I looked again at the address I’d found on the internet: Mr Ren Ikeda: 1113 Lappe Street. Driving through the city, I left my car in a parking facility a block or so away from the medical clinic, and then started walking along the pavement. It was a bit of a hike up hill but I was relatively fit and liked a good walk, or even a run, when I got the chance.

The landscape didn’t do me any favors, and reminded me why I didn’t like the city. Skyscraper office complexes walled me in, separated by graffiti covered alleyways. The air was smoky; both looked it and smelled it, and bothered my sensitive nose. 

There was a woman walking up the street going in the opposite direction. Young and attractive, hips sashaying hypnotically as she walked. I found myself staring. A dog bounced in front of her on a leash. Someone said dog walkers were easier to chat up if you had a dog yourself. Maybe I should get one, I thought, and then, being more realistic, dismissed the thought. A puppy for Christmas – the last thing I needed. I would be sick of it by New Year’s. I just didn’t have the patience for anything more than, say, a goldfish, and even that was pushing it. After a little while watching a goldfish swimming around and around in a tiny bowl, I would start getting the creepy feeling I was just watching myself in animal form.

I was more of a cat person. Except I didn’t really like cats, either.

And in less than 24 hours, I wouldn’t even be a ‘person’.

The woman met my eyes for a fraction of a second. I gave her my best pre-prepared ‘Hey, niiiice,’ smile and slight eyebrow raise. She looked at me as if I was another species, before disinterestedly sliding on a pair of sunglasses, and looking the other way while her dog pulled her onwards, as if even it wanted to get her away from me. Yes, there was always some failure of animal magnetism with the opposite sex that I had never quite been able to conquer.  Was it some inconsistent, trustworthy body signals, or a scent of desperation I was giving off, did I emotionally expose myself too readily, or not enough? I had no idea. The chemistry was just not bubbling into a reaction. But what did I care, now? That woman was no Stacy. Eyes on the prize, Brian.

There was a big multi-storey building coming up, white with tall opaque windows. It looked less like a bio-engineering corporation and more like a modern hospital. I went through the revolving doors at the front and entered a big reception with stairs curving around the side, like some kind of hotel.

“I have an appointment with Dr Ikeda,” I said to the woman at the front desk. She pointed me where to go. The elevator had the floors in letters, unusually. Ikeda’s floor was K, room 9.

Stepping out, a red carpet ran to a hallway full of engraved wooden doors with gold painted numbers on them. In the distance, I thought I could hear animals whining and grunting, which made me hesitate. I thought this was just for gene alteration. I didn’t think they would need to keep live animals on the premises. But what did I know; this technology was fairly recent. Maybe some things were still in the testing phases. Though I didn’t know why they would have the testing happening in the same place as the actual procedures.

Stopping at number 9, I knocked and waited.

A man opened the door and peered at me. He looked half Japanese – and I guessed this was Mr Ikeda. He looked like he was dressed to go out, wearing a white shirt and white tie, with light grey pants.

“Brian Stevens.”

“That’s right,” I said.

He stepped back, pulling the door open.

“Please come in.”

I stepped into a bright room like an office.

“It’s a nice building,” I said. “Like a big hotel on the inside.”

“We aim to present,” Ikeda bowed his head. “The community has such a low perception of what we do.”

“I don’t know if I’d agree,” I said. “The technology cures deadly illnesses.”

“Disease is like a hydra. You make one alteration, or cure, and two more unforeseen problems spring up.” He eyed me, pausing. “Do you know why this is?”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

He gestured for me to take a seat in his office. While I did so, he went around and sat down by his office desk. He held his hands clasped on the table as he spoke:

“Because gene editing talks to genes, not sequences. Patterns. The human biological structure – every biological structure – is built up of evolutionary adaptations like a Jenga tower, each adaptation has piggybacked on a previous one. So you change a link in the chain, it affects other links in ways you can’t predict.”

“I guess that’s just the risk you have to take,” I said.

“Not necessarily. TALE does not talk genes. It talks sequences. Long sequences. Some people hesitate at the sound of targeting genes which the patient did not specify be altered. But we say – to use your western phrase – in for a penny, in for a pound. Some people think this is throwing the proverbial baby out with the bathwater. Only alter the bad genes. Good genes should not be touched. What are your thoughts on the matter?”

“I looked it up online before I came here,” I said hesitantly. “Apparently, TALE can modify somatoypes, is that right?”

Ikeda shook his head.

“Not just somatotypes. Phenotypes.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

“It’s an inevitable result of what we do. A necessary evil, in some cases, the intended outcome, in others. It all depends on the client’s particular goals. The drastic outcome is inscribed in our corporate vision: if the alteration of the gene is locked up by the sequence, we say, alter the sequence. And this has broader knock on effects.”

“And what does that mean?”

“You seek trait A. But in order to possess trait A, you must also possess trait B. Then we give you trait B. But one who possesses trait B must also possess trait C. And trait C cannot coexist with trait X. And you may have trait X. So we remove X. But now we must replace it with an alternative. So we employ trait Z. And so on.”

“It sounds very complicated.”

“It is, and in time we may address this, further, if you wish to learn more.”

“All I want to make sure is, you’re not going to completely alter my friend – I mean, the recipient’s – genetic makeup?”

“No. Rest assured, Mr Stevens, that’s not what our procedure contemplates at all.”

“Oh, good. It sounds like what you do is very different from the other genetic editors.”

“We endeavor to pioneer. People haven’t yet grasped what an impact we make with the changes we can do. It’s still catching up with the public. But we’re not as interested in the publicity. We’re confident that we’re making people’s lives better, in the meantime.”

“Well, if you can do what I’m asking – although it sounds kind of trivial – you would make a big impact in the life of someone I know.”

“No, Mr Stevens,” Mr Ikeda shook his head. “Nothing we do here is trivial. I appreciate the import of your proposed alteration. A dog is nothing to be laughed at. In certain cases, one’s dog is one’s life. In fact – 2018 – we have the year of the dog upcoming, is it not? Regardless, it’s a big commitment. You know that a dog is not something you receive at Christmas and get sick of the day after. At the end of this procedure, your life will be inextricably tied to another. As long as the recipient does not change their mind, you may not change yours.”

I hesitated, thinking his rhetoric was a little lofty and grave for something like an allergy cure. But evidently he was passionate about what the organization did.

“The recipient isn’t going to get sick of this any time soon,” I reassured him. “It’s been a problem for close to two decades. From the age of seven – now she’s about twenty five. She loves dogs, and the allergy just gets in the way. According to her, it’s a massive deal.”

And, I thought – but did not mention – it’s damn well getting in the way of us.

The doctor considered what I said.

“People are prone to covet what they cannot have,” he said, “even in far excess of the thing’s real value. And twenty-five years of no dog will have built up a vast reserve of…what is the term I am looking for? – Coverture.”

“I think that means something different,” I said, some social studies lessons swirling vaguely in my head. “Something like the historical concept of marriage when the wife became the husband’s property.”

“Maybe,” he stared at me. “One or the other.”

I just nodded. None of what he’d just said made any sense.

“We discussed on the phone,” he went on, “and you’ve filled in the paperwork. You clearly know your intended purpose for your procedure, but you know what your being here is designed to achieve, Brian?”

“I’m not sure I totally get what it’s going to involve. But I take your word for it that it’s going to mean no more dog allergy for my friend – the recipient, I mean. I’ve read the paperwork you sent me.”

“We work to incorporate your goal into the ultimate outcome, don’t worry. We’re going to manage your friend’s allergy with the end product. Which is to say, the recipient will be immune. It’s very important you have a good idea of what we plan to accomplish today. I will run through some basics with you, just in case. We splice sequences, as I stated. Not genes. We find relationships between genes and splice together as sequences. That results in wholesale changes. We’re going to use select chains in a dog sequence to make up the product specified in the application form. Combine them with your own DNA to create the final result.”

“My DNA?” I repeated. I did remember reading in the paperwork I was sent, though I didn’t quite understand the ultra-scientific jargon. I liked the symbolism of it though; that they would use my DNA to create the anti-allergen.

“So it’s like she’s receiving a piece of me,” I said.

“She will be quite literally receiving a piece of you, yes.”

“It won’t take long?”

“Not for you. We must put you under anesthesia, so it will pass instantaneously for you. But will take a few hours for us. Luckily, you will be asleep for all the hard parts. Think of it like dental surgery: We are removing a small piece of you, but not taking away anything essential. And what we take, we replace with something better.”

“Yeah, that’s the plan, anyway,” I said. “Will this be good to get to her tomorrow?”

“Certainly. It’ll be finished before midnight. You’ll sleep a little. The couriers will take the delivery to the designated address tomorrow morning.  They do Christmas shifts. Real Santas driving removal vans.”

“That’s great,” I said. “It just makes it more special if she gets it Christmas morning.”

“Of course, and I hope you can excuse the observation,” Mr Ikeda interrupted, “but you must care for this woman very much, to undergo this. You must care for her enormously. I don’t know very many people who would make this kind of decision lightly.”

“Is it that obvious?” I said in an undertone. “I just want it to look like I’m doing her this one simple, meaningful thing. Not this huge, stupid gesture. I barely know her.”

“There is nothing stupid about it. Many will not understand. Only you can understand why you do it. That’s what matters.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about what other people think,” I said. “That’s what I need to hear. Oh – ” I said suddenly, “— before I forget, I want to check you saw I opted for the alternative payment plan on the forms.”

Mr Ikeda waved his hand.

“No need for worry, Mr Stevens,” he said quickly. “This procedure is actually part of the research we are conducting at the moment. By agreeing to do it, you are providing us a subject, a volunteer. Then, after it’s finished, you can go off and will never have to hear from us again. There is no cost.”

“Really? That’s very generous.”

“It’s not generous. If anything, it is selfish. It is understandably difficult to come by human subjects for this procedure, if anything, we would normally be paying you.”

After signing some forms, Mr Ikeda took me down a white hallway at the back of his office, and into a room with what looked like a big dental chair.

“You weren’t lying about the dental surgery,” I said.

“It’s not like a big invasive operation. I don’t open you up at all. I inject the solution and the microbots take care of everything.” He gave me a smile through pursed lips, “They need to steal your essence, you might say. I just need to stand by to supervise.”

“All safe, right?”

“Relatively so, yes. Of course, any operation comes with risks. These were outlined in the materials I sent you.”

“Of course. I remember.”

I went behind a curtain to change into a hospital gown, and then Mr Ikeda had me get onto the reclining chair. He took my blood pressure and then injected something into the crook of my arm, and taped the syringe in place.

“This will put you to sleep,” he said. “The one after contains the microbots.”

My stomach tensed with mounting regret. I had a bad feeling about this – maybe it was all the canine yipping I could hear going on in an adjacent room. But it was also like Ikeda had said: it was a big commitment. Well, not really, but it was too big for a woman I didn’t know nearly well enough to justify undergoing a surgical procedure. This is what a beta would do; go out of his way to impress a girl like this. An alpha would just bide his time and let the girl come back to him. Maybe it wouldn’t impress her after all. Maybe it would repulse her; make it look like I was trying way too hard, was too desperate.

But it was too late now. I was finding it difficult to concentrate, and sense of heaviness began smothering my consciousness. My eyelids drooped, my head fell back.

At some point I thought I caught snatches of conversation, which made no sense to me:

…The ones promoting the emergence of the Alpha traits. Because this was the Alpha of a group of dogs, of course...

…Promoting the Alpha gives the best chance of stability and resilience later… 

Then, for a long time, I wasn’t aware of anything.