Maybe Tomorrow

The following is an excerpt from “Deathless” by Carole Gill.

“It is the year 2299.

There are almost no births—over seventy percent of the population is sterile. A genetic outcome of past history.
There is no disease of any kind.
The eco wars of two hundred years ago caused society to virtually breakdown.
Disease killed three billion people, approximately half of earth’s population.
Those who survived faced great hardship.
Extraterrestrials, already familiar with ancient earth exploration, developed colonies here.
They became the Guardians.
Astute scholars of ancient biblical history—they began to re-establish God Centers for the betterment of humankind.
Eventually they withdrew themselves.
More recently, human-alien hybrid Guardians have taken their place.

My treatise on our history.
I am a scholar and documenter, employed at the Center for Archeological Studies in Zone 29.
I am at my place of work when two Guardians come into see me.
They inform me that my son Corsco 123 has requested a life termination.
Such requests are rare.
We ride to the Great Hall in their flytram. There is little or no conversation.
I have been to the Great Hall previously–once when my birth provider and I married and once to hand over the infant for education and treatment. Treatment consisting of cyclic vaccination therapy. Preventative medicine thus enabling immortality.

I am handed over to two different Guardians. They are from the Office of Termination.
The door is opened and I am asked to sit at a desk. Facing me is a familiar slogan:
The all loving spirit of God comforts us all.
A motto—but never something I questioned. For I have always been an obedient citizen. A willing participant in the world I knew to be mine.

My name is Arbin 157. I am 157 years old.
“You have been informed?”
“Yes, I was told my son seeks termination.”
“That’s quite true. How do you feel about that?”
“I should like to speak with him!”
One of the Guardians cuts me off.
“It will not be necessary. His termination was approved and he’s already been euthanized.”
His words hit me hard. I stutter.
“But surely I should have had an opportunity to speak with him.”
“No. The procedure was carried out yesterday. His remains are in transport.”
I didn’t speak for some time. But only squirmed under their watchful gaze—glancing up every so often at the slogan.
I couldn’t understand his action. Our world was perfect—every desire catered for. We knew neither sickness nor death. No war had been fought within living memory.
Finally, I managed to speak.
“What reasons did he give?”
“He said he was ready. That was all he said.””