WIPE (A Post-Apocalyptic Story)

by Turkot, Joseph

  “I will start backwards,” he begins. “Where the computers go dark and tell me nothing beyond. It is at the very height of what the computer calls The Last Conflict. The Last Conflict, from what I gather, was a world war, and which resulted in the catastrophic event—The Wipe. The thing that put us where we are—blind servants to reductionist fairytales. Myths so powerful that they provide the lasting reluctance to pursue inner skepticism of anything beyond their teachings such as will prevent ever again a global war. There came to be, it is true, an almost complete lack of dogma in the most powerful societies of the world. Science, instead, was the one and true doctrine. And following from that, an age of peace persisted by fits and starts, but ultimately, and insidiously, long enough that there came to be only several world powers whose morality eventually agreed and served to enforce upon the rest of the world their views. The human body’s ailments were cured. Not only was disease eradicated, but death as it occurs from aging. It was only through murder, suicide, or accident that death came about. In the last war, it wasn’t as you saw in the videos—there were no drones. That is a line that fits well with the Fatherhood’s agenda, but in fact is wrong—at least from the data—the last of the drone warfare occurred before the universal alignment of the most powerful countries. In the end, there was peace.”

  “But why then? Why the Wipe?” Maze asks.

  “It came down to—from what I can gather—a lack of genetic engineering in the rulers of the world. Yes—it was true—that genetic engineering had proved capable of altering the behavior of what were seen as the less morally evolved cultures of the world, and so it was known to all that engineering itself could remove any trace of unwanted characteristic. This was how the last of the rebellions and uprisings were quelled—the last mismatchings and contrasts of values between the marginal cultures and the dominant ones were resolved through—if not underhandedly so—surreptitious genetic modulations. And generationally, the world morality was universal. And after this was achieved, there was one and only one purpose to collectively drive humanity: It was, before the Wipe, and for ages and ages stemming back to the earliest brain-evolved sentient humans, the greatest dream of people: to reach higher truth, and lastly, truth that could only be obtained by reaching deeply into space. And when that came to be the ultimate goal, and all the resources of civilization were bent upon it—and technology, the cardinal sin of your Fathers, became the primary vehicle by which to achieve that goal—it was discovered that the limit of human capacity to solve problems was at last reached.”

  “What do you mean reached?” Maze presses.

  “There was the belief—never eradicated genetically through engineering, that humans could achieve whatever end their collective genius pointed to, and it always pointed to the increasing of total knowledge. A genetic hubris, retained even after dogma stripped an exalted view of our own race as being the spawn of divinity. And it was in space—precisely the unfathomable enormity of space—that humanity could no longer manipulate things toward this end. From its initial opposable thumbs gripping first tools through to the most powerful computer, it became clear that human matter and its created counterparts, artificial intelligence, would never be advanced enough to go any further than understanding and controlling the local worlds. The problem became quickly apparent—and the magnitude of the universe, though abstractly understood, had never been known as the revelator of our limitation, not until humanity was placed in a position to attempt, at its very strongest effort, the proposition of overcoming it. At first, computer intelligence was thought to be the solution—that through a combination of computer intelligence, computer intelligence working in harmony with the best of man’s brain power, the obstacles could be overcome. But they could not be. It was learned that computers were in fact also limited by their creators’ capacities, and so no computer could transcend its makers upper limits in creating the computers. It turned out that the computers were in fact mirrors of human cognition. And wherein their processing speed could be improved, and time reduced in calculating complexities far beyond the abilities of any group of human minds alone, the cognition itself could not be improved. The very thing itself—cognition—was limited in computers in the same way it was limited in humans: By the stage of its evolution in ripening to what it was. So tests were done—tests in what came to be known as evolution speeding. Hurrying the process of brain evolution, so that what the human brain might evolve to cogitate after a million years could be reached in a matter of years—months even. But all such experiments were met with failure in attempting to do what they sought, produce a mind—artificial or not, for the two were known at this point in regards to their cognition to be the same—that could overcome the impossible distances of space. And the defeat was too simple—that it could be simply size, sheer size—that prevented humans from ever attaining to the ultimate goal that they aspired to. The choice then came—to eliminate the desire genetically—the desire to explore and conquer new knowledge. To eliminate the very desire for progression of truth. And it was shown—controversially enough—that it could be done. And that it would be the only solution that would provide real happiness, other than a more heavy-handed return to the old dogmatic softenings of the human intellect. But as I told you at the start, though the marginal masses were assimilated, and easily enough without their knowledge or consent, into adhering to the world morality of peace, there were the leaders who resisted manipulating their own genes. Who, though without hesitation in taking of all the elixirs such as immortality and immunity to disease, to in fact attaining every desire possible albeit through artificial means, refused to taint the very thing that they believed made them human. Those few, the wisest and most powerful leaders of the world, would not relinquish their last dogma. Something tethered in their minds to their actual essence. And so they did not. Of course they lied, obeyed public sentiment in proclaiming that they too had undergone the removal of the obsession for new knowledge. And it was for a while believed that humanity had at last settled to accept its still rather grand position as masters of their own solar system and nothing more.”

  “Solar system?” I ask.

  “Of course the solar system was what whet the appetite most strongly. But space’s completeness was not felt, and the limits of human ingenuity realized, until the conquest of the solar system was complete, and moving outside of the solar system was attempted.”

  “Humans existed on other worlds?” Maze says.

  “Of course—you see, the Wipe was a solar system event. Not an Earth event.”

  “So then—what happened?”

  “It was discovered that secret research was still occurring. Engine systems, matter manipulation devices, all of them simply repeat attempts at what were known to be failures a thousand times over. Resource wasting reminders of the hand that evolution had dealt our race. It happened to be noticed by the missing resources, and at last, it was realized that the leaders had lied. That they had retained their defective human aspect, and that it had them more obsessed than ever before—so much so that the resources being drawn into the failed projects that had been tried countless times before were resulting in a separation of classes.”

  “So there was another war?”

  “I think—at least—I don’t know for sure. That’s where the record stops. The computers go dark. All of the ones that I have access to here. And that’s why we need your key, why we need to get to the dark computers. The last recorded history stops when the news spread—that the genetic universal, the one producing peace, hadn’t been universally adopted. And so followed the first disruption of peace within people in a thousand years. And then, I am left with knowing no more about what happened after that moment in history than what you have known your whole lives—that somehow, all of technology was destroyed. All of our accumulated knowledge erased. So that we were left only with the skeletal ruins of cities. And this tower rising forever into the sky. Maybe many towers on many worlds. But no explanation of how it
all ended—even if there is information to guess at why.”

  “What about her key? The tattoo? Why would anyone alive now have such a thing still? Access to an old world system?” I ask.

  “That is, I think, one of the things we’ll discover. But I have a strong guess…”

  “What do you think I am?” Maze interrupts.

  “I think that maybe—just like there are the Nefandus and the Fatherhood, there is a third group of people. A minority. Some sort of chosen race. Self-chosen, to retain access to science, to the projects. To the obsession. Yours, though you don’t remember it, I think, is the dogma of human essence.”

  “But how would she get out? There was someone else, he had the tattoo too,” I say.

  “Was it ever tested?” Wrist asks.

  “What?”

  “Did his ever activate, like you said yours did, a computer system?”

  “He died. He didn’t get here,” she says.

  “Then I think his was a tattoo, nothing more. I have no other explanation.”

  I wonder if somehow Garren would have done such a thing—given himself a tattoo, just in Maze’s likeness, to somehow seduce her into his quest. Visions of Sid giving him a drawing of her tattoo pass through my head so strongly that I ask Maze.

  “Did Sid ever—did he look at your tattoo?”

  “Of course he saw it.”

  “Did he ever draw it?” I ask.

  “No—no, he didn’t. What are you thinking Wills?”

  “That he brought it to Garren. That he never knew it himself maybe, but that he did just that—copied your tattoo before ever seeing it in person.”

  Suddenly Maze’s hands loosen from mine.

  “What is it?”

  For a moment I think the pressure of the sea is crushing down, and she’s just noticed it first, and we’re all finally going to die alone in the dark. Confused and unable to see each other’s faces as we’re pulverized.

  “He did—he would—he drew it in the sand. A few times. After we’d…”

  I don’t press her, as if I know already what she would have said. Sex. Something he did after sex.

  “We just keep moving, and we’ll know. I really think we’ll find out. Okay?” Wrist says.

  “And what do you think we do when we find them?” I ask, Maze’s idea of exposing the Fatherhood seeming remote now, so useless in the historical perspective of our entire specie’s existence.

  “What else? We join them,” says Wrist. “It’s a dogma I would gladly take over the one I abandoned. All dogma is not the same—some possess more truth than others. You surely believe that?”

  His question is just what Maze and I admitted before, but something doesn’t seem right about it—to join them—to subscribe to the human dogma, that it somehow beats those of the Fatherhood and the Nefandus. I think it through but realize he’s right. There is no other choice. That if that’s what’s waiting for us, it really will be an improvement.

  “What I need to know is—how could you know this all? How could you possibly be so sure on all of these points?” Maze asks.

  “Because I have ingested them—all the memories available to me of those who came before—who lived before the Wipe event.”

  Before I can ask him how he managed to do that, and get the computer to give him memories, I want to stop and confront him—to ask if it was something he could have given to us then—at the computer too—and why he didn’t. Why he kept us from having access to it ourselves. But all my thoughts draw me back to the robot man he said he’d encountered. And how he said he learned that the man was a robot only after appearing at first like a person made of flesh and blood. How he must have killed the thing. And why . . .

  “What about the man made of metal? What happened between you two?”

  “The truth is—he came down from above. From the Tower. That’s my only explanation.”

  “From the Tower?” Maze asks.

  “I don’t know how else.”

  “Why did you have to kill him?” I ask.

  “He was crazed—incapable of speech. I tried to sync him with the computer but he wouldn’t. And then—he came at me.”

  “So you fought him?”

  “Not a fight—he didn’t defend himself. I thought it was a real man. A lunatic. And after I did it—after I bashed his head in—I knew he was fake. There was blood, but not much. And underneath was metal.”

  “Wouldn’t he have had a key in him then?”

  “I tried to find it—but the body was too heavy to take through the water. And there was no mark like your tattoo to tell me where in the body it might have been planted. So he meant nothing to me except that a man had come from the other direction in the tunnel. From above.”

  The lights stay out and things continue to get colder as Wrist decides to end the long conversation. He says it’s time to go, because according to the maps he’s seen, it will take days to reach the elevator that rises up from the ocean. And so we go, marching until we can’t stand to continue walking anymore. Each hour I try to bring a conversation to life, at first with Maze and then later with Wrist, but it’s as if the darkness has worn them both thin, and neither one of them wants to talk at all. When it finally comes time to rest, Maze silently uncoils her arm, touches me, and draws me close to her. We gather ourselves into warmth and I think of Wrist. Alien to us and alone. No part of our warmth. For a minute I wonder if Maze will invite him into our dark circle, but she never does. I wonder how cold he is, and if I should too. But he doesn’t make a noise. And I wonder if we fall asleep and wake up, if he’ll just be gone. No voice to come back to us, just like that—the shadow vanished down the tunnel alone.

  My arm can’t help but continue to move, and my fingers even more, over Maze. At first I test her in slow motions, caressing the outside of her warmth, mocking the rubbing motion that brings warmth. When she doesn’t recoil at all, I try again. It takes me so long to fall asleep that I begin to count the minutes between each movement. For one instant, just before I fall asleep, I think I feel her rub against me too. Maybe in her sleep, because when I say her name, just to ask if she can’t sleep either, she doesn’t respond.

  Chapter 19

  The next day passes as slowly and coldly as the one before. I bring up the memories with Wrist, and he says that to give us the memories would have taken a very long time. And that he’s been down here a very long time. The organic bleed, he says, takes days. And then, he’s through talking about it. Maze brings up the Ark, and how the computer system, the dark and light computer boxes on Wrist’s diagram, must constitute it. She asks if Wrist thinks there is one central computer, something that houses it all, somewhere off the planet. He thinks that there must be, and that it all must be a single record somewhere, something to let others know we existed. Once all has passed and gone.

  “So you think we’ll be extinct one day, too?” I ask. And for a moment, I realize I had never really pondered it—the end of our species.

  “Of course. I think that all complex matter passes into simplicity, similar to the base constituents from which it springs. I think, eventually, you’ll have time, and you’ll absorb what I now know of science. And more things will make sense to you.”

  As the day passes on, or night—just a sameness that grows colder—I think of Wrist’s idea of humanity’s essence: the need to conquer new mysteries. I ask him to explain why that was so important for them to hold onto. Why that was so different or essential beyond any other human quality.

  “I think—I think it is just the same thing as evolution, but on the intellectual level. It is something about life occurring that you don’t know. But I’ll tell it to you like this—there is some driving force that selects better versions of material life forms so that they can more efficiently survive in their environment. It happens randomly, by mutation, but it happens nonetheless largely on a line pointing toward improvement. And that—improvement—in humans alone—seems to have been mimicked in intellectual life. T
here is a parallel. Just like the material bodies must follow the line, so must the thinking mind. It is no different, the mind, from the body. Even though that flies in the face of both what the Fatherhood teaches and what the Nefandus teach.”

  “The mind, a dim projection of the soul, is the divine tether to our corporeal form,” I say, one of the foundational dogmas of the Fatherhood. And he’s right—part of me, though I accept it as dogma, still sees the mind as something supernatural, separate from the body.

  “It is quite the same in my red clan, even if it sprouts from a different language. But the problem is, we are self-aware of the end of our evolution. When there is no mind, the species simply vanishes without any introspective struggle. There becomes two options: to mute the voice of this genetic quality in our brain, and find something close to complete contentment with self-aware life, or, to—like those in power who caused the Wipe did—retain it, and deal with the final capability of our material progression—to struggle forever impotently against our the recognition of our permanent state of intellectual infancy.”

  I try to make sense of Wrist’s explanation, and I almost think Maze will chime in, somehow able to still play devil’s advocate. Because when I think of her, she boils down to one quality in my mind—the very thing that makes me so attracted to her. That she always sees the next possibility—the next truth. Somehow, I understand: her drive to conquer the truth is the same as caused the penultimate struggle that humanity must have faced—enduring the end of discovery. Not because there was no more to discover, but because human potential is bound up, equally of body and mind, in its material form. In poorer words than I think it, I say my conclusion back to Wrist, to test whether or not I’ve comprehended him correctly. He simply tells me yes—that I’m extremely smart, and that I’ve got it just right. But Maze stays silent. And then, when I reach out for her, I find her cold arm. She’s still moving through the darkness with me, but there are shudders that come down through her muscles every few moments.