Hope

By G.V. Silva

Alfred and Jane Marino sat together in the windowless waiting room.

On the wall in front of them, a set of large metallic letters spelled out the words: 'PROJECT HOPE' in a bold and square typeset and underneath, in somewhat smaller letters: 'Children of a New Dawn.' Apart from that, the room’s walls were completely blank and painted white, illuminated by indirect lighting set up all around the ceiling.

Mr. Marino was bent over a digital clipboard on his lap visible only to him, ticking boxes in a form titled: 'Applicant Parent Medical History.'

Mrs. Marino, who had her augmented reality lenses switched off, was observing absentmindedly the young man sitting across from them. He had leaned back on his chair, his stick strapped over his eyes like a visor, and was engaged in an immersion game. Mrs. Marino could see the muscles on his face twitching slightly every now and then.

"How is it going?" she asked her husband in a half-whisper.

"Almost done," Mr. Marino answered without looking up.

With a sigh, she pulled her savvystick from her left wrist and straightened it out. It stiffened with a small click. She used her thumbprint to unlock the stick and swiped the pattern that activated the AR lenses in her eyes. Immediately, the room’s white walls disappeared, and she found herself sitting in the middle of a beautiful sunny prairie. Her husband and the people around them were still visible, as well as the project’s name, which now seemed to float in mid-air, glistening against the bright blue background of the cloudless sky.

Mrs. Marino looked around and saw several children playing among the trees of a nearby orchard. On her other side, a couple stood on the porch of a picturesque country house. They smiled and waved when she turned to look at them.

With another movement of her thumb, she adjusted the volume of her earpieces, and the scene became alive with sound. A soft tune started to ring in her ears while a disembodied voice narrated the marvels of the future society envisioned by Project Hope. She then slapped the stick back onto her wrist, and it instantly curled up around it like a bracelet.

Mrs. Marino sighed again, watching the kids giggle as they merrily chased each other on the green fields. She had never personally seen a landscape like this. In fact, she was quite sure that no such place existed on Earth anymore.

"Honey, what kind of diabetes did your father have again?" Mr. Marino asked.

"Type two, I think," she said distractedly.

"So that’s like the non-hereditary type, right?"

"Yes, I think so."

"You sure?"

"Pretty sure."

"Good." Mr. Marino ticked another box, poking with his savvystick at the air in front of him. After a few further moments of box-ticking, he slapped his stick back onto his wrist and said in a low but cheerful voice: "I guess we’re good to go!"

"What?" asked Mrs. Marino, lowering the volume in her earpieces.

"I said we’re good to go. I’m done with the form."

"Good," said Mrs. Marino, still immersed in her ponderations on the idyllic scene projected around her. She could almost feel the warm sunlight tickling her skin.

"I – I guess they’ll call us." Mr. Marino pulled his savvystick from his wrist with a defeated gesture and started checking his mail, his eyes fixed on the bare wall in front of them as he ran his thumb over the stick to scroll through the messages.

A few minutes later, a smooth artificial-sounding female voice rang in the couple’s ears: "Mr. and Mrs. Marino, Room 1209, please."

"That’s us!" said Mr. Marino, slapping his thighs lightly and nudging his wife with his elbow. He stood up and extended his hand to her.

She looked up at him, hesitating for a moment.

"Are you coming?"

"Yeah, sure."

Mrs. Marino switched off the AR lenses and slapped her savvystick back onto her wrist. She took another deep breath before taking Mr. Marino’s hand and getting up as well.

"What’s the matter, dear?" whispered Mr. Marino, still holding her hand. "Is something bothering you? Are you getting second thoughts?"

"Well…" Mrs. Marino could feel the tears swelling up in her eyes and choking her up, but she managed to swallow them down. "I don’t know," she said, "it’s just…"

"Just what?" Mr. Marino turned to his wife, taking her other hand and drawing closer to her.

"I don’t know," she repeated, "it’s just so weird that we will never get to see her…I just can’t understand why you’re so obsessed with this."

"Jane, honey, this is our investment in a brighter future for our child. Besides, there is a chance that we will –"

"Will you please stop repeating those stupid slogans?" Her words resonated in the otherwise silent room, making Mr. Marino wince slightly.

Jane Marino freed her hands and took a step back from her husband, but after a second he drew closer again and put his hands on her shoulders. They looked each other in the eyes.

"I – I thought we agreed on this, that we both wanted a child…" Mr. Marino said pleadingly.

Mrs. Marino sighed and lowered her gaze to the floor. "Yes, I know, but what’s the point of this? She won’t really be our child if we can’t raise her, be there for her…"

"Well, you don’t know if that’s the case."

"Don’t say that. You know very well that, based on the current predictions, it’s virtually impossible for us to get our full membership before –"

Again the smooth voice rang in their ears: "Mr. and Mrs. Marino, Room 1209, please."

"She will have our genes," said Mr. Marino, gently drawing a strand of hair from his wife’s face. "She will look like you, maybe be like you in some ways. I – I want the future to have a person like you."

Mrs. Marino continued staring down at the ground, a tear rolling down her cheek. Her husband wiped it away.

"Why don’t we just go and check it out? We can leave anytime if you feel uncomfortable," he said.

"I’m sorry," she answered. "I know this means a lot to you. I just – oh, never mind, let’s go."

Mrs. Marino looked up at her husband with a faint smile. He kissed her on the cheek.

"Thank you," he whispered in her ear. He then took her by the hand and led her out of the waiting room.

* * *

Room 1209 was a small office. Like the waiting room, it had no windows but instead was illuminated by a diffuse warm light. Most of it was occupied by a wide desk, behind which a middle-aged woman sat on an office chair slightly swinging to and fro, her savvystick strapped over her eyes. She wore a bright green blazer over a purple blouse, equipped with the large shoulder pads that had come into fashion again of late. Her elaborate hairpiece was topped off with an equally fashionable small hexagonal hat fixed onto it with a pin.

When Mr. Marino knocked lightly and peered in from behind the door, the woman lifted the stick a little from her eyes, gestured for the couple to come in and sit on the two chairs opposite her, and set it back on.

"So she got that Rejuvenex treatment after all?" the woman resumed her conversation as Mr. and Mrs. Marino took their seats. "Oh my God, what a bitch! I’m going to kill her, I swear," she said in a loud voice, completely ignoring the couple. "And how does it look?"

While she listened to the answer, the woman pulled out an e-pipe from her blazer’s breast pocket and took a long drag, then burst into a shrill laugh, spewing out a dense cloud of green and pink vapors that filled the room with a sickly sweet scent. Watermelon cotton candy, the same flavor Mrs. Marino’s boss smoked at the factory.

"Oh my dear Jesus, Jedda, you’ll be the effing death of me, I tell you," she said, without taking any further notice of the couple sitting across her.

Mr. and Mrs. Marino looked at each other. Mrs. Marino crossed her arms and rolled her eyes, getting a nervous smile and a shrug in response. The woman continued puffing her pipe and talking in a loud, excited tone, with her back half turned to the couple.

"But I guess the swelling will go away in a few days, and her skin will be smooth as a baby’s bottom. Unbelievable! I hate that woman," she practically shouted between giggles. After a pause, she broke out into another laughing fit, saying: "Jedda, Jedda, I’m telling you, you’ll be the death of me! You are evil! You jealous little snake…! By the way, I love what you did to your avatar. You have to tell me where you got that new skin – it’s just so…"

Prompted by a light jab to his ribs from his wife, Mr. Marino leaned slightly forward and addressed the woman: "Excuse me, we’re here to –"

"Just a moment, just a moment," the woman said, lifting the savvystick from her eyes again and turning to them.

At first, Mr. Marino wasn’t sure if she meant him or Jedda, but then the woman added: "I have some clients here. Let me get this thing going, yes? I’ll call you back in a sec."

Putting the stick down on the desk in front of her, she adressed the couple, pointing at her own eyes: "Could you please turn on the AR function on your savvysticks? Audio, too," she added in a whisper, tapping her ear with a finger.

Mrs. Marino pulled out her savvystick and did as the woman asked. Mr. Marino didn’t have to activate the AR function on his stick because it had already been on. Instead, seeing that he had caught the woman’s attention, he attempted to introduce himself again.

"Excuse me," he said, "my name is –"

The woman, however, had immediately started typing something into a console on the desk.

Before Mr. Marino could finish his sentence, a message appeared before the couple’s eyes prompting them to accept a request to link up their sticks with another device.

They both tapped their savvysticks to accept, and the virtual image of a woman materialized in front of them. Its features were not quite the same as those of the original – in fact, they were much smoother and youthful, with a tanned hue impossible to acquire in the city smog – but the Marinos immediately recognized it as the virtual avatar of the woman they had been speaking to.

At the same time, the walls, too, seemed to turn into large windows showing a vista of a dusty urban landscape bathed in soft yellow light. The actual woman was still visible just a few inches behind her projected twin, but she was now obscured by the image, and her voice was suddenly muted. She picked up her savvystick, pushed herself back further into the corner of the office, getting out of the way of the image, and resumed the call. Mr. and Mrs. Marino could see her puffing her pipe and laughing out loud through her own virtual image, but no sound reached them anymore. Instead, the image rose from its imaginary chair and said, in a polite, somewhat monotonous voice:

"Good morning. Please make yourselves comfortable."

Slightly disconcerted, Mr. Marino leaned back into his chair and glanced at his wife. She was looking quite annoyed. She didn’t care for interactive chatbots, and this made him nervous. It had taken him a lot of effort to convince her to come here. He didn’t want his plans ruined now. So he kept quiet for a moment while the bot sat down again.

"We at Project Hope are happy to welcome you to our Children of a New Dawn program," the image continued. "My name is Kelly. I’m here to guide you through the registration process and answer any questions you might have along the way. Please be advised that elements of this interaction, including, but not limited to: eye movement, voice patterns, body temperature, heart rate…" – the bot listed a multitude of physiological and behavioral markers at a dizzying, almost incomprehensible pace – "…may be tracked and recorded for the purpose of improving Project Hope’s services and products. Please let me know if you have any questions during our interview. I’ll be glad to answer them to the best of my ability," it concluded, returning to its flat and even cadence.

There was a short pause during which Kelly the bot sat motionless in front of them. However, just as Mr. Marino perched himself up to say something, she interrupted him again.

"I assume you have already been informed about the results of the tests run on the sperm and eggs you provided?"

"Y-yes," muttered Mr. Marino.

"The samples tested were unobjectionable. According to the information you provided, your medical history seems to be in order, too. We are all set to fertilize the egg and store the embryo as soon as the transaction is concluded. However, the inclusion of your child in the program will depend on you having paid its full membership fee by the time Project Hope launches. I see that you have chosen to invest in a girl," she continued, almost without pausing. "I congratulate you on your choice."

The bot changed the subject so seamlessly that it took Mr. Marino a moment to process what it had said. "Yes, a girl," he answered.

There was an awkward pause again, and Mr. Marino added: "Thank you," in a half-questioning tone.

"I see that you have chosen to call your daughter Eve," the image continued, seemingly oblivious to Mr. Marino’s disconcerted answer.

"Y –" Mr. Marino cleared his throat. "Yes, Eve."

"Unfortunately, I must inform you that we are currently advising our customers against picking the names Adam, Eve, and Hope since they are already too common among the New Dawn Children. Please state if you would like to change your child’s name."

"Oh? Is that so?" said Mrs. Marino in a mocking tone, looking at her husband. After she had vetoed his suggestion of giving their daughter her mother-in-law’s name, Mr. Marino had the idea of calling her Eve. She had told him that, given the circumstances, the name was pretty corny, but he had insisted on it.

"So I guess we’ll use my mother’s name after all," Mr. Marino whispered between his teeth, glancing at his wife. The nervous grin had plastered itself onto his face like a mask, his jaw tensely flexed as if it had locked into that position.

Mrs. Marino frowned at him. Turning to the digital image projected in front of her, she said: "Could you give us a moment, please?"

"By all means," answered the image. "Take your time."

"So what do you suggest?" whispered Mr. Marino.

Mrs. Marino took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to contain herself. After a moment, she said: "Let’s call her Aurora. It’s beautiful."

"Beautiful?"

"Yes, it means dawn."

"To me, it sounds like someone speaking with their mouth full." Mr. Marino chuckled lightly but was immediately silenced by his wife’s icy gaze.

"Well, do you have any better suggestions?" she asked in defiance.

"I –"

"And don’t you dare say 'Emily.' I swear I’ll rip your tongue out," Mrs. Marino hissed. For no apparent reason, Fred’s mother had never approved of his choice for a wife and had never stopped being a pain in the neck to Jane.

Alfred Marino glanced helplessly at the chatbot. The figure sat there, completely frozen, with both its hands on the table.

"Well –" he finally said, avoiding his wife’s regard, "well, what about Dawn then? That’s nice." "No," snapped Mrs. Marino. "'Dawn Marino' sounds like a mob boss or something."

"Well, I don’t think there will be any mob bosses in the new era, honey," Mr. Marino muttered between his teeth. It looked like the muscles in his jaw were about to burst from the pressure he was putting on them.

"I don’t care," she answered. "It’s stupid. It’s too on the nose. You wanted this, so let me at least pick the Goddamn name."

"All right, all right," Mr. Marino waved his hands in a placating gesture, "Aurora it is then." Turning to the image behind the desk, he said: "How about – Aurora?"

After a second or so, the image began to move again and replied: "Could you spell that out, please?"

"A – U – R – O – R – A," said Mrs. Marino.

"An excellent choice," the bot answered in the same even tone. "I’m registering Aurora Marino as New Dawn Child number 2B207. After you sign the contract, she will be assigned a second-generation position at Project Hope’s Station 2."

"Second generation?" Mrs. Marino asked.

"It means that she will be gestated in the second batch after the Hopefuls have established themselves on the surface again. If all goes well, she will be born within five years of first surfacing."

"What do you mean, if all goes well?"

"As part of your contract, you leave it at the leadership of Station 2’s discretion to decide the pace at which repopulation will be conducted."

"I don’t know if I like this," Mrs. Marino said in her husband’s ear.

"Don’t worry, honey," he whispered back. "Second generation is good. She won’t be one of the first ones out, but she also won’t have to wait for ages to be born."

Mrs. Marino wasn’t quite convinced but decided to stay quiet. At least they were being honest about the fact that the parents wouldn’t have any say in the matters concerning their children’s future lives.

"Any further questions?" the bot asked. Mr. and Mrs. Marino looked at each other. But before either of them could say anything, the figure went on: "Now that we have the formalities behind us, could I interest you in our enhancement options?"

"Enhancement?" asked Mrs. Marino, taken aback. "What sort of enhancement?"

"I’m glad you asked," the image said with a smile. "We don’t advertise our enhancement packages very widely. We prefer to keep them more exclusive. For a premium, you may select from a vast array of genetic enhancements for your child."

A cheerful tune began to play in the couple’s ears as an AR display slowly descended in front of their eyes. The display showed a list of features and their corresponding prices.

Mr. Marino whipped out his savvystick and started to scroll down on it. The list contained all sorts of enhancements, from minor changes like determining the color of the eyes or the texture of the hair, improving height, and reducing chances of certain hereditary illnesses, up to intelligence, stamina, and strength boosts, as well as improvements to sense organs and resistance to all sorts of infectious diseases. Accordingly, the prices varied from a couple hundred dollars up to exorbitant sums, almost as high as the full membership itself.

Mr. Marino gave out a small gasp.

"Isn’t that illegal?" asked Mrs. Marino, frowning.

"Good question." The bot tilted its head mechanically and grinned. "The short answer is no. Human genetic enhancement is still illegal in most parts of the world – although many places allow for exceptions when it comes to preventing hereditary diseases. However, Project Hope’s Children of a New Dawn program doesn’t actually offer to produce enhanced human beings but only enhanced embryos, which are put in cold storage in the earliest stages of development. This means that people who acquire the enhancement packages aren’t getting any superhuman children; they’re paying only to have a few modified cells stored in a freezer in an undisclosed location. And that’s perfectly legal in this country."

Having said this, the image tilted its head again and winked at the couple.

"Oh, I see," said Mr. Marino. "I guess then maybe we could –"

Mrs. Marino squeezed her husband’s arm. He glanced at her.

"Fred!" she whispered in an exasperated tone. "Look at these prices! We can’t afford any of this!"

"Well, I think our child deserves a head start in life. Especially since, as you said, we might not be there to care for her. I mean, we don’t want her to be at a disadvantage, do we? Surely, most parents will –"

"But how on Earth are we supposed to pay for it?"

"We’ll just pay in more installments."

Mrs. Marino sighed. "This is crazy! It will already take us long enough to pay off the membership as it is."

"We have to have hope, my dear."

"But Freddie, what about us? Don’t you have any hope for us?"

"Well, from what I recall, you were the one saying that we joined the project too late, that we would never make it through the whole training to become Hopefuls ourselves before – –"

"That’s not what I meant, Fred," interrupted Mrs. Marino. "I don’t mean the hope of paying off our ticket to be put in a stupid freezer ourselves – God, Fred, I mean hope for us here, now, in this world…"

"Honey, we’ve been over this already. Whatever happens to the world, we’ll have each other. But if you’re right about our membership, chances are that our little girl will be all alone in a new and unfamiliar place. This is all we will be able to do for her."

Jane Marino sighed and rubbed her forehead. This was starting to give her a headache.

Evidently, this was very important to her husband, but she still couldn’t grasp exactly why. What was the sense of spending a fortune over years to have a child that they would never see, never touch, never care for? It was because of all that trash that he was consuming on his savvystick on a daily basis. Freddie was a good man and a caring husband, but he basically never turned off his stick’s AR function. It was like he experienced the world through an ever-present layer of digital entertainment, advertising, and social media feeds. Mrs. Marino found this deeply troubling. But the truth was that most people were like that nowadays. She was the freak, actually.

Mrs. Marino turned to look at her husband and the pleading expression on his face softened her heart. She regretted being fussy about their daughter’s name. As ludicrous as this was, and as much as she didn’t want to believe it, the fantasy of this child living in a distant unknown future was probably Fred’s way of coping with the harsh reality of their situation. It upset her to know that. But, on the other hand, it was mainly she who refused to bring a child into this world. And, instead of leaving her or committing suicide, he had chosen to have a child – with her – in a hypothetical future crafted by the marketing team of some shady corporation. It was weird and twisted and totally absurd, but it was still love that motivated him, that drove him – and so many other people – to commit to this crazy plan.

Mrs. Marino took another deep breath, put her hand on her husband’s, and said, looking into his eyes: "Okay. Let’s do this."

She saw an expression of genuine relief wash over his face.

Fred then turned again to the bot, speaking hesitantly. "We – we’ll take the basic health improvement package."

"Good choice," said the image in the same even manner. "For an additional 3,000 dollars, I can offer you an upgrade to the Premium Health Improvement Package XS, which includes a genetically enhanced immune system. Would you be interested?"

"Well, I don’t –" interjected Mrs. Marino.

"We’ll take it."

"Fred!" Mrs. Marino exclaimed again in a low voice, squeezing her husband’s hand.

"Excellent choice," said the bot. "Is there any other enhancement that I could interest you in?"

"No –" said Mr. Marino.

Almost immediately, the tune stopped ringing in their ears, the catalog of enhancements disappeared into the desk, and a table of products and prices rolled down next to the woman’s virtual image detailing the Marino’s order.

"Your daughter’s full Children of a New Dawn membership fee, including the Premium Health Improvement Package XS, totals 68,542 dollars and thirty-four cents. Your participation in Project Hope’s workshops so far entitles you to a discount of 458 dollars and sixty-six cents already included in the final price. Any further participation in workshops will be deducted from the price of your daughter’s membership fee according to this conversion table." The bot gestured at a discount table which appeared floating in the air on its other side. "Have you thought about a payment plan yet?"

Mr. Marino glanced at his wife. "I’m not sure…"

"Take your time, sir. At this point, I would like to remind you that at Project Hope, all payment plans are fully flexible and interest-free. You can renegotiate your payment plan at any given time by paying just a small service fee. And keep in mind that the more people invest in Project Hope, the lower the price of each membership will become. The rates for paying members are adjusted automatically each month as the project’s capabilities increase and the cost for new individual memberships is reduced. You will receive a monthly update on your family’s current membership status via our app, which I advise you to download right away by scanning this token if you haven’t done so yet."

A stylized 'PH', the project’s logo, began to spin in the air in front of the couple. Of course they had already downloaded the app, having been aspiring Hopefuls for almost two years now. Mr. Marino wiped the AR token away with a movement of his hand, and it disappeared into the office’s wall.

The bot resumed: "In addition to that, you may reduce your daughter’s membership fee even further by personally inviting new members and subscribing to other Project Hope services. You get a hundred-dollar discount for each membership you procure to one of our programs, and your participation in any of our programs or workshops allows for various discounts in other payment plans you might have.

"However," once again, the image began speaking and moving very rapidly as if someone had pressed the fast-forward button, "I must advise you that all paid amounts are non-refundable and that if a member hasn’t completed the full payment at the moment of project initiation, their membership to the program in question will be discontinued, and all contractual obligations on the part of Project Hope will become void."

"And when will that be?" asked Mrs. Marino. She knew the answer, of course, but she was curious to see how this AI had been programmed to refer to the collapse of civilization.

The bot tilted its head again. "I’m sorry, ma’am. Could you please rephrase your question?"

"I would like to know when the moment of project initiation will be," Mrs. Marino spelled out, speaking with exaggerated clearness.

For a moment, the bot remained immobile in an attentive pose, as if waiting for Mrs. Marino to say more. She was about to repeat her question when it began to speak again.

"The specific moment of project initiation cannot be determined in advance. Project Hope works simultaneously with various crisis scenarios, each one of them depending on countless variables. Current estimates vary between five and twenty years."

"I guess it’s hard to put a pin on the date the world will end," Mr. Marino said, the sheepish grin plastered again on his face. He knew there was no way they would be able to pay off Aurora’s full membership in under five years. Even twenty years was a stretch, given inflation and the job market volatility. Even if society didn’t disintegrate completely until then, there was no way to tell if the Marinos would still be in any condition to pay anything a few years from now.

"Well, that’s not exactly a precise forecast," Mrs. Marino observed, taking no notice of her husband’s attempt at a joke. "And who determines when all bets are closed?"

"I’m sorry ma’am, could you please –" the bot began again, but Mrs. Marino interrupted it.

"I’m asking who decides when the project will be launched."

"By signing the agreement, you give the experts at Project Hope full discretion to evaluate the right moment for the project to become operational. As part of their contract, aspiring members may request an annual report of our projections, so that they may adjust their payment rates accordingly if they so wish. Additionally, Project Hope is contractually bound to give its members – and, of course, the parents of CND’s children – three months’ forewarning before project initiation. However, there are exceptions to this clause, such as large-scale natural disasters or sudden breakdown of social structures. The full range of exceptions is listed in paragraph twelve of the contract, section three."

Having said this, the bot repeated: "Have you thought about a payment plan yet?"

Mr. Marino gave his wife an anxious look. She cocked her head and glanced at him sideways, raising her eyebrows wearily.

After a moment of silence, the image spoke again: "Have you thought about a payment plan yet?"

"We had settled on five hundred, right darling?" mumbled Mr. Marino, unable to look his wife in the eyes.

Mrs. Marino shrugged. "Whatever you say, darling."

"Have you thought about a payment –"

"Oh, be quiet for a moment, you annoying thing!" snapped Mrs. Marino.

The bot grinned and tilted its head again. "I’m sorry, I didn’t understand your answer. Have you thought about a payment plan yet?"

Mr. Marino turned to it and said in a low voice: "I guess we can start by paying five hundred dollars per month…"

"Very well. Are you making an initial downpayment?"

"N – no," Mr. Marino stuttered. His face had acquired a reddish hue.

"Your daughter’s membership will be paid in 137 monthly rates of five hundred dollars each, is that correct?"

"Y – yes, that’s correct, I think."

"Thank you for your confirmation."

"But Freddie, like this it will take us over ten years –" Mrs. Marino whispered.

"I know, honey," Mr. Marino whispered back out of the corner of his mouth without taking his eyes off the image in front of him, "but that’s how the hope game goes. For now, we have to hope that it will take longer than that for the world to end. And if enough people join the project, we may end up finishing our payments much sooner. Besides, I can see if I get a little side job to increase the monthly installments a bit."

Mrs. Marino sighed again but said nothing.

After a short pause, the bot asked: "Are there any more questions?"

Alfred Marino glanced at his wife, who gave a resigned shrug.

"No, I don’t think –" Mr. Marino began to say, but upon registering the word 'no,' the bot had already stood up immediately with a wide smile.

"Thank you for trusting in Project Hope’s vision for the future of mankind," it said, bowing slightly. "Your investment today is a contribution to a better world for our children’s tomorrow. I will now refer you to my colleague, who will collect both of your signatures for the contract. Goodbye."

The image vanished, leaving its flesh and blood prototype sitting in its place. The original Kelly was no longer on her savvystick but had put on a pair of glasses and was looking through sheets of paper as they came out of a printer that had started whirring lightly under the desk. Mr. and Mrs. Marino hadn’t been paying attention to her, so they were a little startled at suddenly seeing her like this.

"So, my dears," she said, looking up at them with a smile. Her voice was just like that of the bot, but the tone was not calm and even, but somehow provoking and a bit condescending. "I see you have selected the Premium Health Improvement Package XS. Great choice if the budget is tight." She winked.

Mrs. Marino felt the urge to punch her stupid glasses right into the back of her skull but contained herself and smiled back in an awkwardly stiff way.

"Don’t get me wrong, dear," the woman continued, "Everybody is on a tight budget these days. I got this one for my own two babies." She put one hand to the side of her mouth as if to tell a secret and added with another wink: "Plus there’s an employee discount. One of the perks of working here."

Mr. Marino let out a little nervous chuckle.

"Speaking of which," she continued, raising her eyebrows suggestively, "there is a three percent discount on your monthly rates if you are paying with a HeapsO’Hope credit card."

"Oh," said Mr. Marino, glancing at his wife. "I – I don’t have one of those."

"Pity," she said drily. She gathered the sheets from the desk and passed them to Mr. Marino, along with a shiny black pen. "I know. Pen and paper – it’s unusual. But we’re required to keep a hard copy of all of our contracts, just in case… After all, our business is all about the end of the world! You may take your time to read the contract. Once you’re done, please sign here – and here. On both copies. Both of you, please." As she said these last words, the woman looked over the rim of her glasses and pointed at the couple with two outstretched fingers that displayed long purple nails.

Mr. Marino took the papers, set them on the table, and quickly signed on the spots indicated by the woman. His wife watched him with a kind of pitiful look as he did this. She was still upset, but she couldn’t stop herself from feeling a certain tenderness at the sight of her husband’s youthful expression as he signed his name without even glancing at the writing.

He turned to her and held out the pen, winking at her like a mischievous little boy. At this, she even let out a little chuckle. But her expression quickly hardened again when she started to sift through the contract that lay on the table before her. She thought of telling her husband that this was completely insane, that by signing this contract they were practically giving up any rights over their unborn daughter – yes, in fact, over "all the organic material and genetic information provided to Project Hope, its subsidiaries, or any third party acting in behalf of Project Hope and/or any of its subsidiaries."

On second thought, however, she decided to humor him. After all, what difference did it make? In exchange for their hard-earned cash, a little bit of their genetic material was going to be tampered with and put in a cryogenic storage facility. That was all, as far as she was concerned. To think that there was more to this would be to believe in the project’s promises, which she decidedly didn’t. Yes, she thought, maybe they could have used the money her husband was wasting on this. But, on the other hand, that’s what people do a lot of the time, isn’t it? They invest what they have in their future. And, in a way, this wasn’t so different – the only difference was that they were doing it at a time when there was no future to speak of anymore. But the drive, the deeply embedded human drive to build something, to leave something behind – that was still there. And that’s where Project Hope came in, always ready to rake in those sweet dollars in exchange for a feel-good story about a utopian post-apocalyptic society…

Mrs. Marino drew a deep resigned breath and signed her name.

* * *

As he was exiting the building with his wife, Alfred Marino felt a light tingling sensation running down his spine. A little blue icon started blinking in the corner of his vision. He whipped out his savvystick and swiped to open the message from his online banking service: the first rate of his daughter’s membership had been charged to his credit card.