A bespoke story, one for a person with their own set of fantasies.
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I know a place, a place of warm sun, endless beaches and eternal youth, a place of perfect fruit eaten seconds from the vine, of buttery fish, enchanting wine and limitless tranquility, a place free from pests, disease, clothes and trash, a place without politics, breaking news, social media, annoying neighbours, tax forms or pollution. Long-winged seabirds float like a bride's dreams over warm water, white sand and graceful palms, flowers of every hue infuse the air with a carnival of gentle scents, and the grass is soft enough to render superfluous the very thought of beds with silken sheets.
It is but a heartbeat away, on the other side of the galaxy, not quite beyond your imagination. It is open to all who dream it.
At a cost.
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"No argue!" the Talk-Talk whispered.
Meera stared at him, anger and frustration on her face.
"Just say it!" she hissed.
"Bad! Badbadbad! No argue with Poloid!"
A withering glance from the girl made the creature sag, but it looked up obediently towards the billowing Poloid.
The Talk-Talk's eyes opened wide; its face went into that dull rigidity characteristic of its trance communication. In a few moments, its face relaxed. It turned away from Meera, apparently unwilling to face her.
"Oh-oh!" it whispered. "Badbad. Too badbad!"
Despite the presence of its hulking co-species bearer-sib beside them, the Talk-Talk was clearly terrified.
Meera, not for the first time, wished there was some way to communicate directly with the massive alien drifting slowly inside the drafty godown. Or, she thought, at least translators more capable of expressing emotions and meanings than the sullen, monkey-like Talk-Talks.
The balloon-skin of the Poloid rippled, waves of emotion flowing over its surface. Meera stared up at it, trying to keep her face emotionless. She'd read somewhere that the Poloids respected courage.
"I insist," she said. "I came all this way. We have an agreement."
She stared first at the giant, weightless Poloid above her, then at the quivering Talk-Talk.
"Tell him that."
Again, the trance-stare, a short one. The wizened creature relaxed, turned to her. It
shrugged, almost a human gesture.
"Poloid says time is money. Asks if you have money."
"Three thousand Stars," Meera confirmed. "What was agreed upon. Not five thousand - three!"
It was her life savings.
The Talk-Talk trembled, its face rigid again, then turned to Meera before shrugging in an almost human gesture.
"Poloid begins now."
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The young woman shivered as she stripped down to enter the EVT tank.
Normal viruses evolved to hijack an individual's cellular processes, producing dozens, hundreds more viruses within an infected cell. Their explosive growth killing the host cell, its rupture releases them to infect other healthy cells in their turn.
Engineered Virus Therapy turned the concept on its head, turning disease into a positive process, one of cure and improvement.
Every cell in an organism contains in essence a complete genetic plan for the individual. Specific alterations to that blueprint could result in tailored changes to the individual in question. The genetic code for, say, brown hair could, with proper guidance and stimulus, be changed to that for blonde hair.
A Poloid-engineered virus released into a human body would not lead to explosive or damaging reproduction. Instead, on infecting a host cell, it would merely make the specified change to the human DNA and produce a couple of replicas of itself. The cell would live normally, but carry - in this case - genes for blonde hair. When the cell naturally died and was replaced in seven to ten years, it would in the process release further tailored viruses, 'infecting' more human cells with blonde genes. In due course, the former brunette would become blonde.
It wasn't quite that simple, of course, but close enough. Brunette to blonde. A slow metabolism to a faster one, thus lowering weight and boosting energy. Taller. Shorter. Boob jobs with no implants. Bigger willies.
It was, to be sure, a slow process, but the Poloids embodied patience. And they were masters of genetic engineering.
The second part of the Poloid genius was the Tank. Engineered Viral Therapy could be done without it, but not nearly as quickly. In the tank, tailored viruses flourished in a stimulating environment, reducing cellular replacement times to days instead of years.
One could enter a tank short and pudgy and emerge tall and muscular in only days.
When the first Poloid ship fell into orbit around Earth, the Poloids were unaware of human vanity. Their initial negotiations mentioned only the rapid eradication of things like Down's syndrome, sickle cell anemia, haemophilia, cystic fibrosis and a host of cancers.
Such cures were of immense benefit to humanity, of course, yet even those clear benefits were barely enough to halt a nascent state jihad against the Poloids once governments and power centres realized the further, unstated potential of EVT.
Higher IQ.
Extraordinary strength, leopard-like speed.
Immortality.
The very real possibility of populations comprised of immortal superhumans had shaken human governments to the bone. Policy was, after all, being set by those most likely to be rendered obsolete - and who wants to be on the wrong side of the bell curve?
And, for once, governments found themselves fully supported by the radical egalitarian parts of their populations. It was 'all of none' - either
everybody
should have everlasting life or
nobody
should.
An uneasy agreement developed - as so often in the face of revolutionary technology - by trial and error. EVT was legal, but was closely regulated and limited to officially-authorized medical treatments.
Toleration emphatically wasn't universal. Clients receiving unsanctioned optimizations were forever banned from Old Earth, with instant culling awaiting those even suspected of dodging - not including, of course, EVT done very quietly, in very special clinics, for very privileged clients.
Only in the Fringes was unlimited EVT available.
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Meera looked at herself in the hand mirror. It shivered and clattered on the floor when she dropped it in horror.
Graduating as an accountant, Meera had seen the mind-numbing future awaiting her in a world filled with overqualified people. She had saved her money, ordered the enhanced memory and computational ability which would give her an edge in her field. While she was at it, she'd also ordered some striking but not particular difficult cosmetic enhancements.
Short-to-tall, dumpy-to-slender, mousy-brown-brunette-to-stunning-redhead, Meera had expected - and paid for - exceptional beauty. She had spent hours scrolling through the catalogue of nose shapes alone.
Ability and beauty combined were to be her ticket, her edge, even if exiled to the Fringes.
And she was now beautiful, to be sure.
For a given value of 'beauty'.
Her features were amazing - an olive-shaped face with high cheekbones, her chosen nose, emerald come-hither eyes, all framed in precisely the shade of red hair she had contracted for.
That much was perfect.
Instead of large, shapely, firm breasts however, Meera was now carrying
