[ WP ] 100 years in the future , the Human Genome Project is complete . Everyone has their genome mapped out from birth , and has it printed on their ID . People can be determined `` unfit to breed , '' and discrimination based on genome is common .

`` That's not good enough.'' The Editor is livid. I ca n't say I'm surprised. 
 
 I shrug, push the tablet at him again. `` It is what it is.'' 
 
 `` Run the tests again. We ca n't publish this.'' He pushes the tablet back. 
 
 `` I did run the tests again. So did four other international groups.'' I push the tablet. Again. `` They're struggling with their publishers too. I'm certainly struggling to understand why,'' I add sarcastically, folding my arms and leaning back. 
 
 `` These ca n't be right, this is against a century of scientific literature, we ca n't work on philosophy, on ethics, *run them again. *'' 
 
 `` No.'' 
 
 `` What?'' The Editor is n't used to being told no. 
 
 I stand up. `` No. I will not run the tests again. Or - to better answer your request - I will gladly run the tests again, but I wo n't change the results.'' 
 
 `` I never said -'' 
 
 `` No, you did n't. But you were here every day of the full ten years I've been working on this.'' The tablet stays on his side of the desk this time. I'm not letting him play with it again. `` You know damn well how rigorous this testing was. You know damn well how large the testing pool was, you know damn well we did this *right. * It is the truth. The gene is an inadequate judgement of human character.'' 
 
 He's upset, because he knows I'm right. `` I just ca n't publish that. You know that.'' 
 
 `` Ca n't or wo n't?'' I should n't be harsh; in his place, the distinction is narrow. 
 
 `` What will the Senator say when she sees it? We'll lose our publishing license.'' The Editor is wringing his hands now. `` We ca n't look like we're *supporting* the - the Individualists, we'll be crucified - lynched, maybe literally lynched!'' 
 
 `` Ca n't? Or wo n't?'' I repeat, cocking an eyebrow. The Editor meets my eyes, then drops them again. I'm being mean to him. He's too good at heart to say no to me, so I'll make him take the fall with me. `` Someone has to do it.'' 
 
 The Editor used to be overweight. He was a big man. Happy and laughing all the time. He's practically anorexic now. The Senate Publishing Committee will do that to you. `` What will I do? What will my family do?'' he asks. 
 
 `` I do n't know. What will my wife do if you do n't?'' 
 
 `` Surely your neighbors understand, ovarian cancer is n't like -'' 
 
 `` They do n't. Nobody does.'' I slap my fist on the table. `` What about my niece? The lesbian with the stutter? She's being mocked in public by her'friends'. What about your toddler son? Happened to pick up dwarfism, right? He'll be marked as soon as you stop hiding the results. You know half a dozen more people like that right here in this office. You chose them *because* nobody else would. You helped us. There are billions more like us out there. Now it's time to help them.'' 
 
 The Editor ponders this - or pretends to, still wringing his hands and worrying. I can already see that he's made the decision, but he does n't want it to be so. `` Fine,'' he snaps at last, `` fine, you win. What will we do?'' he asks again, taking the tablet and turning to leave, `` what will we do?'' 
 
 `` The right thing,'' I murmur, sitting again. My next project is a little simpler. The scientific method is difficult. A will and testament, that's easy.
