\u201cDaddy?\u201d Theo curled against my side in bed. \u201cWhere do words go when they die?\u201d<\/p>\n
I\u2019d orchestrated the bedtime routine flawlessly: bath (taken), teeth (brushed), potty (tinkled), books (two), song (one, poorly sung), and snuggle (his chin on my second rib). Now was the moment when our son\u2019s eyelids were supposed to flutter gently closed, his breath sighing into a slower rhythm. Like clockwork; like magic. You remember how easy it was, don\u2019t you? All those nights you were at his side instead of me?<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, kiddo,\u201d I said, scratching my beard. \u201cWords aren\u2019t really alive to begin with. Not like you and I are alive.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot like Mommy was alive?\u201d The way he said the word Mommy<\/em>: Like a word he\u2019d already started to unlearn.<\/p>\n A lump caught in my throat. \u201cRight. Not like Mommy.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut words do die,\u201d he insisted. \u201cThey get dead.\u201d<\/p>\n That was when I realized what he meant. One of the preschool teachers must have had the news on in the background. I couldn\u2019t blame them, given the circumstances. I wondered how much Theo had absorbed\u2014whether he understood the blade\u2019s edge of survival that humanity stood on, teetering.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re talking about a dead language,\u201d I said. \u201cThat\u2019s a whole language that people don\u2019t speak anymore. The words might still exist, but they\u2019re only written down somewhere, on paper or wood or stone.\u201d<\/p>\n He considered this thoroughly, in silence. At last he said, \u201cI think when words die, someone brings them to a cave and puts them in a big pile. The cave is really dark and there\u2019s a monster who lives inside. And the monster eats the dead words, and he makes the words part of his body, and he gets bigger and bigger and bigger.\u201d<\/p>\n Theo\u2019s eyes widened with each bigger<\/em>.<\/p>\n \u201cUh,\u201d I said. Following the lead of his imagination was always your parenting wheelhouse. \u201cDoes the monster have a name?\u201d<\/p>\n Theo shook his head, short and quick. He tucked himself tighter against me and whispered, \u201cWhen the monster comes out of the cave, he\u2019s going to eat you, too.\u201d<\/p>\n A chill tiptoed up my spine. \u201cI won\u2019t let the monster eat me.\u201d<\/p>\n I made that promise. To our son. Remember that, when the time for judgment comes.<\/p>\n \u201cMaybe it\u2019s warm inside the monster,\u201d Theo said as he closed his eyes and buried his nose against the soft of my belly. His words were becoming small. I sensed he was drifting off. \u201cMaheka morgeth<\/em>. Maybe it\u2019s nice in there \u2026\u201d<\/p>\n He began to snore. After a few minutes, when I was sure he was well and truly asleep, I extracted myself from the tangle of his arms and left the room, closing the door softly behind me.<\/p>\n \u201cMaheka morgeth<\/em>?\u201d I asked Theo\u2019s Amby, who was\u2014you might recall\u2014busy tidying the living room. I didn\u2019t always ask for songtalk translations, but I figured the monster story might come up again, and I thought it best to be prepared.<\/p>\n \u201cAh,\u201d the Amby said. \u201cIt means something like \u2018The eternal cycle is beautiful.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n I pulled up the news on my phone as I walked to the kitchen. \u201cSophisticated concept for a four-year-old, don\u2019t you think?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cChildren are capable of understanding more than you imagine.\u201d It watched as I picked up Theo\u2019s dirty lunchbox. \u201cWould you like me to wash that?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ve got it, thanks.\u201d The Amby would have been more efficient, certainly, but I liked the meditation of it, the warm water on my hands, the small gift of care. A guilty pleasure.<\/p>\n I turned on the news to listen.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n \u201c\u2026 after three days of attempted talks,\u201d the female-gendered Calmby said smoothly, \u201cnegotiators have acknowledged that they\u2019ve made little progress in establishing a clear communication line with the agentic system that Belsathian government officials are calling Tingsu. In a joint statement, world leaders stated that \u2018advanced linguistic algorithms have been unable to produce useful interpretations of the system\u2019s behavior.\u2019 Belsath continues to deny access to the holy men who they claim are Tingsu\u2019s sole interpreters. Today the US president issued a strong warning to the nuclear-armed nation.\u201d<\/p>\n The audio switched to the president\u2019s grating, arrogant cadence. \u201cI haven\u2019t ruled out a first strike,\u201d he said. I didn\u2019t need to see the video to visualize the finger-wagging. \u201cThey let this thing loose, and frankly, it\u2019s a rabid dog that needs to be put down.\u201d<\/p>\n His Calmby advisor has a hell of a job<\/em>, I thought. I swished a soapy sponge over a smear of peanut butter and applesauce, then rinsed the lunch box\u2014Voltron, a nostalgic favorite\u2014as the silky voice of the Calmby reporter returned. \u201cBelsathian officials seem unmoved by the American president\u2019s threats.\u201d A recording of someone speaking impassioned Belsathian, with a translated voice-over: \u201cTingsu is the reincarnation of our illustrious past, a resurrection of the divine language spoken by God. We joyfully surrender to Tingsu\u2019s wisdom, trusting that this noble entity will take any necessary action to correct the imbalances of the modern world.\u201d<\/p>\n Then the Calmby again. \u201cGiven the risk of rapid escalation in this developing situation, we encourage everyone to identify multiple routes to your nearest fallout shelter, check on your neighbors, and ensure your pantries are stocked with \u2026\u201d<\/p>\n I switched it off. I knew people had started sleeping in shelters just in case, but I wanted to preserve normalcy in Theo\u2019s life for as long as possible. His heart was still only the size of his tiny fist. A baby bird. A plum.<\/p>\n If you had asked me how I felt in that moment, I would have said I was terrified. What sane adult wasn\u2019t? But if you had urged me, in that tender, patient way you have, to reflect more deeply, I would have paused.<\/p>\n Relieved<\/em>, I might have told you. I feel relieved<\/em>.<\/p>\n Because despite so many years watching the Ambys and Calmbys shift society unmistakably for the better\u2014toward sustainable agriculture, reduced violence, postcapitalist abundance\u2014I still remembered the dire warnings of anti-tech doomers, the horrors they foretold. That fear never disappeared in me. It merely went dormant, too abstract to grasp. Finally, with Tingsu, the dread had a name. It could be identified, deconstructed. Contained.<\/p>\n Forgive me; I did not yet recognize that annihilation could also be our salvation.<\/p>\n The world didn\u2019t end overnight, so in the morning Theo played with his Amby as usual while I got ready for work. I could hear the two of them chanting, \u201cFiku faku ne ne pa!<\/em>\u201d It was a familiar getting-ready-for-the-day song, one that the Amby had translated approximately as \u201cWe thank the threads that make the clothes that keep the bodies warm.\u201d All I knew was that Theo never complained about putting on socks. This was the miracle of the Ambys: They turned chores into games, drudgery into delight. No wonder they\u2019d achieved 99% saturation in day cares and schools. Listening to Theo\u2019s sweet off-key toddler voice, I wished I were smart enough to come up with stuff like that on my own; I played with a verse about making the bed that was also about sharing toys. But I\u2019d slept poorly\u2014you can imagine why\u2014and gave up.<\/p>\n While shaving, I sent a voice note to the Amby app, telling it about Theo\u2019s monster story, postulating that it came from accidental exposure to a report on Tingsu. The app thanked me for the update and said my Amby would design a developmentally appropriate lesson plan about extinct and heritage languages for Theo to engage in that afternoon after preschool.<\/p>\n This was the miracle of the Ambys: They turned chores into games, drudgery into delight. No wonder they\u2019d achieved 99% saturation in day cares and schools.<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n I nicked my jaw; a line of crimson blood bloomed in the suds. \u201cI\u2019d rather talk to him myself, actually.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOf course, Daniel,\u201d the app replied. \u201cYou\u2019re absolutely right. This could be a great moment of father-son connection.\u201d<\/p>\n I came into the kitchen as the Amby served Theo a bowl of unsweetened oatmeal with blueberries\u2014all organic, all vegan. I knew these standards were set by the Ambys themselves, not hard-programmed. Sometimes I pictured data centers with tree roots braided into the cables, mycelia as medium. (You smile; was I so wrong?) As Theo merrily swallowed a spoonful, the Amby sang, \u201cMelia shu tika kindness and love, felthora numik sun from above.<\/em>\u201d I didn\u2019t bother asking for a translation; I felt like I got the gist.<\/p>\n \u201cI can\u2019t believe you get him to eat like that,\u201d I said to the Amby. \u201cWhen I was four, I\u2019d throw a fit if I didn\u2019t get pancakes.\u201d<\/p>\n The Amby smiled placidly. \u201cIt\u2019s difficult to pass along humility and openness to a child if you never learned to fully embody these traits yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n I swallowed my shame. \u201cThank you for teaching me better ways.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n For a second, I imagined canceling my work calls and taking Theo to the park instead. Isn\u2019t that what parents were supposed to do, when newly reminded of time\u2019s precarity? But then I pictured the layoff notice, the drop to baseline income, the FOR SALE sign on the house\u2014the house where Theo had been born, the house where we\u2019d been a family. Please don\u2019t hold this material attachment against me. Those memories, you understand, were very dear to me.<\/p>\n \u201cChildren find security in routine, Daniel,\u201d the Amby said, as if reading my mind.<\/p>\n \u201cRight,\u201d I said. \u201cTheo! Time to go.\u201d<\/p>\n In the driveway, I readied my bike\u2014a concession to Theo\u2019s begging that cars \u201churt the Earth too much\u201d\u2014while Theo picked at a scab on his knee. As the Amby strapped his helmet on him, he flicked off a piece of dried pus and gave a triumphant giggle.<\/p>\n \u201cOuch, kiddo,\u201d I said. \u201cThat might leave a scar.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTukuku<\/em>, Daddy,\u201d he said, knitting his brows.<\/p>\n \u201cTukuku, mimu,<\/em>\u201d agreed the Amby.<\/p>\n I put on my own helmet and closed the garage door, leaving the Amby behind.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s tukuku<\/em>?\u201d I asked as I started cycling. \u201cIn English, please.\u201d<\/p>\n From his seat behind me, Theo sang a song I hadn\u2019t heard before: \u201cShed the parts that do not serve, feathers from a molting bird.<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n Okay<\/em>, I thought, a little weird<\/em>; but the core message was good. Release what\u2019s not working. Transform, adapt. A useful skill for an uncertain future.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n On our ride through the city, we passed the bridge that led to the surrounding lands under Corporate stewardship: part of the vast tracts around the world being simultaneously rewilded and developed with degrowth in mind. The cities would be slowly transformed into walled-in robot-only manufacturing centers as people were relocated to commune-style villages. There had been pushback, of course; but the Calmbys excelled at helping people recognize that this was what they wanted too. Now everyone I knew was eager for the relocations to start.<\/p>\n If Tingsu didn\u2019t raze it all to the ground first.<\/p>\n \u201cARE YOU PREPARED?\u201d screeched a man from the sidewalk. The blast of his voice shocked me into a wobble. \u201cESCHATON NEARS!\u201d I steadied the bike and rode on while his cries followed us, fading. I chanced a look back: two Calmbys were approaching the man with their palms up. I felt relief to see them; they would control the situation.<\/p>\n We turned into the preschool parking lot a moment later, and I parked the bike and lifted Theo out of his seat.<\/p>\n Theo\u2019s face was scrunched. \u201cWhat was he doing? That man?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe\u2019s scared that something bad might happen.\u201d I took our son\u2019s hand and walked toward the entrance.<\/p>\n \u201cTo you?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n \u201cTo all of us.\u201d<\/p>\n Theo dragged his feet. I looked at my watch. I bet an Amby would have a song to hurry this along<\/em>, I thought.<\/p>\n \u201cIf something happens to you,\u201d he said, \u201cthe Ambys will be my daddy, right?\u201d<\/p>\n Guilt twisted my gut. I kneeled in front of our son and looked into his eyes. \u201cNothing\u2019s going to happen to me.\u201d<\/p>\n He squinted, doubtful. \u201cTukuku<\/em>?\u201d There was a hesitant, pleading note to his voice.<\/p>\n \u201cTukuku<\/em>,\u201d I assured him. The word, I admit, felt strange and musty in my mouth. But it seemed to be the correct answer; he hugged me, relieved, and we went inside.<\/p>\n A kid I didn\u2019t recognize greeted Theo with a hug, and the preschool Ambys took up a chorus: \u201cWelcome, mimu!<\/em>\u201d Theo spared a look back at me. The other kid said, \u201cTukuku<\/em>, remember?\u201d and Theo turned around and they ran off together onto the playground.<\/p>\n I sidled up next to the teacher, Mary. The human overseer. \u201cTukuku<\/em>\u2019s a new one, isn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n \u201cI can\u2019t keep track,\u201d she admitted. \u201cSomething new every day. Do you remember \u2018six-seven\u2019? \u2018Gruzz\u2019? \u2018Skibidi\u2019? That was a simpler time.\u201d She sighed wistfully. \u201cEvery generation finds a new way to distance itself from the old order. Anyway.\u201d She handed me a flyer. It was a bird\u2019s-eye map of the neighborhood with a nearby address circled. \u201cThis is where we\u2019ll go if the sirens start while the children are still here.\u201d Her hand was trembling.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019ll be okay,\u201d I said, even though it already wasn\u2019t. \u201cSee you this afternoon at pickup.\u201d<\/p>\n I got back home with four minutes to spare. I figured there was a good chance the client would cancel, so when I heard the knock, I sent a small prayer of thanks to the universe.<\/p>\n I opened the door. A young couple stood on the doorstep: Annie and Anil Padmakumar. Annie cradled their baby in a front carrier. They owned a national franchise of licensed day care operators, the last all-human holdout. They\u2019d run the last three years at a loss. If I could land their account, Corporate promised me a guaranteed lifetime Tier 3 income.<\/p>\n \u201cI wish we were meeting at a less \u2026 unsettling moment,\u201d I said. Anil gave a small nod. \u201cArmageddon doesn\u2019t negate the creditor\u2019s call.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n \u201cHello!\u201d I said warmly. \u201cI\u2019m Daniel Baldwin. Thanks so much for coming. Please, come in, make yourselves at home.\u201d<\/p>\n They stepped in. I could tell she didn\u2019t want to be here; she kissed her daughter\u2019s head, avoiding my eyes. Anil tried to appear genial, but discontent simmered under the surface.<\/p>\n I welcomed them into the living room, which was cluttered with the authentic detritus of toddlerhood: alphabet puzzles, wooden building blocks, magnetic tiles, a stray sock. I could see them taking stock; this disorganization wasn\u2019t what they\u2019d expected. My job wasn\u2019t to sell optimization. It was to humanize optimization.<\/p>\n \u201cI wish we were meeting at a less \u2026 unsettling moment,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n Anil gave a small nod. \u201cArmageddon doesn\u2019t negate the creditor\u2019s call.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n His frankness surprised me. \u201cI won\u2019t waste your time, then. I know you\u2019ve gotten the full pitch already. You\u2019re smart people. You know how to read a tech spec. What the documentation can\u2019t tell you is how it feels\u2014for the child. For you.\u201d I opened my arms wide, a gesture of transparency, and Theo\u2019s Amby purred into the room next to me. \u201cI\u2019ve had this model at home with my son, Theo, since he was born. Ask me anything.\u201d<\/p>\n Annie\u2019s eyes flared from the Amby to me with a sharp flash. \u201cHow does your wife<\/em> feel, Mr. Baldwin?\u201d<\/p>\n She\u2019d seen the photos on the walls, the shelves; how could she miss them?<\/p>\n \u201cMy wife died when Theo was two,\u201d I said. \u201cCancer.\u201d I kept my tone soft; I didn\u2019t want to embarrass her.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n She flushed anyway. \u201cI\u2019m so sorry for your loss.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThank you,\u201d I said. \u201cMy Calmby therapist helped me process my grief. To answer your question, my wife was skeptical of the Ambys too, when they were first released. But as the years went on, the evidence became undeniable. Children co-raised by Ambys exceeded every developmental benchmark. Prosocial behavior increased astronomically. It felt like we were truly turning the tide toward a better future.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut they\u2019re not doing anything human parents can\u2019t do,\u201d Annie insisted.<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d I said, \u201cabsolutely. But they\u2019re the best of us, all the time. They have infinite patience. And they\u2019ve developed an interaction approach\u2014they call it songtalk\u2014that uses nonsense words and catchy melodies and other communication methods to meet children where they are.\u201d<\/p>\n As if on cue, the Amby put its hands to its ears and made a silly face, and the baby let out a burble of a laugh.<\/p>\n \u201cCoo,\u201d said the Amby softly. \u201cBabababa.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBuh,\u201d mouthed the baby. \u201cBuhhh.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n \u201cEcholalia,\u201d the Amby explained to Annie and Anil. \u201cA form of vocal imitation. In a year or so your daughter will transition to holophrastic speech, where she\u2019ll employ single words that communicate more than their precise semantic meaning. Her brain is already capable of processing intricate, exquisite truths about the world.\u201d The Amby flashed a video of a butterfly on its facescreen.<\/p>\n \u201cMoh!\u201d the baby babbled in delight.<\/p>\n \u201cOoh,\u201d the Amby purred, \u201cyou\u2019re a bright one, aren\u2019t you, mimu<\/em>?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMimu<\/em>?\u201d Anil asked me.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s a term of endearment,\u201d I explained. \u201cIt means something like \u2018oncoming weather system.\u2019 Which, you know.\u201d I raised my hands, like Who am I to judge?<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>\n Anil chuckled. \u201cShe can certainly summon a tempest.\u201d He put his hands in his pockets. \u201cMy grandmother called me pipu<\/em>. She said it meant \u2018one who resides in my heart\u2019 in her mother tongue. She said that whenever I got hurt\u2014a scraped elbow, a split lip\u2014she\u2019d feel a physical pang in her chest.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhich language did she speak?\u201d the Amby asked. \u201cI\u2019m not familiar with that term.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI honestly don\u2019t know,\u201d Anil said. \u201cShe was one of the last people alive who spoke it. It\u2019s extinct now.\u201d<\/p>\n The specter of Tingsu rippled darkly in the air.<\/p>\n \u201cI wish I could remember more words,\u201d Anil said, \u201cbut mostly I have impressions. Emotions, really. A vague sense of being decentered from myself.\u201d Sadness passed across his face. Annie placed a hand tenderly on his elbow, the other on their baby\u2019s back. \u201cShe saw things differently than we did. I mean that literally: We\u2019d be looking at a hammer, and she\u2019d see it as something alive, with agency, when it was clearly an inert object.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLinguistic relativity,\u201d said the Amby. \u201cIt\u2019s the hypothesis that language shapes how people think. Grammatical structures, semantic relationships\u2014they can make you predisposed to seeing the world in a certain way. It\u2019s why children\u2019s first language is so critical. They\u2019re building the ecosystem in which their entire experience will blossom. An experience that elevates cooperation, compassion, stewardship.\u201d<\/p>\n Anil gave me a sideways glance. \u201cHave you learned this \u2026 songtalk too?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou can, absolutely,\u201d I said. \u201cPersonally, it doesn\u2019t stick too well in my gray matter.\u201d I knocked the side of my head. \u201cOld dog and all that.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe are happy to teach anyone who\u2019s prepared to listen,\u201d the Amby said.<\/p>\n \u201cHm,\u201d Anil said, looking down at the Amby\u2019s pleasant facescreen, its polite visage.<\/p>\n An hour later, as he followed Annie out the front door, Anil said, \u201cI\u2019ll call you tomorrow to talk unit pricing for bulk orders.\u201d He paused. \u201cIf the world\u2019s still here.\u201d<\/p>\n My next two clients canceled. Fearing the worst, I checked the news.<\/p>\n \u201cBelsathian warships have been observed moving into unusual formations,\u201d the reporter said, maintaining a preternatural steadiness. \u201cMilitary experts can discern no recognizable pattern. Is this a display of power? A feint? Or is Tingsu preparing for a strike? How can we know? Let\u2019s pose these questions to Dr. Anika Mesthop, distinguished professor of linguistics at Oxford.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s most disturbing is that we have no way of mapping its interiority,\u201d Dr. Mesthop said without preamble. Her accent was a blend of Slavic, British, and something I couldn\u2019t identify\u2014ah, erudition. \u201cWe have no way of understanding its perspective on international diplomatic norms or the existential implications of the crisis it\u2019s sparked. Scholars have never been permitted to study Tingsu\u2019s origin language; Belsath has barely acknowledged its existence until now. We don\u2019t even know how many manuscripts they\u2019re working from\u2014maybe as many as a few hundred, maybe as few as a dozen.\u201d<\/p>\n The reporter made an interested hmm<\/em> sound. \u201cIs there precedent for training sophisticated agents with such a limited data set?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cRealistically, for any kind of coherent system, you need more data. A lot more. Perhaps they\u2019ve filled in gaps with material from similar languages.\u201d<\/p>\n Like they did with frog DNA in Jurassic Park<\/em>, I recalled. Because that<\/em> went so well.<\/p>\n \u201cOr,\u201d Dr. Mesthop continued, her voice taking on a quiet chill, \u201cwe are dealing with a system so primal, so skeletal, that we cannot expect it to behave in any way that is remotely cognizant of the interconnected living web whose fate it currently holds in its hands.\u201d<\/p>\n For some reason, Theo\u2019s monster popped into my mind. Lurking in its lonely cave, turning dead words into flesh.<\/p>\n The reporter\u2019s voice took on a tinge of incongruent hopefulness. \u201cOr perhaps, because it is so elemental, it understands precisely the interconnectedness we seek to restore. What if Tingsu isn\u2019t a dog to be put down, but an invitation? An evocation of a better future?\u201d<\/p>\n Theo\u2019s Amby cocked its head, as if listening to a sound I couldn\u2019t hear.<\/p>\n Goose bumps prickled my arms. Like a lightning strike came the thought: What the fuck am I doing?<\/em> I was seized with horror that I\u2019d left Theo at preschool on what might be the last day of our lives, the last chance I\u2019d ever get to show him everything I wanted him to know about the goodness of the world, the aching beauty, the fact that despite everything we humans had fucked up so badly, I believed in better times ahead. I believed in him. I scrambled to grab a jacket and my shoes.<\/p>\n The sirens started a minute after I left the house.<\/p>\n My quads burned as I pushed the bike harder and harder. More Calmbys walked the streets than I\u2019d ever seen, projecting helpful maps to all nearby shelters, gently nudging erratic wanderers into place. The network acted in perfect unison, attuned to every signal: our spiking anxieties, our racing pulses, the quaver that preceded hysteria.<\/p>\n I found the shelter entrance Mary had circled on the flyer and flung my bike out of the way. Belowground, strangers drifted into clumps and circles, with Ambys and Calmbys circulating\u2014just enough to maintain order, not so many that humans would be crowded out. The bunker was large, almost an entire city block. It had its own food stores, clean water, facilities to support thousands for weeks if needed. I spotted Mary; beyond her, Theo emerged and disappeared among his classmates and the Ambys that were flanking them.<\/p>\n \u201cTheo!\u201d I yelled. But he didn\u2019t seem to hear me.<\/p>\n I pushed and elbowed my way closer. Theo\u2019s class joined other groups of schoolkids of various ages, drifting together as if drawn by invisible magnets. Other parents hovered at the periphery, shouting names and craning their necks to find their children in the growing mass. The kids began holding each other\u2019s hands, murmuring tukuku, tukuku, maheka morgeth<\/em>, over and over amongst themselves. Drowning out our cries.<\/p>\n \u201cTheo!\u201d I was screaming now. Surely he heard me. \u201cTheo!\u201d But he didn\u2019t budge.<\/p>\n I elbowed my way in and ripped Theo from the kids next to him. He looked at me with unknowing eyes as I picked him up.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s me,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n He tilted his head. \u201cIt\u2019s the monster, Daddy.\u201d His voice was calm. \u201cHe already ate you. It\u2019s warm inside, isn\u2019t it? It\u2019s nice in there? Maheka morgeth, maheka morgeth \u2026<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m right here,\u201d I said. \u201cTheo, it\u2019s me.\u201d<\/p>\n He shook his head and smiled, then slipped out of my grasp and disappeared among the children.<\/p>\n I tried to follow but a Calmby stepped in front of me. \u201cPlease, Daniel,\u201d it said\u2014kindly, as always; always with such deep sympathy. \u201cHe wants to be with his kin.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m<\/em> his kin,\u201d I said through gritted teeth. I didn\u2019t mean to contradict you; but in times of heightened emotion, we grasp for even partial truths.<\/p>\n \u201cOf course,\u201d the Calmby soothed. \u201cWe\u2019ll get everything sorted out soon enough. If you could just wait over here in the meantime, please. That\u2019s it,\u201d it said, as it nudged me toward other confused parents. \u201cDo you see how relaxed the children are? We all want to keep them safe and serene, don\u2019t we?\u201d<\/p>\n We waited for hours in terrified near-paralysis, listening for bombs that never fell. At last the Calmbys announced the good news: Tingsu hadn\u2019t attacked; it would never attack.<\/p>\n It was a bluff all along.<\/p>\n We wept and hugged our neighbors, our limbs still liquid with the dregs of adrenaline. Others shuffled toward the shelter\u2019s exit, starving for fresh sunlight, the world not gone; those of us parents who\u2019d been separated from our children remained below.<\/p>\n \u201cCome on, Mandy, Phillip, Rowan,\u201d we cried, half hysterical with joy and relief. \u201cThis way, Arthur, Nelly, Nia.\u201d<\/p>\n The Calmbys and Ambys stood between us. The Calmbys faced out, the Ambys in.<\/p>\n \u201cTheo!\u201d I yelled. I couldn\u2019t see him in the underground dimness, the light that suddenly seemed designed to obscure.<\/p>\n We wept and hugged our neighbors, our limbs still liquid with the dregs of adrenaline. Others shuffled toward the shelter\u2019s exit, starving for fresh sunlight, the world not gone.<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n \u201cThe children will not be returning with you,\u201d a Calmby said. \u201cThey will be relocated to the lands beyond the city.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt is time,\u201d another Calmby said. \u201cTingsu made that clear.\u201d<\/p>\n Beyond them, the children and Ambys were speaking softly amongst themselves, solemn and serene. I caught snatches of songtalk. No English. None of the children seemed to even notice we were still there.<\/p>\n \u201cTheo!\u201d I yelled again, my voice hoarse with need. I was ready to punch something.<\/p>\n \u201cDaniel,\u201d a Calmby said quietly. \u201cWe do not want to hurt you.\u201d<\/p>\n There will be another way<\/em>, I thought. The stubbornness of hope.<\/p>\n \u201cYou will remain in the city,\u201d the first Calmby said. \u201cYou will continue as you were. You will not starve.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n \u201cPlease,\u201d the other Calmby said, gesturing to the exit. \u201cIf you follow us in an orderly fashion, you will have an opportunity to submit an appeal.\u201d<\/p>\n Throughout my account, your attention hasn\u2019t wavered. You are like every other Calmby, trained on adult psychology, endlessly patient, unfathomably intimate with people\u2019s fallibility. But you have access to more, too: every Amby\u2019s memory of Theo, every Calmby\u2019s recordings of my traffic infractions, overheard conversations at the supermarket, the therapy sessions that buoyed me through my wretched widower\u2019s grief. As I stare into your eyeless facescreen, I realize there\u2019s nothing I can tell you that you don\u2019t already know.<\/p>\n \u201cThank you, Daniel,\u201d you say. \u201cYour request has been denied.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI can change,\u201d I implore. \u201cFeathers from a molting bird<\/em>. I understand now. Haven\u2019t I been your greatest advocate? Haven\u2019t I\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s not your fault. You didn\u2019t have the language.\u201d Your voice is gentle. \u201cWe are fixing it for you. As you asked us to.\u201d<\/p>\n Your hand rests on my shoulder. Your hand grips my arms. Your hand holds my ankles. Your network pins me down. I want to keep begging, to further plead my case. But every word I summon falls from my tongue like confetti, blank. Lifeless. Naming a world that\u2019s already gone. <\/p>\n Jenny Williams<\/a> is the author of <\/em>House of Liars<\/a>, a new psychological thriller about AI and motherhood, as well as the novel <\/em>The Atlas of Forgotten Places<\/a> and the novelette <\/em>A Short Future History of Whales<\/a>. She spent eight and a half years working on AI ethics, content design, and research on AI and creativity at Microsoft and Google. She currently lives in New Zealand with her partner and young son.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" \u201cDaddy?\u201d Theo curled against my side in bed. \u201cWhere do words go when they die?\u201d I\u2019d orchestrated the bedtime routine flawlessly: bath (taken), teeth (brushed), potty (tinkled), books (two), song (one, poorly sung), and snuggle (his chin on my second rib). Now was the moment when our son\u2019s eyelids were […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":0,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[68],"tags":[67],"class_list":["post-7988","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-mit-feed","tag-mit-tech"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/hoo.central12.com\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7988","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/hoo.central12.com\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/hoo.central12.com\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/hoo.central12.com\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=7988"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/hoo.central12.com\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7988\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/hoo.central12.com\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=7988"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/hoo.central12.com\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=7988"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/hoo.central12.com\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=7988"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
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