They want some blood, so it’s time to tell Benji, my seventy-year-old grandson. His wrinkles came earlier than his father’s, yet he’s trim with little gray hair. He sits in the frayed recliner his father jumped on as a toddler. I hand him a cup, and he caresses my hand.
“Sorry, I missed our tea last Friday, Grams.” He gives the boyish grin I love. “Your email worried me. Are you okay?”
The lights go out, followed by the sound of my generator. “I think about your dad a lot, Benji.”
As the lights return, he touches my cheek. His thumb gently strokes its creases and folds. “I know. Ninety-five, in perfect health, and then the tornado. In another time, he might’ve lived to one-twenty.”
“You too,” I say. It’s noon without sun again, and the wind hurls rain against a window.
He cringes and turns toward the noise. “I can’t believe how fast Houston and New Orleans went under. The latest estimates give humanity about twenty years. What’s going on?”
“I have a problem.”
He spills his tea. “You’re not ill?”
I grab a napkin and wipe his tie. “No, Benji, but Jesus. I’m a hundred and fifteen. Don’t plan any surprise parties.”
“Stop stalling, Grams. The problem.”
“Okay, based on our family’s longevity, I’ve been contacted by the Renaissance Council. They want my DNA sequence for the fifth launch, the one targeted to deep space. They plan to incorporate it into the data set they’re sending up and want a tissue sample this week.”
“That’s it? Wow, the council wants your genome onboard Renaissance 5? That’s exciting. Do it. You’ll be famous here on Earth, and then … who knows?”
“Exactly. The ‘who knows’ is the problem. Someone or something out there resurrecting our species from my sequence bothers me. I’ve lived long enough right here.” I reach for my antacids. “Plus, humans had their shot and blew it. I plan to suggest a different primate. Bonobos are intelligent, empathetic, and most importantly, not hostile to strangers. Let’s leave humans in evolution’s trash can.”
“You’re wrong, Grams. If something out there tries to de-extinct us, they’ll use your sequence as a starting point. They’ll be smart enough to make improvements. It won’t be you. Anyway, you’ll never know how it turns out.”
“I’ll never know? What if parts of my memory are transmitted through my DNA sequence? Research shows that genetic memories exist, and several studies found fragments of DNA-based memory persisting in human tissues, including blood. If my sequence is used to redesign humans, I fear they’ll remember parts of another life. That would be my life.”
He sips his tea and turns away. “You’re talking reincarnation, Grams. That’s pseudoscience.”
Who does he think he’s arguing with? I practiced medicine, too. I stand and put my face near his. “Look at me, Benji. You’re not the only scientist in the room. Memory and inheritance are not completely understood. What I fear is unlikely but not impossible.”
He turns back. “Okay, let’s say some memories are coded within your DNA. You’re right. Homo sapiens version two would share those memories. But hopefully, the bits of wisdom carried within your sequence will emerge as beneficial human instincts.” He points to the window. “Maybe they’ll do better than this.”
His insight surprises me, so I pause before responding. “Benji, you make a good point, so I’ll consider providing the tissue sample. But after a hundred and fifteen years with version one of humanity, I’m tired. I just don’t know.”
His watch beeps. “I’ll be fine with whatever you decide, Grams. I need to get to the hospital.”
*****
My clash with the Renaissance Council over suggesting Bonobo DNA became heated and personal. I never expected them to provide a room on the hotel’s top floor. It faces east, with a view of the Kennedy Space Center’s launch complex. Renaissance 5 may be the last launch. The dunes and massive water pumps that protect the complex barely keep up with the Atlantic’s encroachment.
Unsteady, I hold a food cart tightly and wheel it to the balcony. The ice bucket rattles next to a half-full pitcher of vodka tonic and a glass.
It’s early morning, and sweat streams down my body. I sit, grab an ice cube, and rub it across my face and chest. The countdown timer shows two minutes. I top off the glass, empty it, and close my eyes. My son carries Benji on his shoulders and roars like a dinosaur. Then he tosses the boy into the pool and dives in after him. I prayed senility would ease the loss. It never came.
At T-minus ten seconds, I look east, and the booster ignites. Seconds later, the food cart and hotel vibrate.
Reaching into my pocket, I find the pill. It descends as Renaissance 5 climbs. I wipe the iced glass across my forehead.
“Last call at the bar for Grams,” I say, finishing the pitcher. “Perhaps.”
Image: A fragment of DNA Helix from Pixabay.com grey spiral shape on a background with flashes of gold.
literally stories 
Barry
It’s a pleasure to see your work on the site today. This gives a whole new spin on go forth and be fruitful order. Well done.
Leila
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Thanks so much, Leila!
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Nice one! Good premise, carried through with heart. And let’s hear it for the bonobos!!
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We hope that with great age comes wisdom and in this case it did seem to – until Gram was persuaded to go against her better judgement. So many stories about end times and humans desperate attempts to avoid extinction yet this was a novel idea. A good read thank you. dd
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Barry
The clipped and spare writing style in this piece was really effective. A lot of world-building info came through in the believable dialogue without making it seem too obvious that the characters were filling the reader in. The references to Noah’s Flood Number Two wiping out the planet felt extremely relevant considering what’s happening in Florida at the moment, plus all the nuclear war threats being bandied about right now globally. The sense of weariness in devastation and human foolishness came through. We live in an age where things that would have been thought of as science fiction before are actually just part of normal reality that most people don’t even notice and definitely don’t care about. The way you combined the everyday with future predictions reminded me of Philip K. Dick, and he’s one of the best there is, pound for pound. Excellent story. Also worth pointing out that Tolstoy predicted humanity would do this to itself back in 1850.
Dale
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Good world-building and efficient character development. The way Grams weighs her personal decision against a backdrop of humanity’s failure makes for an interesting philosophical discussion. The rooftop image at the end is poignant.
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Barry
Last month it was 87 degrees in The Gulf of Mexico, which later delivered a hurricane killing over two hundred, with another bigger storm a few hours away. I fear it’s a race between whether we kill each other directly, or the world does.
Your story could have been a human-interest piece in a newspaper, rather than Sci-Fi. Nice job making it real.
I’m pulling for the bonobos. They seem more interested in lovemaking than self-destruction.
Gerry
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Hi Barry,
You balanced the relatable to the science fiction aspect brilliantly.
So much of Science Fiction either suffers from us simply having to accept or it goes the other-way as it is over-explained and reads like a text / ‘history’ book.
When something we can relate to into this type of work it can become interesting and refreshing!!
All the very best my fine friend.
Hugh
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This was a fun and imaginative way of dealing with a serious issue. Excellent, well-paced style as well. I’m currently reading a book that talks about the history of trying to reach immortality and it made me reflect on that too.
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