A Substance Forgotten

I’ve been born 543 times since I last tasted fresh water. Born may be inaccurate. A more factual description is manufactured. I’m one of the copies of the few selected human blueprints that were left to be janitors for our barren planet. Water isn’t necessary when you’re just a copy.

Born with the long-foregone memories of my blueprint I know what Earth once was. Green, blue, teal… now there’s nothing but grey. The cities that once housed massive populations now scattered ruins for us janitors to sift through. The oceans that once housed great life dried up long before my manufacture date. Within 100 years of the 2070 evacuation, all remaining resources fell victim to the irreversible havoc wreaked by the self-proclaimed superior species.

I didn’t create this mess. I didn’t choose this “life”. Though I look, think, and sound human – I am not. My only purpose is to search for signs that the true humans can return.

While the descendants of a selfish elite of a former time float around aimlessly in space, we are left to keep watch and clean up the planet. I’m sure their gluttonous behaviour has carried with them and through the galaxy. After seeing what they did to this place I doubt they’ll ever be back.

My original blueprint was selected to serve the cloned force as an “honour” after exemplifying a deep love for the planet. They thought that choosing blueprints with a deep love would ensure that the clones stayed positive in our important work. Oh, how wrong they were. Our constantly diminishing love for the planet is precisely the source of the immense pain and torture we live with. We are miserable. Our optimism pummeled inside of us each day as we sift through the never-ending decay. I hate what they did to this place. We’re nothing but doomed to continue a hopeless path.

The days are simple: I dig. I dig through the rubble. I dig to look for food. I dig to look for useful ores, water, or life. And, I dig the graves for the expired copies.

You see, it’s much easier to make more of us than to keep us alive. With no resources available on this wretched planet, we simply start new each year. We are manufactured with modifications to eliminate the need for water or nutrients. We are empty, working, organic, mannequins. When we expire newly manufactured copies take our place and dig our graves, and we are fed back to the earth. Sometimes I think decomposing back into the soil is the only positive thing we’re doing here.

Today I’m digging for my expired copies. 503-513. I think I’m standing where there was once a lake, but with elevation as my only indicator, I have no concept of anything that might have been here. All I can make out is what was probably once a road.

I have 542 and 544 helping me out. We pick a spot to start digging. The layers of trash are almost the same everywhere. First, there’s brick, followed by rotting, infested timber, and insulation. Then, a layer of what was once someone’s most prized possessions. Broken furniture. Smashed glass. Faded pictures. Then more rot, more infestation, and more grey rock substance before finally hitting the true earth.

After digging a few feet into the soil, we hit an object. Not abnormal. There are many things the true humans buried for reasons we don’t quite understand. 542 and 544 helped me haul the object out of the ground, hoping it would speed up our digging process for the day by revealing the space left behind.

The hinges and clasp on the otherwise glimmering stainless steel container were rusted. Rust is increasingly rare as Earth’s water disappeared, but we see it often enough in debris piles. The name on the label read East Meadows High School, 2022. That’s ancient. That’s nearly 50 years before the evacuation. 542 gave the lock a hard whack with her shovel breaking the barely together metal chest open.

On top were decomposed papers that looked to once be journals. As we poked through we found plastic figurines of what appeared to be faded superheroes, thumb drives we had no way of reading, a musty piece of fabric that was probably once a stuffed animal, and at the very bottom there lay a heart-shaped locket.

With all the scavenging that we do we see items every day like that locket, but this one called to me. I reached in to pick it up noticing immediately that it felt cold. Cold isn’t something we feel. It’s never cold anymore. The last time any place on the planet dipped below 45 degrees Celsius is 100 years before my manufacture date. I showed 542 and 544 my discovery.

As I held it in my hands, I heard a sound that was familiar as if I’d heard it in a dream, but I was certain it wasn’t something I’d heard in real life. It sounded like a swoosh, and the weight of the locket seemed to become unbalanced as I moved it from hand to hand. I crouched down and tried to open the locket.

After fidgeting for a few moments, the locket burst open and out poured the most magical substance I’ve ever seen: water.