Man After Man: An Anthropology of the Future

by Dougal Dixon

  Had the party stayed to watch, they would have observed the lumbering creatures scramble down into the flats of the slimelands and wade out amongst the disgusting blue-green sogginess. Dumbly they scoop up handfuls of the slime, exposing the yellow stench beneath, and begin to feed on it. The parasites embedded in their fat ignore all this. The food, be it nuts, leaves or slime, will be converted into huge deposits of fat and tissue that will sustain them.

  The parasites and their hosts are not the first communal creature to arise since the days of the engineers, but they are the only surviving type. The symbionts, in which the hunters teamed up with the tundra-dwellers, to live on the cold plains, are extinct now. They took to the mountains after the cold plains faded away, and there they existed for some time; but they were never really developed as mountain creatures, and all kinds of maladaptations began to show themselves. Eventually the populations dwindled and the whole race died out.

  That is not the case amongst the parasites and their hosts. The hosts, too, are descended from the tundra-dwellers, but unlike the carriers of the symbionts they changed as the conditions changed. Gone are the woolly coats and the resistance to extreme cold, but they still retain the thick deposits of fat. Indeed their metabolism generates more fat than they could possibly need, and that is what sustains the parasites. The energy and raw materials for all this production comes from the constant consumption of plants – any kind of plants, including the blue-green algal cultures that the aquatics developed as their own food source and spread over the lowland areas of the globe, turning them into the foul slimelands so despised by most of the land-living creatures.

  It is not only the hivers that ignore the parasites and their hosts as they wade into the featureless slippery mat. Also ignoring them are the aquatics, not far away, looping and slithering about in the moist yellow depths below the slime crust. They are grazing their way through the algal culture that their ancestors established aeons ago on the lowlands above the surface of the ocean. There is plenty of food for them now, not like in the days of want. They know very well that some creatures from the land come and steal from the edges, but the losses are small. The only trouble is dehydration. If the algal covering is breached there may be a considerable water loss before it has a chance to grow again; but with all the world’s lowlands covered in the self-sustaining food-generator there is little to worry about.

  3 MILLION YEARS HENCE

  * * *

  3 MILLION YEARS HENCE

  FISH-EATER

  Piscator longidigitus

  Three million years have passed and the result of constant natural selection and evolution are apparent. The temperate woodland-dwellers have diversified, and developed specialized body forms to fit different environments.

  Living by upland lakes and beside rivers, the fish-eater is equally at home on land and in the water. His pelt is smooth and glossy, his shape streamlined. Ears are small and close to the head, the neck is short and feet are broader than usual.

  The eyes of Piscator longidigitus polarize light, removing the bright reflections that normally prevent animals seeing below the surface of the water. His brain automatically compensates for the refraction.

  The fish-eaters have evolved by natural selection the streamlined shape earlier engineered into the aquatics.

  * * *

  FISH-EATERS

  The brook burbles down the slope, bouncing off the exposed rocks and rubble in the gully, washing soil from the banks beneath the hanging tangled roots of the great deciduous trees. Newly-hatched flies weave and gyrate in the cool sunlight above the little pools and backwaters that gather beneath and behind the waterfalls. The exposed rocks are pocked by smooth circular potholes, worn by the swirling stones caught up in the infrequent floods. At present, though, the stream is flowing with gentle splashes and gurgles. through the V-shaped cleft in the soil, and downwards through the wooded hillside towards the distant plains.

  The air is cool, almost as cool as it was during the ice ages of ancient times. There can be no more now for a yery long while. The continent at the south pole is covered with ice, but there is no permanent icecap in the north. The gradual movements of the continents has opened the oceans to such an extent that warm currents from the equator now sweep up to the polar sea and keep it permanently free of ice.

  There is less carbon dioxide in the atmosphere than there has been for a long time, and this is the reason for the cooling. Sunlight shining down onto the Earth’s surface is re-radiated away into space, with little of it being trapped in the layers of air. The algae that were induced to grow on the lowlands by the aquatics have absorbed much of the atmospheric carbon dioxide, and now it lies trapped in vast deposits of peat and lignite below the roots of the forests of the coastal plains. The aquatics themselves have long ago abandoned that wasteful exercise, and now grow more concentrated food out at sea.

  In the shadow beneath an overhang, screened by the interwoven arches formed from the sturdy roots of a great tree and by the more delicate soil-dogged roots of the grasses and undergrowth plants, there sits a figure. If he had the wit to interpret them, the rocks in the bank behind him would tell him of an important part of his history. They are normal strata of dark finely-bedded shale, except for one thin layer which is quite unusual. Shale is formed from compacted mud that was once deposited layer upon layer in quiet waters, but this one particular bed of the sequence seems to consist of a different material altogether. It looks as if all kinds of foreign matter spread in and were deposited on top of the mud at one particular time. It is a very thin bed, and so the deposition could only have taken place in a period of a few thousand years at the most. The top boundary of this layer is as abrupt as the bottom, and above this the normal sequence of shale continues, showing the continuing deposition of clean mud. Evidently the continuous deposition of mud in the area had been disrupted for a short period while great changes took place in the world at that time, and the resulting bed of foreign matter had eventually been turned to rock along with the mud above and below.

  The figure has never noticed this. It is not part of his life and he is looking the other way. Sunlight, sparkling from the pool below him, casts ripples of light on his face and arms. He has the long limbs and the long face of one of the hunting people, but there is something a little different about him. His neck is shorter, his ears smaller, his fingers longer, and his feet broader than usual. Also, his eyes are strange – not in their appearance but in their function. The lenses smooth out the bright reflections from the water’s surface enabling him to see directly into the depths. His brain compensates for the refraction and distortion caused by the different densities of the water and the air. He uses these faculties to watch the bottom of the pool for his prey, for this creature feeds on fish.

  In the temperate regions of the world, where the forests and woodlands still exist on the upland slopes, the hunting people still pursue their age-old lifestyle, just as they have done since they were engineered. However, as there are so many different food sources in the habitat, many of them have begun to specialize, and to develop bodily forms that are appropriate to their particular way of life. Most lie in wait for birds, or dig in the ground after burrowing mammals. Some even feed on nothing but insects that they remove from the layers of their wooden homes.

  One group has developed as an almost exclusive fish-eater. Living mostly by the hilly lakes and rivers, these creatures spend most of their time on dry land, but enter the water to chase their prey. Their broad feet help them to swim, and their long fingers can spear their slippery prey with ease. Their pelt has become particularly smooth and glossy, and they are beginning to adopt a streamlined shape to their bodies, with a bulbous head tapering into the smooth shoulders without much of a neck. Their eyes work best above the water, but their focus can be adjusted to allow their use beneath the surface as well.

  The individual beneath the overhang – so still that he appears to be asleep – suddenly focuses his eyes on a
movement not far below the surface of the pool. A long fish swims in from the more turbulent area near the current, its deep tail whisking back and forth, moving its body lazily along with an ease that would make the watcher feel jealous if he had the capacity to feel such emotions. Taking his time, he watches the creature come closer and closer.

  His hand cleaves the water so expertly that it hardly makes a splash. The pointed claws on the long fingers close around the scaly body, and pin it before the slippery shape can wriggle free. Then, with an almost reflex jerk, he yanks it from the water and onto the bank beneath the overhang. With a swift blow he kills it.

  Then he eases himself from his hiding place, straightening out the slight cramp in his muscles, and gathers up his catch to take it back to his mate and family.

  No, he is not a fully-adapted water creature. There are other derived humans in the world who are more perfectly built for the water environment. Nevertheless he is good enough to survive and to continue his line.

  * * *

  3 MILLION YEARS HENCE

  TREE-DWELLER

  Arbranthropus lentus

  The long hooked fingers evolved to cling to the jungle canopy, but they can also break open insect nests under the bark. Small but slow, the tree-dweller moves with deliberation through the humid rainforest, clinging tightly to the underside of the great spread of branches. Fruit is plentiful and insects abound. With no enemies and abundant food there is no need for speed, aggression or change. Without the need to adapt or develop, the sloth-like tree-dweller will remain in a state of statis, able to breed but unchallenged.

  The hand has evolved two strong fingers that allow the tree-dweller to hang from the underside of branches.

  * * *

  TREE-DWELLERS

  Far away, on another continent, a much smaller creature moves slowly, upside down, through the dripping branches of the tall trees. Her fingers and toes are permanently curved, and allow her to hang on the underside of the stoutest branches.

  Slowly she turns her little head and looks about, seeking out the next piece of food growing in the humid air. There, on the next tree, is a bunch of fruit. Carefully she crawls along beneath the branch back to the trunk, where she can climb out amongst the branches closer to it. Dimly she sees that there is another creature, a male of her own kind, already on that tree, well above the branch with the fruit. He is moving slowly downwards. Whoever reaches the fruit first will claim it.

  Her long fingers reach for the next hand-hold, and splinter through a weak thin layer of bark. The air is suddenly full of noise and aggression. A cloud of insects has burst from the hole and is thudding into her, jabbing through her pelt with pointed tail weapons. She feels the prick of the attacks, but there is no pain, as her line became immune to the poisons generations ago. She knows that there is good eating here, so ignoring the insects that are swarming and clustering around her hands she breaks up the bark covering the nest that she has disturbed. Combs of honey and grubs are stacked in there, vertically in neat rows. With her usual deliberate actions she breaks them from their hollow and chews contentedly.

  Afterwards, with the nest empty, and the insects spent, exhausted or fled, she remembers the fruit on the next tree. With painfully slow movements she unwinds from her feeding position and begins to crawl along the branch once more.

  Eventually she comes in sight of it, but she is too late. The male has already reached it and is eating. No worry. She has fed, and there is plenty of other sustenance around. She turns to crawl away again; but then she stops because the male has noticed her and is crawling along the underside of the thin branches towards her.

  He obviously wants to mate. Does she want to let him? Yes, this is a good time since they have both eaten and will have the energy. It is also a long time since she gave birth, and her child has now matured and left, so she can take on the responsibility once more. Meekly she awaits the male’s approach.

  The rainforests that still clothe the windward mountains of the moister parts of the globe and the great river basins along the equator still have tree-dwellers, which in most places have changed little over the millennia. The long arms and long-fingered hands that grasp branches allow them to hang firmly onto their high perches. The long legs with the prehensile toes allow trunks and boughs to be negotiated. The weak intellect that knows only about food and mating, and about those only enough to satisfy the basic drive for existence, allows the creature to survive. Food has always existed here, and, seemingly, will do so for ever; therefore the tree-dwellers have no need to change, unlike the creatures indigenous to the other habitats of the world.

  The only change has occurred in the pace of their lives. With no enemies, the tree-dwellers in many areas have become slow and ponderous, moving sluggishly from one meal to the next, from one mate to another. There is no strife, either with one another or with different types of creature. Perhaps someday, when something unforeseen comes and takes away the forest, then perhaps the tree-dwellers will alter. That is, if they still have the genetic capacity for adaptation, if they have not lost the inherent ability through a long period of stasis and inbreeding.

  Any change to the environment, however, will not take place for a long time yet.

  * * *

  3 MILLION YEARS HENCE

  ANTMEN

  Formifossor angustus

  Some diets are so specialized that the entire body form evolves to accommodate them. The slow-moving and solitary antman has claws for tearing open anthills, a long middle finger for reaching into the tunnels, and a startling coloration to warn enemies that its flesh is not good to eat. Extreme adaptation has lost Formifossor angustus the sharp teeth and nails of his woodland-dwelling ancestors. Instead the antman’s defence is his vivid coloration and his specialized diet.

  The antman is immune to formic acid, the poison carried in an ant’s sting. But his body does not break down the poison, it redeposits the acid in his tissue, making the antman unpalatable to his potential enemies.

  Eyes and nostrils can be closed off against ants. The tiny mouth scrapes swarming ants from the long middle finger.

  The blade-like nails can cut open anthills. The bony fingers lack nerves that carry pain.

  * * *

  ANTMEN

  A long finger probes and gropes down the tiny tunnel into the nest. The loose soil and twigs are forced apart by the blade-like fingernail and the finger slides in, deeper and deeper. Ants, enraged by the intrusion, swarm out of side-chambers and tunnels, and mass against the attacker. Stings and jaws sink into the tough skin, but make little impression. Courageous fighters hang onto the invading flesh as their blind instincts dictate, while others climb over them to find other spots to attack. Soon the whole finger is a clump of swarming defenders.

  Up above, the antman has gauged that enough time has elapsed, and pulls his hand with its long finger from the nest. It is a black mass of ants. He has judged the timing correctly – just enough time for the ants to attack his finger in sufficient numbers, but not enough for them to abandon the defence as useless. He did not feel the assault on his finger, since it has no nerves that would detect pain. The whole finger, with its attached ants, goes into his mouth and is then withdrawn slowly, his tiny teeth scraping the insects from the skin. He swallows the ants, a number of which saw the danger in time and abandoned the finger, and are now crawling over his face. They do not trouble him: he can close off his nostrils and his eyes as they come close, and when his mouth is empty he wipes them from his face with the back of his hand and his long tongue.

  He turns back slowly to the nest. With the huge claws on two of his fingers (those that were once called the thumb and index finger) he rips the covering off another part of the nest. Patiently he waits for the defenders to swarm up once more, and inserts his long middle finger again into one of the passages.

  He is rather a solitary creature. The ants that he eats are highly nutritious, but it takes a great deal of them to make a meal so a single anthill
could hardly sustain two antmen. His movements are also very slow and deliberate. He has no natural enemies, although he evolved at the same time as many of his cousins developed into hunting, flesh-eating types. His defence is in the food that he eats. He is immune to the poisons of the formic acid in the ants’ stings, but his body does not break them down; instead it redeposits them in his tissues, making his flesh unpalatable to any meat-eater. His fine black fur has a glaring white stripe across the back and down the legs. Any meat-eater that sees this striking pattern realizes that its owner is not good to eat.

  Once upon a time, millions of years ago, there were other animals that pursued this very way of life. They inhabited all the continents, but each place had its own unrelated species. The anteaters of old South America were no kin to the aardvarks of Africa, and they only looked like one another because they pursued the same lifestyle. They possessed similar bodily features that had the same functions – long sticky tongues, narrow mouths, heavy claws – but evolved independently. Likewise neither of these animals was related to the marsupial numbat of Australia, an anteating animal of similar appearance. The whole concept of the same shapes cropping up in unrelated animals that lived in the same way was what the zoologists once termed ‘convergent evolution’.