CYBERMINSTER by Lilian S. Barber
A few years ago—in 1996 to be ex- act—I wrote the following short story. It was intended to be fiction, and at that time it was. However, in the past few years something has sprung up on the Infodog site on the Internet. Infodog is sponsored by MB- F, the mega superintendent for numer- ous dog shows throughout the United States. Some of you have already “ex- hibited” in one or more of their virtual dog shows. At the rate things are going, particularly with the rapidly escalating cost of gas, non-refundable fees for hav- ing dogs inmotel rooms and the general anti-breeding climate in most parts of the United States, we may eventually have to go to this type of dog show. She leaned back in her chair and re- garded themonitor screenwith amix- ture of satisfaction and boredom, her right hand still resting on the mouse. With her left she reached for the mug of now lukewarm coffee that teetered precariously among the clutter. Her tired eyes drifted to the picture on the mug, and the corners of her mouth flickered into a near smile. It was a McCartney caricature of an Italian Greyhound with the typi- cal saucy expression and wildly wagging tail, ears at major alert and incredible charm that were McCartney trademarks. “Wonder what Mike is doing now,” she said half aloud. Well, whatever it was, he was undoubtedly successful. She remembered how it used to be at the dog shows whenMcCartneymade one of his rare personal appearances. The lines of people waiting for him to sketch their dogs reached to the
doors—sometimes even beyond. She became so absorbed in her reverie that she put the mug down without even sipping the coffee. Something about the diagram on the screen was not quite right, and she frowned for a moment, then picked up a thick, yellow and black volume from among the large paperbacks next to the CPU. “Cybergenetics for Dummies,” the cover proclaimed. She leafed through the index, then turned to a page toward the middle of the book and studied it intently. A few mouse clicks and some key- strokes later she nodded at the im- proved schematic on the screen. It was a diagramof a dog that plainly showed the skeletal structure and muscula- ture. The genes she had exchanged with her finger tips had lengthened the upper arm a little and dropped the depth of brisket to the elbow. The rear angulation still needed some work, she thought, and after that she would be ready to check out the animation. Glancing up at the clock she saw that she still had over an hour before en- tries closed. She relaxed a little, plan- ning to play with color and markings before creating a final version of her virtual Italian Greyhound. The fax phone behind her rang, sig- nifying a real call, and she turned to answer it. “Hello?” she asked, hop- ing that it wouldn’t be someone who wanted to sell her something. Tele- phone soliciting was still rampant in spite of the “no call” registries. Shop- ping via television and off the Inter- net were much better than doing it by phone. It seemed that no one ever
went to the malls anymore. That was another sentimental memory from the not too distant past. Many of the malls were even being torn down to make room for more high rise hous- ing—with built-in, deluxe wifi access, of course. The call was from someone wanting stud service. “Just sendme your bitch on a CD,” she said. “Or on a floppy. I don’t want to do it on theWeb. If you send me the disk, I can run it with my male and see if they’re compatible.” “I saw him at the last show from your sector,” the voice at the other endwent on. “He looked like exactly what my Ch. CD-Roma needs.” “That must have been the Terminal Kennel Club show. We did pretty well at that one.” She smiled as she thought about it and the great online rosette she had printed out and framed. After the conversation she saved her work and added a layer of virtual skin, followed by a representation of hair. A few more keystrokes changed the tex- ture, softening it into the desired silky looking finish. Then she dipped into the color palette, tinting the coat a deep, orangy red. Tapping in the genes for Irish markings, she gave the dog flashy white feet, collar and tail tip. She made a few minor changes that increased the amount of white on the hind legs, giving the dog socks to go along with the white feet and created a narrow, slightly off-center blaze. The ears required a little genetic en- gineering before they appeared to be of the correct size and carriage. She hoped that the combination of
32 • T op N otch T oys , J uly 2019
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