As dictated by Zironist Doctrine, mutants were not fit to live amongst the human tribes. Once the church had bred a tribe of mutants (usually made up of thirty people) they set them free in the desert and did not interfere further than that. From there, the mutants would typically choose to live underground to avoid the violent tribes of the Wasteland. However, upon releasing the mutants, the Church would send a transmission to the helmet of every tribe leader in the Wasteland that a new tribe of mutants had been released. The longest amount of time mutant tribes managed to evade capture was five years. The shortest was one week. Hilargi’s tribe managed to evade capture for four years.

For her fifth Birthday, Hilargi’s mother, Ruth, had made her several colored pencils the shade of every color in the rainbow.

Hilargi had squealed in excitement when she crumpled up the brown wrapping paper concealing the pencils. “I love them!” She had exclaimed. “But what are they?”

Mother smiled her angelic smile and wrapped an arm around her daughter. “They’re colored pencils! Do you want me to show you how to use them?”

Hilargi nodded vigorously.

Mother, who had been sitting by her daughter, stood up and strolled over to the bookshelf. Because the mutants lived underground, every room had to be lit with artificial light, and it was often not efficient enough to see by. It took her a moment to see the spine of the book she was looking for.

She grabbed a blank book and then returned to her daughter’s side, her feet scuffing against the sandy, rocky floor and past her daughter’s straw bed as she did so. She sank to a sitting position by her daughter, stirring up a cloud of dust as she did so.

“It’s very simple—there’s no fine science to it.” Mother began, borrowing one of the pencils she had given her daughter and pressing it against a blank page. “You don’t even have to have a plan when you draw. That’s why it’s so freeing. Art doesn’t have to be precise—there isn’t any one answer or correct method of creating it. All you need are genuine feelings and a passion for expressing yourself, and you’ll make something gorgeous.”

“I wanna try!” Hilargi exclaimed, grabbing at the blank book excitedly.

Mother chuckled, handing Hilargi the book, and Hilargi began drawing the first thing that came to mind.

“So this is different than the equations we solve and the machines we make?” Hilargi asked as she colored in a stick-figure version of herself with a color that was far too orange to be considered a skin color.

“Absolutely.” Mother replied, rubbing the palm of her hand against the sandy floor absently. “I think you deserve an opportunity to just be a kid. You’ve been such a great helper to mommy—helping her construct so many useful machines like lamps and ovens and helping her research the lack of male children being born.”

Hilargi didn’t reply, she was too absorbed in her drawing. After a few moments of silence, Hilargi said, “This is so much fun! I don't know how useful it is though, Mommy. Maybe we should have used the chemicals to make something useful for all the mutants. Maybe some weapons to defend ourselves from the humans?”

Mother sighed, a thoughtful frown settling on her face. “Art may not have any practical uses like science does, but it has spiritual uses.”

Hilargi looked up from her drawing for a moment. “Spiritual uses? Like the Bible?”

Mother nodded with a jubilant smile, happy that her daughter could understand. “Yes. It’s difficult to explain, but humans need something more than just science to live fulfilling lives. It’s true that science makes life far more comfortable than it otherwise would be—it gives us light, ovens, and even the clothes on our backs—but we humans need something deeper than comfort to be healthy, happy, functioning creatures. That’s what art provides for us. A window into ourselves. We humans no longer have that, and now... we are wallowing in a pool of our own sinful behavior.”

Hilargi was only half-listening and half-understanding, but Mother had said something she didn’t quite understand. “Mommy, we aren’t humans. We’re mutants.”

Mother pursed her lips, unable to hide her look of offense. “No, Hilly. I say the humans are the mutants. They have no problems killing each other for their resources and their men. We mutants don’t do such vile things. We have never used our intelligence to create weapons to kill each other; we use it only to create things that are a benefit to mankind. Besides, humans and mutants were once one and the same. It’s only by a happy accident that we look different, and an even happier accident that we tend to be so much smarter.”

Hilargi pursed her lips. “I don’t think it’s a very happy accident that we die so much sooner, though…”

Mother nodded in agreement at that point. “Yes, that part doesn’t seem so fair. Sometimes I wish our ancestors hadn’t drunk that strange water out in the desert, but I can’t blame them trying to quench their thirst. Besides, they created a new type of human that is entirely special. I’m thankful to them for doing what they did and for giving me my life. We mutants have contributed so much to the advancement of humankind, after all. Even if the Zironists have made us somewhat of a perversion by capturing those initial mutants and breeding them in captivity to maintain our mutated genes…”