Evolution of the Egg

The CRISPR sequence ended up useful far beyond biological research labs and disease prevention.

The enhancements to living organisms had long been theorised, trialled in low-risk experiment—incremented gradual across decades, ethics policies rewritten with each after rigorous enquiry—but it wasn’t until the fallout that its potential was embraced by the masses. After the bombs fell. When the ozone thinned and holes widened across the globe to make a Swiss cheese of a sky turned orange and perpetually black.

Two thirds didn’t make it past the first six months. Economies crumbled and farmlands scorched, and the icecaps melted to a fraction their previous size. Rampant starvation and death and blistering rain became the norm, the proclivity of our adaptation put to a test hitherto never dreamt of.

Bunkers and underground habitats were engineered en masse at near impossible rates. Turned out that cooperation, true, universal cooperation, was productive to degrees that made our entire industrial history seem wasteful. Cities and lakes and far reaching farms all powered by fusion came in rapid proliferations, societies reorganised with bare a gap the efficacy of political strategies. Political egos all but vanished, and a governance of pure efficiency was born.

And yet, human nature is and will forever be tied to surface. To the air and the oceans, and, most of all, to the sun. The science of terraforming was still too nascent in the early years to provide an offset. Best we could hope for was a preservation of what was left–of the fauna that would be critical to the viability of any future ecosystems.

Thus the CRISPR evolution accelerator was developed. Two years after the cataclysm, in May, 2068, the DNA of over 98,000 organisms, from mosquito to reptile to marsupial, were modulated and released to the above. A group carefully chosen from the complete archive for its predicted lifecycle equilibrium. Our drones and AI tended to and monitored progress, and from below we all watched, and in baited breaths, we waited.

It might have been that we were too eager. The plan foolish for the expedite; the fault of our desperation. All in the past, now. Before long, one by one, the video feeds stopped, and all signal from our scouts went silent. And what we saw in those final transmissions…

The entire populace went into a bare subdued panic, and the steels of the gateways were reinforced and buffered as best as our resources would allow. But the smarter of us knew, even then. Knew there was only delay before the inevitable. Before the biggest of them burrowed into the crust, and broke through.

The CRISPR sequence was tasked with stimulating an evolution that would enable each lifeform to withstand the elements, while maintaining a balance with all other creatures possessing of the same advancement. Sounded logical enough, in theory. What we didn’t predict, was what happened above and beyond the baseline of the adaptations for environmental resilience. That primal balances weren’t reached until tremendous elevations of arms-races had hit a nexus so high that naught a species held the remotest resemblance to their biological ancestors, and a planet of truly unimaginable monsters was born.

Naturally, we all of us became content with our vegetarianism. Livestock wasn’t feasible for its inefficiency, and so the only thing between us and total veganism, were the chickens. Eggs so ubiquitous in our cuisine that our culture eventually centred itself around yellow and white, a Hindu-level worship of chickens that manifest itself in many a festival, the media, and our fashion.

On May 24th, 2071, the vibrations began. Thunderous reverberations of a vast digging that grew louder without pause. Our scent, it seemed, had drifted up in emanations potent enough to draw them in. And what a sound it was. The last images we’d witnessed from our drones were no preparation, for gods.

And so once again our society was divided, two thirds to be left in sacrifice, as the rest moved into our new, smaller, more closed-off habitats further beneath, the ones we started to construct after seeing the first of the Krakens–an almost affectionate name we gave them, which had stuck.

The sacrificing part came easier than it might’ve done in times of surface affluency. The situation had made of us an ant colony, and our majority were more or less neutral to the demands of survival. They wouldn’t be going down without a fight, and so their deaths rode high on a notion of duty.

I remember seeing the first breach as I herded the last of my people through the cladding; an image that’ll be remembered forever in the highest of resolutions. The crumbling and the downpour of rock and dirt and that endless translucent limb that smashed warping and amorphous to the ground, cloud of dust obscuring part the form and amplifying infinitely the horror. Strands of smaller limbs like tentacles then shot from its gargantuan trunk from out the misty brown at breakneck speeds into the metropolis, and it was a cacophony of echoing screams from the frontline that became our final farewell as the first of the gates was drawn shut, and our long descent began.

We none of use felt fear that day, nor sadness for the fallen. New life comes promising and golden under even the blackest of skies.

Ours was a future built on the shoulders of brave giants, those who we honoured eternal, in our memories, and history, in our language, and our song. From them we grew stronger, and, patient, there in our humble existences, we would prosper. Move forward, and never end.