by Greg Krojac
“What I’m about to tell you both is highly classified. You cannot tell anyone, not even your families. Do you understand?”
The two confirmed that they understood. They were hardly going to jeopardise the biggest scoop of their lives. Even if they couldn’t publish it.
“Good. I’ll fill you in on the details then. I imagine you both number a few Recarns amongst your family and friends?”
The journalists nodded.
“Well, in 2079, let’s call it a cure, a remedy was produced to remove Past Life Memories, PLMs, from Recarns. It wouldn’t harm or kill them, One Life didn’t want that. It just suppressed access to those PLMs. It was released as a virus on October 29th, 2079. It had no collateral effects whatsoever – or so we thought. It seemed the perfect solution. As the Illuminati and ONP Recarns died off, they would, of course, be reincarnated but not as Recarns. They’d be just like you and me.
“Anyway, the virus did have a collateral effect, an effect that we couldn’t have anticipated, not in a million years. The virus made human beings sterile. Both men and women. As I’m sure you understand, without replacing the human gene pool our species will become extinct. It’s simple logic. We are on a path to extinction. People have long since thought that we would die out due to nuclear war, an asteroid hitting the planet or a pandemic. It seems that it will be the last one and that, unfortunately, it will be due to a man-made pandemic.”
Carole had been half-expecting the pandemic explanation but was disappointed to learn that it was down to human intervention that mankind would die out.”
“How long have you known?”
“Quite a while, really. We have scientists working around the clock hunting for a cure but to no avail as yet. And we’re also working against the clock, as I’m sure you will appreciate. Once those that are living die – that’ll be it.”
“So we’re doomed?”
Zafar shuffled in his seat a little to make himself more comfortable. He decided to stand up to allow his limbs to loosen up.
“Not entirely. Did you notice anything else about the figures?”
Carole remembered something from that morning.
“You mean the fact that there were still a few births, despite the enormous decline? But surely there aren’t enough babies being born to make any difference?”
“Yes and no. As it is, these births are spread all over the world. If we can somehow get them all together or, at least, as many as possible, maybe we have a chance of saving humanity. Spread out like they are, there’s no chance.”
Jethro raised a finger in an attempt to attract attention.
“What about clones? Can’t we just use soul transference technology and use clones to host our souls?”
“Great on paper; unfortunately, wouldn’t work in practice. Clones are created sterile. They can’t reproduce autonomously.”
“It was just a thought.”
“And a valid one too. But sadly out of the question.”
Carole still wanted to know about the few births that were still happening.
“So, these people who are still able to have children. Who are they? What makes them special? How come they can still have children?”
“This is where it could get a little awkward. All these new children are Recarns, born to Recarns. And these Recarns still have PLMs. Past Life Memories. The pandemic passed them by. They’re immune.”
Those words needed a few seconds to sink in. Carole looked at Zafar and then Jethro who, in turn, looked at Zafar and then back at Carole. Jethro voiced exactly what Carole was thinking.
“So, if I’m reading this correctly, the only hope for the survival of humanity are the very people that have just spent a decade being rounded up, put in neutralisation camps, and systematically executed? That’s some fucked up irony.”
Zafar nodded.
“Fucked up irony indeed, but it’s the best hope humanity has. No matter what Garcia said, Recarns are still humans. In fact, they’re an upgrade.”
“So we regular humans will all die out and a handful of Recarns will inherit the Earth?”
“That’s about the size of it,”
Carole had a question.
“Why should they help us after what they went through?”
“Why should they indeed? The only reason can be survival. And spread across the planet they’re no good to anyone, least of all themselves. How can they reproduce if they stay apart from each other?”
“And the scientists are working on a cure?”
“Of course. We live in hope but the clock’s ticking.”
Jethro had been running things through his mind.
“So, let’s say you get them all together. How many do you reckon that is?”
“We know that of the world’s population, about 5% are Recarns. However, most of those have been made infertile by the virus. We reckon that there could be around two and a half million fertile Recarns. Two and a half million. Not a lot when you consider that, apart from them, the world will be empty of all human life in eighty or so years. Of course, there’s no way we’re going to be able to round up all two and a half million fertile Recarns. We’ll just have to gather up as many as we can.”
“What will you do with them?”
“We’ll put them all in the same place.”
“Where?”
“We’ve decided on New Zealand. It’s remote. It’s beautiful. It’s not crowded. I’d love to live there actually.”
“What if somebody doesn’t want to go? Will you force them to go?”
“We can’t force them. We believe in democracy. We want them to choose to go. We’re certain that when the circumstances are explained to them, the great majority will want to go to New Zealand.”
“What do the New Zealanders say about all this?”
“They’ve always been a reasonable, environmentally conscious nation. I’m hoping that they still are.”
Carole wondered why Zafar was telling them all this.
“So where do we fit in? Why are you telling us all this?”
“You are both highly respected journalists. People trust you. You have a reputation for honesty and saying it as it is. And you have colleagues around the world who share your profile. Do you remember that I promised elections in my original address to the citizens of the world? I aim to stand by that promise. I want complete transparency. I shall campaign on an honesty ticket. I shall put my plan to the people of the world. I want the people of the world to choose to save mankind, even though they themselves will almost certainly perish.”
“But isn’t that an enormous risk?”
“Of course. But humanity has the right to decide its own fate. The choices are clear. Extinction or survival. Either we pull together and ensure that our species continues, even in the form of Recarns, or we abandon the planet to the rest of the animal kingdom. I want humanity to survive, and I need you and your fellow journalists to help my campaign on the survival ticket.”
“Do you really think that people will agree to your plan? Don’t you think they’ll be selfish?”
“I hope that they will vote in a spirit of largesse. That they will think of these Recarns as the future and will vote accordingly. But we won’t know until Election Day.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
11:17 WEDNESDAY 22 FEBRUARY 2192
Dmitri rushed into the kitchen of the elegant detached house in the suburb of Sumner, Christchurch, Aotearoa. He had been playing in the garden with his children, eleven-year-old Alexander and nine-year-old Gabriella, enjoying the beautiful weather with its clear blue skies, the slightest hint of whispy white clouds, and a slight welcoming breeze. He and the children had been playing keepy-up with one of the half dozen soccer balls that the family owned. Gabriella was particularly good at this game, borne out by her recent selection for the Sumner Ladies FC squad (under tens).
“Andrea. Good news. Well, kind of bad news for someone but good news for us. I hope.”
His wife stopped
preparing lunch and handed her husband a mug of tea.
“Sit down. Enjoy a cuppa, and tell me what’s happened.”
Dmitri accepted the drink gratefully.
“Remember how we’ve been training to be part of the exploration programme, should the opportunity arise in our lifetimes? The pathfinders to resettle the rest of the planet?”
“Of course I do.”
“Well, that day is today. The last human, as in non-Recarn I mean, has died. Aotearoa’s protective shield has automatically dissolved. We’re free.”
Dmitri was understandably excited but Andrea had mixed feelings. She loved the idea of being part of the first group of Aotearoans to see somewhere other than her homeland but she loved Aotearoa too. It had everything that anyone could want. It had lovely beaches, spectacular mountains, sun, snow, rainforests, and open spaces. It was Nature’s greatest achievement, a country that encompassed all the natural wonder that one could ever hope for. The North Island offered those beautiful beaches, forests, and higher temperatures whilst the South Island was more rugged, with its enchanting hiking trails, snow-capped mountains, the almost primeval atmosphere at Milford Sound, and the shrinking Franz Josef and Fox Glaciers.
But there was a great adventure to be had. Ever since it became generally known that the FS Virus had not only suppressed Recarn PLMs but had also caused the vast majority of humans, be they Recarn or not, to become infertile, those who were immune - the estimated two and a half million Recarns who lost neither their PLMs nor their ability to reproduce - knew that the survival of the human race was in their hands.
They had previously been considered mutants, a threat to humanity, and a scourge that must be eradicated. Recarns had been systematically killed in their millions, scapegoats for the actions of the few. They were not only personae non gratae; they were also considered a plague.
It was a tragic but delicious irony that those who were persecuted had turned out to be the very people who would ensure the survival of the human race. At first, there was envy, jealousy, anger that a number of Recarns should be exempt from this virus that was wiping out the species but then a feeling of inevitability washed over those that were destined to die childless. They understood that this small group of Recarns was the future and should be cherished and celebrated rather than be the objects of jealousy and ostracism. Of course, initially, there were instances of hate crimes against these Recarns, driven by fear and a sense of misdirected jealousy, but the agreement by referendum of New Zealanders to annex their country as a safe zone, where they could create a new world society, diffused a difficult situation.
Unusually, the project was handled with great sensitivity. Zafar kept his word and held democratic elections to gain the population’s mandate to go ahead with his plan. He also didn’t suddenly import one and a half million foreigners (the previous estimates turned out to be a little high plus some fertile Recarns simply didn’t want to go) with no consideration for those that already lived in New Zealand. The new immigrants were provided with good quality temporary housing and New Zealanders were not driven from their homes, only to be replaced by these ‘intruders’. Their houses would eventually be given to the settlers but not until the last family member of the occupants had died. It was important that the old and the new got along together, for the loss of a settler was a loss of an opportunity to repopulate the planet. A naturally environmentally responsible nation, the New Zealanders had understood that and, with their lifestyle not being threatened, had welcomed the strangers, often forging great friendships.
A decision was taken by the residents of New Zealand, both original and Recarn that when the last original New Zealander died, the name of the land should be changed to Aotearoa, ‘the land of the long white cloud’ in the Maori tongue. A fresh start deserved a fresh name and was a fitting tribute to the original indigenous Maori people. The last New Zealander who wasn’t one of these Recarns had died six months previously at the grand old age of one hundred and six years. A special ceremony was held and a statue of him erected both to commemorate his life and to recognise and thank the original New Zealanders who had been so welcoming. The country’s name change to Aotearoa was also inaugurated at the same ceremony and, from that day on, New Zealanders were known as Aotearoans, members of the most cosmopolitan and diversely populated society that has ever existed on the planet.
The FS Virus had been no respecter of nationality, race, colour, sexuality, ability or any label that people might have once tried to assign to their fellow men and women. This was reflected in the makeup of the Aotearoan people. There was no typical Aotearoan; with such a small population there was no desire to continue with old prejudices and bigotry. The colour of one’s skin was of no importance to anyone. Nobody cared if a person of one ethnicity married or had a relationship with another. Families became a collage of interracial harmony, indeed it was unusual to see an entirely white, black, or Asian family. Those that did form a family from within the same racial demographic occasionally felt a need to confirm that it was through sheer chance that they had met and fallen in love with a person of the same demographic. But Aotearoans didn’t really care.
Aotearoans had lived in a gilded cage for decades. The land was undeniably beautiful and they had wanted for nothing. All their needs were met – except the need to satisfy their curiosity about the rest of the planet. Most Outsiders, named as such simply because they lived outside of Aotearoa, had accepted their situation, their death sentence, and had been perfectly willing to help out the Aotearoans, but, of course, some Outsiders would no doubt try to enter the country that they saw as a modern day Shangri-La. Similarly, some Aotearoans could be expected to harbour a desire to leave their haven. That is why the protective shield had been installed.
Any supplies or provisions, food, products, medications etc. that the Aotearoans might need were delivered by specially adapted drones, which were able to pass through the dome. However, once they had made their delivery, they self-destructed so that they couldn’t be used to escape. Not that capturing a drone would have helped any would-be runaway; the passage through the dome was only one directional. Virtual contact between separated family and friends was allowed via the internet but actual physical contact was impossible. Nobody was allowed to enter or leave Aotearoa.
Until now.
Dmitri beamed at his wife.
“The last living Outsider has finally died. A one hundred and seventeen year old retired shepherd named Octavius Raznak. Apparently, he was living on fruits and berries in the highlands of Afghanistan. He was on his own, completely alone. The monitoring system recorded his time of death at five thirty-three this morning.”
“So…”
“So, that means that there’s nothing stopping us from leaving this place. As soon as old Octavius died, Aotearoa’s protective dome dissolved. We can go and see the world. We can reclaim the planet. It may be dangerous – who knows – but it will be an amazing adventure. And it’s not as if we’ll be travelling blind. We’ve both travelled extensively in our past lives. So have the kids. We have all that experience to utilise. We aren’t meant to stagnate, no matter how beautiful the land we live in. It’s a human instinct to want to know the unknown. And we are human. We are the hope of mankind. We owe it to ourselves and to all those that went before us.”
Andrea looked at her husband, thinking how good it was to see him so enthusiastic.
“There is one thing we need to think about.”
“What’s that?”
“What am i going to wear?”
Dmitri grabbed Andrea by the waist and drew her towards him. He kissed her and then released her slowly.
“I’ll tell the kids. We’ve got a lot of packing to do.”
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Also by Greg Krojac
REALITY SANDWICH
Jerome lives alone. All the survivors live alone and isolated, never seeing another human being in the flesh – not since the catastrophic event that left the world outside
an uninhabitable wilderness. Only killer cockroaches live outside and acid rain melts anyone who dares to venture out of their apartment.
The survivors are used to this life – it’s all they’ve ever known.
But a noise in Jerome’s kitchen is about to turn his world upside down, and everything he knows to be true will be rocked by a reality he never knew existed.
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THE SCHRÖDINGER ENIGMA
A space probe that’s in two places at the same time. A deadly pandemic that’s spreading like wildfire across the planet, showing no mercy or discretion when choosing its victims. What’s the connection?
A small diverse group of humans, each immune to the infection, must try to survive against all odds when faced with the threat of extinction. But the disease is the least of their worries.
This is a battle for humanity itself.
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THE GIRL WITH ACRYLIC EYES
The dawn of the 22nd century has given us flying cars, personal comms devices connected directly to our brains, and androids – hundreds of thousands of them. There are cleaner-bots, security-bots, and – of course – sexbots.
And then there’s Coppélia. Coppélia’s an android too, but she’s unlike any other.
How is she different? Why was she created? Is she a threat? The answer is out of this world.
