Hybrids: Saga Competition Winner. David Thorpe
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HYBRIDS
DAVID THORPE
To my mother
……Johnny Online’s Blog……Hybrid Nation……
Declaration of the Rights of Hybrids
Hybrids are human:
Hybrids may be genetically changed, but we’re still your children. The hybrids’ cause is a cause for every human being, because anyone might catch the virus.
Society—you cannot abandon us.
Hybrids have equal rights:
When humans become hybrids they have to keep the same rights as healthy people. These rights are freedom, owning things, being safe and not being persecuted.
As with healthy humans, hybrids’ freedom can only be limited by anything that might harm someone else or stop others being free in the same way. But if the government makes laws which give some members of society more rights than others, then those deprived of their rights must still be able to fight for those rights to be given back to them.
Hybrids must unite:
Hybrids have the natural right to expect that society will protect and help them. If the government doesn’t respect this right, then hybrids must band together, for in togetherness is strength.
If the government does not protect us, then hybrids have no choice but to defend themselves, by any means at their disposal.
posted Monday, 11.00 a.m
Table of Contents
……Johnny Online’s Blog……Hybrid Nation……
5. Playing with the Rhinoceros
13. The Centre for Genetic Rehabilitation
17. The dump at the end of the world
18. The Hybrid Resistance Army
24. The Man in the Caged Building
As soon as I saw a beautiful girl pushing open the door, I remembered I’d arranged to meet her here. She hovered in the doorway, peering shyly around the gloom from beneath long dark eyebrows. Compared to everyone else in the dump she stood out like a sixth finger: flawless skin, tangled black curls, expensive Japanese clothes—a sense of style. Watching her, I felt in my genes that something was going to change. A rush in my circuits that said ‘opportunity knocks’.
But I was scared of change. Change was not my friend.
I usually came to this backstreet café for losers called the Twisted Strands, because Francis, the owner, would let me buy just one drink and sit here for hours, no worries. Before I could compose myself the girl had sat down opposite and was trying to peer under my hood.
“Johnny Online?”
I grunted through my speakers.
“Am I late?”
“I wasn’t keeping track of the time.” I watched her getting used to the sound of my electronic voice and what serves for my face these days. “It’s OK to stare,” I said. “I’m used to it.”
“I’m sorry,” she blushed. “I’m a bit nervous. I’ve never met anyone I’ve chatted to online before. But this is an emergency.”
“So you said,” I replied, putting a flashing exclamation mark on my screen that reflected off her own face. I observed her confusion in its light; it was one of a number of