Method of Extinction

I didn’t know that I was tasked with the management of a decaying culture. For who knows what times they live in? But such was my lot. Our lot. The region of Cara, where I live, has seen much over the centuries. There is little left. Only the runners are still here, as we call them. Genetically engineered for every micro-climate, they can be seen ranging over the land, always intent on their dull tasks. Of the much anticipated ice age there is as yet no sign. It is a land of so many shades of of brown. They say that once there were huge trees here, there are even stumps still visible everywhere. Primeval forests possessed of an eternal green. A sort of spring that never ended. But end it did. Ours is a land of shades of khaki, an obligatory sojourn in the desert. We have record of inventions, though it is unclear how such things could have been done. All year are to be the same, say the global masters, those few left. This also isn’t possible. The world of man is now reduced to dome, cube, and hut. I grow weary of these rumination and turn myself to to the task of administration, though I know it only means my masters chose me well. Still it runs through my mind, in the background, like a small forest animal. Traveling hence as the final collapse beckons.

Shut down the last computer, they say. Live without electricity, like centuries before. Prepare for the cold, this time it’s real. They know not what they unleash.

I visit the capital again, never knowing if it will be the last time. So few people are living now. Most everything is automated, although it exists amidst perhaps several score historical levels of deprecated equipment. Many have fled for the east, those that remain can’t represent our region as it once was. The incumbent govern awaits me in his dome office. The walls are set to transparent to let the rays of high summer flow through. However, the effect is one of oppression, a stifling heat that obscures thought, dulls the senses, and invokes lethargy. His robotic attendants pause to let the lowly humans interact, they are programmed to handle any problem themselves for an indefinite time.

He greets me in a tiresome dialect of yesteryear, “Resplendence and refreshments cleric Dubuqe. Salutations and response follow infinitely to your door. Are you ready for command?” This excruciating declaration can have only one reply, “Yes govern. We of central-east district three are yours to command.” From start to finish he beams like a politician who has won over the most finicky yet doltish of crowds. I restrain myself from saying there is no one here but us, after all, the old surveillance society can still rouse itself. It is very unlikely, however, that any such thing would occur.
Suddenly all the ocular media in the dome focus on me as govern Lebloed fixes me with an incisive stare, “All complication arising from our transition to genetically engineered cyborg life are at status clear in your district astounding citizen Dubuqe?”

Knowing I can show nothing real I try to remain impassive and reply with a tiny bow, “It is a thing to be assured govern.”

The lead ocular drone flashes green, obviously any problem with the soundbite will be taken care of by image manipulation. Lebloed slumps in his chair. His plain looks, a certain dullness to the cow like eyes, straight and simple brown hair, are marred by the onset of pasty and molted skin. I find myself disturbed to hear such blatant talk of the goals of the government. Full replacement has never been openly discussed. The robots fully idled, their job done for now. They had never looked the worse for wear. Lebloed said simply, and finally, “You are to report only if summoned from now on. Don’t come back.”

But as I sit in my severe stone hut, contemplating the truth of the matter, I realize there is such a thing as trying too hard. It is past time for this society to release its spirit. The cyborgs will have to find their own way, maintaining their own implants. Every robot I will dispatch with haste and without remorse, except for my own whims of the moment. They didn’t know me completely when they chose me. I have seen what my masters are capable of and it is nil.