Juahir Allen’s Hazel Eyes (2021)

“Are you sure about this?”

Juahir Allen barely registered her father’s wary voice as she signed her name on the last page of a behemoth stack of legal documents. Despite the question of caution, Juahir’s hand did not hesitate for a second. 

“As sure as the last hundred times you’ve asked, papa,” she sighed, closing the binder of papers and wiggling out the cramp that had formed in her hand while writing. 

“It’s just—” the man sighed and ran a hand through his thinning gray hair. Juahir grimaced at the sight of his balding scalp; she had told him many times to undergo a hair transplant, but he insisted on keeping his appearance as natural as possible. “It’s a scandalous procedure.” 

Juahir’s forehead creased, her silver eyes narrowing. “Perhaps on Earth Prime it is. Not here,” she snapped. Juahir’s accent had changed drastically since her father had seen her last, and he barely recognized it. Calming her voice to a mumble, she continued. “I forget how conservative things are over there.”

The old man fell silent, knowing all too well that he would never win an argument with his daughter. His eyes diverted to a large window opposite his seat. As far as he could see, skyscrapers lined the night sky. It was strange not seeing a single star in the inky void—not that there were many to see back on his home planet; light pollution followed humanity wherever they colonized. At least on Earth Prime, however, the man could feel real grass under his toes. His daughter’s home was completely blanketed by lanes of deep, almost endless infrastructure. He gazed back into Juahir’s eyes and frowned. “I wish ya hadn’t changed your eyes. They used to look so much like your mother’s.”

“Not that it is any of your business,” Juahir started, still vexed with her father’s disappointment, “but I plan on changing them back to hazel once the procedure is over. You know, to match.”

The man shot out a hearty laugh, his shoulders and belly bouncing with each breath. “Ya know,” he said once his laughter calmed. “Back in my day, we worried about matchin’ our shirts with our shoes, not our eye color with our appendages.” Juahir’s scowl did not waver. “People on E-Prime are still getting tattoos and dying their hair for vanity. ”

“Well, you can return as soon as the procedure is over,” Juahir huffed. There was a hint of disgust in her voice as if the mere thought of returning to Earth was vile. “The only reason you are here is because I am required to have a ride home and Analisa is off-world on business.”

The old man dared no reaction to his daughter’s degrading attitude toward his home. He heaved a silent, calming breath and reminded himself that the beautiful girl in front of him had accomplished so much, and had overcome every obstacle in her path. She deserved to be a little bitter every once in a while, right? 

A woman with fiery orange hair entered the small waiting area. “Juahir Allen,” she called out. Juahir waved the woman over to where she was sitting. The woman smiled, her dyed lips as orange as her hair, and spoke once more. “I am Doctor Santeeno; I will be performing your operation today. Do you have someone to escort you home afterward?”

“Yes, my father,” Juahir gestured to the elderly man in the chair next to hers. He extended his hand to shake the doctor’s. 

“Jonathan Allen.” The man forced a smile, noting how robotic the woman’s accent made her sound. 

“Exquisite to meet you, Mr. Allen,” Santeeno exclaimed, though there was slight spite in her words. “Jonathan. That’s an E-Prime name, isn’t it?”

“Born and raised,” Jonathan said with pride. 

Juahir inwardly grimaced. “He is just visiting,” she added. The doctor nodded. 

“Well, the procedure should not take very long—a few hours for the transhumeral amputation and replacement.” The doctor’s voice was high and nasally; her Subsequent Earth accent was much stronger than Juahir’s, indicating that she was a born citizen and not an immigrant from another planet. A pang of jealousy shot through Juahir—what she would give to possess such a monotonous and level accent. She always had so much trouble managing the shifting pitches of the voice her father gave her. “Just a few reminders,” Santeeno continued. “Prosthetic phalange movement may be slow for a few hours after the operation, but as long as you are taking your post-op medication, you should make a full recovery in about six to eight days. And you would still like the 7J Model?”

“Yes,” Juahir affirmed. The doctor hummed and raised her orange brow. Juahir, suddenly embarrassed, frowned. “Why? Is there something wrong with the 7J Model?”

“Oh no,” Dr. Santeeno assured. “It’s just that the 8-QT model is all the craze right now, especially for citizens as highly ranked as yourself. I only thought that you would not settle for second best. You know,” she paused to let out a forced chuckle. “Us cosmetic professionals are calling it the Cutie Arm because it comes in rose gold accents rather than the traditional silver.”

Juahir’s cheeks blossomed in crimson tones. Nothing was more embarrassing to her than not being caught up with the latest Sub-E trends. “Oh, um, I’ve heard about that one,” she lied. “How much extra does it cost?”

“Only about six and a quarter credits,” the doctor smiled. Jonathan’s eyes bulged from his head; six and a quarter credits was about two million E-Prime dollars. He knew that his daughter was wealthy, however, all of that money for a robotic arm seemed absurd. 

“Well,” Juahir said, trying but failing to keep the weariness out of her voice. “I suppose that isn’t too bad. My wife’s favorite color is rose gold, so she would really like it. Does the outer shell come in hazel? I was planning on an iris modification, and I would like it to match.”

“Of course. Hazel eyes, how vintage,” Santeeno remarked with a noise that could have been a chuckle, but also could have been a scoff. “All right, I will prepare for the 8-QT model—the Cutie Arm! I’ll be back in about ten minutes to get you.”

Juahir had no time for a response, for the doctor had already waltzed out of the waiting room. She looked back to her father and forced a smile. 

“Ju,” he sighed. “This is getting out of hand. You have a perfectly good arm already—a real arm.”

“A perfectly boring arm,” she snapped. The woman’s robotic accent vanished in her anger, and she sounded like Jonathan’s daughter again. “An arm that only serves the purpose of lifting or holding things within the human limitations. With the prosthetic I can lift or hold thousands of pounds, I’ll be able to write without my hand cramping up, I can call or text or send an email on it. It comes pre-programmed with self defense moves. It’s unbreakable and it’s functional and I like it.”

Jonathan gazed at his daughter in silence. Everything about her seemed foreign. Her eyes and hair were false, even her skin was much paler than it would have been on E-Prime, for the number of hours that her world was bathed in sunlight were few. 

It was amazing and terrifying for Jonathan to think about how far humanity had come in such a short amount of time. When he was a young boy, Sub-E had been exclusively for the wealthy people who no longer wished to endure the harsh climate of Earth Prime. Now it was the most inhabited planet out of all the Earths in the Milky Way Galaxy. Technology had advanced at an exponential rate, and so did humanity. 

Evolutionary advancements that should have taken millions of years could be done in a matter of hours with a few medical procedures. Juahir, like most Sub-E citizens, claimed that these types of “enhancements” were for practicality, though technology always correlated directly with the flaunting of wealth and power in Jonathan’s experience. 

He was proud of his daughter’s accomplishments—it was incredibly difficult for an E-Prime born human to rise through the ranks of Sub-E’s hierarchy—but he was also mindful of the reckless abandonment of morale it may have taken to get there. 

Whose daughter had been exploited in order for his own daughter to afford such a luxurious lifestyle? 

And the arm… 

How quickly could lifting thousands of pounds turn into crushing thousands of pounds? How easily could pre-programmed self defense moves turn into an attack? 

The man’s shirt began to stick to his skin with sweat.

“Well if you like it,” Jonathan sighed, wiping but not completely erasing the thoughts from his mind. “I suppose there is nothing I can do to stop you, nor should I try. I’m your pa, Ju. All I want is your happiness.”

A genuine smile crept across Juahir’s face. “Oh, thank you papa.” She paused for another moment, tilting her head in consideration. “You know, you could stay the weekend if you’d like. It’s a long journey back to Prime, you could use some rest. Oh and Analisa would love to see you, it’s been years!”

Jonathan nodded, and while he did want to stay with his daughter, the thought of being on Sub-E for longer than he had to was unsettling. Nevertheless, he agreed. “Of course, Ju.”

“Ms. Allen?” It was the doctor. “Ready?”

“Absolutely,” Juahir said, the monotony of her accent returning. She smiled at her father, artificial eyes filled with ignorant bliss, and strode out of the waiting room without another word. 

Jonathan Allen sighed and rested his face in his human hands. Never had he thought ill of his daughter, but in that moment all he could think was that despite her bionic eyes, Juahir was so incredibly blind.