Synopsis
New Earth rides on its eccentric orbit out into the cold depths of space, locking most of the planet in ice, before racing inwards to skim the sun, bringing brief roasting summers which reduce the equatorial belt to ashes.
Cerith is of the clans, who follow the narrow temperate belt in their seasonal migrations, with no more ambition than to stay alive. Inspired by his Uncle, Cerith seeks to journey to the City; the last refuge of technology and civilization on the blasted world, or so he thinks.
At the south pole, the mysterious Constructs, cast as devils by the church, face their own uncertain future with apathetic resignation. Holding the secret of New Earth's history, and possibly the key to its survival, they cloister themselves away for protection, clinging on to the remains of their artificially extended, borrowed lives.
When Cerith discovers of their existence, he knows he must seek them out, risking the destruction of both their declining species for a possibility of a true future.
Extract
Cerith looks over his shoulder at the girl and smiles briefly. 'Yes,' he continues, 'I don't know how much you know about our factions. I was a scout for one of the clans before I was granted citizenship. The city couldn't or wouldn't answer my questions about you people so I came to seek you out myself.'
This is plausible. Maintaining my guard, I begin to consider what it would mean if this man is telling the truth. Not from the city, then, and not from the clans. A private individual, here for answers? I fail to subdue the urge to laugh.
'Your questions?,' I ask.
The man, Cerith, looks at me, face hard.
'I'm sorry,' I whisper, 'This was not what I was expecting.'
The small vehicle skims the ridge of mountains and sinks down towards the hills on the other side. 'Here,' I say, pointing to a deep river valley, dried up after the early summer deluge, that snakes through the terrain, 'This should be far enough.'
The craft descends onto the summit of a low hill overlooking the valley, brittle hum of engine noise fading to silence. In it's wake, the abrupt quiet of the cabin brings an oppressive tension, and I feel the need urgently to leave.
'Shall we take a walk?,' I suggest.
The two visitors share a glance, before Cerith nods reluctantly and opens the hatch.
The night is glorious; I take a deep icy breath as I gaze up at the stars, relishing the openness of the sky, the rugged beauty of the mountains, and as I stand there, some of the claustrophobia and tension from my life in the complex begins to slough away, and I imagine I must be coming close to understanding what it was really like to be human, long ago. Then, the suppressed memories of recent times come flooding back, and the burden of knowledge weighs me down once more.
Cerith and Amy look on, hands tightly enmeshed. I look at them and think, they are not so alien, perhaps.
'Very well,' I say, taking a deep breath, 'Your questions.'
Cerith speaks, telling me his story, with occasional interjections and the odd brief glance of surprise from Amy. As he speaks I find myself slowly warming to this young man, finding deep within me a respect, even admiration for what he has gone through to bring him to this place. Amongst the turmoil of his race, he alone has had sought out answers. Despite the setbacks and shocks of discovery, he has continued to press on. I think of my own actions, my initial capitulation to despair, and then the skulking background contact with the city, a hidden agenda indeed. I feel shame beyond words that I couldn't find such courage of my own.
'So I need to know,' Cerith concludes, 'Who and what are you people, and why are you here? You could help the human race; maybe put us back on the road to recovery, but you don't. Why?'
I take a deep breath. I have been dreading this question since the beginning. But they have come so far, and I at least owe them the truth. I look Cerith in the eye and then Amy. They appear strong and resilient, and I curse myself for what I am about to do.
'We,' I begin slowly, 'are humans. We are the last of the population from before the schism, the disruption of our solar system by the close encounter which you described.'
Cerith looks at me uncomprehendingly. The cold wind blows through my cloak, clawing at my skin. I shiver, as much from what I have said as from the biting chill.
'The last?,' he says, looking down at Amy for guidance.
'The last,' I confirm, 'We ensconced ourselves here at the pole to ride out the change, and hopefully prepare ourselves to repopulate the world. Over time, that will was slowly lost, and the aim simply became to survive, to exist.'
I spit the last word out with contempt, surprising both myself and my visitors with the venom in my voice. I feel some small measure of satisfaction at this act; at least I still have some small residue of feeling within me; I can still compete with these people when it comes to raw, shapeless, emotion.
'We are a dying species,' I continue, 'We live in order to live, and our apathy has been our downfall.'
Cerith's face wears an almost comical mask of confusion. I see that he is beginning slowly to grasp what I have had to say.
'But,' he asks, 'why stay here and turn yourselves into demons? Why not rejoin the rest of us? With your learning and technology we could hope to survive.'
'Because we are just as insular and xenophobic as you,' I spit, 'We hate and fear what we have made, and now we try and hide from it and hope it will go away.'
Cerith stares at me blankly, and I know I must take the final push.
'Don't you see?,' I ask, 'You think of yourselves as human. You wear human bodies and act as humans would, but you are not. We created you in the hope of,' I pause for breath, 'engineering a race that could survive the hostile conditions of New Earth. You are not originals, you see?'
Cerith and Amy stand locked together, faces turned toward each other, perhaps taking comfort from each other's company. Who am I to know?
'And maybe,' I continue, twisting the knife, 'we hoped that when you had tamed this world, we could take your bodies as our own and live on in your place. Sadly that has proved to be unworkable.'
'Unworkable?,' Cerith murmurs, eyes and mind flying elsewhere.
'You might have wondered what we received from your city in exchange for our trade,' I say, 'In our efforts to create human bodies for ourselves we have recently been able to obtain genetic material from our wayward creations, in the hope that there might be enough of the original human pattern stored there for us to extract.'
'Bodies,' Cerith repeats, eyes slipping sharply into focus. It appears that I have struck a nerve.
'It seems that life in your city is filled with occupational hazards,' I say, 'and we are grateful to accept whatever comes our way. Needless to say, this trade would shock our leaders if they ever found out. Not for moral reasons; please don't credit us with more humanity than is due, but to distribute dangerous trinkets to our enemies is as repellent to them as the thought of granting our failed experiment any measure of brotherhood.'
The two visitors stand thunderstruck, and I feel something of their pain and shock; I know full well that it is not easy to have your self-image thoroughly upended, worse still that of your race.
I look deep into Cerith's eyes, and what I see there removes any last vestiges of doubt that these people are who they say they are. I turn my back and gaze up at the stars once more, and leave them to come to terms with the truth in their own time. It's terrifyingly funny, really, a appalling cosmic trick that should draw rapt applause from all quarters, but rarely have I felt less like cheering.