The radiant sun beamed down upon the exterior of the white building, as a man puased in front of the glassy entrance.
"You are now entering the State of Subliminal Joy," the sliding door greeted him, as it revealed a sterile reception area with gleaming walls and smooth floor tiles. They were meticulously cleaned every three hours, for fear grime or dust might stick onto the surfaces.
"Welcome. We hope you enjoy your visit."
The man's name was Mr Phillips. He was the head of the cosmetic experimentation sector of the Subliminal Joy corporation, and he was on his way to work.
"Good morning, Ronald," Mr Phillips greeted the surly receptionist. Ronald raised one of his three eyebrows and did not reply.
Mr Phillips shook his head and continued on his way. Today, he took a detour through the exhibition section of the centre. It was still early, and there were no tours yet in operation. He stopped in front of his favourite exhibition and waited.
The sensor, detecting the presence of a human, stated tonelessly, "The exhibition you are now viewing is the solo work of Mr Justin Robert Phillips Junior. Eighteen years ago, Mr J. R. Phillips discovered that grafting upon human flesh is possible, when he placed one piece of flesh upon another in ideal circumstances. To his surprise, both grew and expanded, melding into one another."
Another voice, cheerier this time, took over. "'In two more years, Mr Phillips also discovered how to graft an additional ear onto the skin, with minimal effort and trouble. Soon he began the phase we now call 'Additional ear syndrome'. Supermodels around the world caused uproar when, as a fashion statement, they appeared with real ears attached to their arms, legs and faces, all capable of hearing. Starlene McKay, Miss Universe in 2179, appeared with the record number of sixteen ears grafted around her waist in 2183.
"Mr Phillips is currently the head of cosmetic experimentation in the Subliminal Joy corporation. In 2186, he discovered that the brain and DNA can be modified, even in adults, to grow additional mouths and noses, even legs and arms. However, the one organ he cannot seem to re- produce is the eye. He succeeded, after much effort, last year, to grow an additional eye on a rat's back, but we do not yet know if this process can be repeated on Homo sapiens.
"Mr Phillips has created a sensation in the fashion industry. Last year alone, there were more than 2.3 million orders for cranial modification, fifty percent of them being for extra mouths. Why? Your own conclusions may be drawn from this interesting fact."
This display never ceased to please Mr Phillips. He looked at the picture of Starlene McKay's petite waist, and his smile broadened as he counted three ears from the left- most one. His wife's diamond earring was still in place. Ah, he remembered her well, fondly even. Many of her body parts had been added onto celebrities and VIPs. She had contributed to his work, favourably. He charged more for organs belonging to his family members.
He sauntered around the display area, then continued to his office.
"Good morning, David," he nodded to his secretary. David smiled with both his mouths. "Any messages?"
"Not yet," said David. "Not yet. But - but there was - was a letter -letter - de - delivered to you -your - r -room to- day."
"Can't quite control your second mouth yet?" Mr Phillips inquired sympathetically. David shrugged, and shook his head.
Mr Phillips placed his hand on the door and it swung open. The room was cluttered and slightly smelly. On the furthest wall from the door, animal cages were lined up in chronological order. There was Mickey, the five-eared rabbit, Donald and Donald, the Siamese goldfish, Samantha, his two-tailed miniature cat and last of all, Eunice, his three-eyed rat. He fed Eunice first, for she was the one he was relying on to bring him fame and more income. She and what he planned to achieve with her were fast becoming his obsession.
The letter lay on his table. The smooth plastic cover concealed the contents, but already, Mr Phillips felt his omnipotence evaporate. It was a letter from the RSPCH, the fourth one of the month. I-le tore it open with cold fingers, and skimmed.
"... that unless the aforementioned practice of amputation is terminated, the Royal Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Humans will be forced to take legal action. We under- stand that ... "
What did he care for legalities and human rights? A few million dollars here and there would ensure that he never went within five kilometres of a prison cell. But it disturbed him that he was not loved by all. In the beginning all he wanted was admiration for and, yes, even fear of, his superior intellect. And he had received these in abundance. Yet now they were going to strip him of his honour and his life's work, all because of a few scattered people who had lost a couple of limbs and organs to his vital work.
His work benefited all of humankind! Think of the fash- ion statements, the scandal, the shock and glamour of being different. His work had been the focus of thousands of newspaper articles, had been followed faithfully by millions of Mr J. R. Phillips fans, had been the topic of countless conversations. Was this not worth more than mere body organs, a minute amount of disabled people?
It could be argued that if there was a beauty in additional body parts, there was also a beauty in the lack thereof But these stubborn RSPCH members, with no respect for intelligence, or for scientific advancement, refused to acknowledge any of this.
Mr Phillips tore up the letter in disgust, his whole body exuding indignation, and placed it in Eunice's cage for bedding.
They took him away two months and twenty letters later. The Subliminal Joy Corporation no longer desired his work, for fear public outcry would result in their prosecution, or worse, loss of support from the VIPs and world leaders, some of whom had been operated on by Mr Phillips himself.
He received a letter from his superiors that regretfully in- formed him that his extensive knowledge and work would no longer be required. So he quietly packed away Eunice and the others and left, confident he could find better employment elsewhere.
"Thank you for visiting the State of Subliminal Joy. We hope you have enjoyed your stay," the sliding door wished him well. He glanced back, rather bitterly, on the institute at which he had served for the majority of his life. No recognition for his services, no gratitude! He remembered Eunice's third eye winking at him, as though to reassure him of his abilities.
But the RSPCH had gotten him anyway. A man with five arms (he noted with pride that all arms functioned perfectly) had privately escorted him, rather painfully, to the secret Headquarters of the Royal Society.
He was led underground, to a dimly lit cavern, where a solitary woman stood in the centre of the floor.
"Good day," she said. I am Mrs Lisa and today we pass judgment on your character. But first, let me show you what you have achieved in your life."
Immediately, Mr Phillips's heart swelled with pride. He could already envision before him scroll after scroll of his accomplishments. He obediently trotted after Mrs Lisa, chattering to her about the wonders of deliberate DNA manipulation. He was unaware of her lack of response.
They entered a room. Silence. All persons present focused their attention on him. Their eyes gleamed with fanatic hatred, their many claws extended towards him. Amongst them, towering above them all, was a familiar figure.
"Who are they? Why are they here?" Mr Phillips asked confused.
"Can't you see?" Mrs Lisa snapped, tapping her foot. " This is what you have done to them. You have destroyed their lives."
Mr Phillips concentrated hard. But still he couldn't comprehend. They were exactly the same as anyone walking the streets, albeit a little paler.
"Some of them have no legs!" Mrs Lisa screeched. "Some have too many! This is what your experimentation has achieved! A colony of abnormalities. Appearances changed forever. All for your personal glorification." "But it's fashion," protested Mr Phillips. He turned to the tall woman in the centre of the crowd who had seemed so familiar. " 1 know you ... ... he murmured. "Ahhh. Starlene McKay!"
"My name is Stephanie McDonald," she barked. "Look!" she lifted her shirt, and showed him what remained of the cars around her waist. They were shrivelled masses of droopy flesh, hardly resembling ears at all. "Five years ago, 1 went to your company to complain. They gave me an apology and sent me away. The media wouldn't listen, my partner in life deserted me, I lost my job . . . " her voice wavered, then strengthened. "And it's because of you!"
"You see," Mrs Lisa said pleasantly, regaining composure. "That is why we are, to put it mildly, Out to Get You. You feel no remorse, nothing for these pitiable humans."
"Scientific advancement, Mrs Lisa," said Mr Phillips smugly, "comes before all else, including a few paltry human lives. I work for the good of humanity. All of you in this room should be proud to be assisting such a worthy cause, to be the forgotten pioneers of science. You help us make a head start in our respective areas of research. Without you, we wouldn't have reached the standards we have. Heroic isn't it?"
Mrs Lisa quickly shut the door on a mass of raging bodies, stretching to tear off a piece of Mr Phillips. She led him to another room. But even at this sight, Mr Phillips smiled demurely. Severed human heads lay wailing on various support tables. Some had only mouths and eyes, some nothing at all.
"These are what you have literally reduced your experiments to," Mrs Lisa's voice cut through the shrieks. "Disembodied heads."
Mr Phillips choked back a giggle rising to his lips. It found an opening through his nostrils and he snorted with laughter.
"Pioneers of Science," he cackled. "Head start."
Mrs Lisa thinned her lips and marched on.
Room after room she led him to, rooms filled with people, or what remained of them, but not a single one made him ponder upon the sufferings he had inflicted on his unfortunate fellow humans.
"The judging," Mrs Lisa declared, with relief. Mr Phillips surveyed the last room. Faces stared back. He looked around bewildered. None of these people had had surgery, or other noticeable medical procedures.
Their antecedents must be the feminists of centuries before, women who refused to be under the confines of bras, women who refused to shave, those repulsive creatures who had demanded the workforce to employ them, he thought. Why resist science and technology if it were so painless and advanced? Why defy change? He felt far greater than these who persistently opposed the majority for he knew himself to be the more superior.
"Judge away," Mr Phillips said airily.
"Guilty," the crowd proclaimed. "Guilty, guilty, guilty, guilty! He must die!" Their chants rose above him.
"But ...... he spluttered. "Surely you must see what an asset 1 am to - "
"Hush!" Mrs Lisa rapped out. "Do you wish to help humanity? To advance science as you say, to be known as the man who donated his mind generously for the attainment of knowledge?" her eyes glittered.
"Yes! Yes!"
"Then it shall be so."
Mr Phillips, or that functioning part of him belonging essentially to himself, stood in a container of preserving liquid.
Stephanie alias Starlene lifted the brain and two attached eyes out of the cylindrical container and placed it on a desk.
"Had a good night's sleep?" she cooed. "Roll your eyes for mama."
The eyes glared defiantly.
"Come now," she frowned, and prodded a reflex nerve, causing the eyeballs to flicker up and down uncontrollably. "There we go. Today we are going to see which part of your brain causes your instinctive movements."
Note: Mr Phillips resided in this humble abode for almost another century. One winter, his supervisor neglected to place anti-freeze in his preserving liquid. As a result, he developed brain freeze and passed away. The members of the RSPCH held a service in his honour and buried him under a plaque labelled 'the brain dedicated to science'. He is still fondly remembered.
Catherine Mah