The Hair Makes All the Difference

“Recording.”

The interviewer pushed the microphone toward the other side of the table. In a plain chair, looking dutifully at the device, sat the interviewee.

“You remember what I asked about last time?” said the interviewer.

“Yes,” the other replied immediately. “To observe any oddness or distinguishing features of the community that might otherwise escape my notice.”

“And,” the interviewer said, “I am awaiting your report.”

The interviewer stood abruptly as he finished speaking, observing the hesitancy of the interviewee. He waved carelessly, as if the answer would not interest him, for her to continue.

“As you asked, I spent all seven-day observing my fellow citizens.”

“How did that make you feel?” the interviewer said. He slowly circled the two chairs and table in a complicated orbit, passing between and around the furniture without pattern.

The interviewee began slowly this time, her eyes fixed on the pacing of her questioner.

“I felt confused observing my friends. Being the only person working for the institute.”

“How do you know you are the only citizen working for us?”

At first the question elicited no response, as the interviewee considered, but as the meaning penetrated deeper the young woman shuddered. The interviewer, standing still, watched the interviewee's face show agitation, disgust, and horror. Her feet and arms twitched with repressed tension.

“You can feel free to stand if you wish,” said the interviewer.

She did not, and said, “Why would there be any other? Working for you?”

“Alice, do you mind if I call you by name? Alice, you don't even know why I've asked you to observe, how could you know if others are needed for similar jobs.”

“It's just... I thought...” she said.

“Did you notice anything?” he said.

“No, I couldn't see anything odd in the community.”

“Then you weren't trying hard enough! You remember the conditions of your employment?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Out of the goodness of my heart, you have another week.”

He, already standing, opened the only door and gestured for her to follow. They entered into a narrow, windowless, but well lit corridor. It ran straight, but steeply down to their destination, with no branching paths, but many doors. The interviewer knew these led to other rooms in the institute, but he wasn't bringing Alice to another room. He was leading her out. They passed through the door at the end of the hallway, and stood in a small antechamber.

“I'm not going out there,” he said.

“Do you just stand here and watch us?” she said, pointing at the massive window, which functioned as a one-way mirror.

“Interview's over.”

He watched through the window as she walked back into town. If she turned around she would see a precipitous rock-face, rising up into the sky. The village that she lived in was on the bottom of a deep canyon, and all routes out had long since been reinforced to look like natural barriers. The institute had done this, and no one in the village knew.

He could see the small cluster of downtown and the surrounding houses. He could see the citizens going about their shopping, gossiping, and working. He knew what Alice didn't, couldn't, the oddness of the scene. Every person was the same. Woman, Caucasian, brown hair, five-foot seven inches. Every detail; weight, eye color, leg length, but he didn't have the entire list memorized. He knew that they were more similar than the eye could detect, for each contained the same genetic structure. He returned to his desk, reaching for his coffee mug (CRISPR-plus Institute), and in touching the keyboard lightly turned off the screen saver (To make everyone truly equal, by making everyone equal in body).

…

As his car drove itself through the entrance a week later, he glanced in his rear-view mirror. The small cluster of protesters had swelled since his last interview with Alice. A riot made up of several thousand people, was only held back by the barbed-wire fence. It didn't look like that would stop them. Thankfully the police had arrived, defending the perimeter of CPI. His car parked, he walked into the building, dodging co-workers, and stopped. Today was the follow-up meeting with Alice. Perusing his desk, he located the notes from a week ago. Hurrying, but dignified, he exited his office and walked down the hall. Focused on work, but disturbed by the riot, he couldn't help but stop at a cluster of workers standing near a tv.

“As the discovery of the CPI's work has spread this past week, irritation has turned to fear and rage in the general public. The President's refusal, and Congress' inability, to halt or regulate these technologies has only incensed protesters. The president commented by saying,”

'Bio-engineering is the future of technology, the edge of innovation. Folks can't let a little ignorance prevent America from dominating the global economy.'

“A freshman senator spoke for the other side of the issue,”

'I will bring down this government if another penny is spent in support of CPI.'

“Now back to the weather.”

…

“You didn't notice anything odd?” he repeated.

“Nothing,” Alice said.

“You're not trying. Alice, how can you not see, how can you not notice. I have given you an epiphany, but you refuse to claim it.”

“I wish you wouldn't call me that.”

“It's your name.”

“It's everyone's name. We all like the name Alice, we all name the children Alice, but we don't refer to each other by name.”

“We do. Do you know my name?”

“You said you couldn't tell me.”

“Since you have failed in the assignment, of locating distinguishing features in the community, you may know my name. Because we will recycle you.”

“Then there doesn't seem much reason for me to know.”

“It's Daniel. How do you feel?”

“About your name, or being recycled?”

“Whichever.”

“Can't we get this over with?”

“I'm curious.”

“If I had noticed a difference and reported it to you, you said I would be saved but another citizen would be recycled instead. It would have required effort on my part, and a sacrifice of completing my other community duties. We are all the same. It was more efficient to not do as you asked, and be recycled, then to waste two weeks of time and recycle another of equal importance.”

“You don't value you, more than any other.”

“Yes.”

“Don't you see that your community is odd, because there is no difference, and we created you that way.”

“Maybe the oddness is only from your perspective.”

He hesitated, then said, “Since you are bound for recycling, it wouldn't hurt to explain a bit of the process.”

He led her out of the room and through a series of doors. He watched her expression as they passed CPI personnel, each face evoking shock and bewilderment.

“CPI was founded for the purpose of creating a future society free of conflict. Our founder determined that conflict stems from physical diversity, personal opinions, and economic inequality. By producing citizens with genetic equality and raising them exactly the same, there would be no difference in being, thought, or wealth. Society would be perfectly just.”

“Here,” he opened a door, “you see a crucial part of our operation, the process of in vitro fertilization, followed by the altering of genes for uniformity.”

“We are all the same,” she said.

“We know. It's incredible how similar. Early on in the project we introduced two types of ice cream at a store downtown. Not a single citizen desired vanilla. They all preferred chocolate. You are the thirtieth specimen to be tested for recognizing differences. All thirty failed. You lack the human capacity for self-value because you see no difference between one another. You are not individuals but a community. ”

“You must be glad that the project is progressing so well.”

“I...”

An explosion rocked the building, as a woman said over the speakers, “Rioters have bypassed the police, and broken into the building on the south-east corner. Please report to your appropriate location.

“This,” he said, “Is a cause of ignorance and fear, a problem that our project will eliminate. No time to bring you to recycling now. Come with me.”

…

As they entered the lobby of CPI's Observation Unit, he saw white, anxious faces, and a man he didn't recognize holding a gun. Daniel fell heavily to the carpeted floor, another body atop his. A ringing noise reverberated in his ears, along with screams. He pushed against the body, which fell to the side, and stood up. Nothing hurt, and he found no wound. His co-workers were restraining the man, having knocked the gun away after the first shot.

Alice was on the ground, blood flowing out of the wound. Daniel thought about how it would have looked exactly the same if it was coming out of him.

“Who is that, Dr?” said Eric, the receptionist. “Does she work here?”

Then they recognized her. Daniel knelt down and heard her speak, but couldn't make out the words.

“You saved me,” he said, unsure whether to laugh or cry (and confused why he felt both ways). “But,” he steeled himself, “You did so only because you recognized me as a superior being.”

She said, “Because you don't have brown hair,” reached up with one last effort to brush his blonde curls, and died.