The Historian

The Historian observed the creature in the terrarium, the creature that the Scientist had summoned them to examine. They had spent their existence studying ancient artefacts left behind by the prehistoric beings they had come to know as Humans. From their studies, they could deduce that this was an adult Human male. The Human's eyes were closed.

The Historian queried the Scientist. Is it deceased?

No. It is unconscious. I was forced to deactivate it. When it is active, it is easily distressed and… rather difficult to study.

The Historian noticed something peculiar about the Human. Why is it wearing clothes?

Clothes? The Scientist took a moment to understand. Is that what you call the textiles draping its body? Clothes. Well, therein lies the beauty of this specimen.

Meaning?

The Scientist conveyed pride. This Human is not a recreation, like the others before it. It is in fact, a real Human being – one that once lived among its kin in ancient times. Removed from history immemorial and delivered to us, along with all in its possession – including its… clothes, as you call them, yes. But also, its memories.

The Historian conveyed admiration. You are truly gifted in the realm of science.

Yes. And yet now I require your help. For as gifted as I am when it comes to matters of science, I have no means with which to communicate with this being. Did you know that they communicate by slapping their meat together to create vibrations in the air? Absolutely fascinating.

Yes, it is fascinating. But you still have not explained why you summoned me.

The Scientist conveyed apology. I believe that you may be the only one of us with the means to converse with this being. I have summoned you here in the hopes that you may communicate with this creature and thereby learn more about its species.

The Historian considered this. As the Scientist suspected, the Historian’s career of studying ancient Human artefacts had led them to be well-versed in comprehending Human language, of which they had more than one. However, the Historian had no way of knowing if this level of comprehension could be enough to converse with one of these ancient creatures.

Yet how could the Historian pass up this opportunity?

Evidently, the Scientist could observe the Historian’s thought process and ultimate decision. I appreciate your assistance in this matter. Shall I reactivate the specimen, or do you need a moment to prepare?

I am ready. Please go ahead.

The Scientist extended a length of its form toward the terrarium. The length penetrated the terrarium’s outer casing and formed a cloud over the Human’s head. After a moment, the Human’s eyes fluttered open. After another moment, it opened its mouth and began to scream.

The Scientist turned to the Historian. What is it saying?

From the Historian’s research, they knew that the scream was a strong Human expression of either fear, anger, or excitement. From context, the Historian drew a conclusion. It is afraid.

The Scientist conveyed understanding. Perhaps if I alter its brain chemistry, I can calm it down enough for you to communicate with it.

The Historian conveyed caution. If you alter its brain chemistry, this may affect its memory, skewing the precious data.

What do you suggest?

The Historian considered. Perhaps if you left me alone with it, I could calm it down with words it can understand.

The Scientist conveyed hesitation. Can I not remain present?

The Human continued to scream. The Historian appealed to their colleague. You must understand, this creature perceives us as monsters. If you were in its position, would you be more willing to converse with one monster or two?

The Scientist paused, then accepted this thesis. Very well. But please be careful with the specimen. I cannot stress how difficult it was to obtain.

And with that, the Scientist floated out of the atrium, leaving the Historian alone with the Human, who was now, in addition to screaming, hammering against the casing of the terrarium with its fists.

The Historian attempted to send out a thought to the Human, choosing words from the most common of Human languages.

“Hello,” the Historian said.

The Human abruptly stopped screaming. It looked around. The Historian could see that it was confused, though it was still unclear whether the Human had understood the Historian’s message.

The Historian tried again. “Don’t be alarmed. I mean you no harm. I am communicating with you through what your species calls telepathy.”

The Human looked at the Historian. The Historian recognized the Human’s facial expression to be one of astonishment. From this expression, the Historian gathered that the Human could indeed understand the words that the Historian was conveying.

With renewed excitement, the Historian continued. “Speak as you would to a fellow Human. Though I cannot speak, I will understand and respond in my own way.”

The Human slowly lowered its fists. It stood still for a long time. Then, it spoke in a quiet, trembling voice. “What is happening? Where am I?”

The Historian considered their response. “You are still on the planet that you call Earth. However, you have been brought into the future. Far into the future. I and my colleague are part of the civilization that now calls Earth our home, though we have another name for it. My colleague used technology to bring you into our time, so that we may learn from you.”

The Human continued to stare at the Historian. Then it rocked backward and sat heavily on the floor of the terrarium. It looked up at the Historian, its mouth agape. “My family?”

The Historian observed the creature with genuine pity. From what they had seen in the ancient artefacts, they knew that familial bonds were important to Humans. “The Human race has long been extinct. However, I can assure you that probability dictates that your family lived out their lives to their natural end, in comfort and safety. As will you. Here, with us.”

The Human’s head dipped. After a long pause, its shoulders began to bounce up and down. The Human began to utter a sound that the Historian recognized as laughter. The Historian was confused. Their research suggested that laughter was a Human’s vocal response to humour, yet the Historian could not imagine what the Human could possibly find humorous about its current situation.

The Historian waited. Eventually, the Human calmed down and spoke. “What do you want from me?”

The Historian proceeded gently. “I would like to talk with you about the past – your present – in the hopes of validating my current findings and expanding on them. Would this be okay?”

The Human emitted a sound that resembled something between a sob and a laugh. “Sure, why not?” it said. “What would you like to know?”

The Historian paused. Where to begin? They had spent their entire career – their entire existence – studying the ancient artefacts left behind by these ancient creatures. Learning about their culture, their physiology, their emotions, their history. And up to this point, it had always been speculation. Educated guessing. Assumptions for which the Historian had never had a means to prove true.

Of course, cloning had made it possible to bring the physical Human body back from extinction, but it had no way of bringing back the collective Human memory. That data had always assumed to be lost to time.

And yet, here before them stood a Human specimen with memories – memories that could finally validate the Historian's career's worth of research.

After a moment, the Historian decided on their first question.

“I would like to know,” the Historian began tentatively. “About the Titanic.”

The Human looked at the Historian. It seemed confused. “The Titanic? The ship?”

The Historian’s excitement picked up. “You know it! Amazing! I was unsure because your clothes do not appear to be of the same era. But you know of the disaster of the Titanic?”

“I know of it, yes.”

“Please tell me about it.”

After a moment of thought, the Human began to deliver a measured response. “It was a luxury ocean liner, the largest of its kind at the time. Carried about 2000 passengers on its maiden voyage, a mix of poor immigrants and wealthy cruise-goers.”

The Historian was amazed. This was all information that they had decoded from the artefacts, but it was amazing to hear the information confirmed by a real-life Human being.

“During its maiden voyage,” the Human continued, “the Titanic struck an iceberg that ultimately sank it. Due to the ship having a limited number of lifeboats on board as well as less than ideal safety protocols, over 1500 passengers and crew died.” The Human tilted its head to the ceiling, before eventually shaking it back and forth. “I’m sorry. That is all I know about the Titanic.”

The Historian was disappointed by the brevity of the Human’s account. “But what happened after the accident?” they urged. “What did Rose Dawson do in the wake of the ship sinking? Was the Heart of the Ocean ever recovered?”

The Human looked up at the Historian, a look of confusion on its face. This look of confusion transformed into a look of incredulity. “Wait,” it said. “Are you talking about the movie, Titanic? The James Cameron one?”

“Yes,” the Historian said eagerly. “The record of history documented by Human Historian James Cameron. This… movie, as you call it. Though this movie may have recently been recorded in the time you were taken from, in the present day – here, now – my civilisation considers this an ancient artefact: a perfect record of the tragedy of the Titanic.”

The Human continued to look at the Historian with incredulity, then began to shake its head slowly. The Historian’s excitement began to fade away and in its place, uncertainty began to surface. “No,” the Human said. “James Cameron is not a historian. He’s a filmmaker.”

Now it was the Historian's turn for confusion. “What is a film?” they queried.

The Human spoke slowly. Patiently, almost. “A film, or movie, is a motion picture produced for the purpose of entertainment. Sometimes, they are true stories, or based on factual events, but more often than not, they are works of fiction.”

The Historian paused. Then they asked the Human, “What is fiction?”

The Human took a deep breath. “Fiction is a story created by a person or people. It’s not something that really happened, but rather something that is made-up.”

Many words that the Historian did not understand. Fact and fiction. True and made-up. The concept eluded them. To the Historian and their kind, something simply is or is not. However, this Human concept of fiction seemed to contradict this way of thinking.

“So, these… movies. They are not real.”

The Human shook its head.

“Rose, Jack… they did not exist.”

Once again, the Human shook his head.

“War of the Worlds? Planet of the Apes? Bridget Jones’s Diary? These are all fiction?”

“Sorry.”

The Human’s apology could not calm the storm brewing within the Historian. The ancient artefacts, the basis of their lifetime of research and the source of all knowledge of ancient Human society, were in fact, all based on fiction. None of it was real.

Evidently, the Human picked up on this last thought. It stood up and approached the casing of the terrarium. The Historian watched as the Human pulled from within its clothes, a small piece of metal attached to a thin chain. The metal was cut in an odd shape; similar to the shape of a pair of Human lips. The Human proceeded to open the piece of metal up. Inside, there was an image of a Human child, a girl.

The Human held the picture up to the Historian. “This is real. She is real. My daughter.” As the Human looked up at the Historian, water fell from its eyes. “Please let me return to my time. Please let me see her again.”

The Historian observed the little girl in the picture. It was smiling. A real smile. A smile unlike any the Historian had observed in the countless movies they had dedicated their entire life to studying and learning from.

The Historian extended a length of its form to the terrarium, reaching out to the Human. The length formed a cloud over the Human’s head. The Historian paused, then collapsed a large majority of the synapses in the Human’s brain, killing it instantly. The Human crumpled to the floor of the terrarium, the piece of metal falling from its hand and coming to a rest at the terrarium’s edge.

Moments later, the Scientist rushed into the atrium, panicked. The Human is dead! What happened?

The Historian did then what no other of their species had ever done before. They created fiction. The Human ended its own life rather than live out its days with us.

The Scientist expressed regret. Such a primitive being. Well, I suppose I may yet learn from its remains. Were you able to learn anything from it?

The Historian took one last look at the image of the little girl inside its metal casing lying on the floor of the terrarium. Unfortunately not.

The Historian then returned to their chambers in order to continue their research.