear,
in painless red papules. The resolution was fabulous:
Gengineering for the People!
damned if there wasn't a little spinning double-helix logo!
I was impressed. So I signed up for a monthly. The Bells & Whistles
package. Longer penis? Change of hair or eye color? A "sickness" of
relaxing mellow energy lasting 18 hours or more? These were all in the B&W.
For more money, a lot more, you got all the serious ones. Scavenging
cholesterol. Correcting defects. Regrowing organs. Higher intelligence.
Cure cancer. And so forth. I didn't need any of those, though.
A few days later. It was my motion-activated security camera system
that tipped me off. The blinking light said I had something in the queue.
I was astonished to see myself, at 03:27:06:64, go to the comp and
perform some feverish activity until 03:29:18:92, whereupon I returned to
bed. Because of the angle of the screen, it didn't zoom well, but I could
make out, in the top right of the display, my bank's logo.
I hired a G.I. He put me in touch with a guy in a green basement room
totally out of place in the seedy industrial district. He in turn
inoculated me with a funny little compound of his own design.
I kept my nocturnal appointments, as instructed. Damned if I didn't
read in the news only a week later an account of the complete meltdown at
all the dna2099.com offices worldwide. I can't complain the whole
thing turned out very nicely, seeing as I'd shorted over a million
shares. Every cloud has its silver genome, as they say.