The highest adult hand paintings are consistent with the span of heights common amongst humans in the neolithic era, which means that in order for the child’s hand to have reached its position, an adult member of their social group must have been holding them up above their head.

My daughter’s laughter rings in my ears as the world goes blurry around us, centrifugal force tugging at my center of gravity. 

“Higher, higher!”

My own laughter makes it difficult to speak. “This is as high as I can get you, chickadee.”

“Then faster!”

I spin faster, and her shrieks of delight ring out through the apartment, her tiny fingers stretching toward the high ceilings.

I take a step back, forcing myself to shift my attention to the painted wall as a whole and judge the best place to take a photo. I nearly have to plaster myself to the opposite wall of the cavern, but I manage to get a few shots that encompass this little piece of history in its entirety. The rest of the pictures are of individual pieces of the wider mural, close-ups of the individual prints that create the whole. I’ve already documented the pictographic images closer to the mouth of the cavern in much the same way, so this is the last part of the job before I evacuate.

My watch beeps. Thirty minutes left. Just enough time.

With the analog photos taken, I stow the camera and unwrap the strips of linen from around the main tool for this excursion. Getting the copier set up isn’t all that different from setting up for the tripod photography I used to document the topographical features around the site. The only difference is I cannot walk in front of the lens of the machine while it scans the wall, or the safety protocol will kick in and start the whole process over again. Nobody wants an accidentally–or partially, God forbid–duplicated academic on their hands.

Framed by the walls of the cavern system’s time-smoothed mouth, the sunset forms a mural of its own against the sky. The faint blue light from the copier’s scan is just enough to illuminate the cave as the sun travels ever lower toward the horizon and the shadows around me grow steadily longer. I still have to move carefully, but it’s enough that I can begin packing up the copier closer to the cavern entrance. The handprint scan is about two thirds of the way complete when my watch beeps again, letting me know I’m halfway through my remaining time.

I look out to the sunset again, to the massive, empty stretch of rocky coast that reaches up toward where my base camp was just an hour ago. It’s a barren spit of rock–one that no one has bothered to walk in decades, if not centuries.

This cave system won’t be rediscovered by humanity for another three and a half years–and by then it will be too late. The technology to preserve it in the time they have left just won’t be available.

My watch beeps, more insistently.

We technically have five years until the seas rise to reclaim this place, but I only have fifteen more minutes. And the university won’t be able to afford another trip like this for at least a decade. By then, with all the coordination that these preservation missions require inter-departmentally, it’s all but certain that we won’t be able to come back to this exact spot at an appropriate time. We can’t travel further than fifty years–I’m at the far end of the range already.

“How long will you be gone?”

I smile reassuringly in the face of my daughter’s pout. “Just two days. You’re going to stay with Auntie Rina until I get back, remember? I thought you were excited.”

“I am,” she huffs, “but that’s so long! It’s like, forever. And Auntie Rina says we can’t even call.”

“That’s true,” I reply easily, hoping the light tone will help distract her from her melancholy, “but I promise I’ll let you know as soon as I’m back. Will that work?”

“Mmmm…okay. Oh!” She jumps up from the kitchen counter, nearly banging her knee, and scampers over to her school satchel. “Wait, wait! Take this with you.” She reaches for me, beckoning demandingly, and I smile to myself as I approach. 

“What is it I’m taking, chickadee?”

“This!” She grabs my hand and presses something smooth and round into my palm, closing my fingers around it. Her smile is wide and missing two teeth as she declares, “We made them in school–it’s good luck!”

The copier chimes cheerily, and a moment later the automated voice informs me, “Scan complete.” 

I straighten up from ensuring the first copier is properly stowed to lean over and check the files that the second one has just finished storing. Everything looks clear–should be no problem to build the carbon-print replica once I hand it over to the restoration department.

My watch beeps. Five minutes.

With all my gear back in hand, I make sure to return to my marked entry point and wait.

We call it “shifting”, but it doesn’t really feel like movement at all. More like a swoon: I’m a bit dizzy, my vision flickers, the world starts to tip sideways–and then I’m back.

Back home.

Almost.

The ocean is all around me, where a moment ago–a moment and five decades–it had been a rocky beach. The caves I had just been standing in are under a dozen feet of water.

A soft exhale catches at the edges of my chest as I twist the face of my watch to turn on the beacon. The rest of my team should pick it up in seconds, and send the boat out to our temporary platform within the minute. So much progress…and so much lost.

I look down at the water. My hand moves to my pocket, to the circular plaster disc I’ve kept with me since I left home two days ago. My thumb traces the shape of my daughter’s handprint, frozen in time.

It’s good luck, she told me.

I heft my equipment bag a little higher, starting to smile as I imagine those cave murals restored. That tiny hand reaching high.

People have always been people. With any luck at all, we always will be.

Author’s Note: This story involves a fictional excavation site, but was inspired by real archeological discoveries indicating that young children in the paleolithic and neolithic eras did in fact participate in creating some of the iconic cave images of the Stone Age. Below is one of several sources discussing this:

https://www.history.com/news/prehistoric-children-finger-painted-on-cave-walls

If the mainland announces the abolition of ECFA at this time and follows the US’s example and imposes a 32% tariff on Taiwan, will Taiwan’s economy collapse instantly?

Under the double squeeze of China and the United States, Taiwan has no way out.

Under such circumstances, Taiwanese people will riot and take the initiative to overthrow Lai Ching-te’s government.

For many years, mainland China has unilaterally exempted Taiwan from taxes. Taiwan’s trade surplus with mainland China is rare in the world. Taiwan makes money from mainland China with its left hand and gives it to the United States with its right hand to buy second-hand weapons. We have seen all of this.

• The PRC government has always hoped to reunify Taiwan peacefully. If the livelihoods of the Taiwanese people are harmed, it will bring disadvantages to peaceful reunification. Therefore, the principle that the CPC has always adhered to is that no matter how tense cross-strait relations are, the people’s livelihood in Taiwan must not be harmed. The Taiwanese people are innocent, and we do not want the Taiwanese people to go bankrupt or lose their jobs.
• If the PRC government decides to reunify Taiwan by force, we can do so. This ultimately depends on the CPC’s tolerance towards Taiwan, until it is forced to take military unification measures.

Henry responded dryly, “So, humanity has finally declared itself God.”

Lisa frowned, determined to cut through his cynicism. “Don’t you want to get healthy?”

“I’m not sick anymore,” he insisted. But Lisa remembered all too well how, just ten years prior, he’d needed heart surgery. A lifetime of chain-smoking, boozing, poor diet, and late nights had clogged his arteries. His doctor had practically begged him to change his habits. Without Lisa’s persistent urging, Henry wouldn’t have even agreed to the operation.

“But living like this,” she pressed, “you won’t last much longer!”

After that, the conversation took a quieter turn, drifting into safer topics that neither truly cared about, as the weight of what they had just discussed lingered over them like a dark cloud.

The very next morning, Lisa stepped into the bustling HIC—short for Health Information Center—where she hoped to learn more about what the media called “The Great Healing”. Inside, she discovered a carefully outlined set of conditions. Anyone aged seventy or older must undergo a thorough medical evaluation; only those who passed it were deemed eligible. Younger participants could receive the therapy too, but their pensions would be gradually reduced after five years—dropping to ninety-five percent in the sixth year, then ninety, and so on. If you were already over seventy and failed the evaluation, you could at least keep your full pension without changes.

From the moment the therapy began, alcohol and smoking became strictly forbidden, and participants had to wear a sensor watch nearly around the clock to monitor the treatment’s effects and prevent any “cheating.” Lisa found the explanations unsettling but oddly convincing. She couldn’t help thinking of Henry, fearing how these rules might collide with his stubborn streak—and what might happen if he refused.

The “Apollo Project for the Healing of Age-Related Diseases” was a global undertaking so vast that no single nation could manage it alone. Its origin lay in the crushing national debts of the member countries being driven skyward by health care costs that had soared for decades, largely thanks to aging populations and too few births to finance the older generation’s pensions. Some nations also shouldered massive military expenditures—something Lisa quietly questioned, even if she rarely delved into politics.

Clinical studies, spanning ten years and involving hundreds of thousands of subjects, now deemed the new medication “sufficiently safe.” Media coverage was divided: half the commentators hailed it as a salvation, while the other half warned of potential catastrophes. Lisa sensed the rift tearing society into polarized camps.

At home, she couldn’t shake a lingering unease. Her mind wandered over her own life: family, dreams, a long career behind her, and a handful of goals still unfinished. She thought about all the people she had known—some now deceased, others severely ill—and finally, about her own health.

“What if I come down with one of these so-called age-related diseases?” she murmured, flipping open a brochure she had picked up. The list inside was overwhelming: cancer, cardiovascular issues, dementia, diabetes, arthritis, and age-related muscle loss, plus a host of ailments she’d never heard of. Then, in the fine print:

“In clinical studies, it has been found that most age-related diseases share at the molecular level the same root cause. The Apollo Project provides a cure to the underlying source of these illnesses, rendering the current medications obsolete. Therefore, starting next year, we will begin the process of discontinuing all other medicinal treatments currently being offered. All existing treatments will be reassessed and replaced by the new drug if necessary. The previously stated conditions remain in effect.”

At that moment, Lisa realized society had crossed a critical threshold. If people refused to accept the new therapy’s terms, they might be forced to confront life-threatening illnesses alone. For Lisa, the choice felt like a subtle ultimatum: consent or risk abandonment.

She had never truly smoked—just one ill-fated attempt at seventeen. Her father, himself a habitual smoker, caught her in the act and made her finish an entire pack at his side in a twisted contest of “Who can smoke the most?” The next day, she felt so wretched that she vowed never to light another cigarette.

She’d also quit drinking years ago. Although a glass of wine at dinner was practically tradition in her family, one morning in her early forties she woke up feeling drained and thought of her mother, who had died young. As an experiment, she tried skipping her dinner wine, first for a night, then another. Eventually, it dawned on her that, while she enjoyed the taste, the after-effects weren’t worth it. She never picked up a glass again.

Despite her family doctor’s repeated “You’re perfectly healthy for your age,” she often battled insomnia and fatigue. In a similar spirit of self-care, Lisa began walking to work. The first few one-hour treks—morning and evening —took discipline, but after three weeks, it became second nature. By retirement, her routine included turning in early, rising at the same time, walking two hours each day, hitting the gym twice weekly, and hiking on weekends.

Still, Lisa wondered how long her good health could hold out. Her parents both suffered through torturous deaths: her father, slowly and painfully fighting against lung cancer, and her mother enduring surgery, chemo, radiation to no avail, finally ending her days in hospice care. Lisa’s throat tightened at the memory of losing them both. She had no children to lean on, and while her pension covered the basics, it wasn’t enough to secure a private retirement home. She pictured herself, alone and wheelchair-bound, in a state-run facility—an image that sent a cold dread through her.

That fear crystallized her resolve. She wouldn’t wait passively for her body to betray her. If “The Healing” was her best shot at avoiding her parents’ fate, then she’d do whatever it took.

Lisa rang Henry’s doorbell and then bolted up the stairs to his third-floor flat, her heart pounding with urgency. Normally, he would greet her with an easy smile, but today he stood in the doorway looking somewhat tense.

“Did you know you might not get your medication next year?” Lisa blurted, stepping inside.

Henry shrugged. “What makes you say that? I barely take them, anyway. I just keep lowering the dose so my body adapts.”

Lisa cast a quick glance at the clutter of beer bottles in the corner—an unspoken accusation. The newscaster’s voice droned on from the TV. “If you’d only take better care of yourself,” she pressed, “watch what you eat, cut back on the drinking… you’d feel so much better.”

“Oh, so now you disapprove of my lifestyle?” Henry snapped. “I’ve got everything I need.”

Lisa tried a gentler tack. “We’ve always talked about doing more together. If you went through with The Healing, you’d be as fit as ever, and we could—”

“So you want me to load up on some untested medication, be monitored around the clock, and let the government dictate my diet?” Henry interrupted, frustration flaring in his voice.

“Is that really so terrible? You’re my best friend,” Lisa pleaded. “Now that I’ve retired, I just want us to have more time… together.”

Henry shook his head, his tone turning defensive. “Sounds like you only care about your own agenda. Don’t change the subject—I’m a capable, responsible person, yet the State’s acting like I’m incompetent!”

Desperate, Lisa latched onto a warm memory. “Remember that spring weekend two years ago? We walked in the woods—it felt like summer, birds singing, the sky glowing.” She paused, her voice softer. “We haven’t done that in ages.”

Henry’s posture relaxed, but only slightly. “I remember. But you know I can’t walk that far anymore.”

Lisa’s voice wavered. “But you said you’re healthy…?”

“We’re going in circles,” Henry muttered.

Tears filled Lisa’s eyes. “Please… just think it over?”

Henry crossed his arms. “My decision is final. But if you want, we can still go for a short walk next week.”

Lisa nodded, forcing a small, sad smile. She slipped out the door, the weight of their unspoken fears trailing after her.

Lisa’s plan to pick up groceries was cut short when she spotted a group of people huddled around a bank of TV monitors. Live coverage flashed on the screens:

“We’re reporting on ongoing unrest in the capital. Several HICs have been evacuated. Members of a militant group calling themselves ‘The Saviors of Humanity’ have forced their way into the buildings, pushing occupants to escape while barring entry to outsiders. Initial reports indicate multiple injuries and at least one fatality. From now on, all HIC facilities will be under armed police guard.”

A wave of fear surged through Lisa. Police cars screamed down the street, lights blazing, and she quickened her pace toward home. Once inside, she locked her door and noticed her hands were trembling. Clearly, not everyone shared her hope for The Healing; some, like Henry, questioned it—but this group was intent on outright sabotage.

The unrest made her decision easier. Lisa pulled up the HIC website, found a branch near the city center, and booked a nine a.m. appointment. “At least there’ll be police nearby,” she told herself. For the first time in ages, she ordered a taxi, in case she needed to leave in a hurry. Though she went to bed at her usual time, sleep eluded her as her mind churned with the day’s chaos and the unsettling thoughts of what might happen next.

A shrieking alarm jolted Lisa awake. Or so she initially thought, but it turned out that it was just the traffic below her window. Glancing at the clock (6:30 a.m.), she was reminded it was Saturday, usually a quieter day. Today the streets were anything but quiet.

Checking her phone, she read the latest nightmare headlines: “Police at Full Capacity,” “Politicians Call for State of Emergency,” “Confirmed: 1,200 Injured, 6 Dead!” Her world suddenly felt out of control, and she struggled to grasp how a therapy for age-related diseases could trigger such chaos.

Standing under the shower spray, Lisa wrestled with conflicting thoughts. “If I avoid those dreaded diseases, my pension gets cut in five years. I’ll need to work again—but I still want the peace of mind that I won’t have to worry about getting sick.” By the time she stepped out, she’d resolved to sketch out a plan for the years ahead.

After breakfast and her favorite cup of tea, she hopped into a taxi.

“Normally, this drive takes maybe half an hour, but traffic’s insane today,” the driver remarked.

“I’m just glad it’s only eight,” Lisa replied, eyeing how young he seemed. As she settled in, she spotted a symbol on the rearview mirror, vaguely familiar but something about it was unsettling.

“You’re heading to the HIC, right?” the driver asked bluntly. “Mind if I ask your age?”

“I’m sixty-five,” Lisa answered. “Why do you ask?”

He glanced at her in the rearview. “You look amazing—I’d have guessed early fifties. And you want this Healing—why?”

Lisa offered a bright smile. “Thank you. I feel great, and it can’t hurt. Plus, I can enjoy my pension for a few more years before I figure out what’s next. Who’d have guessed I’d see something like this in my lifetime?”

The driver’s tone sharpened. “Ever think about how the planet suffers, with more people living longer, using up resources? Nature can’t keep up.”

Shifting uncomfortably, Lisa tried to sound calm. “I’ve read that the global population might be peaking—and yes, there’s a crisis with so many older folks, but there’s also progress: recycling, sustainable energy. I’m no expert, though.” She felt scrutinized, as if on trial.

The driver snorted. “The system wants folks like you back at work paying taxes. They’ll recoup their money and then some. What about those who can’t get healed—too sick, or living in countries that aren’t part of the project? Is that fair?” His voice rose, making Lisa’s heart pound. She glanced again at the dangling emblem and finally realized why it was so familiar; it was an abstract human figure the same icon used by the “Saviors of Humanity”.

“Nothing is perfectly fair,” Lisa conceded softly. “But maybe we can each do a little good in the world. Please let me out here—I need to grab something,” she added, telling a small lie to escape the increasingly uncomfortable conversation. After paying and tipping him, she slipped away.

At the HIC, a friendly receptionist welcomed her. “Good morning, Lisa. Have a seat. This therapy could help you avoid age-related diseases and give your life a fresh start. It’ll be administered at a specialized longevity clinic, where they can answer all your questions. Here’s a referral.”

Brimming with cautious excitement, Lisa immediately headed to the clinic, where a doctor greeted her with practiced warmth. “Pleased to meet you, Lisa. My colleague will draw some blood, then we’ll proceed.” Moments later the doctor returned, results in hand, and nodded with satisfaction.

“You’re in excellent health for your age,” he said. “Biologically, you’re about ten years younger than sixty-five—a good sign for the therapy. Think of it like an annual vaccine. We’ve seen no dangerous side effects in this generation of the drug. I even tested the first generation on myself,” he added proudly. “It targets cells at the molecular level to regenerate them. You’ll feel practically reborn.” His eyes gleamed in the sunlit room. “Ready?”

Lisa felt a surge of both nerves and excitement. “Yes, I want this.” She signed the multi-page consent form and received the injection, goosebumps prickling her arms.

“You’ll need to wear this watch at all times,” the doctor continued, handing her a sleek device. “It tracks your biodata, has a calendar, and recharges itself. It’ll also remind you of next year’s follow-up. If you have questions, the brochure can help—or you can call us.”

Lisa slipped on the watch, noticing the doctor wore an identical model. They exchanged a small nod. Minutes later, she was out the door, head buzzing with questions. As soon as she got home, she added “Second Birthday” to her phone calendar. She sensed life would never quite be the same.

Five years later, Lisa steps into the palliative care center, her heart tightening the moment she sees Henry seated by the window. His gaze is fixed on the fading daylight outside.

“You look so young and happy. Thanks for coming,” Henry whispers, his voice frail. A stroke weeks earlier had robbed him of the ability to walk, and his health had spiraled downhill ever since.

Lisa eases into the chair beside him. “Of course. How can I help?”

Henry’s eyes flick to her, then back to the sunset. “I’ve been thinking a lot about my life. When I retired, I felt enormous relief at first—I never had to work again. But truthfully, I lost any real sense of purpose after that. Then they introduced this ‘healing,’ and it felt like someone was snatching away my final reward.”

“You could still apply…” Lisa offers gently.

Henry shakes his head, a weary smile forming. “I always felt more alive when I was around you. But now I’m just… tired, and oddly at peace. Thank you for staying by my side.”

A month later, Lisa begins her new job with a mix of determination and a lingering ache—aware that as her world keeps shifting, she must keep moving forward.

So, my kid is watching the F1 Japanese Grand Prix with me. Wide-eyed. He suddently asks, “Dad, do the pit crew or the drivers make more money?”

I explained that the drivers usually bank more. Why? Because very few people on this planet can drive like they do. The rarer the talent, the bigger the paycheck. Simple supply and demand, right?

But here’s where it gets interesting…

I then dropped a challenge on him: “What would happen if machines could do their jobs better than them?” I asked.

I could practically see the gears in his head turning.

“Will they lose their jobs?” he asked, all serious.

“That could very well happen,” I admitted.

Ouch. Truth hurts, right?

His next question was the million-dollar one: “So what would they do?”

“If robots handled tire changes or refueling, pit crews could manage and troubleshoot those machines and evolve into high-tech repair roles,” I said.

This made me thik. That’s the question we should all be asking ourselves, isn’t it? How do we stay valuable when tech keeps leveling up?

What will future jobs look like?

Here’s the thing: the future isn’t about humans versus machines — it’s about humans WITH machines.

This flips a scary “what if” into opportunity: How can we use change to our advantage?

It’s about building, not just doing. The future is not about outrunning everybody — it’s about creating something that matters. Tech, ideas, whatever.

Think less “What pays now?” and more “What builds my future?”

The lesson? The world keeps changing, but you keep driving.

For these young kids, this mindset is a superpower. They’re not here to do the work; they’re here to BUILD.

This was a tough one, but here’s what I left him with:

“Don’t ever fear machines — build them and use them to win.”

Curious: What would you have answered? Share below!