It got pretty bad, this die-off thing. And I guess I went out of my way not to notice it. Because if you’re going to die anyway, why depress yourself in advance with bad news? And anyhow, I figured some of those scientists they got out there would do something about it. And if not, not. It was Ehrenzveig who finally clued me in to what was going on. To where it was all leading. He came to visit me one morning. Frankly, he looked like hell—red-eyed, and his hands were shaking. It occurred to me that he’d caught this disease, and I had a little tremor of fear. If he got it, and him so high up in the Church of the Eryx, then I could get it, too.
“You look like death warmed over,” I told him. No sense kidding around.
“Yes. I’ve got it. Eryx Fever. I don’t have long.”
“Hasn’t your god come up with a cure?” Ehrenzveig shook his head. “That’s not his way.”
“Then what’s the advantage of being in his church?” “Some of us think knowledge is worth anything.” “Not me,” I told him.
Ehrenzveig spent a while coughing. Quite pathetic it was. Finally he was able to speak again.
“I’ve come to tell you the translation of the cloth that was found with the Eryx.” “I’m all ears.”
“It was a warning. It was written by one of the last beings to come across the Eryx.”
“Let’s cut to the chase. What did it say?”
“It said, ‘The Eryx hates human life. It hates alien life. It tolerates no life but its own. When you find the Eryx, it is the beginning of the end of your species.’ I’m translating very freely, you understand.”
“No problem,” I said. “It sounds like one of those old Egyptian curses.”
“Yes, very similar. In this case, it happens to be true.”
“That’s great,” I said, sarcastically, because of course Ehrenzveig was reading my own death sentence as well as his. But hey, I never thought I’d go on forever.
“So what happens now? Masque of the Red Death on a whole-world scale?”
“That’s about the size of it,” Ehrenzveig said.
“How long have you known?”
“For quite a while. All of us in the religion of the Eryx have known. The Eryx told us.”
“How’d it do that? Send out thoughts?”
“Dreams. Prophetic dreams. And we accepted what it told us, and found it good. It is only right, you see, that the Eryx can tolerate no other life than its own.”
“That’s understandable,” I said. “I like a little elbow room, too.”
Ehrenzveig bowed his head and didn’t speak.
Finally I asked him, “So what happens now?”
“I die,” Ehrenzveig said. “Everyone dies.”
“That’s obvious, dummy. I mean what happens to me?”
“Ah,” Ehrnezveig said, “the Eryx has plans for you. You’re the Last Adam.”
“What sort of plans?”
“You’ll see. Come with me.”
“On whose orders?”
“The Eryx wants to get a look at you.”
Well, I didn’t like the sound of that one bit. I decided it was about time to quit the organization, get away from the Earth, find something else. But Ehrenzveig wasn’t having it that way. He had a bunch of his buddies outside my door. They escorted me—under protest, I can assure you—to this place where I live now.
The followers of the Eryx bustled around me for the next few weeks, setting me up in my little apartment, installing the cameras, arranging for food. There were fewer of them every day, and finally I was here all alone. Locked in.
But even if I could get out, where would I go? I’ve got a feeling everybody’s gone now. I saw my last human face weeks, months ago. Frankly, I don’t miss people one bit. They were a bad lot and to hell with them. I’m glad they’re gone and I won’t be sorry when I’m gone, too.
I’ve never seen the Eryx, but I suspect he’s taken some form other than that in which I found him. He’s studying me, I think. Maybe he studies the last specimen of each race he annihilates. Just out of curiosity, I suppose. That’s what I’d do. Maybe the Eryx and I aren’t so different. Except for our circumstances. He’s got the world. The galaxy, I suppose. And I have one room and a bathroom and a glassed-in enclosure. And you, Julie.
AFTERWORD
I only knew Roger Zelazny through our three novel collaborations. We met in the flesh only a few times. Working with Roger was one of the great pleasures of my life. Roger was a great combination of intuitive genius, fantasy dreamer, and careful, punctilious story plotter. He was one of the great ones. I greatly regret not having had the opportunity to know him better. But I can’t tell you how pleased I am at having had the privilege of working with him. Collaboration tells you a lot about a person, and about yourself.
EMISSARY FROM A GREEN AND YELLOW WORLD
Of late, Bob Sheckley has been writing mostly mystery novels, including Soma Blues and Draconian New York. He’s currently finishing up a new fantasy entitled Godshome. Of course, Bob has also been entertaining us with skewed short stories for four decades now, and it’s nice to see he’s not letting up. Witness this story of a visit to a blue and white world.
ONE THING ABOUT PRESIDENT Rice. He was able to make up his mind. When Ong came to Earth with his contention, Rice believed him. Not that it made any difference in the end.
It began when the Marine guard came into the Oval Office, his face ashen.
“What is it?” said President Rice, looking up from his papers.
“Someone wants to see you,” the guard said.
“So? A lot of people want to see the President of the United States. Is his name on the morning list?”
“You don’t understand, sir. This guy—he just—materialized! One moment he wasn’t there and the next moment, there he was, standing in front of me in the corridor. And he isn’t a man, sir. He stands on two legs but he isn’t a man. He’s—he’s—I don’t know what he is!”
And the guard burst into tears.
Rice had seen other men cave in from the pressures of government. But what did a Marine guard have to do with pressures?
“Listen, son,” Rice said.
The guard hastily rubbed tears out of his eyes. “Yes, sir.” His voice was shaky, but it wasn’t hysterical.
“What I want you to do,” Rice said, “is take the rest of the day off. Go home. Get some rest. Come back here tomorrow refreshed. If your supervisor asks about it, tell him I ordered it. Will you do that for me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And on your way, send in that fellow you met in the corridor. The one you say doesn’t look human. Don’t talk to him. Just tell him I’m waiting to see him.”
The fellow was not long in coming. He was about six feet tall. He wore a silver one-piece jump suit that shimmered when you looked at it. His features were difficult to describe. All you could say for sure was, he didn’t look human.
“I know what you’re thinking,” the fellow said. “You are thinking that I don’t look human.”
“That’s right,” Rice said.
“You’re correct. I’m not human. Intelligent, yes. Human, no. You can call me Ong. I’m from Omair, a planet in the constellation you call Sagittarius. Omair is a yellow and green world. Do you believe me?”
“Yes, I believe you,” Rice said.
“May I ask why?”
“It’s just a hunch,” Rice said. “I think that if you stayed around here and submitted to an examination by a team of our scientists, they’d conclude that you were an alien. So let’s get right to it. You’re an alien. I accept that you’re from a green and yellow world named Omair. Now what?”
“You’re asking, I suppose, why I’ve come here, at this time?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, sir, I’ve come to warn you that your sun is going to go nova in about one hundred and fifty of your years.”
“You’re sure?”
“Quite sure.”
“Why’d you wait so long to get
around to telling us?”
“We just found out ourselves. As soon as it was confirmed, my people sent me as emissary to give your planet the information and offer what assistance we could.”
“Why did they pick you?”
“I was chosen at random for off-planet service. It could have been any of us.”
“If you say so.”
“Now I have delivered the message. How can we help?”
Rice was feeling very peculiar. He didn’t understand it, but he really did believe the emissary. But he also knew his belief was futile in terms of saving Earth’s people. Ong’s contention would have to be submitted to scientific proof. Before any conclusions could be reached, the Earth would vaporize in the expanding sun. Rice knew that if he wanted to do anything about it, it would have to begin now.
Rice said, “Some of our scientists have made similar conjectures as to our eventual doom.”
“They’re right. Within approximately one hundred and fifty years this planet will no longer be habitable. May I be blunt? You’re going to have to get off. All of you. And you must begin immediately.”
“Great,” President Rice said. “Oh, that’s just great.”
“Is something wrong?”
“I’m just having a little trouble assimilating this.” Rice put a hand to his forehead. “This is a nightmare situation. But I have to deal with it as if it’s real. Because it probably is.” He wiped his forehead again. “Let’s say I believe you. How could we do anything about it?”
“We of Omair are ready to help. We will give you detailed plans explaining what you must do to make starships for all Earth’s people. There will be further instructions for getting all the people together and into the ships in an orderly manner. Please understand, we’re just trying to help, not impose ourselves on you.”
“I believe you,” Rice said, and he did.
“There’s a lot to be done,” the emissary said. “It’s a big task, but you humans are just as smart as we Omairians—we checked on that, no use wasting our time on dummies. With your present level of technology, and with our assistance, you can do this and be away within the next hundred years.”
“It’s a tremendously exciting prospect,” Rice said.
“We thought you’d feel that way. You aren’t the only planetary civilization we’ve been able to rescue.”
“That is very much to your credit.”
“Nothing to praise. This is how we Omairians are.”
“I’m going to have to ask something that may sound a little strange,” Rice said. “But this is Earth so I have to ask it. Who’s going to pay for all this?”
“If it’s necessary,” Ong said, “we of Omair are willing to defray the costs.”
“Thank you. That’s very good of you.”
“We know.”
“So what will be necessary?”
“To begin with, you’ll need to clear out the center of one of your continents for the launching pads. But that’s not too difficult, because you can distribute the people in the other continents. That will disrupt commerce and farming, of course. But we will supply whatever food is needed.”
Rice could imagine it now—the slow convening of experts from all over the globe, the quarreling, the demands for more and more proofs. And even if a consensus of scientists came to agreement after many years, what about the population at large? Before any sizeable portion of the Earth’s people could be convinced, the Earth would long since have vaporized in the expanding sun.
“Simultaneous to the building of the starships,” the emissary went on, “you’ll have to get your populations indoctrinated, innoculated—we’ll supply the medicines—and in general prepared for a long journey by starship. During the transition period you’ll require temporary housing for millions. We can help there.”
“Is the indoctrination really necessary? Earth people hate that sort of thing.”
“Absolutely essential. Your people will not be prepared for a lifetime of shipboard life. Hypnotherapy may be needed in many cases. We can supply the machines. I know your people won’t like it, being uprooted this way. But it’s either that or perish in about a hundred years.”
“I’m convinced,” Rice said. “The question is, can I sell it?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Well, it’s not just a case of convincing me, you know. There are tens of millions of people out there who won’t believe you.”
“But surely if you order them to take the necessary measures for their own good . . .”
“I’m just the ruler of one country, not the whole planet. And I can’t even order my own countrymen to do what you’re suggesting.”
“You don’t have to order it. Just suggest it and show the proofs. Humans are intelligent. They’ll acccept your view.”
Rice shook his head. “Believe me, they won’t believe me. Most of them will think this is a diabolical plot on the part of government, or some church, or the Islamic Conspiracy, or some other. Some will think little gray aliens are trying to trick us into captivity. Others will believe it’s the work of a long-vanished Elder Race, here to do us in. Whatever the reason, everyone will be sure it’s a plot of some kind.”
“A plot to do what?” Ong asked.
“To enslave us.”
“We of Omair don’t do that sort of thing. We have a perfect record in that regard. I can offer proofs.”
“You keep on talking about proofs,” Rice said. “But most humans are proof-proof.”
“Is that really true?.”
“Sad to say, it’s true.”
“It goes against accepted theory. We have always believed that intelligence invariably produces rationality.”
“Not in these parts. Not with us.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. We Omairians thought this was just a matter of one colleague calling on another and warning him of a danger, then advising him on what steps to take. I had no idea humans might resist believing. It’s not rational, you know. Are you quite sure of this?”
“That’s how humans are. And above all, they’re conditioned from earliest age against taking orders from aliens.”
“I wouldn’t be giving any orders.”
“You’d be advising the government. In people’s minds, that would be the equivalent of giving orders.”
“I don’t know what to tell you,” the emissary said. “Is there really no way you could convince people otherwise?”
“I can tell you here and now, it’ll never work.”
Ong gave a slight inclination of his head. “Well, it has been nice meeting you. Have a nice day.”
The emissary turned to go.
“Just one moment,” Rice said.
The alien paused, turned. “Yes?”
“What about just taking those of us who do believe, who want to go?”
“It’s unprecedented,” the emissary said. “In all our experience, races either can change their thinking and get away from their doomed worlds by their own efforts, or they cannot.”
“We’re different,” Rice said.
“All right,” the emissary said. “I’ll do it. Gather your people. I’ll be back in ten years to take those who want to go. We can’t wait any longer than that.”
“We’ll be ready.”
TEN YEARS LATER, the emissary came to a small, hand-built house in a corner of the Oregon Cascade Mountains. A trout stream ran behind the house, and Rice was standing beside the stream, fishing.
Rice said, “How did you find me here?”
“Once we Omairians have met you, we can always find you again. But I think you are not president any longer.”
“No,” Rice said. “My term ended and I didn’t get reelected. I tried to convince people of the destruction that lay ahead. Nearly everyone thought I was a crackpot. Those who did believe me were worse than those who didn’t. A crazy man tried to shoot me and killed my wife instead. My children hold me responsible. They changed their names and moved away.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” the emissary said. “But I think you’ll have to admit that those other people, the ones who despise and disbelieve you, do not have your grasp, your intelligence, your intuition. You’re probably the most unusual man of your century, Mr. Rice. You believed in us from the start. You didn’t think we were sent by God or the devil. You accepted what we said. Evidently you were the only one.”
“Evidently.”
“Perhaps it’s for the best,” the emissary said. “Your people, in their present state, could never have made it out there. But you could.”
“Me?”
“Your true place is with us, Mr. Rice, out in the galaxy. There is still time. You are not an old man. We have rejuvenation treatments. We can add many years to your life. We have women of our species who would be honored to mate with you. We have a civilization that would welcome you. I beg of you, leave this doomed Earth behind and come away with me.”
“No, I think not,” Rice said. “I can still look forward to living another thirty or so years on Earth before things get too bad, can’t I?”
“Yes, but no longer.”
“It’s enough. I’ll stay.”
“You choose to die here with your people? But they will perish because of their own ignorance.”
“Yes. But they are Earth’s children, as I am. My place is here with them.”
“I find it difficult to believe you’re saying this.”
“I did a lot of thinking about it. It occurred to me that I was really no different from the other humans. Not fundamentally. And certainly no better.”
“I can’t accept that. Anyhow, what is your inference?”
“It seemed to me that if my species was incapable of believing in its own doom, it was not for me to believe in it, either. So I’ve decided that all that stuff you talked about is not going to happen. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve dreamed all this up.”
“It is not intelligence,” said the emissary, “to take refuge in solipsism.”
“My mind’s made up. I’ll stay here with my trout stream. You’ve never done any fly fishing, have you, emissary?”
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