Wheat Chaff (a short story)

Mankind is dying.

Unless an answer can be found for this bipedal species, extinction is certain. Some would say (the Earth included) good riddance. But only some. The rest probably wouldn’t notice, or even have an opinion on the matter.

Be that as it may, mankind is unwilling to relinquish their dictatorship on the world and because of this have found themselves on the brink, working feverishly at coming up with The Answer.

For you see, extinction was not looming due to pollution (although there was plenty of harmful stuff laying about); not because of a meteor of mass-extinction proportions was barreling down on us (we should be so lucky) and certainly not because of alien overlords (because really if that were to actually happen we would end up like those ant farms you see. Every kid wants one, and when they get it they simply forget about it after a week and half. Some would argue we have already been taken over and forgotten by alien overlords. But only some would say that).

No. Mankind was being foiled by a simple question.

“Why do you want kids?”

Centuries ago, long after Harold Camping’s forgotten journal of world-ending predictions was found (there were 42 wrong predictions in all), it was discovered through very scientific means that stupidity had become a plague. Yes, stupidity rivaled the great plagues of the past – the Bubonic Plague of the 14^th century, the Aids epidemic of the 1990’s and surpassing even the Kool-aid Crisis of the 2020’s (which you will recall involved the entire world’s Kool-aid supply being supplemented with cocaine instead of sugar due to the White Powder Depression (the white powder refers to sugar and not the normal usage for cocaine).

The Two-World Government (as it turned out the One-World Government didn’t work since it eradicated the only thing that makes politics works. The idea of Us and Them. The Two-World Government (Us and Them) was then successfully born.), decided to end stupidity by the end of the century. No small task as the end of the century was only three months away.

Gathering a holy number of 42 scientists, the Wheat-Chaff computer was born. Designed to keep stupid people from procreating, Wheat-Chaff was not The Answer. It was The Question.

In an ironic twist the machine was first tested on a human subject (by this time guinea pigs had become revered by the Two-World Religions. Now considered sacred, Guinea Pigs are allowed to roam freely in the cities. Food banks are under strict orders to not capture and kill these tiny rodent-deities).

Through even more very specific and complicated scientific means, the human reproductive gene was switched off. The subject is strapped into a recliner (Wheat-Chaff’s USB port) and then asked one question.

“Why do you want kids?”

The subject responds. If it gets the question right, their reproductive genes are switched back on through an unbelievably-at-first-glance-convoluted-scientific procedure. If the question is answered wrong:

Bahr-zwang!

Bahr-zwang, once an Afri-Euro-Asia Union delicacy, is actually the sound of the laser blasting the human with the Chaff-Ray. The Chaff-Ray does three things. One, it renders the subject sterile for life. Two, it wipes their recent memory so they cannot report to the masses what their answer had been. Three, provides relief in knowing that your neighbor is no longer able to procreate (you know the kind I’m talking about, the neighbor who likes to drag his sofa and deep fryer onto the driveway for weekend fun).

A right answer also wipes the memory so that the subject cannot accidentally reveal The Answer to the stupid people and they are allowed to procreate at will. That is if they can find a successful mate who survived the process.

From that day forward every single living and unliving person had their reproductive genes switched off. This was accomplished by injecting the guinea pig population (I refer to the actual Cavia Porcellus here and not Homo Sapiens) with an infectious disease. Since guinea pigs bites are considered to be good luck, it wasn’t difficult to accomplish this task with the Two-World Government’s Get Your Blessed Bite stations. Depending on the area of the body you wished to be bit, prices (read: donations) ranged from five dollars for a finger bite to a hundred and thirty dollars for a more private blessing.

This helped fund the Wheat-Chaff machine.

Those too clever to be fooled (those whom Wheat-Chaff was designed to locate) the disease that switched off the reproductive gene was simply dumped into the water supply.

Wheat-Chaff was powered by every known source of energy: hydro, solar, electric, wind, nuclear, a society of hamsters taking turns on a hamster wheel, child labor and of course through the burning of feces. Protected by every known defensive and offensive weapon the machine could never be turned off. To ensure its immortality, the machine was programmed to detonate at a power loss or any sign of tampering. Its detonation would rip the planet in two (literally in two and not in the Two-World Government divisional concept). Of course, most smart thinking people thought it should be attempted at least once.

In long, it could not shut down and it could not be destroyed.

The Wheat-Chaff machine was too good at its job.

Procreation came to a grinding halt. No one could come up with The Answer. Even the scientists were becoming alarmed and began to wonder if they should release the Answer to a select few.

Everyone knows what happened next. Had Harold Camping made a 43^rd world-ending prediction he would have been (finally) right. Earth was invaded by and alien race that crash-landed their meteor-of-mass-extinction-shaped spacecraft. Their very breath polluted the planet and started the zombie apocalypse.

The scientists were killed instantly and with them, The Answer. Miraculously, Wheat-Chaff was unaffected by the damage.

Like a child tired of the ant-farm, the alien overlords left us to our fate several minutes later.

The Shattered-World Governments in full panic mode have rounded up what is left of mankind and is forcing people to answer The Question, in hopes of stumbling upon The Answer.

There once was a time when smart people avoided the machine altogether. Now it is mandatory. Every known and unknown person is scheduled to be strapped into Wheat-Chaff.

People in lab-coats record your answer prior to entering in hopes of preserving The Answer.

Such is the dilemma I face. What if we find The Answer, but instead of using it wisely it gets out to that guy. You know who I’m talking about, that guy who never pays full price for anything and then moans about not having enough guinea pigs (since the alien overlords left us without money or natural resources, guinea pigs have become the standard currency). So after moaning about not having enough guineas, this guy gives The Answer to his ‘buddy’. You know, the one who can cut him a really good deal on a new car and can’t offer it to just anybody, and then ends up charging him more, but tells him he really got a good deal. Yeah, you know the kind I’m talking about.

If that happens, we’ll be right back where we started. Plagued with stupidity.

“Hi, I’m Carl. I’ll be your Recorder today,” I say to the next person in line waiting to be strapped into Wheat-Chaff. In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m one of those turds in a lab coat recording the answers. We’re called Recorders.

“What is your answer? Why do you want kids?” I ask.

“I love children,” she replies. I scribble this down on The Form.

The woman enters the building housing Wheat-Chaff. Moments later I hear exactly what I expected.

Bahr-zwang!

“Hi, I’m Carl. I’ll be your Recorder today. What is your answer?”

“I’ve always wanted children.”

Bahr-zwang!

“I would make a great parent.”

Bahr-zwang!

“Children are our future.”

“Bahr-zwang! Get your fresh Bahr-zwang here!”

Just then Security promptly arrives to chase off the Bahr-zwang peddler.

“I just want someone to love.”

Bahr-zwang!

“I just want someone to love me for me.”

Bahr-zwang! Bahr-zwang!

Wow, never heard two zaps before.

“To continue my blood-line”

Really?

Bahr-zwang!

“I feel as though I’m ready for kids.”

Bahr-zwang!

Every time the Wheat-Chaff machine zaps someone, everyone in line barks with laughter. Everyone. Every time. They’re like very small children (or so I’m told), who find the same thing funny each and every time. It’s like a game to them. I wonder if its even occurred to any of them there might not be an answer.

“Why yes, I would like to have a ham sandwich.”

“Sir, you’re not even trying. Is this your answer?”

He nods. Wheat-Chaff goes Bahr-zwang! a minute later.

“Because I just want them.”

Bahr-zwang!

“My biological clock is ticking”

Bahr-zwang!

“I look forward to the creativity and energy of something growing inside of me”; “I love being a parent”; “It’s a natural part of life”; “For the joy and fulfillment of it all”; “I don’t want to die alone”; “I really, really want one”.

Bahr-zwang! Bahr-zwang! Bahr-zwang! Bahr-zwang! Bahr-zwang!

Bahr-zwang!

I’ve heard all the answers, thousand of times over.

The really funny thing here is that I already know The Answer and I don’t want kids. I have the solution to mankind’s biggest problem. I alone can save, or I alone can doom the entire race.

Such is the dilemma I face.

Are we worth it?

Some days I don’t even write down their answers. Some days I draw a face or play tic-tac-toe on The Form.

“Hey buddy?”

I raise my eyebrows.

“Give me something to say. My wife wants kids somethin’ fierce. Tell me what to say.”

“Sir, we Recorders do not know The Answer.”

“Naw, I know, but you’ve got a good idea of what not to say. Has ‘I want a little me running around’ been tried yet?”

I snort, couldn’t help myself. “Thousands of times.”

“Look, I run a new car dealership; I can give you a great price on a Nemak Hamustro. Just give me something.”

He hands me his card.

“Don’t tell anyone this,” I say in a confidential tone, “it could get me into real trouble.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.”
“Try saying,” I pause for dramatic affect and look around with my eyes and draw him in closer, “try saying, ‘Mankind is stupid and I’m the one you’ve been waiting for to fix that’.”

His face lightens up. There’s no trace of doubt in his face.

“Yeah?”

“They only thing I can guarantee is that it has never been tried.”

The man enters Wheat-Chaff. I think you can guess what happened.

I toss his business card over my shoulder. It lands on a truck-sized pile of business cards. All from today.

“To have someone to shape and to mold.”

Bahr-zwang!

“Do I even need a reason?”

Bahr-zwang!

“I was born to have kids.”

Bahr-zwang!

Okay, you know what; they’re not even trying anymore. The Shattered-World Governments publish these damn answers for anyone to read.

And so each day I go to work, marveling at all the stupid people, recording their endlessly selfish reasoning. And me with The Answer to all their woes.

“Is this the line for food?”

I nod. He’ll find out in another minute.

Bahr-zwang!

With a sigh I write down The Answer on The Form.

It’s the first time I’ve seen it in writing. It’s so simple. So true.

My pen explodes all over the Form. I can barely make out what I wrote.

Regulations state we have to recopy the page in these incidences.

Are we worth it?

Are we worth it?