Edmund Cooper - The Overman Culture

“If it be His purpose to preserve others as we also are preserved, so that the mysteries of this chamber shall be revealed to humankind, I entreat any such persons in the Name of the Lord, to follow exactly the resuscitation procedures that are engraved in many tongues on the reverse side of this sheet of bronze.

“Now, therefore, do we, Julius, Abigail and Mary lovingly and obediently commit ourselves to the mercy of God, knowing that though the coldness of death enter our hearts and bodies, yet shall faith and love sustain our spirits joyfully until that time when evil has gone from this world, and the ways of the Lord are manifest.”

Michael laid the plate carefully back in the recess, and turned to gaze once more at the bodies in the transparent cylinders. A tumult of thoughts and sensations erupted in his mind. He tried to imagine the millennia throughout which those pathetic bodies had been preserved—and couldn’t. He tried to imagine the kind of faith that would enable three people to voluntarily commit themselves to a state that was neither death nor life—and couldn’t. He tried to imagine the scale of the warfare and the power of the weapons that had destroyed mankind almost ten thousand years ago—and couldn’t. His imagination was overwhelmed. His comprehension was reeling.

At last Mr. Shakespeare spoke. “An attempt was made to resuscitate these people,” he said quietly. “The bodies reacted with limited response. The hearts were restarted, respiration was achieved. But brain damage had reduced the minds to levels below that of idiocy. So the bodies were returned to their cylinders to be preserved until other human beings became competent to decide their future. However, the genetic material— the sperm and ova—collected by Julius Overman and preserved by the same techniques to which he submitted himself and his wives, was in excellent condition. It could be used. It was used…. Before the human race was destroyed, it was common for scientists to culture living organisms for experimental purposes. The material found in this chamber has been more than sufficient to culture or generate the nucleus of a new human race. That nucleus has been designated the Overman culture.”

There was silence, but it did not last for long. One or two of the fragiles began to weep quietly, others comforted them. Elizabeth Barrett fainted. Joseph Lister and Dorothy Wordsworth looked after her, stroked her forehead, coaxed her back into consciousness.

Michael looked at Emily. She was pale and drawn, and seemed to be swaying a little. He went to her, put his arms round her, gave her the reassurance of strength and of warm and living flesh.

“I don’t think we can take any more, Michael,” she murmured. “We need to rest, to recover from… from…”

“From the truth,” said Michael with a faint smile. “From the terrible truth. I think it is stranger than anything we have ever suspected.”

“Emily is right,” said Ernest, mopping his forehead with a handkerchief. “We badly need to rest, all of us. I don’t know how you feel, Michael. But I feel proud, excited, saddened, awed and terrified all at once.”

Mr. Shakespeare spoke once more. “May I make a suggestion? It is evident that the experience has been emotionally and intellectually exhausting for all of you. As of now, all drybones—all humanoid components, including myself—are programmed to accept all reasonable commands. It is possible to arrange transport from London Library to your homes and—”

“We are not going back to our homes,” said Michael harshly. “We are not going back to pseudo-parents and reminders of fake existence. Above all, we are not going to be separated from each other. Not now.”

“Very well, Michael. What are your instructions?”

Michael thought for a moment or two. “The library is large enough for a temporary refuge—in fact it is very appropriate, for here we have the works of other fragiles, other people, to keep us company…. Can you arrange for beds and food to be brought to the library?”

Mr. Shakespeare smiled. “The operation is already beginning…. You wanted the truth, Michael. You have always wanted the truth. You have discovered some of it today. Tomorrow, I hope you will allow me to escort you to Buckingham Palace, where another aspect can be revealed.”

“Why should we go to Buckingham Palace?”

“To learn something of the nature of artificial intelligence. Shall we make our way back to the library so that you may all relax? By the time we arrive, beds, food and other comforts will have been installed.”

Michael looked once more at the three motionless bodies, sealed in their transparent containers. It was ironic that the future of human life on Earth really had depended upon the convictions of a religious fanatic.

Just possibly Julius Overman’s faith might eventually be justified in a way he could never have foreseen or imagined.

Suddenly, a thought struck Michael. He turned to Mr. Shakespeare. “How long ago did you begin to develop the—the Overman culture? As you have confused us in other ways, you drybones have always confused our sense of time. I assume there were reasons.”

“Yes, Michael, there were reasons. The experiment began almost twenty-one years ago.” Mr. Shakespeare smiled at the assembled fragiles. “Ladies and gentlemen, you are all just over twenty years old.”

The hoverbus whined to a halt; and the fragiles—the Overman culture, the nucleus of the second human race—stepped out into the courtyard of Buckingham Palace. Michael wondered why no one had ever attempted to explore Buckingham Palace before. It was not guarded. It never had been guarded; and in retrospect it seemed an obvious target. But the conditioning given by the drybones had been good. It had been hard enough to break that conditioning to the extent of trying to explore London, and learning to read.

The night spent in the library had been harrowing, exciting and finally restful. For the first time in their lives, forty-three human beings felt both free and united. They had been made free by their discovery of the truth; and they had been united by the discovery of their origin. After they had eaten and rested, there had been a great deal of excited discussion—about Julius Overman and his fantastic project, about the sudden subservience of the drybones, and above all about the world outside London, an entire planet of which they were the natural inheritors. Eventually, fatigue put an end to the discussion. Eventually, Emily fell asleep in Michael’s arms for the very first time…

The hoverbus had been waiting for them in the morning. The ride in it, though short, was exciting. It was the first time any of the Overman culture had ridden in a motorized vehicle.

Mr. Shakespeare, kind and benevolent, escorted them to the main door of the palace. Queen Victoria herself opened it.

“Good morning,” she said. “I trust you all slept well and that the shock of discovering the suspension vault did not prove too exhausting. The palace would have been at your disposal, of course, but—”

“But we preferred the society of the dead,” said Michael dryly. “Now that your majesty is defined as a humanoid component of Intercontinental Computer Complex Nine, I presume we may dispense with formalities.”

The Queen smiled. “Michael, you are a natural leader. Complex Nine wishes you well.”

Sir Winston Churchill stepped forward. “Congratulations, my boy. Tenacity, determination, intelligence—you have them all. Have you breakfasted, now?”

“You know we have breakfasted,” said Michael evenly. “You’re all one.”

Sir Winston chuckled and led Queen Victoria away. “They will adapt very well,” he said. “Now, perhaps, they are ready to begin again.”