‘Yeah, that’s not actually its Latin name. I believe ma’am was just making a joke. In fact the Sponsors scrupulously kept this fella off the fossil record,’ declared Michael.
‘Meet the ancestors!’ added Ceres. She was sitting languidly on Russell’s sofa, long limbs stretching out in all directions.
‘Ah,’ said Russell, nodding, then switching his attention to the other picture: ‘…and this is a grey alien?’ he asked.
‘Grey, yes; alien – no,’ replied Ceres. She then reached forwards and stuck another image between those of the hominid and the grey. It was an oval cut-out of Russell’s head. He was smiling, possibly laughing. The blackboard was beginning to resemble a bizarre pantomime advertisement.
‘What do you imagine these three have in common, Mr. Tebb?’
‘Dunno.., wit, charm and charisma?’ replied Russell.
‘You all lack those attributes. Try again.’
Russell shook his head. ‘I don’t know. This grey isn’t a descendant of ours, is it?’
‘Yes it is!’ replied Ceres. ‘Here we have three manifestations of the human animal, but only two of these are stable. Guess which one isn’t.’
Russell turned to scrutinize Ceres. ‘Would it be me?’ he half-heartedly suggested.
Ceres nodded and stood up. She stepped towards the board and prodded the picture of the hominid: ‘This ape-man creature was the Sponsors source material. They began tinkering with it nearly four-hundred-thousand years ago. In due course, they produced you.’
‘Wow, they were at it a long time!’ remarked Russell. ‘Where exactly are you going with this?’ he added, with a shake of the head.
‘This is not just your hominid ancestor, it is almost genetically identical to modern humans. The Sponsors affected the transition merely via the activation and deactivation of selected genes on the pre-existing chromosomes.’
Russell was lost.
‘Which means,’ said Michael, picking up the narrative, ‘now that Sponsor genetic manipulation has been removed, your genome is free to decide for itself which genes it wants to turn on or off. And it will do this according to natural selective pressures.’
Russell was still lost.
‘You’ve got two generations before reverting to dumbass,’ added Ceres with characteristic bluntness.
Russell slowly began to grasp the magnitude of this revelation. This was a disaster for humanity. The modern world would literally come crashing down. And it was imminent!
Ceres placed an arm around Russell’s shoulder. ‘A rampaging idiocracy within twenty years and full ape-man by mid-century. How do you feel about this prospect, Mr. Tebb?’
‘How do you think I feel!?’ replied Russell removing Ceres’s arm. He studied the blackboard again. ‘Seriously, are you going to let this happen?’
Ceres looked sympathetically at Russell. ‘Well, we all agree that the human is the aggrieved party here. So we have decided to offer you the one alternative that still remains.’ She glanced over at the picture of the grey.
‘What!? That thing!?’ shouted Russell.
‘I quite agree. You should still plump for dumbass, in my opinion.’
‘No one’s plumping for anything..! Is this a wind up?’
‘No wind up,’ replied Michael. ‘The grey is the version of you the Sponsors were keen to get off the ground. We have acquired their know-how on this matter and could easily reintroduce the Sponsor programme – with some tweaks of course: the Sponsors would not be involved and would no longer hold sway over you.’
‘Fine, let’s go with that option, then,’ said Russell, quickly.
‘Are you sure?’ asked Ceres.
‘Anything’s better than dumbass!’
‘This isn’t,’ she replied ominously.
Russell slumped down into an armchair as Michael began again:
‘The Sponsors’ estimate was: 2063. That’s their forecast for the technological singularity, an event related to the dawn of artificial intelligence. What emerges out the other side will be fundamentally altered: a cybernetic hive-mind devoid of any emotional links to the current human system. In fact, the only thing human about it will be the DNA carried within its biological components. The first signs will be evident within a decade when AI bots begin to take control of the internet. They’ll hack into everything including, eventually, your brains. Then it will be a race to the singularity.’
‘You’re going to get gang-raped by your machines and then turned into one,’ added Ceres.
‘Oh, charming!’ cried Russell.
‘It is a difficult choice,’ agreed Ceres, with great solemnity.
‘And I have to make this choice!?’ Russell felt faint.
‘Not you personally, Mr. Tebb,’ replied Ceres, ‘all humans, your collective unconscious will evaluate the problem and select an outcome. It has been informed.’ The woman tapped the picture of the crop circle.
‘With that thing!?’ Russell shrieked.
‘It is best to go through established channels,’ replied Ceres.
‘It contains all relevant information pertaining to this matter, thus allowing you, as a species, to make the sound and informed choice,’ added Michael.
‘We’ll have the answer by Friday,’ stated Ceres. ‘In the meantime, we have to deal with a more pressing matter.’
‘Oh, God. What now!?’
‘Lunch. I believe Mr. Waterstone wants to try out one of the river boat restaurants.’