Projekt ☆M@rlene☆

Today was the big day.

I was to be received by the prominent members of the Ethics Council and officially invested me with the title of Interpreter of the Ancient Texts. As for my service as a gamete donor, however, there was no official recognition. 
My mother explained that it was best not to attract too much attention, and she advised me not even to talk to schoolmates, especially those I considered friends. 
The reference was clearly to Anya.
However, I would receive heartfelt thanks from the entire board.
As if it had been my choice to offer myself as a donor, and not a duty from which there was no way to escape. 

Returning, however, to my more rewarding task as an Interpreter, I had wasted no time, and in these weeks I had literally devoured film after film, and reading after reading. I promise, that I’ll share some reviews with you, some of which you can already find on my instagram profile if you want.
It was also a way to distract myself from the recurring thought of what Mr. Masao had promised me.
I was counting on going back to him just today, as soon as I received the nomination.
For this occasion, mother had relented and allowed me to buy a new dress, made of real silk, woven from real silkworms. Silk was very valuable long ago, but today it is practically unattainable, because silkworms are almost completely extinct: no one knows how the producers in “Purgatory” go about procuring these little beasts and carrying on their business, but it has to be said that we at Alma Mater don’t care much about that: the important thing is that there are fine clothes in abundance so that consumers can ruin themselves financially.

I spent several hours in front of the mirror, and the result eventually made me reasonably proud. Mother was pleased, too, although she did not fail to point out to me that I might need the cosmetic surgeon to hide the ancient ethnic features of my face and to enlarge my too-small breasts.

I glissaized. I like my face the way it is, and the idea of something heavy hanging from my ribs does not appeal to me.
By the way, right now, this body of mine is even more dear to me, because it is something else that binds me to my biological mother, and that she might recognize me among a thousand other people because of it.
Finally, the time came for us to leave. 

We were escorted by the Civic Police to the Ethics Council building. This is probably the most beautiful area of Alma Mater: a park of impressive size, where thousands of rare plants from all over the planet bloom incessantly, all year round, and in the midst of which stands a most elegant marble palace, built according to the criteria of ancient Indian Vedic architecture.

I held my breath when the android guard who took us in escorted us across the columned patio, and I saw birds for the first time, parrots, to be precise. Mother boredly told me that they were noisy and silly, but I found them to be one of the prettiest things I had ever seen, with their brightly colored feathers and the gaiety of their movements!
I would have stood watching them for hours, if the guard had not insititated to take us quickly to our destination. 

We entered the building, where we walked down a hallway on whose walls incessantly scrolled the articles of the Code of Ethics, read in a monotone, insinuating voice by a virtual assistant. My mother, who walked beside me, muttered them from memory to herself, almost like a liturgy.

Passing one last section, we reached the central hall of the building, where the Council members had gathered waiting for our arrival. In the half-light of the hall, I could make out six silhouettes sitting on benches arranged in a semicircle.
Mother stopped. She would not accompany me any further.
I hesitated just a moment on the threshold, then entered with all the boldness granted me by my embarrassment and high heels. 

The members all turned toward me, their faces set in hypocritical benevolence. 
A black woman, matronly and ceremonious, escorted me to the center of the room, seating me at a stool as well.
“Welcome, my dear. On behalf of the entire Ethics Council and the entire central government I extend to you my heartfelt thanks for your service.” 
Polite applause. Holding my hands between hers, the woman continued: “You must feel dazed by the new things that have come into your life, however, I hope you realize that we count on you to be able to handle these challenges, and to make us all very proud of you.”
“I will do my best.”
The woman’s cold, inquiring eyes explored my face, as if searching for something. She smiled, without in any way changing her expression. Curious. 

“Your mother has already given you the Pass that will give you access to the media for your research. We ask you to send us weekly a report of what you will read and see. Your contact person will be Emmanuel Lynch.”
And she nodded in the direction of a giant man, his face completely hidden by a mechanical respirator.

“We know you have already had access to some of the works. That’s not a problem. We know you’ve also reviewed some on your social spaces. That’s not a problem either. I just ask you not to share more than two or three reviews a month. As much as these works are filtered through your judgment, we don’t think it is appropriate for more of them to be shared with ordinary citizens.”
I nodded. 

“When necessary, Mr. Lynch will get in touch with you and ask you to come to the Council, where you will participate in drafting or revising the articles of the Code, or where different issues will be discussed. This work involves many different aspects, and to list them all would be tedious as well as useless. You will learn as you go. Never hesitate to ask for help or support should you find yourself in difficulty: the Council is always at your disposal.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Satisfied, the woman stood up, imitated by all the other members. I quickly stood up as well.
“We now swear by our precious code, Marlene, the guide for the welfare and prosperity of the New World, remedy and protection against the chaos of our imperfect nature as human beings.”
And so we swore. 

We swore to condemn and suppress critical thinking in favor of idealogy.
We swore to extinguish all individual yearning.
We swore to fight every exclusive bond that made us blind to the faults of our neighbor and selfish.
We swore that the biology of our bodies was functional and manipulable, and that only the imposed and shared social construct matters.
We swore that we would lie, betray and destroy anyone and anything to preserve the safety of our communities.
And as I swore, I felt more and more anger growing in my chest.
Having finished the meeting and greeted all the members, I reached my mother, who was in the park. I found her frowning at an orderly, who was staggering at the top of a long ladder leaning against a tree, engaged in a furious argument with two parrots cackling and flapping their wings wrathfully. 

“What’s going on?”
“They have laid eggs. They must be destroyed, or more will be born in the wild. It would become difficult to keep them under control, and it’s up to the Environmental Protection Council to decide when and how more should be hatched” She sighed: “Nature must be tamed if we don’t want it to take over.”
She smiled and took me under arm, but I resisted. She looked at me questioningly.
“Just a moment, I’ll catch up with you.”
“As you wish”

And she walked away.
The attendant meanwhile had come down the ladder, swearing horribly. He laid three small eggs in a container that was at his feet, and began fiddling with the ladder. I slowly approached behind him.

The eggs were pale blue, with small dark spots. Quickly I picked one up and hid it in my pocket.

The man was too busy fiddling with the ladder to notice me.
Then I turned around, and started walking casually to catch up with my mother.
When I looked up at the bright facade of the Council building, I saw, on one of the flowery balconies, the black silhouette of Emmanuel Lynch and clearly distinguished his red eyes staring at me.