Chapter 1

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‘A hushed laughter, an extinguished fire, a wasted land. Everything was yet to come, but he was taken away’.

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After the loss of his child, Anders could never speak his name again. As a biologist he told himself that every ending was also a natural part of any start. But, as a father, he refused to understand it. In his work, the search for the origins of life had always inspired him. But the end of life became an obsession when he suffered that loss. The death of an individual, the end of human civilizations, the extinction of a whole species. Anders wondered whether the whole cycle of life could be ended too. Would it be possible that a brutal catastrophe could wipe off all life on Earth? It was a fact that the Sun would continue to grow and, within millions of years, would engulf this planet. No living organism could survive that. He was aware that life would end sooner or later either due to Human or natural causes.

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The laboratory was in darkness. Only one distant lamp was on. ‘As the Olympic flames that aim to remain lit forever’, he said in his mind, ‘we need to save the existing life and pass it on’. He felt he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was aiming for the stars. 

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A noise disrupted Anders’ thoughts. A cat had scratched the window from the outside. They kept their sights locked for a few seconds, until Anders stood up and moved a few steps away. He poured cold burnt coffee into a used plastic cup and let his mind wander while the fireworks started to blast outside. He wouldn’t participate in such a mundane celebration. He had nothing to celebrate just yet. The cat jumped in fright and he let it come inside. He imagined a boisterous lecture room in a university, crowded with renowned scientists, impatiently waiting for him to speak from a front lectern. He gestured with his hands to ask them for silence. The cat looked at him and sat down. “What if it suddenly becomes too late to do what is right?”  he said out loud, as if the imaginary audience could hear him. “What if we lose our golden opportunity?” The cat tilted the head to its side without taking its eyes from Anders. 

 

He straightened his back, combed the few remaining lone and disheveled hairs of his head and cleared his voice. “‘Dust to dust’. That is what they say in funerals when our bodies return to the earth. Our lives are like a single firework. It is outstanding, unique, it leaves us amazed in wonder, but it soon fades away. And even though we have tried, we can’t build a living organism from scratch. Even if we merge sterile organic compounds and subject them to all imaginable processes, we can’t turn them into a living organism. We may never develop a modern prometheus because there is something missing in our understanding. The origins of life seem to be extremely rare. But then, the problem is that when we couple that understanding with the fact that life will end sooner or later, not just for an individual, but for every living organism on Earth, then we reach the only logical answer. When life, either simple, complex or intelligent life, ends on our planet, it may end for our entire Universe too. A giant barren land. Sterile. Wasted. Hushed.” 

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The cat meowed and licked its paw. 

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“We can’t allow that to happen,” he continued. “As the most advanced species, we have the responsibility to take care of other species, just like parents take care of their children. We can’t let life vanish from this Universe.”

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The cat stood up, turned his back and walked away. 

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Anders looked at a scribbled piece of paper that was lit by the moon’s reflection and took it. “This  will define our fate.” It had a phone number scribbled on it. He wondered for a second whether it would be acceptable to call. He looked at the clock on the wall. It was six minutes past twelve. ‘How long can a toast last? They’ve surely finished,” he thought. He put the cup of cold coffee away, took the phone and dialed the number. Anders introduced himself and cut to the chase. He asked if this new technology could give birth to a human being inside a lab. “Without a mother, of course.”