Surplus — The Covenant

Early humans stand at the mouth of a hillside cave at dawn, looking down over a vast golden river valley spreading out below them.

I

Ten thousand years ago, we came down from the caves.

Neolithic farmers work golden wheat fields along a great river at harvest time, grinding grain, baking bread over open hearths, and tending clay jars of fermenting drink.

II

We gathered on the floodplains of the great rivers, to grow crops in the rich alluvial soil — to make bread, and beer, and wine.

A thriving riverbank settlement of mudbrick granaries and workshops, where a diverse crowd works in concert — hauling grain, raising walls, building together.

III

We cooperated on a scale never attempted before — and found ourselves with a surplus of human energy.

A golden-lit festival at dusk: musicians, dancers, and craftspeople raise a carved stone monument together while children play among the gathered crowd.

IV

We had time to enjoy life, and to build things.

A single painting divided into four framed panels in escalating sequence — ancient warriors with spears and shields, an industrial-age battlefield of cannon and trenches, steel tanks and fighter planes under a grey sky, and a towering mushroom cloud over a darkened horizon.

V

Unfortunately, we also used this bounty to kill each other. (warfare has been one of mankind's primary occupations for millennia — and military application has always been technology's cutting edge)

A gentle humanoid figure of soft light lifts a heavy yoke of baskets from a farmer's shoulders in a golden field, the farmer straightening up in visible relief.

VI

Now, robotics and AI are lifting the weight of living from our shoulders.

A diverse crowd stands together at a fork in a golden road at twilight — one path opening onto flourishing gardens and rising towers bathed in light, the other vanishing into storm clouds and ash.

VII

Soon, we will have a surplus of human potential like never before. If we don't learn to live peacefully, all of that potential threatens to destroy us — and the gifts we have been given.