‘Some who would say our place is here with the Earth.’
‘You refer to the Sundra, I assume?’ said Caige, with a curl of his monstrous lip.
‘Yes.’
Caige’s nostrils flared with an indignant blast.
‘Wastrels. They have no bearing on this or any other discussion.’
‘Caige,’ warned my mother. ‘The Sundra are erta like the rest of us. This decision affects the future of our species, and they have as much say as any of us.’
Benedikt, who had remained quiet, suddenly looked up.
‘Then let them have it. Let them come forward and speak.’
At this, Caige smiled. An unsettling experience.
‘Quite right, my son, quite right. They do not want their say, do they? We never see them, and they never visit the council. They prefer to spend their time cavorting in forests and frolicking in the surf.’
I spotted the mouths of several other council members lift, for Caige’s words amused them. Benedikt’s mouth retained its unwavering line.
‘They have diverged from us,’ Caige continued. ‘Chosen their own path. And that is not surprising. They were underlings after all, bred for work, not high thought.’
The room rustled at this. The word ‘underling’ was not often used.
In the beginning there was Oonagh—now, as you know, a mountain recluse. She bred the ten who formed the High Council, who in turn bred the Hundred, including me. Using the Halls of Gestation, where you were born, we gave rise to a thousand, who gave rise to our final fifth generation: ten thousand erta who executed the plans initiated by the upper ranks. This brings our population to 11,111.
We were born the same. Intelligence, strength, appearance, longevity; nothing separated us but aesthetics and the synaptic configurations required for our roles. I was bred for atmospheric chemistry, my sister for animal husbandry, Benedikt for technology, and everyone else for tasks ranging from polymer extraction to sewage treatment. The diversity of these tasks was, I suppose, what created our unspoken hierarchy, and over five hundred years such hierarchies can become somewhat rigid.
Especially in the mind of someone like Caige.
‘Silence, please,’ said my mother, referring to the crowd’s persistent fidgeting. ‘Despite the questionable choice of words, council member Caige and his son are quite correct. We must transcend, regardless of any… outlying opinion. How long before we are ready to depart?’
There was silence.
‘Benedikt?’ said my mother.
Benedikt broke his reverie and looked up.
‘Our engineers suggest forty years to perfect the technology.’
‘Good. That provides more than enough time to clear our own footprint from the planet. Does anyone have anything to say?’
The room was perfectly silent, save for the ooze of wax from a candle as its wall broke.
‘Excellent. In that case we will inform the population and—’
My mother turned at the rumble from Greye’s throat.
‘Council Member Greye? You have something to add?’
‘Yes, Kai. There is another matter for us to dicuss.’
My mother blinked.
‘And what is that?’
Greye smiled.
‘The question of humanity’s resurrection.’
— THREE —
I HAVE SOME things to tell you, and they are not things that you will want to hear.
When I came into existence—the year would have been 2077 by the Gregorian Calendar—the planet was not how it is now. It was unbalanced. More than that, it was passing a tipping point beyond which complete devastation was a certainty. The myriad forms of life that existed upon its rock, beneath its waves and within its air faced chaos and oblivion. Extinction rates were climbing; even the population of the human race, which, at its zenith, had stood at 9.6 billion, was now less than 1.9 billion. Everything was dying, including you.
And here is the truth of it: it was all your fault. You released chemicals into the air, in such quantities and over such a prolonged time that it changed the dynamics of your world. You became aware of this. Still, you persisted.
I will try to say this as simply as I can.
You created imbalance.
You knew it would destroy you.
You carried on regardless.
This alone should be enough to convince us to leave your species buried for good.
But we also have Dr Nyström to consider.
Dr Nyström, hidden from the world in her hillside laboratory when all was lost and human life was insufferable, came up with a solution: us. The erta.
She imagined us as creatures of peace and reason; humans, in a way, but ones of far superior strength and intelligence, with all biological desire muted, and with no agenda but that dictated by logic. We were not told to protect anything but the planet. We were not told not to harm. We were given only one directive, the one for which we had been called into existence: stabilise the planet.
Possibly she and her technicians imagined, dimly, the systems we would eventually create to sweep away the woes you had wrought upon the world. But whether or not they knew what would have to happen first is unclear.
Understand, reversing the effects of climate change was simply a matter of identifying the various forces that had led to that change and deciding how best to push them in a different path. It was nothing more than a complex equation to solve, and erta are extremely good at solving equations.
But the equation went deeper than atmospheric chemistry. It had to account for the dynamics of every single system on the planet—whale migration, glacial flow, desert winds. Economics. Sociology. Each played a part.
And, of all the forces that contributed to the planet’s demise, there was one that we knew could not be changed within the time we had: human psychology. Quite simply, for the solution to be found, humanity had to be removed from the equation.
Our intention was not for brutality. There were to be no blood-red skies or rolling wheels of metal machines slaughtering children in the darkness. We simply took hold of Homo sapiens’ infrastructure, economy and the systems that connected them, and offered them the best deal a species had ever been offered in the history of evolution. Sterilisation is not so hard when you control the water supply, and a life of peace and luxury is easy to arrange for a dwindling population.
It would take a little over a century for humans to die out, and, by all accounts, it was to be the most blissful period they had ever enjoyed. There would be no war, no famine, no disease that could not be treated kindly, no work that was not asked for, no requirement to manufacture items that were not necessary. All would have access to clean water and the food would be good and nutritious. They would live in luxury.
What would you have done with such an offer, I wonder?
I can tell you what they did, those last remnants of a doomed species: they rejected it. Not all of them, but in enough numbers to create an uprising. What was supposed to be their most peaceful hour became their bloodiest. Blockades, clumsy ambushes, failed attempts at nuclear strikes against the sterilisation facilities. They even turned against themselves. The erta did everything they could to avoid engaging, but in the end there was no other choice. It took a matter of hours, as I understand it, to persuade the human population against their senseless rebellion, to resign themselves to their blissful fate.
Of course this happened some years before my birth, but the reports of these developments were fed into our tanks as we gestated, so I was born knowing exactly how humanity had behaved before they finally succumbed to their undeserved Utopia in the Andean Mountains.
When Hanna died in Stockholm, her species left this planet—not with a bang, not with a whimper, but with a long and rapturous sigh. Our promise was to resurrect them once the time was right.
This was the cause of the argument that led to you.
CAIGE MADE A noise, a laugh that lasted eighteen milliseconds. The resulting reverb
eration trailed for much longer, and might have been mistaken for the bark of an average-sized dog.
‘The resurrection of humanity?’ He swivelled to face Greye, then looked up and down the line of his fellow council members. ‘Am I to believe that this is seriously to be debated?’
My mother said nothing, exchanging a look with Caige which I could not decode. Greye maintained his cool smile, though I knew he took no pleasure in engaging with Caige. They were not friends.
‘We made them a promise,’ he said. ‘The erta do not break promises.’
Another laugh from Caige, just as short but this time higher, approaching the tone of a gull’s caw.
‘Neither do we willingly destroy what we have just spent centuries repairing.’ A glance at my mother again. ‘If humanity is allowed to return to this planet, they will behave exactly as they did before. There is no question of it.’
‘We do not know that for sure,’ said my mother. There was trouble in her voice. Hesitation. Everything in her diction, from the unusual frequency upon which she hovered to the lack of moisture in her throat, suggested discomfort.
‘And they may learn from their mistakes if we show them the consequences,’ said Greye. ‘They deserve a second chance, Caige, and besides, you cannot deny that they were unique as a species.’
‘The only thing that made them unique,’ spat Caige, ‘was their propensity to fail and destroy everything in their path. They deserve nothing but their oblivion.’
‘They created us,’ said Greye, turning to face him. ‘Perhaps they are capable of more than you gave them credit for.’
‘One of them created us.’ Caige’s voice shook as he closed the gap between them. ‘And I was there, Greye. I know exactly what they are capable of. Benedikt, you too.’
Benedikt looked up at his father, eyes darting, uneasy. The room fell frigid. This discord, this opposition—it was not natural.
‘Council members, please,’ said my mother. Caige and Greye withdrew back to their places. She paced the stone floor in front of them, hands clasped, casting shadows with each sweep of her robe.
‘Each of you knew from birth the unbendable nature of Homo sapiens, and how the success of our work relied on their removal. The question we now face is: do we allow them back into existence, and risk the ruin of everything we have achieved, or do we leave the planet safe, but with our promise broken?’
‘Promise,’ muttered Caige. ‘A promise to a dead ape! Who is there to mourn us breaking it? Who would know?’
‘We would know,’ said Greye. ‘We would know and we would carry it with us. It would be a heavy burden.’
‘It would be no burden at all,’ said Caige, stepping from the line. Greye followed and faced him.
‘I disagree.’
The air shivered with gasps and mumbles. These were troubling words indeed.
Never once had I witnessed two erta disagree, not even in the most complex and intense periods of our work. The outcome of every decision we had faced had been dictated by the application of logic. To disagree was ludicrous: if a decision could not be reached then it meant only one thing: not enough data. Surely this was obvious.
Caige met Greye face-to-face. His words were slow and dark.
‘Really. And what do you suggest we do about this…disagreement?’ He swung to the line. ‘Council?’ And to the room. ‘Anyone?’
I watched this laughable display and the looks of concern it brought to the faces around me with utter bewilderment. I might have even smiled, had I not been so dismayed by the preposterousness of it all. Why could they not see? Was it because our purpose had been fulfilled? Is this what happens when the work is done? This inability to grasp basic facts? This weakening of the mind?
Whatever was happening, it had to be stopped.
So I raised my hand.
My mother squinted through the murmuring crowd.
‘Ima? Do you have something to say?’
Caige’s eyes narrowed. Benedikt’s followed. The room hushed.
‘I have an idea,’ I said.
Now, in hindsight, I suspect that it may not have been an altogether good one.
— FOUR —
THE FOLLOWING DAY I met my mother at the lake. It was summer and the ducks were numerous. We sat on a stone seat by the water’s edge, as bees darted among the wildflowers and spring’s young starlings swooped between the branches of the cherry trees.
‘Have the council reached a decision?’ I said.
‘We have, and I am afraid your idea is too dangerous.’
‘I see.’
‘Introducing a small population of Homo sapiens into a controlled environment could lead to results which are, shall we say, skewed. Most of the population have limited experience of humans, and those who do—’ she paused, smoothed her robes, and turned to me. ‘Those who do, do not remember them well.’
‘I understand,’ I said, standing. ‘Thank you for your consideration.’
‘But that is not to say that there is no merit in your idea.’
I sat down again.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Multiple humans may cause problems, but a single human would be a far less unpredictable subject. Its behaviour as it grows and interacts would introduce the idea more gently, and give us enough data on which to decide whether to take things further.’
‘A single human?’
‘Yes. An infant raised to adulthood within our own environment.’ She looked to the water. ‘The only question would be who to raise it.’
‘It should be Haralia, of course. Her knowledge of animals is second to none.’
‘No.’ The word could not have been more decisive. Her eyes wandered the lake. ‘Your sister is not well suited to this task. It requires a clearer mind, one that will not be so easily distracted.’ She turned to me. ‘Like yours.’
My mother was quite right, of course. Like all erta, my genetic code was modified according to the requirements of my purpose. Atmospheric chemistry requires great focus, and in order to maximise mine, my mother had instilled within me a mind that was more clinical than most others, and an emotional propensity that ranks a little lower.
You should know that clinical minds and low emotional propensities are already strong ertian characteristics. So you might say I am a fine example of my species.
‘Besides,’ she continued, looking upward. ‘I know how much you miss your purpose. You are listless now the sky is clear.’
I followed her gaze to the azure sky, across which a fleet of Nimbus were sailing. They are not my favourite clouds. Cirrus are my favourite clouds. They are made of ice.
What my mother had just said was also correct. The truth was that the news of our success, met by most with feelings of relief and satisfaction (at least, as much as it is possible for erta to feel such things) had left me cold. My purpose, the recalibration and stabilisation of the atmosphere, had been a highly respected one. Everything hinged upon it, in fact, and I delivered the solution with great zeal. I enjoyed my work, the days and months and years and centuries flying in my balloon above the planet, casting out atomic nets, taking readings and extrapolating the effects of the catalysts I released into the stratosphere. I watched with marvel as the carbon surged, as expected, then levelled off. My work had been my life, and now it was done.
‘I do miss my purpose,’ I said.
‘And this will give you a new one.’ She gave a sigh—a pointless mechanism she had affected over the centuries. ‘Nevertheless, you should know that it is a great undertaking.’
‘No more than that which I have already achieved.’
‘No, but you will be a child’s mother.’ She leaned closer. ‘And take it from me, that is a lonely job.’
‘I was never a child, Mother. And I have never felt lonely.’
She gave me a wan smile.
‘My daughter. I really did put too much of what I was not in you.’
I looked out at the surface of the lake, flashing with sun.
The temperature was 29% of that which would boil the water, but small clouds of steam were already rising. States take time to change, and everything moves at different speeds.
‘The council have agreed on this?’ I said. ‘Even Caige?’
‘He took some persuading, but yes, we are in agreement. You will engineer a single human child and raise it as your own. Its behaviour and growth in a peaceful environment shall be monitored over its first two decades, and if the extrapolated data is deemed agreeable, then we will discuss the gradual reintroduction of human life to the planet as we transcend.’
‘And if it is not?’
‘Then the decision will have already been made.’
‘What will happen to the child?’
She paused.
‘There will be no further use for it.’
‘Like the ertlings,’ I said.
DURING THE FINAL years of human history, the bliss my elders had fashioned for the last sapiens was missing one thing: children. Despite being sterile, many—particularly the younger mating pairs—still craved offspring. Wandering hand-in-hand through the lush valley glades, or sitting beneath green waterfalls, or sharing poolside drinks at sunset served by drones, they sighed and yearned to be parents.
The solution, since we had promised them bliss, was ertlings. Ertlings were erta born early, which is to say that they were taken from the tanks before their gestation period had completed. They were smaller, about the size of a human four-year-old. In time they would grow to be adult erta, and though they would never quite match the rest of the erta in terms of strength or intelligence, they would supersede their surrogate parents within a few short years of their first tearful union.
Due in part to their underdevelopment and part to design, ertlings were passive and pliable creatures, and for much of what the humans considered their childhood they would retain a soft, warm innocence. Beneath the surface, of course, the calculations were rattling away. They knew exactly what their purpose was.
The Human Son Page 2