Graphic Design, Computer Illustration, and Production Art
Richard C. James Design

Short story 3

DNA Foul-up.

I remember the day well. It was Thursday, June 15, 2045.

I had just had a good screw online when there was knock at the door. There were two suits from the Authority at the door. The door monitor recorded a mood quotient of 12x. These guys meant business. So, despite my fear I released the invader-proof lock system.

“Harriet Markley?” the ugly one said.


“We’re from the Authority. You are under arrest. Please gather your I.D. kit and come with us.” The ugly one said. He looked mean.

“Hell, no! I ain’t going nowhere. Lissen here I just got the best cyber-sex in months, I need to lay down and chill!” I smiled at him and let a little cleavage show, but it didn't faze him.

“Lady, we are prepared to use force!” the ugly one said. The other guy whipped out his mega-volt stunner and aimed it at my heart.

“Okay! Okay! What’s the charge?” I asked, as I looked for my I.D. kit.

“Article 54e, subsection 2a of penal code 666. Mitochondrial deviant inheritance.”

“What? No way! Look I got my card right here. I am clean. My DNA chart is clean.”

The ugly one sighed this heavy sigh, like he had heard it all before. Then he says to his partner, “If she makes a move blast her.”

By this time, they were examining my kit. I was cool because I knew everything was straight with my kit. I didn’t mess around with fake black market shit. No, I was straight. This gotta’ be some kinda mistake, I thought.

The ugly one performed an on-the-spot confirmation test. And as usual, the kit spewed forth the typical Identification Determination crap. You know, color eyes, color hair, height, and weight, how many babies you had, life expectancy, recreational drug usage. Typical stuff.

Then the ugly one says, “Yeah, George. She’s the one!”

“What da’…? Waddya mean I’m da one?”

“She’s resisting George! Blast her black ass!”

Well, next thing I know I am in a secure facility. No lawyer, no trial, no phone call, nothing! The sweet-assed guard told me I am a “person of interest” so I didn’t have any rights. As far as I can tell, I have been in this damn place for… ten years now.

They interrogated me for two years straight. I kept telling them that I was innocent. I told them that I wasn’t like those rowdy niggers down on South Parkway. I told that I had a respectable position with Trans-Global Imports.

Deep down I was scared. I had heard how they was sweeping up blacks and latinos and taking them away. But that wasn't gonna' happen to me! I was the “whitest” black woman you ever saw. It must be some mistake, I thought.

Then this nasty interrogator says, “Quit the bullshit Markley. We know, you know!”

“Know what?” I said.

“Okay, I’ll play your stupid game. You know the 'violence prone' marker came up in a random search of your DNA in ’27. You were supposed to be exiled years ago. How did you escape apprehension for so long? Who were your accomplices?” the interrogator yells at me.

The violence prone marker meant life without parole in Antarctica! If your DNA had this special gene you were probably violent, and they shipped your ass off to the South Pole! They said that most African-Americans had the gene. But word on the street was that they were dumping black people out of the hovercraft over the Pacific. It was genocide, plain and simple.

But, I had had enough. I broke from my restraints and kicked the interrogator in that special place. You know, between the legs.

Well, why did I go and do that? That was the proof they needed. Now, I am scheduled to fly out tomorrow.

I got my revenge though. They wanted to know who my accomplice was. I told them that I didn’t have a damn accomplice. But they wasn’t satisfied with the truth. So I lied.

I told them that my inside guy, the person who fed me information on how to avoid capture was the Ugly Guy! I told the interrogator that I traded sex for information with the ugly Authority agent.

The ugly one bust out laughing, “That bitch is lying!” But the interrogator and the sweet-assed guard wasn't laughing.

Despite his protestations they carried their buddy into another room for interrogation!

I laughed my ass off. As for me, I didn’t like this damn world anyway.

The end

©2006 Richard C. James


© 2003 Richard C. James