STAUROS

Directed panspermia explains several inconsistencies in the dating of human remains, but its acceptance has had, dare I say, disastrous consequences on the human psyche. It is all but confirmed that we did not evolve here as did the plants and animals, but were brought here from space, seeded for reasons unknown. This intersection of science and religion has lent credence to myth and brought with it the insufferable gloating of the clergy and its sheep, who were until now dismissed as proponents of blind faith. The delusion of human superiority over all that we share our beautiful planet with has only grown more grotesque. It is a collective, gluttonous ego that, given a single foothold on a slippery wall, flagellates itself in full view of the public, intent on covering us all in its slop.

The presence of one foothold does not imply another, and yet they conjure all sorts out of thin air, forming a ladder they smugly nod and grin about. Yet not one of them has the courage to climb it, for they know their hands and legs would simply pass through the rungs, dooming them to fall and splatter against the ground far below. Theirs is a level of comedy far below our consideration. Here, we conduct science. The scientific method is without bias. It reveals what is true and destroys what is not. To serve as instruments of science, we too must be without bias. Let this be your guiding star.

- from the 389th Matriculation Ceremony, Académie Scientifique de l'œil de Gradial

EVIE

That night, I had, for the first time, something to sleep next to. I ran my fingers over the cold iron blade that lay next to me, admiring its heft. Despite my exhaustion, all I could do was stare at the stone ceiling, unable to sleep.

I stood up, twirling the sword. I’m surprised it still feels as light as it used to. I waved it around in pitch darkness, but in my mind I could trace the arc of its edge. It whistled in the air, testament to how sharp it was. If only I had smuggled this with me. I would not have cowered in a closet with the priestess. I was not foolish enough to believe I could have cut down an angry mob by myself, but it would have left me at least a scrap of pride.

I paused mid-slash. Faint voices drifted through the cave, amplified by the smooth walls. A visitor? I crept towards the corridor, my toes tense, my fingers wrapped tightly around the hilt of my sword. It was you and Oracle, speaking in a neighbouring cave—the living room, as you called it.

“Oracle. She was part of the initial seed, wasn’t she?”

“Was she?”

“It seems like she was. She remembers being dropped off by the ark. Only the initial seed would remember that.”

“Yes, we never seeded the planet after that.”

“Did you not recognise her during the seeding? To be honest, I have quite nearly forgotten the look of my own face, but even I could tell we were similar, if not identical, as you say.”

“No. The incubators are not see-through, and they are loaded directly into the cargo bay. The only time the seed vectors are visible is before they are incubated, at which point they are nothing more than a cell.”

“I see. And… why exactly did we include a perfect copy of myself in the initial seed?”

“They were loaded onto the ship at the port of departure. As a spare, perhaps.”

“A spare? Why would we need one? I’m already immortal, aren’t I?”

“You do not age, Alice. That is not the same as immortality. Do not confuse the two.”

“I don’t understand.”

There was a pause in the conversation—I could feel Oracle sighing, though he was physically incapable of it. “I will only explain this once. For a cell to divide, it must replicate itself entirely; but no copy is perfect. Small segments of DNA at the ends of chromosomes are lost every time a cell divides. A cell that loses enough DNA ceases to function. To prevent this, excess DNA known as telomeres exist at the ends of each chromosome, eaten through gradually as cells divide. This only delays the inevitable—once a cell has divided enough, its telomeres deplete entirely and the cell dies of apoptosis. That is, it kills itself.”

“That seems silly. What’s the point of a cell that kills itself?”

“It is necessary as the body develops; without it, for example, your hands would be blobs of flesh without distinct fingers. Apoptosis helps create the space between each digit. Past that, yes, it leads only to inevitable death—silly, as you would say. By configuring the genetic blueprint of a zygote in advance, we can circumvent this. Cells modified this way constantly produce telomerase to regenerate telomeres once the body has reached adulthood, allowing them to divide indefinitely. An elegant and self-sufficient solution.”

“I… I don’t recall being, um, configured.”

“Of course not,” Oracle drawled. “The blueprint must be drawn before birth. Clearly, Evie comes from the same blueprint, her genes modified just like yours.“

The tip of my sword tapped the stone floor where I stood. I realised its weight in my grip had forced me to lower it slowly without realising.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

“Someone’s listening,” Oracle said flatly. Is there anything he won't notice? His machinery whirred—he had already triangulated my position.

“Who?!” I heard you leap to your feet and rush out into the corridor. Oracle followed, his sigil lighting the way. I took a step back into my room, raising my sword with both hands, trembling in fear. I had just been listening—why was I so terrified? I heard something I should not have.

Oracle was the first to enter, turning a sharp angle into the room and stopping a hair’s breadth from my blade. His light blinded me like a cold sun, wrapping around the blade. “Put that down!” he said, almost furious. I obeyed immediately. Why did I even raise my sword? Had it been you who entered first, you might have skewered yourself on my blade.

“What’s happening? Evie? Did we wake you?” You stumbled in after Oracle, your eyes wide. “Why are you holding your sword?”

“Nothing. I… I couldn’t sleep, so…”

“So you eavesdropped,” Oracle finished, tilting towards me.

“I wasn’t trying to.”

“You were standing in the corridor!”

I trembled. It was one thing to be yelled at by a human—like the priestess. It was not the yelling itself that hurt me. It was the fact that I had disappointed them so harshly that they had to resort to yelling; being judged too stupid to warrant having a rational conversation with. Being yelled at by a machine was different, however. Oracle had no bias. He was an instrument, cold and clinical. Humans can be wrong. A machine? I stared, transfixed by Oracle’s sigil. He was the product of an entire civilisation’s worth of research. How could he possibly miscalculate? He cannot be wrong.

“Oracle. Stop.” You nudged him aside and took my hand. “It’s fine. I didn’t realise we were being so loud. You must have been worried.” You gently walked me back to the rug. “Be careful with that sword next time. It’s sharp.”

I know. I know! Do you think I don’t know that? Even you thought I was a foolish girl, waving about a sword too heavy for her like a toy. It was infuriating. What about the conversation you had with Oracle? Was I too stupid to be part of it? I stopped next to the rug.

“It’s late. You should go back to sleep,” you said, trying to smile.

“I want to know what’s going on. It’s been a while since I got here, and I never had the courage to ask.” I looked at you, straining my voice as I choked back tears. “What… What is this? What are we? Why are we both immortal? I know about the seeding and the ark, but what’s wrong with me? Why did you not make me like the others?”

I hated the sympathetic look you gave me. I’m not a child. Don’t look at me like that.

“Alright. Sit down. Let’s talk about it.”

“Standing is fine,” I said, looking at the floor. I gripped the sword tighter in my hand. “Tell me. I heard what Oracle said—that we share the same… blueprint.”

“Yes. It seems that way.”

“You don’t have to explain what genetics are. I… I’ve never heard of them, but I can understand what they do,” I said, desperate to prove my worth. “What Oracle meant was that we’re both alike from birth, right? That’s why we look the same. How? I know about twins and triplets, but we were not born from the same womb. You said it yourself—that I was part of the first seed.” I did not want to say the rest—what Oracle said about my being a spare.

“We have incubators on board Mobius. You, like the rest of the first seed, were incubated in them. That is why we look alike despite not being from the same womb. Humans—my humans—we devised ways to store genetic material like seeds. I suppose you were made in my image and stored as a seed.”

I stared at her. “And what was the point of that?”

“Were you not listening earlier?” Oracle yelled, his voice shrill and metallic as he dropped and hovered between us. “The humans decided to include two of you before Mobius departed. Alice would not know why.”

“What about you? Would you know?” I turned to Oracle and retorted, regretting the question immediately.

“As a spare. Why else? What other logical reason could there be? You are both immortal. One builds civilisation and watches over it, while the other regulates it from within. It is the optimal way to raise a civilisation. Yet, you are here.”

I choked back tears. “What… What's wrong with my being here?” Why did I ask him that? I know the answer. I don’t need him to tell me.

“Because you failed! You can’t regulate anything if you’re cooped up in here! The Progenitor—she seeded the planet, gave you tools and technology—she laid the foundation. All you had to do was live with them and keep them on the straight path. To be shunned and jailed and forced to flee into the snow… what was the point of that?”

He sees me as my role. A substitute, a spare, with a job to do. He does not see me for who I am, but for what I do. I knew this feeling, and had come to expect it. Perhaps I am the strange one for finding that strange. Even a mother’s unconditional love is reserved only for her child. Isn’t that funny?

“Oracle!” You stepped forward, shoving him aside. He faltered and fell, but recovered before hitting the ground. My eyes swam in tears, but I held back my sobs.

“He’s right,” I yelled, my sword clattering as it fell to the ground. Why am I so angry? Why can’t I be calm like you? “I’ve felt this way since you told me about the seeding, but—I never once asked for this life. I never once asked to be part of the first seed, or whatever you call it. I didn’t say a word, because this ship seemed like a last resort for your people to escape extinction by any means possible, leaving embryos on a ship to nowhere. But is this really all that I am? A spare? This eternal, damned nightmare I have spent in this body is entirely your fault—and yours alone!” I screamed, the ground unsteady beneath my wobbling feet.

You pulled me into a tight hug. “Listen. I put you here. Neither you nor I have any sort of obligation to live. You did not ask for this life, and neither did I. We both woke without memories—you, born from the incubator, and me, my mind wiped by cold sleep. You cannot fail a responsibility you do not recall. You cannot fail a responsibility”—you paused to laugh at the absurdity of it all—“given to you before you were even born!”

Oracle’s sigil flickered as he transmitted silently to Mobius. Its light cast wavering shadows of us.

“I beg you: live free,” you stressed, holding my face with both hands. “Don’t worry about what comes next. We’ll figure it out. We have time.”

I clung to you, sobbing, desperate, but nothing could wipe from my mind the judgement Oracle had pronounced. The people in the city, the chapel… They were so happy. I only wish I could have lived as they did. A brief life of fifty years or so, from sunrise to sunset, dissolving in the night, turning to foam in the tide, leaving behind only the warmth of a lingering dream. I would have loved that.