Anthropogenesis

The winter air was dry and hot, warm winds blew from the west, bringing with them smoke and ash. Seraphine sat in her tractor's cockpit looking down on a thousand acres of dying wheat. The tractor's twin turbine propellers blasted the decaying grain in circular drifts beneath the hovering rig, in the distance her family's massive automated combines sat idle, artificial intelligences each waiting eagerly to do their one purpose. Another harvest come and gone with nothing to show for it but empty pockets and shame.

Sighing, she adjusted her tractor's prop control, pitching the nose of the vehicle over just enough to propel her floating forward over the fields. Overhead the sun blazed red, the air was acrid as the distant fires of the Western Washington rainforests raged. Sera idly wondered how many years would pass until there'd be nothing but char where once the mighty forests of the Cascades and Olympics stood. Not many.

The hills over which she flew were desolate and brown. Gray with wilting stalks and hopes. These days there weren’t even coyotes hunting the rare deer and hare that her father used to so often curse. The Palouse rolled on as far as her unaltered eyes could see. Sitting in her tractor for hours on end, she'd oft wondered if altering her vision would be worth the money, maybe she’d be able to see all her family's dying fields then. But really how much effort did it take to raise binoculars to her face?

Sera hadn’t been altered at birth, the laws weren’t as stringent on genetic manipulation out in the Palouse as it was in the big cities. Folk out there had always been slow to change, this change had been no different. Her parents had claimed it to be against their Catholic beliefs, to alter God's plan was sin. Growing up her parents had dragged her and her older brother Will to church every Sunday despite both their general disinterest. Even during harvest they’d gone. Getting up before the ass crack of dawn to work for three hours, change, go to church, change again and work until dusk. What she would give these days to sit in church and stress over not having enough time to finish the day's work during harvest. To have anything to harvest at all.

Sera glanced at the sky, smoke and smog filled the atmosphere, shading her from the uncomfortable winter heat. The occasional fall of ash put Sera into a melancholic gloom that hung over her like the cumulus clouds her father had hoped would roll in. "It's going to snow, I can feel it in my knees!” He’d said over breakfast that morning, the old coot was always feeling something in his knees.

She wondered if snow looked similar to the dull ash drifting slowly downward to gather in light drifts on her fields. Snow in the Palouse was a thing of the past, a distant memory lost to the tides of time. Sera was no meteorologist, but it didn’t take a degree to know that this heat would never give them snow again. Hell, rain was scarce enough. And rain without dangerous pH levels? Keep dreaming.

Drought didn't just plague the Palouse, there were water shortages everywhere. Sera found it ironic, as the seas continued to rise somehow they had less water? She stared up at the haze and wished for just a sprinkle. A few drops, that’s all.

Nothing but ash fell from the sky.

Sera tried not to think about how some of the more arid regions of the world had fared during these droughts. Once, she'd paid attention to world affairs, she'd tried to keep up with it all. But lately she just couldn't bear to watch the holos anymore. It was too depressing, and realistically what could she do about the water shortages? The civil wars? The alteration inequalities? There always seemed to be some new global pandemic to keep up with, some new fear to add to the list. Frankly, she didn’t have the bandwidth for it all. Sera had her wheat. Or, used to have her wheat.

She glanced at her instrument panel. Nitrogen and phosphorous levels were low. Running a callused hand through her hair she turned the tractor’s radio over to a national news broadcast out of pure boredom. One that hadn’t been too radicalized one way or another if she remembered right. Though a large part of her doubted anything coming from the radio was unbiased or uncontrolled by the ICN's propagandists these days. At least that's what her favorite Holotube conspiracy theorists claimed.

“–genocide in Utah after the Church of Latter Day Saints’ refusal to acknowledge the International Coalition of Nations governing body yesterday in–”

She turned the radio off. It wasn’t any different than she’d remembered. The world had gone to shit, and so had her farm. Sera made a mental note to once again look into more drought resistant crops that she could invest in for next season. Wheat, it would seem, was just as hopeless as the rest of the world.

Sera flew on in silence, flying her regular rounds she had nothing but time. And an abundance of time is good for one thing and one thing only, thinking. That Sera did as she monotonously flew the hundreds of acres over her family farm. She wondered what Will was up to all those hundreds of miles away. She thought about her work, her future, her past, her parents. Who they'd become before her mother had passed. She feared her future becoming theirs, stuck in the past, lost in a changing world. Is that what would happen if she stayed out in the Palouse? Ignorant of the rest of the world beyond the farm?

She had a peaceful life, there was no reason to muddy it up with the problems of other people.

That isolationist mentality, hiding from the problems beyond the outskirts of her hometown, she’d gotten that from her parents, and it had killed her mother. Had her parents been more open to gene manipulation the doctors might have been able to save her. She still hadn’t forgiven her father for that. Will had seen past that small minded view of the world, and he’d left. Maybe he’d been right after all. Sera sighed, and turned the radio back on.

“–local rebellions plague the ICN’s continued progress towards dominion, the United Nations stands against the governing body despite Chancellor Guerra’s hold on over half the nations currently a part of the UN.”

Local rebellions? Sera turned the volume knob up on her headset, the staticky national feed crackled in her ears over the roar of her tractor's propellers.

“For the sake of public safety we hope these terrorists are put to a short end.” The newscaster continued on but didn’t give further details of rebellion.

Acts of terrorism? Rebellion? Things really had changed since she’d last checked in. She wondered what Will would think of the attacks on the ICN, what he’d think about whatever had happened in Utah. So much violence. She was tempted to ignore the horrors beyond her fields and focus back to the humdrum of her day to day. She had a peaceful life, if a somewhat boring one. There were no terrorist attacks out there, no ICN, no rebellions, just dead wheat as far as her unaltered eyes could see.

Sera listened to the news broadcasts all afternoon until finally abandoning her rounds and angling the tractor back to the hangar. Dusk began to settle on the Palouse, purple and orange embers streaked through the smoky cloud cover. Say what you will about global air pollution, but it sure makes for beautiful sunsets.

There was so much happening outside the hills of her home. Despite all the political unrest, scientific advances in space exploration and genetic manipulation had come far. Well beyond that of the now primitive enhancements she’d known of before. Now not only were there new cosmetic manipulations, but all citizens of ICN controlled regions were being mandated certain genetic upgrades. She found herself wondering more and more about exactly what those upgrades were, the news hadn’t given specifics.

Sera finished her landing checklist as the garage came into view, long rows of solar panels reflected the dull red sun. She eased the hovering tractor gently to the ground just inside one of the ten garage bays, prop blast blowing dust and debris. Massive combines sat silently in the bays next door. The machines were over two stories tall, chipped barn red paint flaking off the edges to reveal rust beneath, the machine's wheels taller each than Sera when she stood on her tiptoes. The augers and elevators sat idle as the beasts lay dormant in their caves of pale aluminum, awaiting their call to awaken and toil the fields once more.

Finishing the quick shutdown checklist, Sera turned off the electric motors, twin turbines whirring down. She let the slowing propellers settle before hopping out of the tractor’s cockpit. She still felt like a little kid pretending to be a jet pilot every time she got in or out of the tractor.

Maybe she’d go into the city after all hope for the winter wheat was abandoned, before spring planting began. Take a vacation, go and see Will. Sera closed the garage bays and walked the short distance to their meager home. If she didn’t figure out how to produce a fresh crop soon, they'd have to sell their family’s equipment just so they could feed themselves. Universal basic wasn’t nearly enough to cover her father’s medical bills, or the mortgage, or the water bill, or…the list never ended.

Roofus barked at her approach, then recognizing her, plodded over, bushy white tail wagging. The old guard dog’s head was taller than her waist, his fur dirty from rolling around in the dust, his wet dog scent brought a smile to her face.

“Hi buddy.” She rubbed his head and walked inside their home, the old boy following close behind.

The rich smoky aroma of her father’s pipe hit her in the face as she walked into the dining room. Her father was sitting at the table, puffing away and reading some old book. He was always reading some yellow paged novel of ages long past. The sound of their home's CO2 filters was a loud buzz not unlike her tractor's turbines. It created an oddly pleasant whirring and grinding ambience.

“Hi Dad.” Sera threw her gloves on the table and plopped down next to him. He grunted her a hello and went back to reading. Such a caring man. “Soooo," Sera said, hoping to get his attention, the subject couldn't be avoided any longer. "The winter wheat is failing."

He glanced up from his book, smoke circling around his head. "Figure it out."

"I can't." Sera paused, taking a deep breath to avoid raising her voice. "I've tried everything. Nothing is working. The wheat is going to fail. The harvest won't happen. We–" Sera took another deep breath, her voice quavering. "–we need to find another source of income."

Her father set his book down, the tome was purple, a gladiatorial knight held a glowing blue sword on the cover. "Seraphine, our family has toiled those fields for over a hundred years. Throughout all, even during the Awakening, never once have our fields failed. Do not tell me they are failing this season."

"Look around!" Sera placed her palms on their old wooden dining table. "Unprecedented drought, the atmosphere is filled with smoke, we haven't had a day with direct sunlight in months. It hasn't rained since–I can't even remember the last time it rained! It's December and it's 75 degrees outside. Dad, don't you see what's happening?"

Her father was quiet for a long while, gray stubbled jaw clenching on his pipe. "I never thought both my children would fail like this."

Sera threw her hands up and left her father to wallow in his own pity. Damned man.

"Seraphine," Her father called from the kitchen, his voice gruff, tired. "I–come sit back down."

Despite all her best interests, Sera crossed her arms and sat.

The old man groaned, setting his pipe down, he rubbed a liver spotted hand across his leathery face. "What would you suggest?"

"We need to plant something more drought resistant or we're going to have to sell the combines. Sell our land." Roofus laid his jowly cheeks on her thigh as she spoke.

"We can't sell the farm." Her father looked sick to his stomach. "I've already tried. No one is buying land that can't be toiled."

Damn. She hadn't known her father had been trying to sell the farm. She had begun to believe his ignorance of the family business was an intentional bliss. But now–now what?

They sat in silence for a long time.

Sera decided to change the subject. “I was thinking maybe I should take a break. Take a week or two and go see something other than–” She paused, searching for words to describe the Palouse.

“Shit colored hills?” Her father finished for her.

“Exactly! I want to go somewhere sunny, go see a beach, or explore the mountains, anything besides endless rolling fields.”

Her father leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, taking a long drag of his pipe, smoke filled the room. “Where do you want to go?”

“Maybe go into the city. Visit Will–”

“No! Absolutely not.” He cut her off, slamming a hand on the table.

Sera's eyebrows shot to the ceiling. “Why not?”

“I don’t want you going into that damned city. It isn’t right what those people do to themselves. What they do to their children. Genetic engineering is wrong. Those damn inbreds–”

“Dad! I don’t even know where to start with how wrong you are. They’re people just like us.” Had all old men always been like this? A brief recollection of world history brought her to the conclusion that old men had in fact always been like this. "We've been genetically modifying our crop yields for years, what's the difference?"

“We're not plants! They aren’t like us, dammit Sera haven’t I taught you anything? Those people are dangerous. Those altereds are different, they think different than we do, they aren’t human anymore.”

“You’re wrong.” Sera started to storm from the kitchen, then paused. "Is that how you justified letting mom die? Because it's wrong? The engineers could have saved her."

Her father’s eyes went wide, his sad grumbling retort was muffled by the grinding noise of their home’s ancient CO2 filter. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Her father would never change. He was just like everyone else out there, stuck in the same ruts as their ancestors, either too poor or too proud to leave. Sera left him alone.

She wouldn’t become her father. The human race needed what the ICN was offering. She’d seen firsthand the decline of their farm’s crops, she’d witnessed the degeneration of her home, her way of life. That wasn’t the fault of the ICN, the fault was their own. Without progress, what were they?

Cave dwellers. Cowards. Not Sera though, Will had been right. She started packing her bags. It was time to leave this archaic way of life behind. It was time to forge her own path into the future.