The upper half of the hourglass is full when the tribunals begin, but I have no doubt it will run utterly empty by their conclusion.
The settlement’s dining hall is quite possibly the only room large enough to accommodate all dayfolk citizens: a domed, centralized chamber with multiple levels of concentric floors, all connected by stairways. Aspect organized the other mechs to clear the hall—pushing tables and benches to the sides, mopping the food-stained floors, and finally, assembling a makeshift wooden stage in the center of the room, with a simple ramp allowing access.
All around the elevated circle’s rim, twenty-six chairs for twenty-six sub-settlement representatives sit at attention. Massive screens surround the stage, ensuring that the speakers’ words can be seen and heard from anywhere in the room—and will be recorded for posterity.
And in the center, a simple box, a lectern, and a mic. My last chance to present my case to the dayfolk. That I am not my mother’s daughter. That the Evolved are not fundamentally evil. That there’s still a way forward, for all of us. Maybe even for Ednit.
Nevertheless, the settlement’s inhabitants are squished together like ration packs, barely fitting into the hall. But it’s better than requiring everyone to don full-body armor and meet amidst the desert winds. Everyone who isn’t Evolved, that is.
My stomach threatens to empty its contents directly onto the stage. I would give anything for Adria’s reassurance at my side right now, but nightfolk can never tread inside the settlement without infecting the controlled atmosphere with radiation.I have to do this alone, I messaged Adria via comms.But I don’t know if I can.
You can, she sent back, no hesitation.You risked the Shadowlands to awaken Aspect. You loved me at my lowest, even when I pushed you away. You stood up to your own mother’s apocalypse, then still found the courage to spare her life.
I shook my head, staring numbly at the comms tablet, typing, deleting, and typing again, before finally landing on a response:Will any of the dayfolk see it that way?
A painful stretch of silence, then the buzz of another reply.One meeting will not be the thing to fell you, love. When the dust settles, you’ll still be standing.
And then you’ll come back to me.
It’s the promise of safety beneath Adria’s wings that puts strength back into my legs, bravery back into my blood, and carries me up the ramp and to the lectern. Heart in my throat, I step forward, cross my arms over my chest, and speak into the hastily wired mic: “The tribunals are called to order.”
They start with a simple question: What is to become of the Evolved?
“My fellow dayfolk.” I look out over the crowd, varied in ethnicity, in gender, in age, in physical ability … but united as a human race. One I will never physically be part of again. “You may very well not consider me one of you anymore,” I say. “But I do.”
I expect an interruption, perhaps a thrown shoe at my head. But the crowd only looks at me, a hush falling heavily over the room.
“My mother took my body away from me. She never gave me a choice. Even for those Evolved whoweregiven a choice, the result was often nothing like what they expected … and they were never allowed to go back,” I say. “When Chloe revealed her true intent to raise an immortal army, eradicate anyone they deemed unworthy, and invade the Shadowlands, many of the Evolved stood with you.Istood with you. Because even if not by blood anymore, I am still dayfolk. I am still the heiress in Chloe’s absence, if you’ll have me.”
Still no shoe throwing. Breaths shuddering, I steel myself and press on. “So all I can ask is that, as you debate what ought to become of us, remember that we are still your neighbors,” I say. “Remember that I would rather have laid down a deathless life than watch the dayfolk fall to my mother’s machinations.”
The assembled representatives deliberate. At first, I fear the people will demand death for Evolved altogether, after what my mother has done (and tried to do). But I’m far from the only one who wants Chloe’s violence to end here. The Evolved who did participate in Chloe’s plan are condemned to remain in the Shadowlands, until the passage of time does eventually take its toll on all-but-immortal bodies. My mother is the only one whose endless imprisonment will be in a solitary cell. Surely, as her daughter, I should visit her. I don’t know if I can find the will to do so anytime soon, or ever.
As for the Evolved who fought back? While she may no longer be Evolved herself, Jelza’s unflinching presence on the stage, Dawn clinging tightly to her hand, is enough to sway the settlement toward unification. Evolved will no longer have the privilege of anonymity, our government IDs labeled to identify us as more than human. But we are still part of this society, as surely as when we still bore our original bodies.
Even so, yet another question looms: What is to become of the Evolution Project altogether?
My gut instinct was to publicize the Lexicon’s records and decommission the research entirely, ensuring that no one will ever create an Evolved body again. But Aspect’s protests in the Lexicon branded themselves into my mind.
Becoming Evolved without my consent was utterly traumatic. Jelza’s Evolution nearly destroyed her relationship with Dawn beyond repair. But not all the Evolved hate what they’ve become.
With the project revealed, some dayfolk want access to Evolution tech themselves. Some disabled citizens see those experiences as part of their identity, while others want bodies that transcend their current struggles. Some have experiences of gender that are discordant with their current bodies, even after affirming procedures and hormone therapy. Others face terminal illness in the absence of a drastic solution.
It’s also possible to construct Evolved bodies that decay similarly to original ones as sleep cycles pass. Transition to an artificial body doesn’thave to mean cheating death, if one would rather live a standard stretch but simply in a preferred form.
Despite my horror upon discovering my own identity, Evolution has applications beyond warfare and deception.
While nightfolk can’t enter our settlement, the tribunals also include recorded footage from the Shadowlands. Many of Azarii’s rebels, despite siding with Adria in the final hour, still sincerely believe his rhetoric that their gifts from the Diakópsei are abominable. Some would welcome the opportunity to transfer their memories into new bodies, more akin to those of dayfolk. No more wings, claws, and fangs. No more supernatural abilities. Nothing but synthetic flesh and a chance to begin anew. That would require a whole new line of research before it would become possible, but that research can only continue if Evolution altogether is allowed to continue.
Chloe wanted to impose her choices on everyone. Moving forward, the fate of the Evolution Project must allow everyone to choose for themselves.
So choose they will, the people decree. And it is Ednit—weeping, contrite Ednit, who drops to his knees on the stage, pleading for a chance to still do good with his life’s work—who is subsequently tasked with heading the redeemed Evolution Project. Now the EvolutionProgram, to which anyone can apply.
The only remaining question is who will lead the Daylands at large into this bold new future. It’s put to a vote: Does my role as heiress still hold any weight, after my mother’s crimes and my own artificial bloodline? Can I, an Evolved myself, be trusted to lead us through the aftermath of a near apocalypse? The answer, as my heart threatens to beat clean out of my chest, isyes.
Yes, the people can’t imagine a better leader than one who would fight her own mother in service of the greater good.
I feel that mantle’s weight descend on me like the heaviest of crowns. No matter what, I will dedicate the rest of my potentially very long life to protecting this settlement. To ensuring that every single dayfolk gets to choose their own future in peace and security.
