“Oh, nothing special about it. Just, you know, people calling up and being annoyed and all the usual.”
“And the ruins were similar.”
“I guess.”
“I don’t think you’re telling me everything.” She looked up at me, surprised. “You were really very distressed. You threw up, remember?”
“I did?”
“Yes. You did.”
“I… guess.”
“You guess or you know?”
“I don’t know…”
“You were reminded of something. And you’ve been holding back.”
She shook her head. “I haven’t…”
“You haven’t told us everything,” I said. “Would you like to tell me now?”
“There’s nothing to tell…”
“I think you know something, Liss. I think you’re hiding it from us. I think you’re keeping a secret.”
She looked suddenly trapped and liable to panic, her hands frozen on her knees, her eyes twitching around the room.
“I think you remember more than you’re telling us.”
She fought for words. “I— I—”
“Let me tell you what I think,” I said. She looked puzzled, unsure of what to expect, almost like someone preparing to run for it. “You were working at a call centre when it happened, weren’t you?”
Her eyes went wide. Had I found her out?
“That’s why you had such a reaction to seeing the call centre at Kintrex. You were in a place like that when the world ended. Am I anywhere near the truth?”
She looked away from me and down, eyes hidden behind her hair. “Is that right, Liss?” She kept her face away from me for a few seconds more. It was an agonising moment. Even when I checked the recordings later, I could not see her eyes, or any other indication of what was going through her mind at that moment. I could only guess that she saw, then, the memory she’d been holding back from herself: the moment the world ended and every single person on her world died. Maybe even what she did afterwards.
“Liss? Are you all right?”
She looked back at me, eyes watering and chin quivering. “I— I was there… I was there when it happened…”
“Where were you, Liss?”
“The… the call centre…” Tears came down her face now.
“That was where you worked, wasn’t it?”
“Yes…”
“What about the recruitment agency?”
“I worked there before. Years ago… Then I got the job at the call centre. The… call centre…”
“Okay Liss, that’s good, we’re making progress. Do you remember any more?”
Her mouth flapped, hunting for words.
“Do you remember what happened?” I asked.
Her chin wobbled. Her eyes went wide as the memory forced itself upon her.
“They’re dead!”
I nodded, as sympathetically as I could. “I’m sorry.”
“They’re all dead! Everyone!” She was breathing hard now, panicking through tears and gasps. “Everyone! They — they burned! They glowed, and it was hot, and they fell, but it was all clothes, and, and there was ash on the floor… there was ash on the floor…”
And she wailed. A cry of horror and anguish at the unbearable memory. I held her, letting her sobs wrack into my shoulder. It’s very rare for memories to suddenly return in this way, but I had to make allowances for the strangeness of her world and her odd physiology.
“Would you like to tell me any more, Liss?”
But she was shuddering and weeping in my arms, and shook her head, hiding her eyes from me. I had two nurses escort her back to her room, and arranged for a more intensive suicide watch.
6. Katie
Katie was an emotional palate cleanser after Liss, and I was relieved not to be dealing with someone liable to burst into tears, or to make any other kind of outburst — probably. She’d certainly had a few strange episodes, which could well have been seizures. There was also the question of whether she might be the one who broke out. She was certainly physically capable of the feats we’d seen, and possibly technically capable of hacking our systems. But if she really was seizing, that would argue against my suspicions. My most predictable patient was suddenly the least predictable of all.
Once she agreed to my request to sit down (she was content to stand unless specifically invited to sit), I went straight in with my concerns.
“Katie, I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but you seem to be having seizures.”
“I am unaware of any such symptoms.”
“We’ve observed several. Would you like to look at the videos?”
She turned her head slightly as I threw surveillance video up onto the wall. Each sequence showed one of Katie’s seizures, from various unflattering angles: she stood in shadow by the centre as Veofol spoke to her, but did not answer; she sat in the same chair she sat in now, staring without answering my questions; she spoke in a strange language in the trench at Kintrex and looked confused; she teetered on the edge of a staircase and turned only when Iokan called her name.
She studied them all carefully, but did not comment.
“You can see why I’m concerned,” I said.
She thought for a moment, her brow creasing. “These are not seizures. These are emotional disturbances.”
“Hm. Could you explain that, Katie?”
“They are an inherent part of my biological systems.”
“So this is nothing new?”
“It is a recurring symptom of the human mind.”
“And you experience this regularly?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not sure I agree with your diagnosis.”
“You are not a neurologist.”
“No, you’re right. And that’s why I’d like to get a neurologist involved.”
“Please explain.”
“I’d like to have your brain scanned more thoroughly during your next episode.”
“Please explain further.”
“Well, you’d be in a room with very sophisticated scanning equipment, probably in Hub Metro. Then we’d be able to monitor exactly what’s going on, and see if there’s anything we can do to help.”
She deliberated.
“No,” she said.
“You do understand that this could be a symptom of your neural degradation?”
“I am able to control my symptoms. I do not require your assistance.”
“And how exactly are you controlling the symptoms?”
She paused. “Through extremes of pleasure or pain. These concentrate the biological systems and reduce chaotic neural impulses.”
“And is that what Iokan helped you with?”
“Yes.”
“How exactly did he help?”
She paused again before speaking. “Privacy was activated. It is not necessary to divulge this information.”
“Can I presume you chose to control your symptoms with pleasure, rather than pain?”
She thought about that. “Yes.”
“Well, I’m glad you chose not to hurt yourself.”
“It was not necessary.”
“And Iokan was willing to help?”
“He had misgivings, but decided that since the procedure had medical value, his wife would not raise any objections.”
“His wife? So you had sex?”
Another pause. “Yes.”
“Okay… you know, if you really need this, we can always provide some, ah, equipment…”
“A human male is more effective.”
I was tempted to point out the obvious flaw in this reasoning, but wasn’t entirely sure she’d understand.
“Well. As long as he consents, I can’t see why I should stop you. But please consider using a substitute.”
“Your offer is noted.”
Something else occurred to me. If her neural state was deteriorating, perhaps she might respond differently to other stimuli. So I reached for the only available
metric.
“I’d like to go back to another question entirely, if that’s all right with you.”
“I am willing to co-operate with therapy.”
“Yes. Well, I was wondering if you could tell me — how did you survive the extinction of your species?”
“I have divulged this information to you previously.”
“I’d like to hear it again, please.”
She paused, and thought hard. That crease in her brow went deeper than before. I checked my pad: if she was going to be consistent, if nothing had changed, then the first words out of her mouth would be: I was assigned to crew a modified orbital freight transport with two others.
After a moment, I had to prompt her. “Katie? Can you answer the question?”
“Yes.” A second more of pause, and then she spoke. “I was given command of an orbital freight transport with two others whose role it was to pilot the ship and control our weaponry.” I found myself smiling with satisfaction, but Katie did not notice. “We lay dead in space until the enemy ship approached and then we attacked. We intended to ram the enemy and detonate antimatter devices but they fired first and destroyed our ship. The others were killed. I was thrown clear from the wreckage. I engaged vacuum survival systems to reduce my heat signature, and consequently survived.”
It was precisely what I’d hoped for; instead of the usual repetition, she was paraphrasing and bringing in other elements of the experience. Some part of the disintegration of her mind was allowing her greater freedom. And perhaps her usual assertion that she had provided us with sufficient strategic and tactical information was gone as well.
“Was this your first battle?”
“I have already provided sufficient tactical and strategic information.”
Well, perhaps not. But I pressed on anyway. “I’m not interested in tactics or strategy, Katie. I’m interested in you. In how you saw things. Was it your first battle?”
She paused for a moment; I feared she would keep her silence. But then she continued. “No. I fought in many engagements.”
“Did you always lose?”
She paused to consider her answer. “78% of engagements ended in unacceptable losses.”
“So you lost a lot of battles?”
“Yes.”
“And you lost a lot of comrades?”
“Yes.”
“How did that feel?”
“I did not express emotion.”
“But did you feel emotion?”
“I experienced emotional disturbance.”
“How did you address that?”
A pause. “With the assistance of my fellow soldiers.”
“Did that help?”
“Defeats were not prevented.”
“I mean, did it help you?”
“It helped me.”
“Can you tell me about one of these battles?”
She thought about that. She’d given us barely any information about the war, despite her assertion about sufficient tactical and strategic information being provided. Finding out more about what she’d endured and whom she’d fought could only help. She came to a decision after approximately five seconds.
“I fought in the defence of the Earth-Sun L2 station.”
“Was that an important battle?”
“Yes. It was our last outpost outside the Earth-Moon system. It provided a base to strike against the enemy.”
“What happened?”
“They approached from the Vesta asteroid chain. They were unable to make use of gravitational corridors due to unsuitable orbital positioning. Their approach was therefore slow and vulnerable to harassing attacks by fighters. The L2 base was our primary centre of operations. It was designed as a multi-role observatory platform but was repurposed for fighter production, repair and deployment. My primary role was as a fighter pilot. I made eighty-nine sorties against the enemy. Some of their smaller ships could be destroyed, disabled or forced to divert their course. Their capital ships could not be stopped. They were built within asteroids which could withstand all weapons except for direct nuclear or anti-matter detonation, but their defences were too effective for us to reach them. Nevertheless, we were able to mount four successful sorties which detonated weapons close enough to cause serious damage to one asteroid ship.”
“So I suppose they wanted to get rid of the L2 station…”
“That is correct. We expected a frontal assault but they decided instead to eliminate the installation entirely, using gravitationally accelerated asteroidal mass. The battle was lost before we could expend ammunition. We had no effective defence against an aggregate of small silicate pieces which could not be dispersed by detonation. We fell back to the Earth-Moon system.”
“That must have felt terrible.”
“Yes.”
“What happened then?”
“I next participated in the defence of the Earth-Moon L5 station.”
“Right, hang on…” I used my control pad to bring up a diagram of orbital positions on the wall so I could better grasp what was going on. The L2 station had been some way outside Earth’s orbit, where the gravitational pull of the Earth and Sun cancelled each other out; the Earth-Moon L5 station was in the same orbit the Moon took around the Earth, lagging behind in another stable orbital position.
“Another strategic point, then.”
“Yes.”
“Another fighter base?”
“No. We had very few fighters remaining. The L5 station was primarily used as an emplacement for mass drivers and plasma pulse weapons.”
“So did they destroy it?”
“No. They assaulted the station with combat troops. Ramships were used to breach the hull and we fought hand to hand.”
She paused. “Please. Go on,” I said.
“Our soldiers were physically superior and unencumbered by environmental protection suits, but outnumbered. We concentrated our defence at choke points in the station superstructure, and inflicted comparative losses at the ratio of five to one. We calculated this would be unsustainable for the enemy but were mistaken. We were forced to retreat compartment by compartment until we held only four percent of the station. There were seven of us at that time, and communication with headquarters was lost. I ordered the station scuttled by antimatter detonation and the survivors to fall back to L1.”
“And what happened after that?”
“We destroyed the moon with staggered singularity release.”
“You destroyed the moon?”
“We destroyed the moon as a demonstration of the technology and a deterrent to further enemy advance. We threatened to use the same weapon on the Earth if they continued to attack. They did not comply.”
“And you were sent out on a final mission, to try and stop them?”
“That is correct.”
“And it was your side that destroyed the Earth?”
“That is correct.”
“It wasn’t the enemy?”
“That is correct.”
“I’m… surprised by that. We thought your enemies did it.”
“That was incorrect.”
“How many people died?”
She paused. “I do not have accurate population figures.”
“But… your whole species committed suicide rather than let the enemy win?”
“That is correct.”
“What was so terrifying about them?”
“We could not permit them to take the Earth.”
“Katie… who were they? You said they were religious, but you’ve never said anything else about them…”
“It is better that you do not encounter them.”
“Thanks for the concern, but I’m more worried about you. Did you agree with all this? I mean, destroying the Earth?”
“It was an appropriate action in the circumstances.”
“Couldn’t the two sides have negotiated a settlement?”
“We attempted negotiation on many occasions. All communications were ignore
d.”
“So who were they?”
She paused. “I have divulged sufficient strategic and tactical information.”
“Katie? Can you tell me who they were?”
“I have divulged sufficient strategic and tactical information.”
“Can I tell you what I think?”
She did not reply.
“I think these people you fought, I think they were humans. You said they were religious. They needed environment suits to survive in space. They behaved irrationally. That sounds like humans to me. And I think… I think your side was the machine side. Artificial intelligence. Rational. Reasonable. Is that the case?”
She paused.
“The situation was more complex.”
“How was it more complex?”
“I… I have divulged sufficient strategic and tactical information. May I leave?”
That was going to be it for today. I let her go, worried that the day’s progress came at the price of her failing health, and wondering if she would survive long enough for me to do any good.
7. Pew
Pew tended to contribute less in group than the more vocal members, so much of the progress he made took place in the individual sessions. But there were often things to pick up on and address, and of course his reaction to the street sign at Kintrex was something I couldn’t let pass. He’d looked up a good deal of information on the former inhabitants of Hub in the days since, trying to find out more about where they lived and what had happened to them; and I could take a pretty good guess at why he was interested.
“How much are they like the Soo?” I asked.
He considered his words. “They weren’t as advanced. And they were the only humans on the planet. I don’t know. Maybe they’d have been like the Soo if we’d been here as well, I mean if the Pu had been here. Or someone like us.”
“But they still remind you of the Soo? They don’t look like them.”
“They were human. I suppose the Soo are as well.”
“So it was just the sign? Why did it bother you?”
“I told you, I’ve seen something like it before.”
“When you escaped.”
“Yeah.”
“Hm. Okay. I hope you don’t mind if I ask you a difficult question…”
He shrugged and smiled. “Okay…”
The Last Man on Earth Club Page 17