Chad watched me come over with a troubled expression on my face. His face – as always – was blank and composed. Totally zen – an expression he’d probably perfected from modeling.

“No luck,” he said, completely unsurprised. “Sorry, man. Crossed signals.”

“She was into me,” I said asserted.

“Too mechanical, no warmth,” he went on blithely. “Intimidating. You need to blink more.”

“It wasn’t that,” I said. “We knew each other from school.”

“Oh, weird.”

“It was for her, I guess. But she said maybe sometime in the future. Once she’s more used to it.”

“Used to what? What’s the problem?”

“Said an old school friend of mine made fun of her for being allergic to dogs. She was crying at school one day. He made fun of her because of that. Someone said she had found out her parents had given her dog away while she was at school because a bug bite made her get the allergy, or something. That’s why she was crying.”

The memories were coming back now, and they stung. I hadn’t made fun of Stacy at school, but I had told my friend about her allergy and her dog being taken away. And he’d gone and used that information to make fun of her.

And guess who that friend was?

Chad.

It didn’t seem Stacy had recognized him. But then, he looked very different from his school days.

“Oh, sucks,” he said, looking away. “But, you know, her loss. School was – how long ago? The Buddha’s since been reincarnated like three times. Can’t carry it forever.”

I glowered at the table. Either Chad had forgotten that incident or he was pretending to.

Then I sighed.

“This is going to sound stupid but, I just…I want to do something to show I’m not a jerk. I didn’t make fun of her, but…I didn’t help the situation, either. I just ignored it.”

“You’re right, it does sound stupid,” Chad said blankly. “It’s her problem.” Then he leaned back in thought for a moment. “But there’s this company and they do genetic engineering. You’ve heard of CRISPR?”

I nodded. CRISPR had opened the door to a lot of now legal, accessible genetic modification. Most of it was done during family planning stage, i.e. before a child was born, and most people were relatively happy with what their parents gave them from birth. In the majority of cases it was just for illness eliminating purposes, or reducing illness risks. Oddly, the increased availability of aesthetic alteration actually seemed to reduce the procedure’s desirability. It was according to the rules of supply and demand. When everyone could look like the magazines, the pictures in the magazines stopped looking so rarefied and desirable.

It was also like cosmetic surgery, in that there was also a slight stigma to it, something untrustworthy and insecure about it. Regardless, you didn’t go around telling people you were a CRISPR baby, or whatever, because people started wondering to what extent your genes had been altered. An unexpected rebellious culture had developed which patted those on the back who defied the norm, for their stubborn willingness to reject genetic alterations, birth defect, illness or none.

For what it was worth, I suspected Chad was a CRISPR baby. Maybe that’s why he was depressed and on like a cocktail of anti-depressants.

“It’s like that,” he went on. “Called TALEN. Not actually TALEN, but some experimental offshoot called TALE. Nothing to do with the original TALEN anymore. It’s a whole different animal. They can give you traits or take them away. But not just little things. They’re talking about radical stuff – stuff CRISPR and TALEN and the others aren’t touching. I bet they’d be able to fix an allergy. And it’d be really simple. They’ve streamlined the whole thing down to an injection of microbots.”

“Really?” I said with a stab of excitement.

“Yeah. Bots. Whole different ball game.”

“Is this injection something I could give to her like a Christmas present?”

“Why not? There’s only one issue – it can get pretty expensive.”

My face fell.

“How much?”

“More than this girl is worth. And yeah, I saw her. I know what she looks like. But – ” he quickly went on, “ – they have some altered payment plans. Apparently, they can agree to heavy discounts if you either do some work for them for a little while, at a reduced rate. They have a big turnover rate, apparently – don’t know why.”

“Maybe I’ll look into it. I mean, I’m looking for a new job. If the work is decent, maybe they’d keep me on at full rate after I fixed the debt. That’d kill two birds with the one stone. Hey, thanks, man,” I said sincerely, “you’ve made me feel better already.”

“No worries, dude. Tell me how it goes.”

The next day I looked up this TALE procedure. It was a result of ongoing research undertaken by big biotech plants like Quantor Limited and Vegrandis Technologies. Some medical clinics were beginning to roll it out as an inpatient procedure you could opt for. And by the sounds of it, not even a long inpatient stay. There was such a clinic in the city, not too far a drive from my place.

The website said you had to make a ‘biological donation’ for them to use as raw material to create an injection. This necessitated going to their quarters and having a procedure done to extract the material, which sounded like surgery, with anesthetic. The head doctor who performed the procedure was called Dr Ikeda. I booked an appointment by phone. Surprisingly there was no consultation; everything was done through paperwork they sent to my email. They were prompt, if nothing else.

The paperwork asked me where I wanted to have the end product sent to. I put down Stacy’s address. Thankfully, delivery could be arranged for Christmas day with one of their couriers, so I didn’t have to wait until the national mail got back in after Christmas.

It said the delivery would be accompanied by instructions detailing the nature of the product. I figured that would save me having to explain to Stacy what it was. The more of an unexpected surprise it was, the better. And I didn’t want to deliver it in person, or be around when she opened it. She’d already given clear enough ‘give me space’ signals at the club. It was risky enough getting her a Christmas gift. I wasn’t trying to get into her pants or anything; it was to make up for the school stuff. That’s all. If she wanted anything to come of it, that was on her.

The website allowed me to include a personal note, so I put in the provided space:

To Stacy,

                 This is for your dog allergy – see inside.         

           

Take Care and Merry Christmas,

Brian Stevens.

Then I sent the paperwork back over email. Then I felt stupid. Really stupid. I should have said something laid back and witty. But too late to change the message now.

I supposed when an injection turned up at Stacy’s on Christmas day she would figure out what to do with it, even if the instructions didn’t make clear. All she probably needed to do was get a doctor to inject it or something, watch her for a few minutes to ensure there were no adverse effects, and that was it, she’d be dog friendly for the rest of her life. Probably get a puppy then, and once she realized the awesomeness of the gift I’d given her, maybe even get back in contact with me, seeing me in a different light than the dumb kid I was over a decade ago.

And if not, well, I did a good favor and it didn’t cost me anything, so that was something, too. I only hoped it would not backfire on Stacy and make her problems worse. I should have rested assured that it did not end up backfiring like that.

Little was I to know, it did not backfire on Stacy at all.

It backfired on me.