The last people on a dying planet enjoy renewed hope as the first child is born in several years. Soon unexpected strife threatens the security of the survivors however and a desperate surface mission is launched by those who’ve never set foot on it.
Excerpt from Script:
That’s what the archives say at least. The planetary birthrate declined to such precarious levels that, in some cities, state orchestrated industrial repopulation began to be carried out. In vitro fertilization in warehouses FILLED with synthetic wombs.
Human factory farming.
Yeah. But then, of course, you end up raising a generation of orphans. Which meant that traditional family units were now fringe outliers compared to the overwhelming mass of state-owned individuals. And, following naturally from these mutating demographics, cultural trends underwent radical transformation as well. A lawn mower style effect. It was awful.
In comparison to what? Anarchy? Addicts and psychotics parenting future addicts and psychotics? Anything has to be better than that.
You think they were, what? Carrying out some kind of benevolent rational program? Come on. In every one of these power structures there were utterly brutal domestic campaigns. Once people were no longer recognized first and foremost as individuals, the state could justify anything. And it did. One, oh, one of the policies I remember was ah, one mandating ergonomic surgeries. They literally did things like amputating the legs of military pilots so that g-force resilience could be maximized. And then, of course, people (Surging emotion) LIKE MYSELF, people who deviated too much from the narrow conformist ideals of society. We were… often just disposed of.
Ichabod responds to this by challenging Vale with an indifferent look, implying that Vale’s existence and identity have little to no value. Vale is slightly taken aback and becomes silent.
You guys are so tedious some times. Anyways, I don’t think the baby makes a difference.
(Pausing his work)
The baby makes a big difference.
(Unimpressed and petty)
No one answers for a moment. Finally, Ichabod, idly swirling the last liquid residue in his teacup, speaks.
Because. It might be the only one you ever see.