Designer Genes

Nixina awoke early in the morning. She did her morning stretches and brewed herself a mug of GM-Java, a special brand of genetically modified brew from Holland. It combined the best aspects of the coffee bean with the best aspects of the coca leaf and marijuana bud. 

 Nixina allowed herself this one indulgence. GM-Java was technically illegal in America, but she was rich enough to afford a lawyer so it did not really matter. The drink warmed her up and was absolutely the best part of waking up so early in the morning. 

 Nixina was highly educated in the ways of computers. She could hack into anything and this made her feel powerful. She knew the Linux kernel source code by heart - all 127.8 million lines of it. It made her feel powerful because Linux ran the world, and following along logically, so did she. People had better respect her, because Nixina was not the type of girl to get mad. She was the type of girl to get even. 

 Nixina looked at the calendar. It was Thursday, May 21st, 3221. It was still dark. Sometimes Nixina hated working for the computer farm, but at least it paid well. Normally she wished she could be out scuba diving - that was her passion. She loved exploring the old underwater cities like Venice and Tokyo. 

 Only last week New York had just been declared officially safe for tourist diving. Ten years previous the CitySafe flotation devices failed due to terrorists. Those sexist towel-headed bastards had crossed the line again. They were the last remaining culture not to acknowledge the biological dominance of females. This time they got what they deserved, a couple of Mega-H-bombs, praise be to Allah. Now they were all gone and their lands were reverted to desert again, like 1200 years ago when they knocked over the Twin Towers. 

 Although it would just not be the same under 60 meters of water, Nixina had always wanted to go back to New York. She had been there as a little girl to visit her grandparents. Her grandmother had taken her to see a Yankees game and bought her a baseball cap. Before Nixina left her grandmother had shown her a gold Rolex watch, which she promised to give her when she turned 18. 

 Then came September 11th, 3201. A massive power failure previously thought impossible occurred on the moon. It was sabotage by the Muslim army. Millions died in a few minutes. The television showed pictures of rejoicing Palestinians, Afghanis, and Saudi Arabians. Then there was a bright flash of light and the sandy region's millennia of troubles ceased for good. 

 Nixina could afford her own Rolex watch now, but being the sentimental type she wanted to get it out of the bank safety deposit box before someone else did. Even though it was accepted policy that all sunken cities were official loot zones, Nixina still felt she had a special right to the thing. Even in the 33rd century, blood was still thicker than water. 

 New York would be a great place to dive. It was widely considered to be the greatest of all the floating cities. No - it was the greatest of all cities. Nixina desperately wanted to see it again. Whether it was underwater or not, it held a primal importance to her. Even if most of the skyscrapers had been knocked over by the tides, the bank safe would surely be in one piece. Were Rolex watches waterproof? Would it still tick if wound? It did not matter. It was the sentimentality of an older innocent age. That's what she really wanted to keep alive. One day she would give it to her own daughter and so on and so on. 

 Nixina sighed and then decided to make another cup of GM-java before rousing Dirk for a bit of early morning sex before work. Dirk was still lying in bed, motionless. He had been out drinking the night before, as men, even GO-men (genetically optimized men) are known to do. 

 Dirk did not have a job besides general housework and cooking, but Nixina's job easily paid well enough for the both of them. She got Dirk for her 12th birthday present. He was a beautiful custom order GO-man accelerated to grow 4x normal speed until age 25, and then to stay there permanently. She got to pick out all his features. Typical of the ilk, Dirk had a body made for modelling and a brain made to cook and clean. More importantly, his sexual organs had been spliced with the genes of a horse and a rabbit. Perfect for Nixina, as her vagina had an itch that needed frequent scratching. 

 Nixina crawled under the covers with Dirk and tickled his balls, which made his cock stiffen quickly to its full 25 centimeters. Nixina squirted on some baby oil and rubbed it in, which always made him moan. Then she climbed on top and lowered herself onto his dick. Dirk was the best friend a woman could ever have. 

 Nixina thought it cruel that some people, like the so-called Canadians, did not think that GO-men had souls. Just look at him. He was perfect. Good for a laugh or a screw anytime. He sure did like to drink a lot though. Sometimes Nixina wondered if Dirk did not have a few fish genes spliced into him as well. Still, there were no real men anymore, only GO-men. Genetic modification was not allowed on women. Not since they had taken over. Either way, Dirk seemed awfully happy with his lot in life. He was a good boy and she loved him and what more was there to it than that? 

 Nixina had only recently moved to Ohio. She had always loved the ocean and the year-round warm weather. The travel sections in the newspapers were calling it the new Riviera. It was. Palm trees and white sands- a truly exotic location. The only hint that this place had not existed like this forever was the occasional road sign washing up that read 'Pittsburgh - 50 miles'. 

 As the sun was coming up, Nixina dismounted Dirk after her orgasm and turned on the news. There were riots in Canada. She wondered when they were just going to learn to accept their status as the 57th state. Most of the protesters were not even real Canadians - they were just troublesome American transplants. And then she wondered what the real Canadians must have been like. Probably similar to us, she thought, only genetically more primitive, like San Francisco hippies or Neanderthals. 

 The official history books never talked much about Canadian history. What they mentioned was very vague and often relegated to myth. Apparently, Canada had once been a massively large wasteland of snow and ice— home to a primitive beer brewing society who wore scary white masks and wielded big sticks, which they used to fling special hardened rocks called 'pucks' at unwary travelers. 

 Nixina had, like all Americans, a profound respect for inferior cultures. But even she understood why Canada had been annexed. It was for their own good. And after all, the American way of life had been under threat. America's climate had grown too hot to grow wheat and raise cattle. But that was ancient history, almost 500 years ago. 

 What the Canadian protesters did not realize is that nothing can get in the way of progress. And the pace of progress was always dictated by the latest methods of hard science. You either had a good R&D department, or you became extinct. Nobody wanted to go back to the days of the United Nations and organic produce. Nobody wanted to live without portable nuclear fusion reactors. In life you either sink or you swim. Americans always chose to swim. 

 Nixina knew everything was sorted. She did not listen to the environmental doomsayers. They had been proven wrong time and time again. What they did not realize is that the Earth had been completely covered in water at one point. And infested with dinosaurs at another point. And completely covered in snow and ice at another point. This was just another stage of the natural development of the planet. But to her, this climate seemed the best of all because she had beachfront property. 

 "I want to go skiing over Christmas" announced Dirk suddenly. 

"What?" responded Nixina puzzled at this request seemingly out of nowhere.

"Yeah. Skiing," continued Dirk, "I saw it on the History channel. You get to wear cool puffy clothes and drink outside".

Nixina laughed as played with Dirk's now limp cock, trying to bring it back to life before another 12 hour stint at the computer farm. Without too much work it sprang to attention.

"Shut up and fuck me, Dirk. There's no ski resorts anymore. The ice age is over. The polar ice caps melted. Remember?"

Dirk frowned. "Shit, Nixie. Duh. So when's the next ice age?"

it doesn't matter honey. We aren't gonna live that long. Not even with our expensive designer genes.