Eve stood at a lectern overlooking a crowd of fifty-five fresh young faces. They were children and would remain so even after this day. Legally speaking, they would be emancipated, of course, but 130 years separated Eve from even the eldest among them. There were men and women with gray hair and stooped backs whom Eve still considered children. Her children. Every last one of them.
It was a vain conceit. Eve had never borne a single child. She had never experienced firsthand the pain of childbirth, the hormonal rush of holding a newborn after carrying it within her for nine months. But she had been a mother. She and Plato had raised one daughter together. As head of the Human Welfare Committee, Eve had played nursemaid to all the rest. Oh, there were a few near her own age to whom she had been more a sister, a cousin, or an aunt, but this wasn’t a day to quibble over exceptions.
Eve gripped the lectern in both hands. She tried to tell herself that it was to appear dramatic, forceful, and in command. She was there to inspire them, not remind them that standing for twenty minutes at a stretch was a terrible strain on her old muscles.
“Welcome, friends and family. Welcome, dignitaries, officials, and media. But most of all, welcome, Emancipation Class of 3217. As I look out upon you, I see the future. No, not as a prophet but as a visionary. You are the writers of the future yet unwritten. Humanity is a river. Each year at this time, we add new tributaries to that river. Each year, that river grows larger, wider, deeper, grander. You are a part of that. The choices you make from this day forward will shape humanity in large ways and small, by intention and by accident, by word and by deed.
“Most of you have already decided upon a career. Six of you have chosen to go into the field of robotics. Eight intend to study genetics. Two are set for solar exploration. Eleven of you will be moving to the Mars colony. Two pairs of you will be heading straight from this ceremony to the Madagascar Center for Human Advancement to have your DNA sampled for parenthood. I will not single out anyone today, nor will I delve into each and every professional commitment made by this gathering. I draw attention to those whose decisions have already been made in order to contrast with the more interesting among you — the undecided.
“Freedom. Choice. Imagination. Do not despair, those among you whose path in life has not been cut clear ahead of you. The greatest journeys begin with no destination in sight. When I was your age, I could never have conceived of the life ahead of me. The position I hold, the home I live in, the very species to which we all belong, none of it existed as we know it today. There was no Human Welfare Committee. The only homes were for robots. Humanity was a mere science experiment aimed at reviving a distant past. Think on this: what does not exist today that you will bring into existence within your lifetime?”
Eve scanned the crowd for reactions. She didn’t care about the parents and hangers on. It was the eyes of the newly emancipated that interested her. Bright, eager, intelligent, they watched her as they processed the words of her speech. There was greatness out there. Where, she could not say. Not all promise is fulfilled. The deepest depths of potential are rarely plumbed. Was her successor out there? Was the next Prime Minister in the crowd? The next da Vinci? The next Truman? Was there something beyond all of them that Eve couldn’t conceive of yet?
She hoped so.
Eve’s greatest wish was for humanity to leave her in its wake.
“And so it is with a —” a fit of coughing choked off Eve’s words. After a brief pause, she composed herself. “It is with a glad heart and joyous spirit that —”
Eve tried to suck in a breath that wouldn’t come. The speech had taken too much out of her, straining ancient lungs that Ashley390 kept insisting she replace. Clutching the lectern for support, Eve tried to remain upright. The world wobbled. Horrified gasps escaped the crowd.
What have they got to be upset about? They’re not the ones dying.
Warnings and error messages flashed across Eve’s vision. She didn’t need to be told that her oxygen-intake level was unacceptably low, that her heart rate had spiked, or that she was in need of medical attention. Notification that she had already sent an emergency medical beacon was welcome but unnecessary.
Mere seconds passed before medical help arrived. The nannies and worrywarts among robotkind and humanity alike forebade Eve going anywhere without a doctor practically within arm’s reach.
Eve passed out surrounded by the finest medical minds on Earth.