The Last Man on Earth Club

by Paul R. Hardy

She shrugged as she chewed. “They thought it was an adventure. To begin with, anyway. All the researchers brought their children to the station when we realised things were going to get bad. They were in the local school and all the kids spoke the language thereabouts, which was Wealsc. Our ones started coming back home speaking bits and pieces of it. Then the flu came and we had to close the gates and that was it.”

  “How did they take it?”

  “They didn’t understand. Well, some of the older ones did but they didn’t like it. We had them in the storage bunker during the battle so they didn’t see that.”

  “How old were they?”

  “All sorts. We had a couple of two year olds, then everything up to sixteen.”

  “I mean your children.”

  She munched on her sandwich for a moment, thinking. “Ten and twelve.”

  “Did they know by then? About their father?”

  “Yeh.”

  “What did they think?”

  “I was the one telling them what to do and daddy was the one who used to give them presents and never told them they had to do their shoelaces up. Oh, they loved him.”

  “Did you have any therapists they could go to?”

  “I wasn’t sending them to those bloody witch doctors! It wasn’t like here. They’d have had them taking pills all day, I saw what that was like, children taking those were like revenants without the hunger. I wasn’t having that. They had to lump it.”

  “But you saw therapists.”

  “They made me. And they weren’t therapists, they were psychiatrists and they didn’t have the faintest idea what they were talking about. Kept wanting me to erase engrams or some other nonsense. One thing I’ll give you lot, you don’t talk rubbish. You know how brains work.”

  “Hm. So your children were resentful?”

  “Nothing a clip round the ear couldn’t fix. When they were young, anyway.”

  “There’s one thing I haven’t asked…”

  “Is there? Bloody hell, there’s a miracle and no mistake.”

  “You’ve never told me their names.”

  She chewed on her sandwich and looked out across the mountains.

  “They’re dead and gone. What does it matter?”

  “I’d like to know.”

  “They haven’t even got graves, for gods’ sake.”

  “But they had names.”

  “Yeh.”

  “Is this difficult for you…?”

  “You’re not going out of your way to make it easy, are you?”

  “They had names.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Have you forgotten?”

  She whipped a look at me, full of rage. “I haven’t forgotten a damn thing!”

  “Will it hurt to tell me?”

  She looked away again and swallowed.

  “Olivia?”

  “Caterine. Vicktor. There, are you happy?”

  “Which one was the eldest?”

  “Caterine.”

  “Thank you, Olivia.”

  “Now leave me alone.”

  “There’s one other question I wanted to ask.”

  “Well bloody ask it then!”

  “There were two revenants at the station when we found you.”

  “Yeh.”

  “You put them down before you tried to kill yourself.” She took a bite of her sandwich and didn’t answer. “Were they Caterine and Vicktor?”

  She chewed on her sandwich for a time and stared out over the mountains.

  “Olivia?”

  She snapped back at me. “I’m having my sandwich. Can’t I do that in peace?”

  I left her to her meal. She wasn’t enjoying it any more.

  10. Pew

  Pew buried himself in his studies, which seemed to be the only thing that would take his mind off his troubles. He retreated into his room whenever he could, so I popped in a couple of times each day to see how he was, and made sure he came out for meals, when he was usually quiet and would excuse himself as soon as he decently could.

  It was only when I called him in to deal with an administrative matter that we made progress. His request to be placed on the euthanasia track had been processed swiftly, as they usually are. It’s easy to get into the programme, but extremely difficult to get as far as euthanasia. I’ve only seen it happen once; when the patient feels they have a chance of getting what they want, they tend to open up to their therapist, and healing begins. The euthanasia track saves many more people than it kills.

  I needed Pew’s signature on the final document; he said the necessary words, scribbled his name, added his Hub ID code and thumbprinted the pad, and then I added my own codes and imprints as the witnessing officer.

  “That’s it,” I said.

  “That’s it?” he asked.

  “Yes. That’s everything.”

  “Can we start?”

  “The next time we have a therapy session, Pew.”

  “I, I want to start now.”

  “It’s going to take a long time. There’s no need to rush into it.”

  “I’ll tell you about Ley’ang.”

  I stopped there. He was dreadfully pale, and sweating. “Are you sure? You don’t look very well.”

  “I’m fine. Let me tell you. Please!”

  “Okay. Let me make you some tea.” I rose to prepare him a cup.

  “It— it—” The words would not come, and he struck the arm of his chair, frustrated.

  “You don’t need to jump in this fast, Pew.”

  “It was…” he swallowed. “The same that happened to Qaliul.”

  “The girl who came to the centre when you were young?”

  “Yes! She was older than me. They put her in the programme first. They…”

  “You said she died.”

  “She killed herself.”

  “Because of what they did to her?”

  He replied with utter horror in his voice. “Yes!”

  I gave him his tea. “How did you know? You were only a little boy.”

  “She sent me a letter. She gave it to the other Pu, they kept it for years but I found it when they were old… she told me they were… raping her and she was going to kill herself and they were going to do the same to me when I was her age and she wanted us to run away but she couldn’t find a way and she thought they might, she thought they might… because I was a boy she thought they might… they might make me…”

  I took the tea from his shaking hands.

  “Pew. You’ve said it. It’s okay.”

  “I haven’t said it! I haven’t said anything…”

  “They forced you into the breeding programme—”

  “Yes! But it was different for boys. They made us… they, they… it wasn’t the same for boys…”

  He couldn’t say it.

  “Pew… is this something you’d prefer to talk about with a male therapist?”

  “No! No, I can… it’s not you, it’s just…”

  He was lost for a moment, looking around, almost as though he were trapped. He looked up at me. “Let me show you.”

  “Um…” I must have looked a little confused.

  “There’s a documentary I found. I can explain it with, with that.”

  “Okay, go ahead.” I handed over a pad so he could control the wallscreen. He called up his home folder and found a documentary on agricultural practices on a primitive world — not his one, nor any I recognised. They had apparently domesticated gazelles early in their history and turned them into typical cattle-like givers of meat and milk. He drilled down further into the documentary package and found a piece of video showing details of breeding practices.

  A narrator spoke over pictures from a stainless steel model farm scattered with hay and muck. “When the breeding season comes, it is the largest and strongest males that will be selected for stud so their size will be genetically transferred to the next generation.”

  A farmhand in overalls led a docile bull gazelle from a pe
n. Pew stood, nervously watching as I took in the documentary.

  “The bull is led to the selected cow and allowed to mount her.” The bull gazelle did exactly that, with details that seemed a little too graphic until I checked the metatext and discovered this was a training video for agricultural students.

  “However, approximately eight per cent of bulls show no interest in mounting. It is unknown why, though there are studies ongoing. For the purposes of this video, we shall only discuss the two most commonly used solutions.

  “Artificial insemination is used in a number of cases.” The screen showed a bull gazelle suffering the attentions of a vet to collect semen. “This is the preferred method in the modern day as it offers the least risk to livestock. Traditionally, however, bulls have been given sindvort in their feed which acts as an inducement to mounting.”

  The screen showed a bull gazelle munching on a paste mixed in with his feed, then cut to a bull entering a pen with a cow and immediately charging at her, making her run to one side. But these gazelles had been made so large by breeding that she could not escape and he mounted her — only more insistently, forcing her against the side of the pen.

  “While this method is undoubtedly effective, there are risks involved to the health of both the bull and the cow. Gorings are frequent…” The screen showed a bloody wound in the side of the cow gazelle. “…and can be fatal.”

  The screen cut to lower resolution video shot at a real farm rather than the unnaturally clean facility in the main video. A bull had gored a cow so severely that his horns were embedded in her flanks. He could not be calmed by the farmhands, while the cow shrieked in pain and stumbled. “The practice is now banned in many countries, while artificial insemination—”

  I pressed pause and looked at Pew. He’d sat down in a chair and hunched up into himself.

  “Oh, Pew…” I said. He did not respond. I went to him and kneeled by his chair. “Was that what they did to you?”

  He shuddered a nod.

  “And Qaliul tried to warn you. And then with Ley’ang…”

  “And others!” He screwed his eyes up and nodded again.

  “And Shan’oui allowed this?”

  “She… she wanted them to take sperm, do it artificially, but when… when they came and made me… she said they couldn’t make it work, they didn’t have a choice, she said it was for the good of all the Pu, I had to do it for the good of the Pu…”

  I had to restrain an urge to put a hand on his shoulder; it was obvious now what experiences had caused his PTSD, and why physical contact, especially from a woman, could trigger a flashback.

  “Thank you.” I said.

  He looked at me, eyes bathed in tears, shuddering.

  “Can I die now?” he begged. “Please?”

  “No,” I said. “I can’t let you do that. You’ve made a very brave first step but we still have a lot to do.”

  “Just let me die…” He curled up into himself again, a ball of pain and sobs.

  “It’ll get better, Pew. We can help you now.”

  I believed it as I said it. I knew he didn’t.

  11. Iokan

  Iokan was convalescing, but liked to keep active, even if he was limited by smoke-damaged lungs and the need to carry oxygen with him at all times. He walked where he could, and resorted to his chair when he grew too tired. He seemed deliberately to avoid me at first, and spent time outside just looking at the mountains. But eventually he sought me out, requesting I speak with him just before dinner one day.

  He preferred to meet outdoors, so I took a collapsible chair and sat down beside him in the meadow while he floated in his own chair. For a man who often wore a kindly look, ready to smile at the merest human foible, he seemed extremely grave.

  “So, what would you like to talk about, Iokan?”

  He held up a pad: he was finally complying with the doctors who’d forbidden him from talking until his lungs healed. I will tell you everything.

  “Oh…” I said, surprised. “I thought it was too dangerous?”

  He typed onto the pad and showed it again. It is too late. The danger is here. Will you pass this on to IU Directorate and Shadow Director of ICT?

  “Of course. Let me just make a note…” I raised the priority of the meeting with my own pad. “I’ll pass it on as soon as we’re done.”

  He’d already written his statement, and sent it to my pad.

  My name is Iokan Zalacte. I am a colonel in the Zumazscartan covert operations unit known as Department Zero. Recently I have been involved in strategy and planning but for many years I was an investigator in, and then commander of, a Department Zero regional intervention team.

  Department Zero was officially purposed with the task of assessing, retrieving and if necessary destroying artefacts pertaining to the Antecessors and their technology. But fifty years ago we were repurposed to deal with interversal threats to our nation and the world.

  It has been fifty two years since our world discovered the existence of other universes, and that many of these universes are hostile towards us. For this reason, the major powers of my world signed a secret treaty to cease rivalries and concentrate on the interversal threat, which was recognised as existential in scope.

  My world has been infiltrated and attacked repeatedly. We concealed this from our own public to avoid mass panic and because we feared full disclosure would force the interversal powers to act against us in unpredictable and disastrous ways.

  We made numerous attempts at negotiation and begged for truce at every opportunity, but the Interversal powers refused all contact and continued their attacks. It was only through the efforts of defectors who were later murdered that we discovered the existence of the Interversal Union. We have been trying to contact you for the last ten years in the hope of finding assistance.

  I do not regret that we were found by the Antecessors before you reached us. You must rest assured in the knowledge that my species is safe now from any further depredation. My fear is for your own safety. I believe the powers who attacked us may have been responsible for the recent attack upon Hub. There may also be a connection to the genocide on the world of Liss Li’Oul, but upon that I can only speculate.

  I wish to assist you in every way possible. To this end, I append full access codes to all Department Zero facilities and grant you full use of the files and data we gathered.

  I also grant the Interversal Union full title to all technologies existing on my world, whether directly of Antecessor origin, subsequently derived from Antecessor artefacts, or based on original work.

  I wish you the best of luck in the days and years to come. May the Antecessors guide you and protect you.

  He was looking out over the peaks as I finished reading. Clouds wrapped around our nearest neighbour, and the setting sun tinged them with red. It was already growing late in the year.

  “Well,” I said, surprised. “Colonel…”

  He tapped away on his pad. Rank means nothing.

  “Why did you change your mind?”

  Could have prevented attack.

  “There’s no way to know that, Iokan. The terrorists might be completely unconnected to the people who attacked your world. The problems between humans and machines have been going on since long before the IU started…”

  Should have acted anyway.

  “You can’t blame yourself.”

  He sighed. What happens now?

  “What happens now for you is therapy.”

  He nodded. Never doubted that.

  PART ELEVEN — EVENTS

  1. Press Release

  FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

  An important announcement relevant to the future of the Interversal Union will be made at a press conference to be held at 10:00 HT on HD y276.m9.w1.d1 at the Interversal Assembly Building, room AA20. This will be followed by a brief question and answer session.

  All accredited news organisations are invited to send one (1) representative.

  Video, a
udio and data will be streamed live from the conference to all universes inhabited by IU members, prospective members and contacted species.

  The text of the announcement will be available to news organisation representatives ten (10) minutes before the announcement, and will be under strict embargo until after the announcement.

  Please contact the Press Office for interview slots with relevant IU personnel.

  ENDS

  2. Committee

  I was summoned to the remote meeting room to come before the supervisory committee, but they did not say why. As I took my seat in the empty room, I feared the worst. The apocalypse watch had been reporting a deterioration on several worlds: new projections of eventual extinction on the radioactive wastelands of Llorissa; an imminent though minor comet strike upon Schviensever; and a worrying series of coronal mass ejections from Ardëe’s star. Nothing to suggest an imminent evacuation that could force my reassignment to other duties, but perhaps the meeting was intended to discuss some apocalypse that wasn’t yet public knowledge.

  The truth was rather different.

  The committee members shimmered into existence around me. We almost had a normal datalink up and running by this point, so there was just a little fuzz of interference around the edges of objects. It looked like I’d come in at the end of a very long meeting, judging by the empty coffee cups, demolished biscuit platters and scattered pads. Koggan BanOrishel from Security was not there this time, replaced by someone else, and Baheera Isnia had actually shown up from the Diplomatic Service.

  “Dr. Singh. Thank you for joining us,” said Henni Ardassian. “You’ve probably heard something very important is about to happen…”

  “An evacuation?” I asked.

  Henni smiled. “No, thankfully. That would put an end to all this, wouldn’t it?”

  Baheera Isnia frowned.

  “It’s a little less apocalyptic,” continued Henni. “The IU is about to announce the formal activation of the Interversal Criminal Tribunal.”

  “…oh.”

  “We’ve been meeting to decide our response. Mr. Ai?”