Hosein Kouros-Mehr - Extinction 6

IN 2066, FLOODINGdecimates the San Francisco Bay Area and Market Street lies under feet of ocean water.

Global warming accelerates. As temperatures climb 2ºC in fifty years, Earth’s ecosystem transforms—rainforests become deserts, coastal plains disappear, and topsoil turns to dust, sparking a famine that threatens billions of lives. Plant and animal species vanish as a shortage of water disrupts the economy and triggers war. For the first time in history, the human population declines.

Earth’s sixth mass extinction is underway.

One hope remains.

AUSTINawakes.

Another dream about Olivia.

He rubs his eyes and looks around his apartment—empty beer cans on a decrepit sofa, capped metal tubes where a refrigerator and stove once stood, an old desk with a pair of Vision smartglasses.

Olivia, where are you?

He rises out of bed and dons his jacket, rubbing his palms to warm himself. He reaches for the glasses and places them on his face.

“Isaac,” he says, his breath visible in the cold air, “Call Olivia.”

His A.I. replies through small speakers embedded in the smartglasses. “Austin, you told me to delete your ex-wife’s contact information four years ago.”

Austin stands at a window peering into San Francisco. “I need to speak with her, Isaac. I had another dream about her last night.”

“Are you feeling sad?”

“Yes.”

“Shall I contact your psychiatrist?”

“No, no need for that. I just want to speak with Olivia.”

“Your medical appointment is overdue. This may be why you feel sad.”

“No, the Provega pills never helped me. You don’t understand human emotion.”

“There are other remedies for depression.”

Austin sighs as he stares into the submerged streets of San Francisco. Utility poles and dark traffic lights rise from the water surface. Exposed rooftops of unoccupied Victorian homes extend into the distance, their contents wasting on the ocean floor. He spots a family in a high-rise apartment and turns his head.

“Isaac, how’s my day?”

“It’s Monday, August 7, 2066. You have a video conference with unknown at 9 a.m., followed by your Project Titan team meeting at 10 a.m.”

Austin looks in a bathroom mirror and stretches his neck. He reaches for a razor. “Isaac, what is the anonymous call about? I don’t remember accepting it.”

“There is no description for the meeting.”

“How is that possible?” Through the smartglasses, he opens the Calendar app and clicks on the invitation, looking for information about the event.

The sender encrypted his email.

“Isaac, this must be a hacker. Cancel my 9 a.m. video call.”

“Your 9 a.m. meeting with unknown can’t be canceled. Participation is mandatory.”

“Mandatory?”

“Yes. Also a reminder that your Ration 1 ends in fifteen minutes.”

He looks at the time – 8:45 a.m.

Shit!

He glances at his beard in the mirror, his sunken face and weathered features dimly visible in the fluorescent yellow light. He grabs a bowl and walks to the bone-dry kitchen sink where a canister sits. He wipes the dust from its indicator and reads the level – “10 percent.”

Not enough to shave.

“Isaac, tell the leasing office there is barely any water today.”

He shakes the canister and taps on its metal piping extending from the wall, and the indicator increases to “11 percent.” He drips some water into the bowl and wipes his face, adjusting his grey hair with his fingers, then drinks the last drops.

Austin rushes from his apartment and makes his way to the twenty-third floor Food Depot. Residents stand in line waiting for Ration 1, their attire matching his—drab blue uniforms, government-issued black jackets, smartglasses. Two men push each other and others rush to the front of the line as it morphs into a crowded ball.

He looks up at a television screen. “…latest War update. China is depleting the world’s aluminum supply, sending millions of tons of metal to New China and raising prices by five percent in one week. A ration on canned products will take effect tomorrow.”

Someone pushes Austin, and he finds himself at the front of the line.

A food worker stands over a metal tray with the Ration 1 food options. “Chicken or beef? Pick one.”

He stares at artificial meat lined with fake grill marks. The choices are government-grade laboratory protein covered in cream “chicken” or brown “beef” sauces.

Children born today will never know the taste of real chicken.

“Is there bread?” Austin asks.

“Not anymore.”

“Chicken then.”

Austin grabs the tray and looks around the sea of uniform-clad tenants in the dining hall. He spots an empty chair and walks over. “Is this seat taken?”

His friend Abe looks up. “All yours.”

As Austin sits he spots a bread roll on Abe’s plate. “Nice to see you.”

“Likewise. Did you hear the good news?”

“No.”

“The Marines seized three Russian oil fields in Alaska.”

Austin points. “Will you be eating your roll?”

Abe hands him the bread. “Did you hear me?”

“What?”

“We took back our land in the north. Maybe the War will come to an end.”

Austin shrugs. “Don’t think so.”

They sit quietly and stare at a television monitor. “…a cyber virus crippled New York’s transit system Monday morning. As evacuations began, a power outage disabled emergency procedures and stranded thousands of commuters high above ground. The two-pronged attack appears to be the work of the Chinese army.”

Abe sighs. “There’s no end to this fighting. I have a military tour coming up.”

“Another one?”

“Yeah. Heading back up for space patrol.”

“Be safe.”

“You’re lucky you work for Google, Austin. I wish I could be exempt from the draft like you.” Abe leans over. “So what secret project are you working on now?”

Austin scarfs down the chewy meat and wipes his face. “Clean energy.”

“Like what?”

“Sorry Abe, I can’t talk about it. I gotta run.”

Austin rushes from the dining hall and takes an elevator up to the Hyperloop train station, where he stares into the camera pass and enters the gate. A train sits at a platform. He boards the middle car, taking a window seat.

“Express line to Mountain View. Closing doors.”

He stares from the window. Hundreds of downtown skyscrapers climb from the water surface, their frames connected by concrete tubes. As the train accelerates, the high rises give way to the San Francisco archipelago: forty-two islands, home to its hilltop communities. Below the water lie the ruins of the city—districts decimated by a rising sea. Once the thoroughfare of a vibrant city, Market Street wastes on the ocean floor as a forgotten ruin of the past.

“What’s the news today, Isaac?”

“From the Telegraph, here are today’s top stories. The government has announced a permanent ban on land burial stemming from the cholera outbreaks. Cremation will be the only funeral method permitted under law. In other news, the Dow Jones Industrial Average is down 865 points, another red day in its 10-year bear market. Oil prices, however, are sharply higher at $87,100 per barrel.”

If only fusion power would work, we can end our fossil fuel addiction.

“Isaac, send a message to my employees.”