beauty and no one has CHANGED THE FACE of
Human-Fanilae relations more. Some claim
that’s the PROBLEM.
“The thing nobody remembers—” Dr. Denwa Lamark says slicing the air with the tines of his secca knives as if they were scalpels and the restaurant his operating theater, “is humans have been modifying their appearances since the advent of mirrors. Also, there’s a world of difference between humanizing someone and making someone human. Despite my critics, I only deal in appearances—and then only by request.” He smiles wide, teeth white and evenly spaced, an ode to orthodontic perfection, and quotes Reykjavik Annerose—”Beauty is a snarlsome beast few can tame.”
There is something of the lion-tamer about Lamark. His tan suit glistens as if treated with Fanilae scales—it’s not—and his head is capped by snowy white locks. But it’s his narrow gaze and small dark eyes that give him the look of predator faking boredom in hopes of catching his prey off guard.
His fingers are stubby—not what one expects of a world-renowned surgeon—yet he achieves sixteen plates at Escasecca, a restaurant that caters to the Fanilaen art of the same name.
Escasecca seems the perfect hobby for a reconstructive surgeon. It translates roughly into ‘beautiful cuts’ or ‘knives of beauty’ depending on Fanilaen dialect. Food is removed from one’s plate—and consumed—in order to create a series of intricate designs which enhance the appearance and flavor of the meal. Traditionally, plates were passed to the diner’s left after each pose, but here in Escasecca, each diner keeps their dish.
Most humans, the owner assures me, only achieve four (with help from the cut-by-cut instructions on the menu) and never of such quality. “But Dr. Denwa spins knife-tines like a Fanilae. He is a true friend.” The owner emphasizes friend to indicate the Fanilaen understanding of the word (an ally or supporter) and gestures towards his face. It bears a nose, possibly Dr. Lamark’s work, definitely the infamous BreathE-Z implant. “Without Dr. Denwa, I’d never have this life. He makes things possible.”
When he moves away, I notice a series of nasal bridges peeking through his hair transplants—which are a vivid mix of red and orange fettuccine-like tendrils. Lamark explains, “D’Esef needed the nasal implants for medical reasons. The additional ones make it possible for him to work in a commercial kitchen without wearing a cannula and lugging around a tank.” But only twenty percent of Fanilae rhinoplasties are to alleviate breathing difficulties caused by Earth’s atmospheric differences from their home planet. It’s the eighty percent that undergo the knife to look more human that bother Lamark’s detractors.
He’s been compared to Nazi vivisectionist Josef Mengele and antibiotic pioneer Alexander Fleming—but Lamark insists he prefers comparisons to McDonald’s hamburgers—over 1 billion served—though he claims in Twainian fashion, “The reports of my surgeries are greatly exaggerated.”
His successes, however, are not. He holds more than one hundred patents—mostly on surgical implants and devices approved exclusively for those of Fanilae descent. Silicone-based implants are incompatible with Fanilae physiology so Lamark’s implants—the materials used are considered proprietary information and he will only admit they contain no silicone or nickel—are more expensive to make, but as he says, “No one dies from them.”
He prepares his tenth plate—the Nitchean blessing of frugal prosperity—and says, “Before the Lamark Protocol, a Fanilae sick or injured outside of a settlement stood a ninety-eight percent chance of death, eighty-five if they sought medical attention in a human hospital. It gets skipped over in petty attempts to condemn me, but not all my implants are for vanity’s sake. There are Lamark ridges, joints, dentures, umflanges! If it can break or wear out, I’ve made it. I like to think my efforts improve the quality of life for Fanilae everywhere. Not bad for a piss-ant portune grumi, yeah?” Diners around us look away at his use of the Fanilae obscenity (which historically referred to those Americans gifted residences within the first Fanilae gated settlements in exchange for bringing culture and the “American way of life” to the newly arrived aliens.)
Lamark was born in Brooklyn, NY. His fathers Dennis and Walter Lamark were amongst the first volunteers of American cultural ambassadors and were assigned to the Northwest Corridor gated settlement in San Bernardino County, CA. Dennis worked in fashion design and is famous in his own right: he designed the infamous dress made from swaths of iridescent Fanilae skin that Reykjavik Annerose wore to the Oscars the year she won Best Actor. Later, he started his own clothing line, Fantastique!, which created prêt-à-porter to flatter the Fanilae physique. Walter was a nurse in Fanilae Affairs, Health & Sentient Services division.
Lamark received his medical degree from UCLA and returned to New York to complete his residency at Mount Sinai Hospital—one of the first teaching hospitals in the U.S. to require courses in Fanilae anatomy and physiology.
“There are whispers of granting me a Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine,” he boasts as he makes the finishing cuts on plate twelve. “But I may have started them myself.”
He tilts his plate so I can admire it and studies mine. “That’s the quaran’via house blessing. You’re a half Oomvae, yeah? Don’t look surprised; features are my livelihood. If a patient comes to me and says, ‘I want an Oomvae ridge and an Albanian brow’, I need to know what each is. ” His eyes peer across the table, searching for ethnic markers, dissecting and categorizing them. “You have your mother’s shading and eye sockets, but luckily your father’s nose. Looks like a good breather. A guron mix.” He uses the Fanilae word for pleasing. “But if you want to deemphasize your ridge or change your complexion to your father’s derma, come see me. I can do miracles.”
When asked if he’s had any cosmetic surgery himself, Lamark coyly responds, “If you can’t tell, I won’t either.” Then he checks the time and speeds up his knife work, barely stopping to admire the poses. His final plate is a minimalist’s dream—a dollop of sauce with a green bean macron. “I have a follicular implant in an hour. Let’s rock.”
Outside his office—he only does outpatient procedures, though that will change next month with the opening of the Lamark Surgical Center in Manhattan, Kansas (whose city council recently changed their motto from “Little Apple” to “Your Slice of Life!”)—a throng of protesters carry signs proclaiming Look More Fanilae, Say No to Genocide, U > ∑ parts, and Beauty is Inside, Leave it There.
Lamark hands out a stack of business cards. “Tell ’em, ten percent off their first procedure, fifteen if they walk through the front door.” He laughs, then disappears indoors.
Judy Hosti is the president of Innatu Fidelis (IF), an organization dedicated to sentient rights and equality, and one of Lamark’s loudest critics. “This isn’t a question of aesthetics. Fanilae-Americans are pressured to fit in, to look and act more American. ‘Look more American’ is code for ‘Look Human.'”
A recent study by IF found Fanilae-Americans with human facial features and body shapes were ten times more likely to be hired than those without. Seventy-nine percent of respondents indicated they’d have some work done if money weren’t a factor. The higher the household income, the more likely someone, if not all, in the family went under the knives.
Another study by the American Society of Plastic Surgeons shows that approximately 15,000 Fanilae-Americans have an elective cosmetic procedure each year, roughly 47% of the Fanilae-American population. In comparison, only 5% of the total U.S. population underwent elective surgeries. All other ethnicities (self-identified) ranged between two to eight percent of their respective populations.
Hosti says, “Cosmetic surgery feeds into our society’s sick culture of discrimination where being different is equated with being less than. But it’s worse for Fanilae-Americans whose very identities are being erased. What cosmetic surgeons like Dr. Lamark are doing amounts to nothing less than ethnic cleansing.”
In a case of politics making strange bedfellow, anti-Fanilaen groups such as Humans First picket alongside—or in the same vicinity as—Hosti. “Don’t like ’em, don’t want ’em in our country, but definitely don’t want ’em looking like us,” Johnny Pico, one of the few human protesters willing to talk, says about the unlikely alliance.
And five stories up, in Lamark’s exam room, a twelve-year-old girl is getting the hair she’s always dreamed of.
Beauty is, indeed, a beast.
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H. L. Fullerton writes short fiction—mostly speculative, occasionally dystopic—which can be found in more than 60 anthologies and magazines including Kaleidotrope‘s Autumn 2021 and Winter 2022 issues. On Bluesky as @HLFullerton.bsky.social. |