The First Child In 5,000 Years

Dr. Gocha looked at the dated sign above the gate to the RO’s farm, Est. 3440. The farm land was far from any major towns and cities, and made getting there by train difficult, but this was a house call the doctor knew he had to take.

The doctor appeared young, no older than their late teens, and although a man, Gocha had grown out his hair and wore it in a tight long braid that gave him a more feminine look. As he took down the path to the farmhouse, he swung his large briefcase like a pendulum, the momentum of which seemed to carry him forward each step like a motor, while his other hand behind his back brushed against the long braid. His gait was that of someone far older.

Outside the farmhouse, the patchwork of repairs and additions gave the house an obvious history. Discarded farming equipment and plows lay rusted in a pile that tall grass had overtaken, a barn sat open a stone’s throw from the house, and wheat fields stretched in each direction turning the house into an island.

Knock knock. Gocha tapped on the door and waited. The sounds of rushing around could be heard and soon Odo opened the door, “Dr. Gocha, it’s good to see you again.” The two shook hands as Odo ushered Gocha inside.

“You had told me in your prior letter that Rena was pregnant again. I assumed you’d be used to handling even complex pregnancies by now,” Gocha said as he set his briefcase down, “But your second letter, ‘Come at once.’ That was interesting.”

“I’m glad you could get here so quickly, can I get you something to drink?”

“Odo, I’ve traveled a long way off a few words. If you don’t stop playing host and tell me what’s going on, I shall drop my case on your foot,” Gocha lightly kicked his briefcase which made a heavy thump.

“I believe Rena’s given birth to a baby. A true infant I mean,” Odo blurted out.

Dr. Gocha gave a questioning look. He had no distrust in Odo’s words, they had known each other long enough where that was beyond question, but the man may as well have said he caught a bird while fishing in a lake. “You think you and your wife have created a new life?”

“You delivered children before the revival, didn’t you? I thought if anyone might remember what a real baby was like, it’d be you.”

“Where is it?” Gocha asked.

Odo led the way to the guest bedroom where the child lay in the center of the bed with a blank look and the occasional random jerky movement. Beside the bed sat Rena, she looked up at Dr. Gocha then turned away. “Dr. Gocha,” she said as if it were a good enough greeting.

“Rena,” Gocha returned in kind. He approached a bowl of water on a dresser and washed his hands with a bar of soap next to it.

“No glasses this time,” Rena said.

“Yes, I was lucky to be born with perfect vision. What of this one here?” Gocha sat on the edge of the bed and looked closely at the newborn. He leaned over the baby as one of its wild movements took a swing through the air near Gocha’s face. “Ha, perhaps this is one of those newborn gladiators,” Dr. Gocha joked. Rena and Odo were not amused.

“He cries at all hours of the night. We thought he might have been born deaf, but he reacts to noise,” Rena said. There was an exhaustion in her eyes that Odo hadn’t seen in years.

“I know it takes some time for the biology to catch up, and sometimes the difference in brain size can have an effect on the memory during reincarnation, but I’ve never heard of a case this bad before,” Odo said.

Dr. Gocha held his index finger out in front of the baby. Its small hand wrapped around and held on tight. Gocha tried to pull away but found himself completely stuck. When the baby finally let go, Dr. Gocha lifted the child up. The baby’s eyes seemed to roll around the room, not making direct eye contact, and never staring at one place for too long. “Hello little one,” Gocha said softly.

“Congratulations to you both,” Dr. Gocha said as he returned the baby to the bed, “You two are the first parents in five millennia.”

“You mean it is-” Odo began.

“Yes, this is a baby. A truly new being that has not lived in this world before,” Odo stood up from the bed and looked at his own face in the reflection of a wash bowl. “Over the last five thousand years, I’ve delivered countless infants, but each one has been a reincarnation of some previous soul thanks to that cursed necromancer.”

Rena moved uncomfortably in her seat. She had hoped to avoid this topic of conversation with Gocha but knew it was unavoidable given the situation. Silence on her part was the only way to keep things civil. It’d be rude to argue with a guest that had made such an effort to visit them.

“The accountants on the last census figured there are over forty million human souls, with maybe some twenty million living right now.” Dr. Gocha cupped a handful of water and let it slide between his fingers back into the bowl, “Whatever that overall number is has shifted for the first time in our history,”

…

Dr. Gocha sat at the dining table with his briefcase opened. He had removed his journal to take note of his findings. Rena brought a tea set to the table. It had been some hours since Dr. Gocha arrived and it seemed as if the guest was already making to leave.

“The necromancer that brought immortality to the world,” Rena began. Dr. Gocha stared at her, preparing himself for something he might not want to hear. “Is it possible the power is fading?” Rena asked.

“I have three theories,” Dr. Gocha said. He was relieved by the neutrality of Rena’s question.

Odo exited the guest room and joined the others at the table, “The baby’s sleeping. Hm. The baby, it doesn't even have a name. How long has it been since someone had to be given a name?”

“Many ages,” Dr. Gocha said, “Five thousand years ago, the necromancer caused a plague that killed millions. In the aftermath, each child born ended up being a reincarnation of those that died from the sickness. Soon the survivors of the plague found themselves reincarnated as well. The old magic was lost to us. Even after thousands of years, our science is no closer to answering our biggest questions. Because of that, we can’t rule out that the necromancer’s spell might be imperfect. Perhaps the child is simply an anomaly, something bound to happen. Maybe there were specific events that led to his birth, or maybe the magic of the necromancer is fading away after all this time.” Dr. Gocha shut his notebook and stored it back in his briefcase.

“Is it possible there was some sort of trade off? Maybe someone will no longer be reincarnated,” Odo asked.

“That would be impossible to know, even if all the census accountants in the world searched they’d never be able to give a confident answer,” Dr. Gocha replied. “My second theory is that the child is indeed a reincarnation but seems to be suffering from some sort of mental regression or amnesia. I have doubts though. It’s been a long time, but that child in there does not strike me as some mental case.”

“And your third theory?” Rena asked.

Dr. Gocha removed a small glass container from his suitcase revealing a small jar of dead flies. “It’s not just humans that were affected by the curse. Every animal seems to reincarnate as well. Dogs remember old masters. Cattle recognize the tools that are used in slaughter. Us humans have begun to reproduce slowly. With immortality the world has gotten lazier. Our rate of repopulation is carefully monitored to make sure it never falls too low. The only significant decline came from the Last War,” Gocha said.

Rena's face fell. They had skirted the subject as much as they could, but there was no getting around the past. Before immortality, those on the wrong side of history would die and be forgotten, but with reincarnation a sense of blame seemed to stick with a person even after millennia.

“I’m not calling you out Rena,” Dr. Gocha said, “I’m simply stating it as a matter of fact. The human population has never approached even eighty percent of its estimated maximum. After thousands of years, people don’t want to go through the act of pregnancy just to be charitable, even if it’s the only way of continuing our society. It’s inconvenient. But these animals,” Gocha shook the jar, “They still run off of old instinct and reproduce at numbers that outpace their population levels from five thousand years ago.”

“So what happens when a population exceeds the old maximum?” Odo asked. His scientific curiosity was piqued.

“It’s hard to say, if only animals were as talkative as humans, but some in the field theorize that a reincarnated soul is split. Divided again and again into fractions. We ran some experiments with mice and flies, but given the numbers we’d require for a proper study, there’s been no progress.”

“Even if a soul splits, we’re not even close to our maximum population,” Odo said.

“That’s why I believe the third theory is my weakest. I suppose I should have saved the best for last,” Dr. Gocha said as he returned the jar of flies to his briefcase. “I should get going if I want to catch the train back to the city.”

Odo encouraged Gocha to stay longer but was forced to accept that a longer visit was untenable. After all, their guest room was occupied. The young doctor locked his suitcase shut and said his goodbyes on the porch. “I recommend you keep the child a secret. The more people that know about your son, the harder your lives may become. You’ll have the census accountants and cultists alike on your doorstep. Some may call him a bad omen. Others may see the child as some sort of salvation. After millennia, the most dangerous thing you can be is interesting,” said the doctor.

“We’ll raise the child well,” Odo said. He looked over at Rena, her face was far from confident.

“Best of luck to you both. I’ll be checking in when I can,” Dr. Gocha said as he started down the path.

“Wait!” Rena shouted as she rushed after Gocha. The doctor stopped and looked back. “The necromancer’s gift of immortality, the spell - or the curse was cast thousands of years ago. Would it apply to someone that wasn’t alive at the time?”

The question was one neither Dr. Gocha or Odo had considered. “You’re asking if the child will be reborn after death,” Gocha said. Rena nodded.

“There’s no way for us to know, but what I can say as someone who’s lived far too long is this, you have to find a way to make each lifetime count. Do that with your child, and even if he lives once, he’ll have lived well,” Gocha said.

Rena stepped back onto the porch. Gocha’s answer was far from comforting. How cruel it is to have just one life, she thought.

As Dr. Gocha walked through the front gate, he looked back at the sign. Est. 3440. What a long time ago that was, but maybe this is what we’ve waited for. Maybe it’ll all end sooner than I thought. A smile crossed the young man’s face as he swung his suitcase back and forth down the road.