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