5. Litany for Departure
After Humans - Episode 5
Life as a farmer settled into a rhythm, each day as plain and repetitive as the food: boiled potatoes and saltless vegetables. No meat, no fish. Ever. A daily routine laced with silence, as people kept their distance, uncertain what to make of me after the interrogation. But monotony has a softening effect. Over time, suspicion wore down, and breakfast and dinner gradually became quieter moments of conversation, though I said little, preferring to listen.
Especially Jerry talked a lot. I actually enjoyed his wits. He liked to be near me, that much was clear. Part of me welcomed the idea of an ally, but I also needed to keep a safe distance, to protect myself. I much preferred to observe, analyze and make plans. By now I had learned that most of the people came from this region, but from vastly different backgrounds, some from towns, others from rural communities. Each bringing different skills, and different experiences. A few of them had lived in big cities, like L.A., or S.F. I tried to stay clear of those, as they could either recognize me, or find flaws in my story. Some of these big city dwellers had already been homeless for a decade, cast aside long before the collapse, when the rest of society still functioned. Laid off by people like me. Because of immigration, automation, offshoring, robotics, AI. In that order.
“You know, I wanted to become a programmer,” Jerry said.
“Yeah, be one of the bad ones,” Sharonda responded.
Jerry ignored the sneer. “My father said they didn’t need programmers anymore, so it never happened anyway.”
“They also didn’t need technical writers anymore,” Peter said, staring into the distance.
“Nor electricians.”
Sharonda took a deep breathe, “we were all just nothing to them anymore.”
“We are still something,” Jerry responded with youthful energy, “we are still alive, doing things, building something, right?” He looked at me, hoping for confirmation.
I had to say something. “Jerry’s got a point. Maybe we are not at the forefront of humanity anymore, but we are still humans. We should still try to make the best of it.” Sharonda looked at me in a specific way, which made me fear that my way of talking had sounded too unaffected, too academic. A criticism I’d had before, especially by Bill, who had always pushed me to pretend being a bit more humane, to create trust with my subjects.
Luckily Peter reacted in a heated manner, “rubbish! Whenever we try something, they stop us. When people tried to produce electricity, they took it away from us. They only allow us to live like this, like medieval peasants.”
I looked at him, found it interesting how he used the plural ‘they’ to refer to ‘him’, or ‘it’. Anyway, the conversation had died, as we quietly observed Jerry playing with his fork, staring at it in a way that made me feel his hopelessness. For some reason I hadn’t felt that yet, that hopelessness.
“Let’s thank the Lord for this dinner,” Peter proposed, as usually.
The next day was a Sunday, the only day we didn’t have to work from sunrise to sunset. My whole body ached from the hard labor this week, but I was starting to do better in general. During winter the fields had been covered under a layer of snow, forcing us to stay indoors. This didn’t mean we could take a break, though. Instead of on the fields, we were mostly working inside the granary nowadays, filling bags, distributing food. Every evening we would count our supplies, and calculate rations per person. It had been our job to make sure the community would last until Spring, which was now, when the foresters could start foraging again, to collect berries and such. Until then, we had managed the granary. The hardest decisions were made by one of the three the elders. Peter was one of them, he was not only responsible for us, or for the farm, but he was also the community’s priest.
Like every Sunday, we would go to town after breakfast, for the weekly sermon at the Church. I had never been religious, but I had come to understand its value. Going to Church felt like a weekly escape from the monotonous work in the dark granary, as well as a time to process everything that had happened during the week.
Everyone in town attended the services, even though there weren’t enough chairs. The fittest men had to stand, and for a while now, I had been counted among them.
Peter emerged as usual, wearing a white robe. He used a moment of silence to look at his congregation. If there was one thing I had noticed these last months, it’s how religion itself was changing, adjusting to our current lifes, detached from religious traditions of the past.
“Dear people of Woodridge,” he started. “Winter has been harsh this year, but let’s be grateful that we are among the ones who have survived. All thanks to the Lord and His Saviour.”
“Amen,” everyone whispered, except me.
“Since we have decided that Spring is the start of the year, let’s start with a new year’s resolution. Let’s have more children, as that is what the Lord has ordered us to do, to multiply, to spread out. If we don’t, we might soon seize to exist.”
For a moment I thought about my kids. Would they still think about me? Would they hate me? Would they even be alive? Death was everywhere now. For a moment I doubted whether anything was worth it anymore.
Peter again paused, to then raise his voice, and speak viciously. “God is testing us, people. For many centuries we have sinned, and as a result the Devil himself has spawned in our midst, and has destroyed our societies. God is convinced he is brewing substances in order to open the Gates of Hell!”
I had noticed lately, how sometimes Bill had become the personification of the Devil, while other times he was regarded as a deity that could help us. Confusing times bred contradictions. None of them resolved. Not yet.
“What can we do, oh Lord, to save ourselves from being run over by demons?”
Perhaps these contradictions could be used, I imagined. They were instruments to manipulate the masses. I looked up, directly at Peter. This was real power he had. Did he even realize this power? With a single God inspired word, he could overrule the other elders. The people would always be on his side.
After the sermon everyone left Church in a dim mood, which was not how I’d do it, if I were in Peter’s place. I guess it was just his personal depression that was affecting everyone.
As if it wasn’t bad enough yet, we had our weekly funeral ceremony immediately after the sermon. Many people weren’t made for this life. Young and old, hunger and disease were always lurking. We gathered at the cemetry behind the Church, forming a semi circle to listen to Peter once more. “This week four people have passed, including a baby boy,” he said.
I looked at the father, ten years younger than me, and remembered how last week we had buried his wife, the mother of the baby boy. In the end they had both succumbed to the dangers of childbirth. The father had no one left anymore. He didn’t cry, he merely stared at the grave. Looking over the wooden crosses it was clear for everyone to see that far more people died than were born, a worrying trend for Woodridge, and probably for all of humanity.
“May the baby boy join his mother, and have peace in heaven.”
“Amen,” even I proclaimed it this time.
As if this day wasn’t gray enough yet, I noticed a dark cloud approaching from the West. People were gazing at it. We didn’t possess technology to predict the weather anymore, making us feel vulnerable, exposed to, and in awe with the forces of nature. The last thing we could use was a heavy thunderstorm. As if ‘Amen’ hadn’t been enough, I suddenly felt the need to pray.
“Oh look! There they are again,” Jerry said.
I looked at him questioningly.
He pointed at the cloud, that had come close enough for us to see what it really was. It turned out to be a cloud composed of particles, and as the cloud came closer, the particles turned out to be drones. Millions, maybe more. They were different from the drones I was familiar with, as these didn’t seem to have rotor blades, as they didn’t produce any sound. They must be using some other way to lift off and fly.
They circled above our heads, until they grouped in front of us, in the shape of a rectangle. Suddenly all the drones emitted a flash of white light, fading into a full color image, as the rectangle basically became a screen, each drone a pixel. It showed Bill, still as a complete human being, with his face, arms and legs, while by now he might only exist in an abstract form, embedded in technology, I imagined.
“People of Woodridge,” he started. It was odd to hear his voice again. He’d been my mentor, maybe even more, a father figure. And yet he’d abandoned me, his pupil. Now I doubted if he had ever loved me. He had abandoned me just like how I had abandoned my family. Did I not love my family? Maybe he did love me. I guess me and Bill were the same, although I would never be his equal.
Jerry laid his hand on my shoulder, when I looked around, and noticed that everyone had knelt down, as if obediently listening to their vassal lord. I too, knelt down.
Only then Bill continued, while he seemed relaxed, seated in his office chair. It was a surreal experience. “I have worked hard, my entire life, to further humanity’s place in the universe. Therefore I have to notify you that you have to abandon this area, as I need more space to expand my operations. I suggest you move towards the South-East in order to not disturb our holy objective.”
If Bill’s awareness was present in any form, he must have noticed me. Either way I was relieved he didn’t single me out, as it would probably cause me problems in this community. Yet, when the screen turned off, and the drones drifted back West, this whole thing felt like a cold rejection.