Daddy's Eyes

“Mummy…where did I come from?”

Breakfast: eggs and soldiers. Rebecca’s new favourite. Of course, we didn’t need food any more - how could humanity go on existing if demand outweighed supply? But it was good to eat traditionally every now and then, to feel the warmth of the food, the texture in your mouth, the nice feeling of fullness in your stomach. 

“Well…” began her Mummy. “It all started when I met your Father…”

“Where is Daddy?” interjected Rebecca. “Eggs and soldiers aren’t the same without Daddy doing the voices...” she lamented. 

“Daddy’s busy,” Mummy said, brushing Rebecca’s concern under the carpet in a manner resembling the obsolete task of housework. “He’s gone to work early - lots to do. Anyway, eat up! You’ve got to be on your way to school. Big day today - you’ve got your piano recital. Remember, Granny’s going to be there - she’s always loved Ludwig Van.”

Indeed, playing the entirety of Beethoven’s piano sonata no. 14 “Moonlight”, including the lightning fast third movement, was traditionally no easy task, let alone for a six year old child. But what with modern advances in technology - the sky was the limit, so to speak. Everyone could be a virtuoso if they liked - or a champion sportsperson, for example, though the playing field had been levelled somewhat these days - “Back in the day we played proper football!” Grandad always used to shout. Used to - yes, Grandad had recently succumbed to brain cancer at the ripe old age of 178. But not a wrinkle on his body! He barely looked a day over twenty five. 

Rebecca lowered the last soldier into the thick, warm yolky mess before he met his end in Rebecca’s gaping maw. Through uncouth mouthfuls, she continued her question, each word distorted by the now partially digested food. “So where did I come from, Mummy? Did I grow out of the ground?” 

“No, it’s not that silly!” She replied with a chuckle. “Why are you asking anyway? Has someone at school been talking about it?”

“No Mummy, I just heard Daddy talking to you about babies being born at work.”

“Well, Rebecca,” she continued. “I met your Daddy, and I liked him a lot. And he liked me a lot. So we went to some people who took little tiny bits of brain from us- ”

“That’s disgusting!” Rebecca cried in protest. 

“Well…that’s how it happens,” Mummy hesitantly continued. “They took these tiny scrapings of brain, so they could get what’s called DNA from it, mixed it together and put it in a test tube, and you came out! And that’s where Daddy works - he helps bring babies into the world! Now come on, put your shoes on and get off to school! You’re going to be late!”

***

Mummy withdrew a sharp knife from the drawer and paused for a moment, marvelling at its elegant, yet deadly beauty. She had bought an old second hand recipe book (books! What a rarity!) a few weeks ago, and had decided to try and concoct a few meals as an experiment. So far she had managed to create a couple of trays of biscuits and a Spaghetti Bolognese, and after pleasantly surprising herself and her family with the results, wanted to nurture her newfound talent. After all, food preparation was as old as humanity itself, and we surely can’t forget what makes us truly human. Meals were usually ordered on demand ready-made, but as cookery was no longer a necessity, for many its appeal as a hobby had only increased. Following the recipe to the letter, she hoped that she would soon have a tasty lasagne. Grabbing hold of a stick of celery (how strange it felt) she grasped the knife carefully and began to slowly cut thin slices. Her hubris got the better of her and she began to slice more quickly. The knife slipped - the thin steel blade making a smooth incision in her thumb. The pain was minimal - it was more a feeling of minor discomfort; most people, Mummy among them, had raised their pain threshold setting. The wound was deep, but bloodless, and would heal itself by the evening. I think that needs to be patched, she thought to herself. I’ll get the update from the cloud this afternoon. Hopefully a mistake like this wouldn’t happen again in a hurry. She could even share her visual recording of the incident with Human Biotechnics - how had society coped without constant recordings through every person’s eyes? Think of all the crimes people could commit, without a single soul to witness! Mummy’s generous contribution would help no doubt improve later updates, and allow humanity to realise its full potential. 

***

Daddy paused ahead of a door marked PRIVATE AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY and was presently admitted into the high security Birthing Room. Inside was a vast cave of industry, a warehouse of souls and a factory for humanity. As he slowly paced though the metallic walkways, his footsteps leaving clanging resonance in their wake, he paused to inspect one of the thousands of foetal forms suspended in the thick, yellow-green liquid, neatly contained within a glass tube just large enough to contain the precious cargo. The unborn baby looked back at him with an unblinking, vacant stare. Bright blue eyes, just like my Rebecca, he thought. A brainwave suddenly hit him through the chip embedded in his organic brain: reminder - 10 minutes - birthing inspection.

Daddy made his way through endless aisles in the battery farm of human life. Unborn babies floated gently in their test tubes as if participants in a perverse mass waltz. On reaching the end of the room he climbed several flights of metal steps, and entered an office that gave him a commanding view over the facility. A nervous-looking employee sat at the console.

“Hello there, you must be James Stephens!” Daddy focused his blue eyes on the nervous looking man, and spoke in a friendly manner. 

“Yes, Mr Barratt,” he murmured quietly in response. 

“Well, you certainly seem to be settling in nicely…as you know this is a fully automated process, but we like supervisors to get their hands dirty every now and then. Show me how you do it then…” Daddy said, beaming.

The nervous employee spoke. “Artie, which specimens are ready for birthing?”

Artie (the pet name for the facility’s artificial intelligence) responded in a warm and conversational tone: “2 specimens are ready. Numbers 1045 and 6148.” 

“Execute extraction on specimen number 6148.”

“Extraction command registered. Are you sure?”

“Affirmative.”

The chosen baby sank beneath the warehouse floor, swallowed into the cold, mechanical bowels of the facility. Daddy’s eyes were fixed on the monitor screen with a hard stare. His face wrinkled into a gentle smile, as the phrase BRAIN EXTRACTION IN PROGRESS flickered across the screen. 

“Artie, is specimen 6148’s body prepared?” Stephens asked apprehensively. 

“Affirmative. He has his father’s eyes,” Artie said with a twinkle in his own, though non-existent. Prospective parents could roll the dice, like the old days, or pick and choose the various visual features that their children would have. This baby, it appeared, was made the old fashioned way, randomly based on a combination of the parent’s DNA. 

“You see,” Daddy began, “any attempts to transfer our brains to completely artificial settings have been unsuccessful. We’ve never got the hang of real consciousness - Artie of course can only mimic true intelligence. And we can’t grow a brain from scratch either - it needs a gestation period in the perfect womb - the foetus.”

Stephens nodded understandingly. “Shall I begin insertion?”

“You tell me - you’re the expert now,” Daddy responded with synthetic tongue firmly in synthetic cheek. 

“Artie, begin insertion.”

A perfectly formed, lifeless machine resembling a newborn baby was married to the last remaining biological remnant - the mind. The self-ageing robot into which the brain had been inserted would grow just like a human child. Stephens anxiously monitored the video feed as a peacefully sleeping baby emerged, snuggled inside an incubator, which was conveyed rapidly to a cavernous hangar containing a waiting Stork among hundreds. 

“Stork ready to depart,” Artie announced.

“Proceed.” 

The stork’s quad propellers launched it out of the hanger and high into the air above the bustling city. Steadying itself into a hover, it rotated on the spot in a controlled, mechanical manner, located the appropriate drone highway and followed the skyroad on its way to the home of the lucky recipients.

The parents would be so pleased - this would perhaps be the happiest day of their life. It was time for little baby 6148 - or John as he would come to be named - to say hello to the world.

“Artie, dispose of the organic host body.”

“Host transferral to incinerator in progress,” Artie assured. 

And there it was, the miracle of birth for the modern age. 

“Congratulations,” Daddy beamed to the new hire. “You’ve birthed your first child.”

***

No undue pain. Long life. No petty ailments. Bad back? Gone. Myopia or deafness? A thing of the past. Lose a limb, get another. Daddy reflected on how far the human race had come - how terrible it would be to live in a world with such unnecessary suffering! To imagine how fragile little Rebecca would otherwise be! Daddy felt reassured as he rode the E-scooter home from a successful day’s training - the future was in safe hands. 

***

Dinner: Lasagne. The woefully underused oven had finally earned a chance to stretch its wings. Rebecca was impatiently sat at the table. Mummy’s thumb was nearly healed, her motor skills safely patched, and her video report in the care of Human Biotechnics.  

Rebecca’s ears, still temporarily enhanced to aid her piano performance, suddenly detected footsteps outside the front door, presently transforming into fumbling at the latch. “Daddy!” Rebecca shouted gleefully.

“How’s Daddy’s little girl?” Daddy asked affectionately as he opened the front door, revealing a new world of sights and smells within. Following the scent of fresh hot food, he made his way to the kitchen to break bread with his family. “How’s Daddy’s little maestro?” Daddy indulged his daughter as he noticed a hint of sadness in Rebecca’s innocent, pure face. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there, but I was very busy at work today.” 

“Never mind Daddy! Mummy was telling me about your work today: I want to be just like you when I grow up!”

“Oh, come here Becks!” Daddy offered an affable, reassuring front to his daughter. Rebecca excitedly ran into his waiting arms, and he caught a glimpse of her bright blue eyes.

With a small chuckle, he thought to himself: Don’t we all have our Daddy’s eyes!