Her mind began to race. Stories survived if they performed a function, if they helped the tribe survive. Human history was a complex network of narratives arising, dying, transforming. But they could take on a life of their own. She remembered a vid of cells dividing and changing. Some stories lifted humanity. She heard beautiful music, saw great art. She heard laughter. But some stories became cancers. She saw war, death and destruction. Humanity eating itself as viral narratives corrupted human progress.
“Tshentso?”
“I’m sorry mother. I understand now.”
She became absorbed with meditation. She read the scientific papers and read the philosophers. She understood she could shape her own mind. It was the Indian philosophers who had been the closest. The mind was made up of different structures. In the ordinary mind they were in conflict. They called it monkey mind, manas: a mind darting back and forth on impulse, chattering to itself incessantly. Then there was the ego - ahamkara, the part that thought it did everything, that thought it was the centre of the universe. But there was another part, buddhi - the witness. The part that witnessed monkey mind, that watched dreams and the part that knew when it was in deep sleep. It was simple. A Buddha was someone who had conquered monkey mind and ego, someone who had created a metaprogram that monitored all the other programs running in their brain. She was five when she learned to consciously enter the metaprogram. She could let her body rest, let her prefrontal cortex sleep and even dream, all whilst consciously watching her subconscious work through each new problem: solve mathematical calculations, store memories, rehearse new languages, locate new information in several paradigms (symbolic logic, semantic structures and metaphorical maps).
She heard Choejor pour her tea. She opened her eyes. “Morning dear heart,” she said smiling warmly. “Have our guests settled in?”
“Morning Kumari. Physically yes, although they are psychologically anxious.”
She unfurled her legs from the lotus position and removed her shawl. Choejor turned to a basin of hot soapy water, wet a sponge and began to wash Tshentso’s back. “They will be unsettled for some time I’m afraid. They will not stay anywhere long enough to become settled.”
Choejor handed Tshentso the sponge so she could continue to bathe the rest of her body and turned to fetch Tshentso’s robes. “The tall one said he might attend the morning chant.”
Tshentso nodded but did not reply. Choejor understood that these were polite questions of no consequence. The Kumari was a living Buddha. She had more important things on her mind.
Choejor helped Tshentso dress and then followed her out the door. It was five in the morning and the monks and nuns were gathering for the morning chant. This was easy for her. The sub-routine called the Kumari would lead the chant and perform the ancient ritual, meanwhile her other sub-routines would sort through the data she had absorbed the day before.
The hall was ancient. Large rough-hewn beams supported a high roof; large thangkas painted on silk adorned the walls. Oil lamps and candles cast a dim light and the air was thick with incense. She gave her usual quick half-pranaam as she entered the hall whilst the entire hall touched their foreheads to the floor in a full pranaam, all except a bewildered and tired Prax who made a clumsy attempt. She saw it all of course. His confused look and his physical reluctance told her that he had many doubts. She would be able to quell some, the rest he would have to resolve himself. He caught her eye and she returned a laughing smile that told him that she did not take any of this seriously, that it was all theatre. The look worked. His shoulders relaxed and he smiled back. Oxytocin would begin to flood his system. In fact the morning chant induced one massive oxytocin bath. Yes, it was a form of brainwashing, but that could be a good thing.
Prax followed her out. She walked fast. It was a quarter past six and the monks and nuns were heading to breakfast. As they entered a courtyard they encountered Biyu exercising. She did not see them and Tshentso stopped to watch. Biyu was stripped to the waist (Choejor had said that all the monks and nuns exercised shirtless when it was warm enough) and wearing loose black pants in the Chinese style. It was a scene that could have played out in medieval China amongst the monks of the Shaolin monastery. She was leaping, twirling and somersaulting, acclimatising her body to Earth’s gravity. It was an impressive sight: a lean muscular figure performing seemingly gravity defying feats.
When she finished Tshentso clapped. “Well done. I am setting up a martial arts program. I have selected twelve promising acolytes, six male, six female. Perhaps you could give them a few lessons?”
Biyu turned to see where the voice had come from and Tshentso waved enthusiastically. Biyu couldn’t help but smile and wave back. “Join us for breakfast,” said Tshentso. It sounded like a friendly invitation but Biyu knew it was a command.
“I thought the monastery breakfast might be a step too far,” said Tshentso as she helped Choejor prepare a bowl of porridge and a plate of Earth fruits.
“Do you miss Eden food?” asked a still sleepy Nuku.
“Some. Boo berries, globe fruit, siskel leaves. But then Earth has its delights: apples, grapes, chocolate, coffee, honey. I am sure that these new planets will offer even more culinary delights.”
They remained silent as they studied the food before them. They had all seen pictures of Earth food but nothing could prepare them for the smell or the taste, especially the hearty aroma of coffee and Earth tea.
“I realise you are still disoriented,” said Tshentso as she sat cross legged at the small table, the morning sunlight hitting just that spot to create an almost ethereal glow. Biyu thought she was certainly very pretty, her genome maintaining a strong Asiatic appearance. “But I wonder what is on your mind this morning.”
Prax smiled. “An interesting question. It seems innocent…”
Tshentso smiled warmly in return. “Of course, it is best to get early thoughts, before your personal narrative edits and censors them as the day progresses. What did you dream?”
Nuku understood that Tshentso was highly skilled at reading people, every micro-expression, every gesture. No doubt she had the ability to hypnotise susceptible people at will. There was nothing innocent about her. “I had a dream about your ancestor, the Founder. Here in Bhutan, before the migration. I had seen footage of the traditional dances but Choejor was there as one of the female dancers…”
Tshentso clapped her hands. “Good. Your subconscious was adjusting your deep narratives to account for Choejor. Your rational mind has not decided on an answer but what does your intuition tell you?”
Nuku looked at Choejor who returned the look with amused interest. “I thought it yesterday, but only briefly. Choejor’s ancestral line is somehow related to either the Founder or the First.”
Choejor bowed her head slightly to signal that she was correct as Tshentso reached for a slice of pear, signalling that Choejor should explain. “Not Akash himself, but through his second wife Freja. My maternal line begins with the conception of a daughter via Lars, through a girl called Drolma Lopsang.”
“Of course,” Prax interjected. “Another line here on Earth. But he never mentioned…”
“He did,” said Tshentso. “Our family has always known…”
“It isn’t in the AI…” he began to say.
“It’s there, but it has been forgotten. After the migration there was no news.” She gave a small nod to Choejor to continue.
“It was really Tshering and her sister Sigyel’s idea. They concluded that if Bhutan was to have a future after the migration, it needed the best genomes possible. Several matrilineal cohorts were created by IVF, using the sperm from the Founder, Lars, Jules, and later, Rasim and Salah. Tshering and Sigyel initially selected six girls, Drolma was one of them.”
“What Choejor will never say,” interrupted Tshentso, “is that there were four high status matrilineal cohorts conceived naturally. She belongs to one of them.”
Choejor blushed out of modesty. “Sigyel conceived na
turally through Akash, Drolma through Lars and two other girls, Tashi Thokmay and Palden Lhamo Chogyel, through Jules.”
“It was one of the reasons I came to Earth, to find my genetic cousins. They were instrumental to my success here.”
“Yesterday you said the enhanced were suppressed during the Reversal?” Biyu asked Choejor.
Choejor took a mouthful of porridge and honey, swallowed it and continued. “In a sense the Reversal happened right across the planet. Those with more simple minds formed the view that science and technology had caused whatever it was they thought was the problem. Each subculture argued for a return to their traditional values, although those traditional values were simply what they imagined had once been traditional. In Bhutan the Wangchuk dynasty continued with progressive policies, but it was facing increasing pressure from refugees wanting to escape to what they thought was Shangri-La, paradise. There was migratory pressure on all borders: Nepal, India, Bangladesh, China. The Gyaltsen opposition used the fear of refugees to mount a successful coup. Naturally, the former allies of the Wangchuk were isolated and stripped of authority. The enhanced made a strategic retreat to the remote east.”
“Were they persecuted?” asked Biyu.
Tshentso continued the story. “No, they weren’t exactly opposed to the Gyaltsen, in fact two of them married into the Gyaltsen dynasty…”
“It is an old tactic, marry the enemy,” Biyu said before realising she had interrupted their host. “Sorry…”
“No, you are absolutely right. There was a compromise. The enhanced would be discrete and the Gyaltsen would leave them alone. It was a difficult time. The enhanced agreed that refugees posed a serious threat. The ecology of Bhutan could only sustain a certain population level. It would have been overrun. The refugees were hoping to escape their old life but they would have only succeeded in bringing their problems with them. They would have quickly turned Bhutan into the very disasters they had left behind: plagues, famines, political and ethnic conflict. The Gyaltsen became isolationist. The boarders were closed. Trade was stopped…”
“And the refugees?” asked Nuku already knowing the answer.
“All migration programs were halted and any illegal was either turned back or shot. It was the same around the globe. There were just too many people trying to find refuge. They were like locusts, stripping the local region of food, fuel, water, and when they had exhausted that region, they moved on, turning the host population into refugees as well. Some refugees organised themselves into militia and commandeered farms and resources by force.”
“And rival militias formed…” Biyu added.
“Yes, some countries collapsed under the pressure. There were immigrant wars in Spain, Italy, France, Greece, Turkey, the United States, Australia…”
“A choice between greater and lesser evils,” Prax mused.
“The Gyaltsen argued that the most compassionate response was to ensure Bhutan survived. It became a saying. If the farmer does not save her seeds during the winter her family will starve the next summer.”
“Sometimes the old wisdom really is best,” added Choejor as she sipped her tea.
“And what of the Founder’s line, Sigyel’s progeny?” asked Nuku.
“You’ll meet one soon enough,” said Tshentso. “They married into the Gyaltsen.”
“Yes,” said Choejor. “Sigyel’s daughter Sonam married the future king.”
“She became the queen?” asked Biyu.
“Yes, and her great, great granddaughter, Dorje Gyaltsen, is the current Prime Minister. But enough talk for now,” said Tshentso. “The sun is up and it is a beautiful morning. I usually take a walk in the forest. Please join me. But there is a rule. No talking. Consider it a walking meditation. Let your stomachs digest your breakfast and your minds digest this information. Let us see how many chess moves ahead you can predict.”
91
Jules and Lars
“That’s unexpected,” said Alice. “Although I can see the logic.”
“The girls can come to Thimpu any time,” said Sigyel. “But the sooner we can get this rolling the better. I have their swabs with me.” Sigyel considered Alice carefully. She still found it hard to accept that a child was in charge of the genetics program. She might be a genius, but she looked like an ordinary Asian girl, even if she was wearing a white lab coat.
“And you are sure they have no moral objection and they have their parent’s permission?”
“There’s no moral conflict; they come from a region that still practices night hunting. Only one is a virgin.”
Alice narrowed her eyes. “But is she fertile?”
“Oh yes, for over a year now. She’s rather hoping the boys will agree to a meeting.”
“She wants to attempt it through penetration?”
“Initially. Their cycles are all close. They will be at their most fertile in a week. We should be able to fit it in before the boys go, that is if the boys don’t mind?”
“What, all of them?”
“Yes, the boys are young and virile. Shouldn’t be a problem if we give them enough time. A weekend maybe. As a parting gift.”
“I suppose. Let me look at their genomes. Do you want me to tell Jules and Lars?”
“No. Tshering will have already spoken to Freja.”
Alice didn’t know whether to feel miffed or not. Shouldn’t Tshering have spoken to her first? But then, Freja was Lars’s sister and had sibling authority. She opened new files in her database. “What are their names, ages, place of birth?”
Sigyel watched as Alice efficiently relabelled the six swabs, filled out online forms, placed them in a holding tray and then carried them to the laboratory with a priority label. When she returned she was carrying a tray with six vials and needles of different sizes. “I can’t say this won’t hurt. We need to inject some of the vectors in specific locations, including your spinal column. You’ll need to undress, you can leave on underwear…”
“I don’t…”
“I didn’t expect so. Neither do Tsher and Frey as a general rule. It’s just a polite formality.”
Sigyel noticed Alice’s eyes glaze over. She was so focused on her task that Sigyel had just become another body, one of dozens she had injected that week. Sigyel shrugged her shoulders. Life had certainly become interesting.
“It’s absurd,” complained Lars.
“We don’t mind following Alice’s program on Eden,” said Jules. “At least we will get to see our children.”
“But this… We will have no idea how many children we will father.”
“And I don’t like the idea of them being back here while we are up there,” said a flustered Jules pointing up at the sky.
“I understand,” said Freja. “But that is the way they do things in Bhutan. There are lots of children here who do not know who their fathers are. They will be raised in a culture where this is not shameful.”
“I’m surprised you are objecting,” teased Anaïs. “Apparently they are all open to fucking you. All that cute Bhutanese pussy.”
“Anaïs, that’s not helpful,” objected Freja. “Sigyel said they really just wanted to meet Lars and Jules, so they could at least tell their children what their fathers were like.”
“I thought you said it didn’t matter,” Lars retorted.
“It doesn’t. They all come from matrilineal family traditions. Three of them are bastards themselves. The girls’ families will raise the children as their own. It doesn’t carry the stigma it does in Europe. Would these girls want to put their own through it if being a bastard had caused them unhappiness?”
“And what is this grand plan of Tshering’s? To create a super race to take over Bhutan?” argued Lars, daring to invoke the curse of eugenics.
Freja wanted to strangle her brother. “Why are you being like this? We have gone over this time and time again…”
“Yes,” said Anaïs. “You know humanity keeps repeating the same mistakes. It is stagnant because the
population has not evolved to the next level…”
“You know the theory better than I,” said Freja angrily, thumping her hand on the kitchen bench. “The human ability to alter its genome is an evolutionary gambit. Until now nature has used inefficient trial and error. We are nature’s way to be more precise. The argument against genomics is rooted in mythological thinking, in an anti-humanist and anti-natural belief…”
“Don’t you mean supernatural?” said Jules.
“No idiot, I mean anti-natural, as in against nature. Christian theology implies a hatred of the natural world. Their heaven is as far from nature as it is possible to get. They even imagine it existing in the sky: pure, white, eternal, no dirt or decay or death, and especially no sex.”
“And especially no menstrual blood,” said Anaïs.
“They hate the idea that nature might be consciously perfected. Tshering just wants our plan extended to Bhutan. It’s a long shot, but if they can reach a critical mass they may be able to shift a significant number to postconventional. That in itself will have a significant political impact,” said Freja.
“She’s right,” admitted Jules. “It’s basic transhumanist ideology. Technological complexity has exceeded the cognitive capacity of the average human. We see its effects everywhere. Idiot suspicion, the mistrust of science, anti-intellectualism, conventional thinking pulling everything down to its level so it can maintain the illusion of control.”
“I know the theory,” said Lars. “But we don’t even know these girls. What do we even know about them?”
“Meaning that you are concerned they are just farm girls, peasants?” Freja scoffed.
“Well? Are they?”
Anaïs was surprised by his prejudice. “No, they’re not just ordinary yokels. They are all of above average intelligence. They do well at school and with genetic enhancement they will average around 130.”
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