[Original Novella] Brainchild, Part 2

^{source
Part 1}

Immense and ornate, bearing two beautiful portraits of the Founder. On the left door, he is seen personally building the Academy, first of the modules to ascend. On the right door it can be seen rising from the tortured landscape of the ruined Earth, up into the clouds.

I’ve never been a reliable judge of male beauty but if the portraits are anything to go by, he was a perfect specimen. Chiseled features, square jaw, wind swept hair a richer shade of red than any of ours. Wearing a smart looking outfit recognizable as the basis for fleet uniforms worn today.

Long black boots nearly up to the knee, a shiny black strap from the left side of his belt up over his right shoulder, uniform as sparkling white as the Academy itself. Standing proudly atop it all, gazing down lovingly on our ancestors who built this great society under his direction, following the thousand year war.

Lately nothing else manages to stir the same intense feelings in me. When I gaze upon his face I feel like a small but important part in the tapestry of our peoples’ history, buoyed up by my ancestors, in turn giving all I have to lift the next generation yet higher. Until the dream is achieved.

Nothing squashes such soaring daydreams quite like the indignity of measurement day. I vaguely recalled a notice about it, sent home with us in a packet sometime last week. The biometricians are waiting for us in the gym, calipers at the ready. I sometimes wonder if they don’t take some kind of sick joy in their work.

I reveal more of my irritation than I intend to, an exasperated sigh slipping out. A few stern looks, but nothing more severe. I’ve escaped punishment this time, as the adults present are too busy wrangling grumpy children into lines. Just as I recall from the last measurement day, a labcoat wearing stranger hands me a paper gown, then directs me to a booth enclosed by white curtains to get changed in.

I complained about this once to Dad, but only once. Usually Mom’s the one with the temper, Dad just sits back and lets her take care of business. But anything that could be taken as critical of how things are done pushes Dad’s only button, hard. After the shouting died down and I assured him I was simply curious, he did finally explain.

“When your mother and I were paired by the reproduction authority, it was because we had traits they determined were complimentary by biometric evaluation. I went through the same poking and prodding as you, kiddo. But it’s for a higher purpose. You see, we are all made in the Founder’s image. From frozen stores of his genetic seed.”

It took me a few years to fully understand what he meant. And to recognize the wisdom inherent in the system. “There do not need to be any debates as to what constitutes a perfect human. The Founder already showed us” Dad insisted. “Our task is simply to prevent any deviation from that ideal. To keep ourselves and our society perfect, as it is now, forever.”

I found it hard to argue with, as he and Mom love one another dearly, and I could hardly ask for better parents. Elena doesn’t always agree, but she’s young. The reproduction authority must really have pairing down to a science if they put Mom and Dad together. In more sense than one, I owe my life to them.

This respect, instilled into me by my father since my earliest memories, balances out somewhat the embarrassment I feel as I reluctantly emerge from behind the curtains in full view of the other students. Of course, they quietly snicker. As if they won’t have to do the same thing after me.

I’m seated before a woman whose perfectly red hair is tied up in a tight bun, a pair of rimless spectacles perched neatly on her stubby little nose. I hand her my sheet, she punches the ID number into her little computer and soon begins the measurement process.

Height, weight, heart, lungs, endurance, and most importantly, cranial dimensions. It is never adequately explained why. My questions are deflected until I’m simply hushed. “Flapping your jaw can throw off the caliper readings”.

Nothing in the way of bedside manner. To be honest, I find that endearing. Listening to someone you’ve never met before and will likely never see again pretending to care about your life for the few minutes they have to interact with you is agonizing. As she placed and then replaced the instrument, marking down each value, she grew visibly concerned.

“What is it?” She glared at me. Me and my flapping jaw. I gestured as if zipping my mouth shut. To my surprise, this elicited a smile. “That’s a good boy. Probably nothing to worry about. You’re normative or better in every other respect. Not surprising as your profile says you come from good stock, it’s just...Your cranial measurements are somewhat unusual. Have you been experiencing headaches? Visual or auditory hallucinations? Can you….move things? By thinking about it?”

I assured her I would alert my parents or school officials immediately if such a thing occurred, and assumed the last bit was a joke. She looked at me for a time, brow furrowed as if inwardly deliberating. “No matter. I’m going to schedule you an appointment with us for a month from now to see if it’s progressed.” I inquired as to what she meant but it was predictably useless. I was sent back into the curtained booth, dressed myself, and was relieved to finally be done with the ordeal.

“What did she say?” Elena pried as the mass of students done with their measurement milled about, waiting to be released. “She said I have a big head.” Elena smirked. “I coulda told her that.” I poked her in the ribs. She yelped, glared, then retaliated. This set off a poking war the likes of which would’ve been recounted in song for generations to come had a nearby teacher not put a stop to it.

The pain began during homeroom. So subtly at first that for some time I thought it was just the sunlight streaming in through the immense curved windows along one wall. Homeroom is along the outer hull and boasts a stunning view of the southeast sector, comprised mostly of moisture traps and agriculture.

Plenty distracting, if you’re insufficiently disciplined. Perhaps that was the thinking behind it. Weed out the distractible ones. I tapped out a private message to the instructor on my desk display asking her to dim the windows. Shortly after, I saw her glance at her screen and fiddle with the controls. The polarized glass became slightly less transparent.

No good, the pain steadily increased. I struggled to focus on the lesson as my vision blurred. Something about human evolution. “What comes next?” One of the pupils asked. The teacher put her hands on her hips. “Whatever do you mean?” The boy, whom I know in passing but have only twice spoken to, elaborated.

“I see how we went from a single celled organism, to multi-cellular, to fish, then onto land, then to apes, and finally to how we are now. But what comes after that?” The teacher smiled. Impressed, or amused?

“My dear boy, you might consider studying the teachings of the Founder more carefully. There is nothing after this. All of it led up to our present form, the apex of biological development. We are as perfect as any living thing can be, our people painstakingly sculpted generation after generation into the spitting image of history’s greatest individual.”

I was beyond caring, but the boy pressed the matter. “Perfect by our own standards. But if I were to ask one of our distant simian ancestors what a perfect specimen of his own species looked like, would the creature he described impress you? Why, he might regard us as bizarre monsters, the prospect of turning into us a frightening one.” The teacher gestured for him to settle down, informed him that was quite enough from him for today, then continued with the lesson.

I could no longer pretend nothing was the matter. Other students around me began to whisper and look concerned. That’s the last thing I remember before waking up in the hospital. Another one of the few free-floating structures so that, should there be a fire or some other disaster, it could move closer to it.

---

^{Stay Tuned for Part 3!}