Family Tree
A story about ecological cycles and how human traditions survive across generations — especially through stories.
JH Tomen lives in Chicago and works in clean energy. When he's not writing SFF, he's a climate advocate and author of a (hopefully) humorous climate Substack, The Carbon Fables.
The Elders swarmed around the center of the village, their metal skin glowing in the heat of the forge. A massive storm had ripped through the region in the night, and they’d no doubt be eager to repair the walls of the dome. The glass cap over the village hadn’t broken, thankfully, and sunrise was just visible on the edges of the water. The sky was a perfect blue, with a patch of wispy cirrus clouds turning peach, their ends like fish hooks.
Torif watched the clouds from the hill at the dome’s edge. Gramps had been a fisherman, and he’d taught Torif all the clouds — and what they meant for weather. It would be a beautiful day it seemed, and a perfect one for finding treasure. Honestly, though, even if the weather hadn’t been good, he’d made his decision hours ago. Listening to the final howls of the storm, he knew he wouldn’t be able to wait another day.
“I don’t think you should do this, Torif,” his family’s robot said beside him. “There are set days for wandering with your school. It can be dangerous on the marsh.”
Torif ground his teeth, forcing himself to look at the stupid creature. The robot had a bulbous white body with a mushroom cap head, his legs like metal sticks jammed into the bottom. He probably couldn’t stop Torif, let alone catch him with those stumpy things. He wasn’t even sure Tin Can would be able to fit through the gap in the dome’s grates. He imagined leaving the bot behind, a blissful day on the marsh without his endless yammering advice.
“I don’t have to listen to you, Tin Can,” Torif said, turning toward the grates. The Elders had just reopened them after the storm, and the stream gurgled as it passed through the ancient metal. “You aren’t real.”
Tin Can sighed — a strange sound considering his inhuman voice box. Still, Torif could hear the clanking of his metal legs, knowing he was being followed.
“We’ve been over this, Torif. I’m family. I have generations’ worth of things you need to know.”
“Like what?”
“Like a map of the marshes, for one. Do you even know where you’re going?”
Torif stuck his tongue out at the robot before turning back to the grate. Sparing one last glance for the Elders — and finding no one watching him — he yanked on the giant metal slat, opening it another foot so he could slip through.
“Your… grandfather would want you to listen,” Tin Can said, making Torif freeze.
He whipped around, jamming a finger in the robot’s face.
“Don’t talk about Gramps,” Torif hissed.
“Torif, I’m —” Tin Can started, but Torif was already gone, slipping through the grate.
Immediately, he was greeted by a world of color, his eyes struggling to take it all in. It was easy to forget how much light the glass dome blocked. This was like one of those paintings on the forge walls the Elders liked so much, the marsh made up of swirling blues and greens. Far in the distance, he could just make out the crags of the metal mountains, their empty shells covered in vines. It was… beautiful.
Torif closed his eyes, listening to the wind. It shook the endless cattail groves, whispering to him. He pretended it was Gramps’s soul — his real soul — calling him to find the marsh’s secrets. After all, it was Gramps finding an ancient gear while fishing that got his parents into the copper guild. You could find anything out here, an endless magic of opportunity. Of course, even their work with copper hadn’t been enough to earn real medicine from the Elders — medicine they could have used to save Gramps. But he would find more treasure. And he would never, ever let that happen to someone in his family again.
Unfortunately, there was another noise ruining the music of the wind. Behind him, there was a distinctive clanking noise, which meant Tin Can had managed to squeeze himself through the grate.
“Goodness, child,” Tin Can said, sounding out of breath despite his lack of lungs. “You know, I had to remove my frontal LED to squeeze through. It’s no way to treat —”
“Not now,” Torif said, holding up a hand. “I only have four hours before my parents’ shift is done. If you’re coming, you can’t slow me down. And, if you can’t do that, I’ll push you in a bog and see how well you float.”
“Very well,” Tin Can said, raising his metal palms in surrender. The bog bit always seemed to work on robots. They most certainly couldn’t swim. Of course, knowing that, it seemed a bit foolish to put their village on the edge of the marsh, but no one ever asked Torif.
They started off over the isthmus, following the land where it snaked between the sprawling wetlands. Thankfully, Tin Can didn’t talk anymore, because Torif had to pay attention. There were all sorts of things that could kill you out here. Sinkholes, snakes, even something called the “Interstate,” which sounded more or less like a whale with giant, gaping jaws. Still, he had to keep his eyes out for treasure too. After a storm was the best time to hunt, and already there were signs that the landscape had changed in the night.
Ahead of him, there was a bed of cattails with gouges through it, as if something had scraped the ground as the wind sent it flying. Looking to the north, he kept trying to spot the Old Man, a low-slung tree nestled into the hills. But as he stared, he finally realized — it was gone. The entire thing must have been torn out by the roots and flung into the wind. Torif stopped, unsure what to do. Should he run back and tell one of the adults? He’d seen other trees destroyed, of course, but never the Old Man.
“It’s alright,” Tin Can said, putting one of his metal claws on Torif’s shoulder. “I’ll let the planting team know when we get back.”
Torif met the robot’s eyes, expecting another know-it-all look, but there was none. Torif nodded, heading back into the brush.
They walked for a long while after that, though they didn’t see any treasure. Finally, they reached the foothills, where piles of square stone formed mounds. They were hard to climb, broken and misshapen as they were, but Torif had scaled worse. Surprisingly, Tin Can didn’t complain as he started up. The robot simply climbed after him, crawling from block to block until they reached the top.
Stars, what a view. They weren’t even that high — hardly a quarter as tall as the metal mountains — but even so it felt like he could see everything. The coastline stretched to either side, the water of the Deep Lake seeming to merge with the marsh. And yet, you could sense the difference in their power. The storm may have been gone, but tall waves came in one after another where they slammed into the shore. He could just make out his village’s dome in the distance, the Elders visible as they crawled around making their repairs.
“Creeeeeaaawwwwww!”
Torif looked up, seeing a white bird floating overhead.
“Good luck, that,” he said to Tin Can. Birds were awfully rare, and if he was seeing one so soon after a storm, it must mean the gods had blessed this outing. As always, Tin Can had been worried for nothing.
“Do you know what kind of bird that is?” Tin Can asked, the scopes on his eyes humming as he focused.
Part of Torif almost wanted to say yes. He could still remember the walks he used to take with Gramps, the afternoons out on his little fishing boat. He’d taught Torif everything he knew — and way more than the silly school days the Elders made him sit through. Still, he couldn’t think of Gramps without picturing him dying. He turned away, setting his jaw.
“No. And I don’t need you teaching me nothing.”
“Anything,” the robot corrected, sighing.
Torif rolled his eyes, pointing out at a nearby thicket of trees set against the swamp.
“We should check there. They say roots are good at holding stuff.”
“What do you think you’ll find?” Tin Can asked.
“I dunno. Maybe a gear like Gramps did. Did more for our family than the stupid copper guild has.”
“Maybe. Might be dangerous, though. Lot of sinkholes in that swamp.”
“Who cares? I gotta pull the fish from the hook, you know?”
The robot actually laughed, so Torif shot him a look.
“Sorry. I just used to hear that saying a lot growing up.”
“Robots don’t grow up,” Torif scoffed. “They’re built.”
“I guess you got me there. Still. Do you remember your great-grandmother? She used to say that all the time.”
Torif nodded, though he only vaguely remembered his great-grandmother. Still, he felt like he could hear her laugh in his mind when he really tried. Everyone had called her Saucy, and they said her laugh could echo clear across the bogs. Had Tin Can known her well? The robot had been in his family for generations, part of what his teachers called “The Great Reserve,” whatever that meant.
“Well, what do you think that phrase means? Cause I’m not sure it means you should go hunting in the bogs.”
The part of the phrase Torif had quoted was just a snippet. The full thing was: “the sun is setting; pull the fish from the hook.” But it was fairly obvious, wasn’t it? Death was just around the corner, and you had to do everything you could with the day you had. After all, he’d already lost Gramps. Who would be next? Ma? And how could he hope to save her without finding treasure?
Still, Torif said nothing. He could tell the stupid old robot was baiting him, and he wasn’t about to slip into the trap.
“I was… with your grandfather the day he found that gear,” Tin Can said carefully.
It smelled like a lie, like when one of the great marsh beasts had slipped into a bog and rotted. Still, there was no story he loved hearing more than the day Gramps found the gear.
“The Deep Lake had been choppy that day,” Tin Can continued, realizing Torif wouldn’t stop him. “Our boat was like a leaf rolling in the wind. Your grandfather was exhausted from working his oars, though he refused to give up. As you know from the Law of the Elders, catching nothing meant eating nothing. But just when he was about to give up, his line got a bite.”
Torif found himself nodding. This was his favorite part. The fish had been a demon from the deep, a flailing mass of teeth and scales.
“You remember,” Tin Can said, flashing his creepy little metal smile. “Well, your grandfather fought the fish for an hour, until they reached a stalemate. The fish was growing weak, but so was your grandfather, and he’d need enough strength to row back to shore.”
“Why didn’t you just row the boat then,” Torif spat, finally knowing he’d caught the lie.
“I… needed arm repairs,” Tin Can said. “Do you want to hear the rest or not?”
“Fine,” Torif said, rolling his eyes.
“Well, just then, the sun set, making the Deep Lake turn the most beautiful orange. And as the light cut across the water, your grandfather could see the fish — really see it. And he knew it was over. You see, the saying isn’t about squeezing tight, it’s about letting go. There will always be tomorrow.”
“But that’s dumb. If you have a fish on the line, you should take it. Tomorrow you could die.”
“Exactly,” Tin Can said, chuckling. “Torif, people always die. But before that, they live. Your grandfather watched the fish swim away, and only because he was really paying attention, did he see the fish swim into its hiding hole. And you know what was glittering next to it?”
“The gear,” Torif said with a groan, annoyed he’d walked into the robot’s trap anyway.
“We’re of the… nature to die, Torif. Just like fish are of the nature to swim. But before you get there, you can really look. You can see things a fish would never see. You can see the entire world.”
Torif looked out at the full sweep of the marsh. Like most of the advice the robot gave, it was terrible. The story with Gramps didn’t even make sense. You were supposed to look but not look? And if you did look, you were supposed to just see a gear laying there? It was nonsense. Still, as he looked, the whirling greens and blues seemed to make sense to him. And that thicket to the south was calling to him. He would find treasure there, he just knew it. He walked off down the hill, not waiting to see if Tin Can followed.
By the time he reached the bottom, he couldn’t hear the robot’s clanking. He looked up, finding Tin Can only halfway down the slope. Perfect. It would be a while before the flat-footed bag of bolts bothered him. Torif headed in the direction of the thicket, moving quickly over the moors. Already the sun was above the dome, and he needed to get home before his parents realized he was gone.
Walking for what felt like an eternity, he finally reached it. It was hard to tell at first — the marsh looked all the same once he’d left the hilltop. Still, eventually, little trees started to appear. They grew thicker until they twisted into knotted mangroves, their roots forming islands in the swampy pools. Torif climbed through them, using the trees for footholds. After a storm, treasure could be swept up in the wind and waves, where it would be lodged between the roots. Just last month, Akil’s mother found a shiny microchip out here, something that earned their family a month living in the heated houses by the forge.
Torif moved slowly, his eyes scanning the murky water. Occasionally, he’d see a flash of something moving, and he’d recoil, worried about snakes. But the worst ones only came out at night, right? Of course, it could be something worse, some creature from the deep. Still, he pressed on. Sweating, his hands starting to blister, he climbed through the mangroves. If only he could —
A sharp crack, a root giving way beneath his foot. In an instant, Torif was plunged into the swamp, shockingly cold water all around him. He tried to kick, but he no longer knew where the surface was. Underwater snares began to grab at him, threatening to pull him deeper. It felt like he was coiled in a giant snake. And then, it hit him. He was going to drown. Just like Great Uncle Peron. Worst of all, Tin Can would be right. He wasn’t blessed by the gods. He was a fool. Stars, he —
Torif broke the surface, gasping for air. He kept kicking, but soon, his feet found nothing but air. He opened his eyes, blinking through the sting of brackish water to find he was back on land, a narrow strip of soil near the mangroves. Next to him, laying on his back, was Tin Can. The robot looked tired, its eyes glassy as it looked up through the twisted canopy.
“You saved me,” Torif said, his teeth chattering.
The robot’s eyes swiveled, spinning as they struggled to focus.
“Torif,” Tin Can said, as if just remembering his name. The robot looked back at the sky. “Emergency reboot. 7-112-3-99-553-48773-356-1-3-0037-9.”
A clicking sound came from inside his head, and then his eyes finally returned to normal.
“What did I tell you?” the robot said slowly. “About coming down here?”
Then, the robot stood as if nothing had ever happened, its joints leaking water. He offered Torif a hand, pulling him to standing.
“Let’s go. Climb on my back.”
Part of him wanted to refuse — though more out of embarrassment now than anger. After all, the stupid bot had saved him. Still, his legs felt numb from falling in the water. He probably couldn’t walk back if he wanted to. Instead, Torif nodded, putting his arms around the robot's neck as he was hoisted up into a piggy back.
As they walked, he felt the robot’s back heat up. Soon, the wind against his wet clothes didn’t sting so much. In fact, the pulsing warmth made him feel like he could fall asleep.
“Torif,” the robot finally said, the words feeling more like a dream. “Do you understand now?”
“Understand what?” he mumbled.
“The saying. About letting the fish go.”
Torif blinked his eyes open, though his eyelids still felt heavy.
“No,” he answered honestly. “I… failed. And now today was pointless.”
“I’d hardly say it was pointless. Just look around you. I mean, we saw a bird today. That’s gotta be worth something.”
“It ain’t worth medicine,” Torif said, trying to bury his face back in the metal plates on Tin Can’s back.
“Well, it’s certainly not worth dying in a swamp either.”
They were quiet for a while, the only sound the squelching of the robot’s feet in the mud, in sync with the rhythmic swaying of his back.
“Torif, have you ever seen one of the big boats? The kind that sails up from the metal mountains once a year?”
He grunted in reply. He wasn’t a baby. Everyone knew about the big boats. They came and picked up the copper his parents spent all year smelting.
“It’s easy to think we’re like those boats. They point their noses north and go exactly where they want. But we’re just little row boats. We get knocked about by the waves. But… we also get to float. We get to take it easy. Enjoy the coastline, see a bird sometimes. Rowing harder won’t let us go anywhere special. We just have to float.”
“And the medicine?”
“Sometimes you’ll earn some. Sometimes you won’t. But it doesn’t change where we end up. It just buys us more time for rowing. Do you know why the Elders saved us?”
“To find treasure?”
“And what about the Great Reserve?”
“What, a bunch of bots? Uh… no offense.”
“We’re here to spread wisdom. Human wisdom. The Elders saved us because human life has value. Even if it doesn’t lead anywhere. Sure, they ask us to collect things, but that’s only because things of value are so rare now. But they collect those things to keep this village going. A village full of life. You have to live, Torif. That’s the point to all of this. You… think your Gramps would want you chasing treasure in a swamp?”
Part of him bristled at hearing Tin Can talk about Gramps again, but he couldn’t seem to fuel his anger anymore. Not in a heap of wet clothes. Not after the bot had pulled him from the swamp.
“I guess not,” he forced himself to say.
“I don’t think so either. He loved you, Torif. And he would have given up a thousand days of fishing just for one more day with you.”
Torif felt tears coming, so he pressed his face closer to the metal, until it made marks on his cheek from the exterior fastenings between the plates. Just as he finished crying, though, the robot stopped.
“We’re here,” Tin Can said. “Why don’t you get some fresh clothes before your parents come home?”
Torif nodded, climbing down as Tin Can led the way back into the village. Luckily, none of the shifts were over yet, and no one saw him as he scurried toward their hut. Inside, the breakfast fire still had a few embers. Still, it felt like the cold was in his bones, his skin clammy. He may never walk the swamps again.
As he emerged from his room, the wet clothes hidden beneath the bed, his parents finally arrived. Tin Can had climbed onto his pedestal, plugging himself into the power cord the Elders ran out from the forge.
“Torif!” Ma said, pulling him into a hug. “How was your day?”
“Fine,” he said, though he clung to Ma like a little kid.
“Good,” she said, playing with his hair. “Were you nice to Gramps?”
Torif looked over his shoulder, where the robot’s pedestal was surrounded by death masks. Thirty in all, they were all the ancestors of his family the Elders had uploaded into Tin Can’s data chips. The newest one, the plaster barely dry, was of Gramps. For so long, he hadn’t wanted to believe. Hadn’t wanted to accept Gramps was stuck in a dumb old bot. But… maybe he really was. After all, not just any old robot would dive into a swamp for him. The Elders most certainly wouldn’t.
Tin Can — or… Gramps — gave him a wink, the robot crossing his arms over his chest as he went into charging sleep.
“Yeah,” Torif said, smiling. “We had a good day. We let the fish off of the hook.”
 | A guest post by
|