Evolution

As Ultimate clambered down the pit’s walls, the wind changed and began to blow from the west, from the direction of the inland ocean. Gradually the humidity rose. At last, over the ruined mountains to the west, heavy black clouds began to gather.

Ultimate peered into the western sky. It had never rained here, in Ultimate’s lifetime. Most clouds coming from the distant ocean dumped their rainfall long before they reached a place like this, deep in the supercontinent’s interior. It took a mighty storm indeed to breach those immense defenses of arid plain, a once-in-a-lifetime monster. But that was what was approaching now. You could feel it in the air, feel that something was wrong.

The people hurried back to their Tree, and clambered into its welcoming branches. Hurried, yes — but still they moved with a languid slowness, as if they were swimming through the air’s dense heat.

At ten years old, Ultimate looked something like a small monkey. She was long-limbed, with a narrow torso, narrow shoulders: Even now, in these distant descendants of mankind, the basic body plan of the primates persisted. Her slim body was coated in thick fur, bright red, red as the sand. She had a small head with a large brow and a mobile, expressive face — a very human face, in fact. Small flaps of skin, rather like eyelids, could cover her ears, nose, anus, vagina to trap precious moisture. Her brow was swollen, almost as if her kind had re-evolved the big forebrains of the human age, but behind that brow there was only spongy bone, a great system of sinuses that worked as a refrigeration system to keep her brain cool.

And, though she was fully grown, her body was childlike. Ultimate was functionally female — people still gave birth — but there were no males any more, and gender was meaningless. She had no breasts, not even vestigial nipples. Nowadays there was no need for mother’s milk, just as there was no need for the elaborate superstructure of a large brain. The Tree took care of all of that for you.

And she was not bipedal. That was obvious as she made her way back to the Tree: her arms and legs were made for swinging and climbing, her feet for grasping, not walking upright. That particular locomotive experiment had been thoroughly buried long ago. Compared to her ancestors, she was slow-moving, lethargic, like all her kind.

At the Tree, Ultimate looked for her daughter.

The infant’s leafy cocoon nestled in the crook of a low branch. Threads of orange hair littered over her swollen brow, the little girl was safely enfolded in soft white down. As the Tree’s sap passed along the pale thread of the belly-root that wormed into her stomach, the child stirred and murmured, her tiny thumb clamped firmly in her mouth, dreaming vegetable dreams.

Something was wrong. Ultimate was not capable of much in the way of analysis, but her instinct was unmistakable. She prodded at the tangled red fur on the child’s little belly, and smoothed out the fluffy cottonlike lining of the cocoon. The little girl mewled, turning blindly in her sleep. Nothing Ultimate did made that feeling of wrongness go away. Uncertain, she patted the walls of the cocoon back into place.

The wind rose, like a great breath.

Ultimate clambered higher into the Tree’s welcoming branches. Hastily she pulled her own cocoon into place around her body, sealing up the leaves. The leaves were thick and tough, like plates of leathery armor. The others were doing the same, people huddling on the branches, so that it looked as if the Tree were suddenly sprouting huge black fruits.

The clouds streamed overhead, blotting out the intense heat of a too hot sun. Ultimate stared. Curiosity wasn’t much use now, when there was so little difference in the world across great stretches of time and space. But today was different. She had never felt air as moist and heavy and oppressive as this, never seen black clouds that boiled and bubbled like that.

And in the last moment before the storm hit, she glimpsed something new.

Settled on the timeworn plain, it was a sphere. It was twice as tall as she was. It was not blue like the evening sky, nor rust red like the ground, nor the color of sand and dirt like most of the creatures in the world. Instead, it was a shimmering mixture of purple and black, the colors of the night.

On this day of strangeness, here was something extraordinary. She gaped, unable to comprehend. But she sensed that this new thing was not of her world. In that she was right.

But now lightning cracked, and she buried her face in the green, mewling. The leaves closed around her, sealing themselves up seamlessly. In the warm darkness the air grew moist and comforting. But when the belly-root came probing for the valvelike orifice on her stomach, just below her navel, she pushed it away. She was here for shelter; she had nothing to give the Tree today.

And then the storm hit.