The Last Man on Earth Club

by Paul R. Hardy

  “I’ve managed to get them to trust me. I need that to be able to do my job. If they have to move for reasons they don’t understand, I might lose that trust.”

  Henni looked to Mykl Teoth, who nodded. She looked back at me. “Very well. We’ll make preparations but postpone the move until it becomes absolutely necessary.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And that will be my decision, Dr. Singh.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Do you mind if I ask Dr. Singh a question?” Eremis Ai represented the Interversal Criminal Tribunal, or at least the placeholder body who were gathering casefiles until the IU finally decided whether or not to activate the ICT.

  “Go ahead,” said Henni.

  Eremis turned to me. “Are you absolutely certain Ms. Li’Oul was looking for the people who committed genocide on her planet?”

  “That seems to be the case,” I said.

  “Do you think she’ll ask for assistance?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think she trusts us at the moment.”

  “Has she said anything about who she suspects?”

  “I can’t talk about what we might have discussed in therapy.”

  “No, of course… I think we would have to interview her, though. Which means the matter will appear in the public record, at least in headline form.”

  “Do you really need to do that?” asked Henni.

  “Yes. We do. If she’s investigating a genocide, we have to gather testimony.”

  “So this is going to come out whether we like it or not, is that what you’re saying?”

  “We’re required to build cases—”

  “Like the case for your own job,” muttered Koggan.

  Eremis ignored him. “We are required to build cases, even if we can’t do anything else.”

  Henni sat back in her chair. “So. Thanks to all this, the existence of the therapy group is likely to become public knowledge. I’m sure that’ll make Ms. Isnia very happy, but for the rest of us it’s going to be a problem, isn’t it? Well, at least we’ll have a little time to prepare. Does anyone else have any questions for Dr. Singh?”

  “We’ll need her to make a statement,” said Koggan.

  “Does that have to happen now?”

  “No. We’ll be in touch.”

  “In that case, Dr. Singh, I’ll ask you to leave us while we discuss this further. I’m sure your patients need you more than we do at the moment.”

  “Thank you,” I said. Henni touched a control on her pad, and the images of the committee members faded away, leaving me alone in the room. I breathed a sigh of relief; I’d feared far worse. At least I was still in charge of the group.

  2. Liss

  A few days later, Security finally allowed me to talk to Liss. Since physical presence is important in therapy and they wouldn’t allow me to simulate it with a remote session, I found myself heading to Hub Metro and the headquarters of Hub Security.

  Hub is relatively secure by its very nature. The portals to other universes are in orbit, most of them at the L1 point between the Earth and Moon — making it easy to control who and what gets in and out of the universe. Grainger Station has its own separate security force, so Hub Security mainly deals with the everyday policing of a city with a low population density, many of whom are diplomats whose misdeeds are the responsibility of the intelligence and security sections of the Diplomatic Service. The greatest challenges to law and order are biodiversity offences, and the perennial demonstrations against artificial intelligence kept going by certain species who have axes to grind.

  There was a demonstration going on in front of Security Headquarters while I was flown in to see Liss: about fifty or sixty angry humans with placards denouncing AIs as godless massacre machines, and demanding something be done about all the crimes they had committed or might theoretically commit. It wasn’t a serious issue for Security. The demonstration was only there so they could get the famous building in the back of the screen news coverage.

  The headquarters of Hub Security was not a utilitarian, ugly squat of brick or stone, but a minor masterpiece of architecture, looking like a circle held on its side so it formed an ‘O’ from a distance. Hub attracts the finest architects from across the multiverse, because it provides them with an opportunity to show off their work to the widest possible audience — thus enabling the IU to get the work at a very reasonable discount. Hub Metro is littered with bold statements in glass and stone and wood and aerogel supported by pressor fields. In this case, the architect decided a circular building was a symbol of strength and security, and then turned it on its side.

  The ‘O’ was partially buried, and holding cells were kept in the underground portion. Those parts of the building that had to act as a police station were designed with a greater concession to practicality, but (this being Hub), even the holding cells were comfortable, well lit, and really quite pleasant to stay in, if you ignored the fact that they were also designed to contain people with posthuman enhancements all the way up to military status and beyond.

  I met Liss in one of the interview rooms designed for dangerous prisoners. At first, it seemed as though we would be in the same room. But there was an invisible layer of composite carbonglass, plastic and energy dividing it, seemingly running through the table in the middle. I entered through one door and sat down. An impervious robotic warder opened the far door and Liss walked in.

  3. Group

  The group was gathered in the usual circle, waiting for me and Veofol to arrive. Elsbet had joined them for the first time, sitting as far away from Iokan as she could. The clothes she’d picked were those of a soldier: olive-drab canvas jacket, combat trousers, paratrooper boots, and a cap that hid Katie’s cropped hair. She looked a little nervous, but defiant with it.

  Olivia eyed her suspiciously. “So you’re up and about, then,” she observed.

  “Yeah. Who are you?”

  Olivia replied in her rudest tone. “I’m the old bitch. Who are you?”

  Elsbet was not to be outdone. “I’m Sergeant Go Fuck Yourself.”

  Olivia almost smiled. “Huh.”

  “Olivia’s not very polite, I’m afraid” said Iokan.

  “Oh, you’re Olivia? The one with all the dead people?” asked Elsbet.

  “That’s right. I hear you two made friends pretty quick.” She eyed Elsbet and Iokan.

  Elsbet snapped back: “Nothing happened. If it had, I’d have ripped his nuts off.”

  Olivia did smile this time. “Serve him right!”

  “I can assure you there’s nothing between us…” said Iokan, though no one paid any attention.

  “So what’s your story, Sergeant Go Fuck Yourself?” asked Olivia.

  “That’s my business.”

  “Hah! You’ve got a hope. There’s nothing you can keep secret here, girl. They’ll have it out of you and expect you to say thanks afterwards. Might as well say it here and now and get it over with.” Elsbet kept her mouth shut with a sneer. “Well? What are you? Come on, spit it out! I haven’t got all day!”

  “I had a drill instructor like you once,” said Elsbet to Olivia.

  “Yeh?”

  “He was a miserable arsehole as well.”

  “That’s not very nice…” said Pew, confused.

  Olivia laughed. “Leave her be. She’s all right.”

  “You are a soldier,” nodded Kwame, understanding.

  “Yeah. You?”

  “Once.”

  “There’s a lot of that going around.”

  Pew spoke up. “Olivia was kind of a soldier too…”

  Elsbet looked at Olivia. “That true?”

  “Coroner Corps. We killed dead people.” She looked round at everyone else. “So the rest of you were locked in as well, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Anybody know why yet?”

  “I’ve heard nothing,” said Iokan.

  “Where’s Liss?” asked Pew.

  “Who’s Liss?
” asked Elsbet.

  “The other member of the group… ah,” said Iokan, realising something.

  The door opened. Veofol and I entered the room and sat down in the circle. “Hello, everyone. Sorry I’m late. I imagine you’re all wondering what was going on last night…”

  “You locked us up!” exclaimed Olivia.

  “I’m afraid we had to lock down the centre.”

  “You had us in there for six hours!”

  “There was a security alert. I’m sorry, but we didn’t have a choice.”

  “Security alert? What bloody security alert?”

  “Perhaps we should wait for Liss?” said Kwame.

  “She won’t be joining us,” I said.

  “You’re not answering my question!” said Olivia.

  Iokan sat forward. “It was Liss, wasn’t it?”

  “What?” asked Kwame.

  “Liss was the security alert. Or else she’d be here,” said Iokan.

  “She was involved, yes,” I said.

  “Was she hurt?” asked Pew.

  “I can’t talk about the details, but she wasn’t hurt.”

  Iokan’s look drifted as he analysed the situation. “No… if she’d been killed or injured, you’d have told us.” He snapped his look back on me. “She caused the alert. Didn’t she?”

  “Well…” I sighed. I’d been hoping to defer this discussion, but that clearly wasn’t going to be enough. “I suppose you deserve to know. Liss left the centre without permission.”

  “What…?” said Kwame.

  “You mean she escaped?” asked Iokan.

  “That’s not the word I’d use,” I said.

  “How the bloody hell could Liss escape?” asked Olivia.

  “I take it she’s not what she seemed to be,” said Iokan.

  “As far as we can tell, she was something like a police officer. She was investigating the genocide on her world,” I said.

  “She thinks it was done by people from another universe?”

  “That may be the case, yes.”

  “And where is she now?” asked Kwame.

  “In custody. Security are interviewing her. That’s really all I know.”

  4. Liss

  Liss wore the shapeless paper overalls given to prisoners, re-issued every day so nothing could be hidden in them; they were also designed to fall apart if the wearer started doing anything stressful (like escaping), which dissuaded most people from attempting to break out.

  She slumped into the chair opposite me, and the AI warder, wearing one of the standard robot shells, chained her to the table. She didn’t look at me; she kept her eyes down, pretending disinterest.

  “She’s secure,” said the warder, though not to me.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to chain her legs as well?” I asked. It didn’t get the smile from Liss I was hoping for. The warder looked down at me through artificial eyes.

  “If you have any difficulties, hit the panic button.”

  “I’ll be sure to let you know.”

  It left us. The AI warder was probably filling the role as part of the policy to encourage humans and AIs to get to know each other better. Most of the others were human, and would have worn power armour, but even so, they were more like concierges than jailers. Liss would have been treated well. But people like complaining, so I thought I’d give her the chance.

  “How have they been treating you?”

  She didn’t reply.

  “Liss. Hi? It’s me. Asha?”

  She flicked a look up at me for a moment, but that was all.

  “They tell me they’ve been questioning you.”

  No answer.

  “They didn’t tell me what you said, but they seem to be satisfied you’re not a threat. They might let you come back to the centre.”

  Still no answer. Still no eye contact.

  “Olivia doesn’t believe you’ve been arrested. She doesn’t think you’ve got it in you.”

  That got a derisive snort.

  “None of us knows who you really are, do we?”

  “No.”

  “Well. You didn’t treat Mr. Dorje very well, did you? Do you remember? The man you attacked?”

  “He’s a criminal.”

  “Liss, he smuggles in fruit. He’ll be prosecuted for that and he might lose his business licence. Do you really think it merits a beating?”

  “Still a criminal.”

  “Did you know he comes from the same world as me?”

  She looked up, and our eyes met.

  “His whole country was destroyed. When we did a census after the evacuation, it turned out he was the only one left who came from there. Take a look at this…”

  I pulled out a pad and showed her images of old Tibet: monasteries in high mountains, prayer flags in the breeze, smiling faces of children, monks in orange robes.

  “That’s all gone now. They were starving at the end. With the glaciers all gone there was hardly any water for their crops. Then their cities were nuked when India and China had their war. And now he’s the only one left.”

  Liss received this like a burden on her shoulders.

  “He’s like a lot of people here. He could have gone on to the colony world, but he stayed on Hub instead. That bar of his? That’s the last piece of Tibet anywhere. It’s unique. I’ve been in there a few times. He’s got a terrible sense of humour, but he’s so proud of that place. And now he might lose it.”

  I showed images of Dawa Dorje in his bar. Some publicity shots: prayer flags on the roof, the traditional interior. Dawa looking so obviously proud. And one that Bell had taken of Dawa posing with me, friendly grin all over his face. Liss closed her eyes; I hoped I wasn’t piling on the guilt too much, but she needed to know what she’d done.

  “This is us, Liss. This is who you were investigating. This is Hub. Most of the people here came from dying worlds. If anyone in the multiverse is going to sympathise with you, it’s people like this.”

  She put a hand to her eyes. Were those tears? Yes. She wiped them back.

  “Do you want me to talk to him? I think he’ll understand if I explain.”

  Liss couldn’t stop the tears this time, and I couldn’t cross the barrier to comfort her. “I’m sorry…” she said. “I’m not like this…” She wiped her eyes on her sleeve, and of course the paper tore as soon as it got wet.

  “We’re all like this,” I said. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  5. Group

  “No. It’s rubbish. There’s no way that woman could fool a turnip!”

  “She fooled us all, Olivia,” I said.

  “She might have fooled you…”

  “She did, for a while.”

  “Do you really think she’s some kind of master criminal or something?”

  “No. Quite the opposite, I expect.”

  “All right, let’s say for a moment you’re not talking rubbish. So you’re seriously telling me you found her on a dead planet with corpses all over the place—”

  “Um. It wasn’t corpses,” said Pew.

  “Fine. Piles of ash everywhere, same thing. You find this woman still living there, still going about her business as though nothing’s happened, and you didn’t check? You didn’t look in her head with your doohickeys and your whatnots to see if she had anything to do with it?”

  I said, “We can’t actually do that, Olivia, not unless we understand the species well enough. We can’t do it for Liss and we can’t do it for you, either.” Kwame held his silence, wanting to avoid complicated explanations about his own experiences.

  “But you trusted her. That’s what I don’t understand. She’s obviously off her head and you trusted her.”

  “We saw someone in distress and tried to help.”

  “And she took advantage of you, is that what you’re saying?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “Well, you know what? Good for her!”

  “What do you mean by that?” said Kwame.


  “I mean I don’t believe a word of it because she’s a drip and nothing you can say is going to make me think any different, but if, and I mean if, she’s gone and made fools out of the lot of you, then good for her.”

  6. Liss

  “I’m no good at this,” said Liss.

  “You did okay. You had us fooled.”

  She scowled back. “Don’t patronise me.”

  This was definitely not the Liss I knew. “I’m sorry. Please go on.”

  “I was supposed to keep my mouth shut if I got caught. I tried, but… why do you have to be so nice? All of you, it’s like a tyranny of niceness. How’s anyone supposed to hold out against that?”

  I smiled and shrugged. There are worse things to be accused of. But Liss was still dispirited. “I’ve never been any good at this. I’m the last person who should be here.”

  “Does that mean you’ve done things like this before?”

  She sighed. “I used to be an adventurer.”

  “So you do have powers?”

  She snapped back at me. “Yes, I’ve got powers. Crap powers. I had early onset superpower syndrome. Kids who get their powers early are usually screwed up somehow, I was just crap. I’m strong and fast and tough but not as strong and fast and tough as the people who have real powers.”

  “So why did you become an adventurer?”

  “My parents did it, my boyfriend was doing it, how was I supposed to avoid it?”

  “Then why did you stop?”

  “Because I wasn’t any good at it! I was better at doing the paperwork when everyone else got back from the mission. And then Yott dumped me and the PRG didn’t want me and you don’t really want to hear about all this.”

  “I do want to hear about it.”

  “This isn’t a therapy session.”

  “Actually, it is.”

  “Therapy sessions are supposed to be confidential. They’re watching.” She jabbed a finger at the cameras she assumed were in the room.

  “I had the cameras switched off.”

  “And I’m supposed to just believe you?”

  “I’m your therapist. I give you my word.”