Pandaung,” Buchi said, “welcome to Earth.”
Ki nodded, her eyes guarded. “I hope you’ll be more open than the people who imprisoned me,” she said, glancing at Marshall.
“We’ll try to answer whatever you need to know,” Buchi said. “Already I’ve told your Commander what has happened to the world since your departure.”
“A descent into primitivism, as far as I can see,” Ki said.
Marshall detected smiles all around. Buchi said, “Exactly!”
Marshall told Ki, “Fifty years after we left Earth, a conflict called the bio-war broke out…” and he gave her a shorter version of the story Buchi had recounted.
When he finished, he paused and looked up, across the skip at Buchi. “Which brings me to the question I was about to ask,” he said. “How did the…the Artecrats, as you call them…bring about world stability after the bio-war?”
A mutter passed through those gathered in the boat. Someone spat, significantly, into the river.
Ki took Marshall’s hand and squeezed.
Buchi said, “The world after the bio-war was a ravaged place. Countries as such no longer existed. The infrastructure of civilization was wrecked. Homo sapiens had reverted to savagery, living in tribes and preying on their neighbours. Little in the way of knowledge and culture survived.”
“Then how did the Artecrats—?” Ki began.
“A few people came together,” Buchi said. “They had a vision. They built a small community, began farming, became self-sufficient. They attracted other groups, who renounced violence for the new way. Perhaps the human race was sick and tired of conflict, of killing…at the time.” She paused, looked around at the staring eyes of her compatriots. She went on, “These people called themselves the Artecrats. They foreswore anything that smacked of the old way of life, of the old way that had brought the world to the state it was in. They renounced science and technology, or rather everything but the most rudimentary forms of technology. They used ploughs and such, but nothing mechanised. Machines were anathema, and those that used them or espoused their use were cast out—which at that time meant certain death. Society grew and prospered. Africa, where the Artecrats were based, became once more the cradle of humankind.”
Ki was shaking her head in puzzlement. “And yet you oppose the Artecrats?”
Buchi held her head up proudly. “We oppose their ignorance, their wilful renunciation of the great heritage that made our race what it was, for good and bad. The Artecrats made the fundamental mistake of citing scientific progress as the sole reason for the bio-war, without taking into consideration the politics that divided the old world.”
She paused, then went on, “Much that was great was lost when the Artecrats proscribed science and technology, my friends. But worse was to come. They were powerful, totally powerful, and their edicts went unopposed…at least to begin with. No longer satisfied with eradicating science, they set about eradicating from humanity itself the very scientific urge.”
Ki and Marshall exchanged a glance. “How could they do that?”
Buchi smiled, but without humor. “The Artecrats,” she said, “instituted a programme of genocide. They systematically put to death those people who they claimed were genetically different to themselves.”
“Genetically different?” Ki said, “but surely the Artecrats—the survivors of the bio-war—were founded on a philosophy independent of genetic difference?”
“That’s what you might think,” Buchi replied. “But the Artecrats thought otherwise. They had a theory to account for the war. They claimed to have discovered that humankind was divided in a way other than the usual established divisions, of sex, race, philosophy, etc.”
Ki shook her head. “In what way?” she said.
“Neurologically,” Buchi said. “The Artecrats claimed that humankind was divided, up here—” she touched her head “—into those that were predisposed to the arts, and those predisposed to science and technology. The old right brain, left brain dichotomy.” She smiled. “They had people…little better than witch-doctors, in our opinion…who claimed that they could detect Technos at birth. And they proceeded to cull the human race of all those with a scientific propensity.”
Marshall looked at Ki, and wondered at the world in which he found himself.
“Even today,” Buchi went on, “thousands of innocent children are butchered every month.…”
The boat slowed, the engine cutting from a steady putter to a slow chug. Marshall peered through the shade to the blinding dazzle of sunlight ahead. Heads were turning, as if in anticipation of reaching journey’s end.
Ki said, “And you people oppose the regime of the Artecrats?”
Buchi smiled. “We call ourselves the Technos. We are the few who fell through the net, who were not ‘detected’ at birth. We exist side by side with the Artecrats, but live a shadow life studying the old ways, reviving as best we can the scientific lore of those who went before us.”
Marshall asked, “And you wish us to join you, to oppose the Artecrats, teach you what we know?”
The African laughed. Others around her smiled. “Together we will embark upon a journey to re-establish the human race to what it was, to what it should be.”
“I don’t see how that would be possible,” Ki objected, “if the Artecrats rule what’s left of Earth.”
Buchi said, “We monitored your broadcasts. We had prayed for years that you might return. When we read that you had lost your crew.…”
“What?” Marshall asked, suspicious.
Buchi merely smiled in reply and pointed ahead. The jungle to their right was thinning to reveal a flat, parched open area—a clearing familiar from their descent.
Marshall’s breath caught in his throat.
Sitting proudly in the center of the clearing, stanchioned on ram-rods like a praying mantis, was their shuttle. It had been under guard at one point, but now the guards were gathered in the margin of the jungle, a gaggle of bemused looking men watched over by a group of rebels armed with crude pistols and swords.
“We are trained in many disciplines,” Buchi said. “We will take the place of your crew, and learn as we work.”
Ki stared at him. They had returned home in despair, their mission a failure, and now they were being offered another chance.
Buchi went on, “We will head inwards, on a vector towards the core, and search until we find habitable, Earth-like planets.”
“And then?” Ki asked.
The boat slowed and nudged the bank. Buchi leapt out, assisting Marshall and Ki, followed by the others. They paused to stare up at the magnificent, rearing shape of the shuttle.
Buchi pointed at a colleague, already hurrying across the clearing towards the shuttle. The man was toting a heavy backpack. “We have devised our own device for genetically testing new-borns—this one based on scientific principles. Among the stars we will found a society of Technocrats, and the human race will fulfil its destiny.”
As Buchi set off, followed by her disciples, Ki grabbed Marshall’s arm and held him back. “They’re as bad as the Artecrats!” she said. “Can you imagine a totalitarian regime consisting of only scientists!”
“The oppressed,” Marshall murmured, “often mimic the only lead they have known.”
Tears appeared in Ki’s eyes. “And where would we fit into such a society?”
He smiled. He was a scientist by vocation. But in his heart he had always called himself an artist. On the return journey to Earth he had filled his time, quite apart from loving Ki, in writing poetry.