“I thought that we were special.”
“So did the Program. You know that only one child in ten thousand tests positive for the Sarasate gene. They went to enormous trouble to isolate and recruit all of us. We’re all pretty special, Sam.”
“You know that isn’t what I meant. You and I, us, we had something special, right?”
“We did. Outside the Program, the two of us alone wouldn’t have been able to continue and prosper. We needed the creative feedback from dozens of others, to keep producing new works at top level.”
“Does the art really matter that much to you? Screw the music. You know I’d give up the cello in a minute to be with you forever, Cheryl.”
“I wouldn’t want you to. You’d only resent me for it eventually. This orchestra is my home, and this violin is my life. I’m sorry about… How could they have known, when they recruited us as children?”
Sam hung his head. “The females soared on wings of genius, and the males could never be more than just competent musicians. No matter how long they studied.”
“We both have the gene, Sam. They just never guessed the effect would be sex-linked.”
“And the Program is finally tired of carrying the males, and out with the failed experiments. You’re still entirely committed to the Program?”
Cheryl drew a slow breath.
“I’m committed to my sisters, and to the potential we’ve shown. I believe this is going somewhere amazing, and I desperately need to be a part of it.
“I’ve already seen the wetware surgeon, Sam. He tinkered with some trivial memories, and you know they solved sexual orientation years ago. I’ve already been flipped, I’m sorry.”
“In my opinion, all of you have flipped.”
Cheryl smiled tenderly, “Bingo.”
296 words. Inspired by this week’s Cracked Flash Fiction (Y1W18) prompt.
ParkInkSpot 