Though the mouse-raptor and other dangers lingered at the back of her mind, Remembrance found herself longing for openness— for a glimpse of day, for fresh air, for
green.
She waited until the mole folk had passed. Then she clambered over the low heapings of roots and pushed her way into the narrow breach in the roof.
It was a kind of chimney that led up toward a crack of purple-black sky. The sight of the sky drove her on, and she wedged her body ever more tightly into the narrow, irregular chimney, scrabbling at the dirt with her hands and feet, knees and elbows, forcing her chest and hips through gaps that seemed far too small for them.
At last her head broke above ground level. She took in great gulps of fresh air and immediately felt invigorated. But the air was cold. The twisted forms of the borametz trees occluded a star-laden sky. It was night, the most natural time for the mole folk to venture to the surface. She forced her arms out of the hole, got her hands onto the surface, and with a tree-climber’s strength she pushed herself upward, prizing her body out of the chimney like a cork from a bottle.
The mole folk were everywhere, running on hind legs and knuckles, snuffling, shuffling, and squirming. But their movement was orderly. They moved in great columns that wound through the termite heaps and ant nests, to and from the borametz trees. They were picking off the nuts that grew in clusters at the roots of the trees, nuts that were sometimes as large as their heads. But they did not seem to be trying to break them open, to get at their flesh. They weren’t even taking them into their underground stores. In fact, she saw now, they were actually bringing nuts
up
from the underground chambers.
They were taking the nuts, one at a time, out to the fringe of the borametz grove. There workers dug into the dirt, scattering the thin grass to make little pits into which the nuts were dropped and buried.
Each borametz was the center of a symbiotic community of insects and animals.
Symbioses between plants and other organisms were very ancient: The flowering plants and the social insects had actually evolved in tandem, one serving the needs of the other. And it was the social insects, the ants and termites, who had been the first to be co-opted by the new tree species’ reproductive strategies.
Every symbiosis was a kind of bargain. Attendants, insect or mammal, would remove the borametz trees’ seeds from their root bases, but they would not devour them. They would store them. And when conditions were right they would transport them to a place suitable for planting, usually at the fringe of an existing grove, where there would be little competition with established trees or grasses. And so the grove would grow. In return for their labors the attendants were rewarded with water: water brought up even in the most arid areas from deep water tables by the borametz’s exceptionally deep-growing roots.
It had not been hard for the mole folk, with their cooperative society and still-agile primate hands and brains, to learn how to emulate the termites and the ants and begin to tend the borametz trees themselves. Indeed with their greater sizes, they were able to move larger weights than the insects, and the development of new borametz species with large seed cases had resulted.
For the borametz it was a question of efficiency. The borametz had to expend much less energy on each successful seedling than its competitors. And so it was a reproductive strategy that enabled the borametz to flourish where other tree species could not. Little by little, as their attendants carried their seeds from their orchards into the meadows, the borametz species were moving out into the grasslands. At last, more than fifty million years after the triumph of the grasses, the trees were finding a way to fight back.
The borametz trees embodied the first great vegetable revolution since the flowering plants that had arisen in the days before Chicxulub. And in the ages to come— like the initial emergence of plants on land that had enabled animals to leave the sea, like the evolution of the flowering plants, like the rise of the grasses— this new vegetable archetype would have a profound impact on all forms of life.
As she sat on the ground, still panting, watching the mole folks’ baffling behavior, Remembrance heard a familiar soft footstep, an awful hissing breath. She turned her head, slowly, trying to be invisible.
It was the mouse-raptor— the juvenile, the same one that had strayed from its herd of elephant folk to chase her here. It was standing over a line of mole folk who scurried back and forth from tree to planting ground, oblivious to the threat that loomed over them.
It was as if the raptor were taking a small revenge. Few rodents could get through the mighty shells of the borametz nuts. As the borametz spread, the seed-eating stock from which this raptor had sprung— along with birds and other species— would soon be threatened with dwindling food supplies, dwindling ranges— and, in some cases, extinction.
The raptor made its choice. It bent down, balancing with its long tail, and used its delicate front claws to scoop up a bewildered mole woman. The raptor turned her over and stroked her soft belly, almost tenderly.
The mole woman struggled feebly, cut off from the colony for the first time in her life, divorced from its subtle social pressures. It was as if she had suddenly surfaced from an ocean of blood and milk, and she was truly terrified, for the first and last time. Then the raptor’s head descended.
Her companions hurried on past the feet of her killer, their flow barely disturbed.
The mouse-raptor turned, its small ears twitching. And it stared straight at Remembrance.
Without hesitation she plunged straight back into her hole in the ground.
Remembrance stayed in the food chamber for several more days. But she was no longer able to settle back into the exhausted fog that had enveloped her.
In the end it was the madness of the mole folk that drove her out.
Even for this arid area, the season had been dry. The mole folk were having increasing difficulty in finding the roots and tubers on which they relied. The stock in the chamber dwindled steadily, and started to be replaced by other vegetation, like the violet leaves of copper flowers. But this unwelcome diet contained toxic elements. Gradually the poisons built up in the bloodstreams of the mole folk.
At last, everything fell apart.
Again Remembrance was startled awake by a rush of mole folk through the nearly empty food store. But this time they did not move in their orderly columns out through the vents. Instead they swarmed madly, surging up and out of the chamber, shattering its roof in their eagerness to be on the surface.
Remembrance, keeping out of the way of blindly scrabbling claws, followed gingerly. She emerged, this time, into full daylight.
All around her the mole folk swarmed. There were many, many of them, running over the ground, a carpet of squirming bare flesh. The air was full of their milky stink, the scraping of their skins against one another. There were far more than could have come from her own colony: Many hives had emptied as a burst of madness swept through the poisoned, half-intoxicated population.
Already the predators were showing interest. Remembrance saw the stealthy form of a rat-cheetah and a pack of doglike postmice, while overhead birds of prey began their descent. For those who sought flesh this was a miracle, as these little packets of meat just bubbled out of the ground.
It was all a response to the shortage of food. The mole folks’ overcrowded burrows had emptied as they swarmed everywhere in a mindless search for provision. But in their intoxicated state they were unable to keep themselves from danger. Many of this horde would die today, most in the mouths of predators. In the long run it did not matter to the hives. Each colony would retain enough breeding stock to survive. And it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing for their numbers to be reduced in these times of semidrought. Mole folk reproduced quickly, and as soon as the food supply picked up, the empty burrows and chambers would be full again.
The genes would go on: That was all that mattered. Even this periodic madness was part of the grander design. But many small minds would be extinguished today.
As the predators started to feed— as the air filled with the crunch of bone and gristle, the squeals of the dying, the stink of blood— Remembrance slipped away from this place of madness and death, and resumed her long-broken journey toward the distant purple hills.
Remembrance came at last to a great bay, a place where the ocean pushed into the land.
She clambered down exposed sandstone bluffs. Once this area had been under the sea, and sediment had been laid down over millions of years. Now the land had been uplifted, and rivers and streams had cut great gouges in the exposed seabed, revealing deep, dense strata— in some of which, sandwiched between thick layers of sandstone, were embedded traces of shipwrecks and debris from vanished cities.
At last Remembrance reached the beach itself. She scampered along its upper fringe, sticking to the shade of the rocks and scrub grass. The sand was sharp under her feet and knuckles, and got into her fur. This was a young beach, and the sand was still full of jagged edges, too new to have been eroded smooth.
She came to a freshwater stream that trickled down from the rocks toward the beach. Where the water decanted onto the sand, a small stand of trees clung to life. She ducked down and pushed her mouth into the cool water, sucking up great mouthfuls. Then she clambered into the stream itself and scraped the water through her fur, trying to get rid of the sand and fleas and ticks.
That done, she crawled into the shade of the trees. There was no fruit here, but the leaf-strewn floor, cold and damp, harbored many toiling insects that she popped into her mouth.
Before her the sea lapped softly, the water bright in the high sunlight. The sea meant nothing to her, but its distant glimmer had always attracted her, and it was oddly pleasing for her to be here.
In fact the sea had been the savior of her kind.
Torn by great tectonic forces, Africa’s Rift Valley had eventually become a true rift in the fabric of the continent. The sea had invaded, and the whole of eastern Africa had sheared off the mainland and sailed away into what had been the Indian Ocean, there to begin its own destiny. So chthonically slow was this immense process that the mayfly creatures living on this new island had scarcely noticed it happening. And yet, for Remembrance’s kind, it had been crucial.
After the fall of mankind, there had been pockets of survivors left all over the planet. Almost everywhere the competition with the rodents had been too fierce. Only here, on this rifted fragment of Africa, had an accident of geology saved the posthumans, giving them time to find ways to survive the rodents’ ruthless competitive onslaught.
Once this place, East Africa, had been the cradle that had shaped mankind. Now it was the final refuge of man’s last children.
There was something in the water. Cautiously, Remembrance cowered back into the shade.
It was a great black shape, sleek and powerful, swimming purposefully. It seemed to roll, and a fin a little like a bird’s wing was raised into the air. Remembrance made out a bulbous head lifting above the water, with a broad sievelike beak. Water showered from two nostrils set in the top of the beak, sparkling in the air, expelled with a sharp whooshing noise. Then the great body flexed and dove back under the surface. She caught a last glimpse of a tail, and then the creature had vanished. Despite its immense bulk, it left scarcely a ripple in the water.
In this giant’s wake more slim, powerful bodies leapt from the water, three, four, five of them. They swept through graceful arcs and plunged back into the sea, and then rose to leap again and again. Their bodies were shaped like those of fish, but these dolphinlike creatures were evidently not fish. They were equipped with beaks like birds, stretched into long orange pincers.
Behind the “dolphins,” in turn, came more followers, likewise hopping and buzzing over the ocean surface. Much smaller, these were true fish. Their wet scales glistened, and fins like wings fluttered at the sides of their slim, golden bodies as they made their short, jerky flights over the water.
The “whale” was not a true whale, the “dolphins” not dolphins. Those great marine mammals had preceded humanity into extinction. These creatures were descended from birds: In fact, from the cormorants of the Galapagos Islands in the Pacific, which, blown there from mainland South America by contrary winds, had given up flight and taken to exploiting the sea. Their descendants’ wings had become fins, their feet flukes, their beaks a variety of specialized instruments— snappers, strainers— for extracting food from the ocean. Some of the species of “dolphin” had even regrown the teeth of their ancient reptilian ancestors: The genetic design for teeth had lain dormant in birds’ genomes for two hundred million years, waiting to be re-expressed when required.
Invisibly slow on any human timescale, adaptation and selection were nevertheless capable, given thirty million years, of turning a cormorant into a whale, a dolphin, or a seal.
And, strangely enough, all the swimming birds Remembrance saw were indirect legacies of Joan Useb.
As Remembrance watched, a dolphinlike creature erupted out of the water right in the middle of the cloud of flying fish. The fish scattered, their fin-wings buzzing, but the beak of the “dolphin” snapped closed on one, two, three of them before its sleek body fell back into the water.
The sun was starting its long descent toward the sea. Remembrance stood up, brushed herself free of sand, and resumed her cautious knuckle-walk along the fringe of the beach, but something overhead distracted her. She glanced up at the sky, fearing it was another bird of prey. It was a light like a star, but the sky was still too bright for stars. As she watched, it slid over the roof of the sky.
The light in the sky was Eros.
NEAR, the humble, long-dead probe, had spent thirty million years swimming with its asteroid host through the spaces beyond Mars. Its exposed parts were heavily eroded, metal walls reduced to paper thinness by endless microscopic impacts. At the touch of a gloved astronaut’s hand it would have crumbled like a sculpture of dust.