Stem

8675309 was worried. So they were all worried. Even though she was in her third trimester, her baby had not yet connected to the Collective. This usually occurred during the second trimester. She knew the baby was still alive because she could still feel it squirm and kick and, occasionally, hiccup. So she was worried. They were all worried.

Every one of them knew their evolutionary history. How after the rise of cloud computing and storage, Mother Nature had, once again, shown her wisdom by launching the next evolutionary stage. At first, it was just the memory centers of the brain that were whittled away as its contents were uploaded and relegated to storage. Then, eventually, the cognitive centers as its functions were uploaded to the cloud. Finally, all that were left were the autonomic nervous system and a brain stem that was, now, little more than an antenna connecting each individual to the cloud. That’s how Mankind transitioned from I to Us: the Collective.

Even so, they retained the natural process of conception via intercourse. Genetic engineering had proven to be a literal Pandora’s Box. So it was thought best to just let nature have its way. That, and Humankind’s reluctance to surrender the warm physical pleasure and emotions that came from the act itself. And that feeling of being “human” that experiencing a live birth provided kept the “old ways” alive.

8675309 had received sufficient information and education about the impending birth to put her mind at ease. Had even been connected during several births. So she knew what to expect. But, still, it being her first time, she had the same worries and concerns of any new mother. Were she and her partner, 2105439, ready to be parents? Would she be a good mother?

Added to those mundane worries was the accompanying anxiety of being chosen as one of this round’s birthing pairs. She, short and willowy, with brown hair and blue eyes, and 2105439, tall and muscular, with black hair and green eyes, had been judged to be of good stock and selected as one of five pairs to receive the honor. 8675309 took the responsibility on with a grave seriousness. So the baby’s failure to connect troubled her to despair. She couldn’t help thinking about how a problem with the baby might exclude them, in the future, from participating in this experience that, to this point, had brought her so much joy.

And so 8675309 lay on her couch, eating her feelings with the help of a bag of white grapes. But the despondence stayed and, as a result, spread out into the Collective.

2105439 took it in as he drove home from work, along with the sweetly sour taste of the grapes. As did all the other members of the Collective. By the time he arrived home, he was nearly buried by the feeling. So he went to her and held her close.

“It’ll be okay,” he promised her.

She let her tears fall, then, and wrapped her arms around him as if she was drowning, and only he could save her. And, even though they were alone in their apartment, there was the Collective, holding her, as well, crying along with her. But not even that or the joy of the other birthing pairs could buoy her. She tumbled down into a dark abyss. And the Collective followed.

As 8675309 descended deeper, it began to affect them entirely. Work slowed as the others were overcome with the distraction of it. Vital systems began to fail. And a worry grew among them. A fear that this pervasive emotional disturbance would cause a collapse. Would bring an end to all. So a consensus arose.

Usually inducing early labor was reserved for instances where the mother or the child or both were in danger. But weren’t they all, now, in danger? Wasn’t that reason enough to put aside convention and embrace the radical? The debates raged, arguing the pros and cons until, finally, a decision was reached. It would be done. For the sake of the Collective.

They were all relieved. But no one more than 8675309. For, soon, the disruption she was causing would be over, and things could return to their previous state of stability. And she would get to find out if there was something wrong with her child.

And so the date was set.

By the time the appointed date arrived, the Collective was in a near frenzy. Everyone was focused on 8675309 and the impending birth. All work came to a halt. Only the vital systems were kept running. The doctors and nurses in the delivery team were the only ones who remained detached, afraid of losing their concentration amid the emotional cacophony.

When 8675309 arrived at the hospital, one of the doctors explained the upcoming process as another administered the epidural and the inducement drugs. She nodded her understanding. Then lay back in bed. 2105439 held her hand as they waited. The whole world waited, holding her hand.

Within an hour she was fully dilated, and the staff rushed her into one of the delivery rooms. A hush fell over the world.

“Okay now. Push.” the doctor told her.

One of the nurses helped her sit up, and 8675309 bore down, nearly crushing 2105439’s hand. They all bore down with her, crushing his hand, feeling the hand being crushed. When she fell back with a groan, they all groaned with her.

The doctor saw the crown of the head was visible.

“Push again,” he told her.

With the nurse’s help, 8675309 sat up again and bore down with even more force than before. They all bore down with her. The ripping feeling in her back, ripping through theirs. 2105439’s knuckles cracked and popped from her/their grip, and they felt their knuckles crack and pop.

She fell back with another groan, and they groaned with her. Their backs unclenched with hers. Their hands grateful for the release of pressure on 2105439’s hand. She gasped for breath, and they gasped with her.

The doctor saw that the head had cleared, but the shoulders had gotten hung up.

“Again,” he told her.

This time 8675309 bore down with everything she/they had. They could feel the fire in her back, and the excruciating pain in 2105439’s hand. And, still, she/they bore down. Foul curses flew from her lips that, on any other occasion, would have reddened her cheeks with shame, but she couldn’t let that bother her for the moment. She/they felt as if something life-supporting inside her was about to break when the shoulders finally slipped free, and the baby rushed out into the waiting hand of the doctor.

She/they, exhausted, fell back, gasping for breath. It was finally over.

The doctor allowed 2105439 to cut the umbilical cord. Then the doctor lifted the baby by its feet and gave it a ceremonial smack on the bottom that would elicit its first breath. The baby obliged by gulping a lung-full of air. Then it let out an ear-splitting cry. Everyone froze.

There was definitely something wrong with the baby.

For what did a civilization whose minds were joined in the cloud need with vocalization? That was something that had phased out millennia ago, around the time the cognitive functions were lifted from the brain. No one had “uttered” a word since. No baby had cried. Until now.

The doctor swaddled the baby in one swift movement, then rushed from the room, a baffled expression on his face. 8675309 had only a moment to register that her child was a boy. Which should have filled her with joy. But the worry about what could be wrong with him overwhelmed that.

2105439 continued to hold her hand, even though his fingers trembled with pain. He wiped her forehead with a cool rag, and she/they sighed with the relief of it. 8675309 was comforted by his attentions, and the feeling that they were all gathered around her, whispering words of congratulations and encouragement, giving her gentle, supportive touches. That was one of the things she loved about the Collective: the oneness of it.

Even though she was relived that the birth was over, the worst part had only started. Now came the seemingly interminable wait to find out what was wrong with him, and if anything could be done to correct it. 8675309 put aside her worry about what this meant for hers and 2105439’s future possibilities for child-bearing and, instead, sent all of her love and concern to her child. And they all joined her.

The hours ticked by as they waited while the doctor performed tests and scans to determine the nature of the child’s malady. When all of the information was gathered and analyzed, the doctor was horrified by what he saw. How could this possibly be? Was what he saw on the MRI image really what he thought it was? It had to be. There was no other explanation for the child’s inability to connect to the Collective and its resultant vocalization.

Even though they all saw what he saw and followed his train of logic to its conclusion, he still felt the need to explain what they were seeing.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he said, gravely. “But the child was born with a fully developed brain.”

And they wept.