The Last Man on Earth Club

by Paul R. Hardy

  Our car was a luxury model, a ring running round the cable with the outside edge one long window for most of the circumference. Everyone was strapped in for the launch, but once we were up to speed, you could sit at a table and order drinks just as we passed through the upper cloud layers, revealing the curve of the distant horizon. A few hundred people could travel in such a car, but today we found ourselves in a group of fifty or so, all of us on the way to Iokan’s meeting with the Antecessors. This was something of a major event; a new species to be met, diplomatic relations to be opened, and a genocide to be investigated.

  I tried my best to introduce Iokan to some of those travelling with us, but he didn’t take much interest. People from the Diplomatic and Exploration Services got no more than a pleasant smile and a hello, followed by a complete inattention to their questions. He had no interest in speaking about what he expected to happen, much less in current events across the IU, which a couple of the Refugee Service people tried to engage him with. The situation on Ardëe was a frequent topic, and I swiftly learned it was worse than I thought: the sun in Ardëe’s universe was spitting flares out into space at a hundred times the usual rate, and millions were trying to flee. People were shocked at how swiftly the crisis was developing and some doubted we could manage an evacuation so soon after we had been attacked. But Iokan’s attention drifted away, so I made his excuses and tried to get him to pay attention to the spectacle beyond the window instead. We leant on the balustrade that kept us from direct contact with the great glass barrier: outside, clouds sank far below and the curve of the Earth was shadowed with the coming night.

  “You didn’t get to see this when you came down. What do you think?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Very nice.”

  “Ever seen it from this kind of height?”

  “Oh, yes. It’s not my first time in space.”

  “Really?” A chime went off in my ear. “Excuse me,” I said. “I have to take a call.”

  I left him at the balustrade, still somehow uninterested in a view most species never see before they go extinct. I found a seat away from all the others who had the decency to gawp, fished a pad out of my bag, and answered the call.

  It was Liss, sitting in her room, presumably with her own pad on her lap. “Hello, Liss. What’s up?”

  “Sorry! Are you in space already?” I held the pad out and showed her the view from the window. “Oh, yeah. That’s space,” she said.

  “You don’t sound very impressed.” I turned the pad back round to see her; she was frowning.

  “Yeah, well, bad things have happened to me in space…”

  “I remember. How can I help?”

  “Um. I was wondering, uh, if I could talk to someone from Quillia?”

  “We could probably arrange that. There’s a few people in the Refugee Service who come from there.”

  “I mean with someone official.”

  “Oh. Well. That’s a bit more difficult—”

  “They’ve got an embassy, right? And consuls and cultural attachés and all that kind of stuff?”

  “Yes, they do. Are you sure you want to make official contact this soon? I thought you were investigating what happened?”

  “Uh, well, I was, but, um…” She struggled with her point for a few seconds.

  “Yes?”

  “You know I was fostered?”

  “Yes. I remember.”

  “Well now I guess I know why. I mean, all that shit about mad child psychologists experimenting on me… they weren’t mad, they were aliens. It was probably normal for them.”

  “It’s possible.”

  “And why was I there? What were they doing — going on safari and bringing the kid along?”

  “I can’t tell you, Liss.”

  “Yeah, well… this is it, this is what I want to find out.”

  “You want to find out what they were up to?”

  “I want to find them. My parents.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s like… they’re my family. I don’t even know if they made it out of Calafaria, I mean millions of people died there… I just want to know.” She paused, trying to avoid tears. “They’re the only family I’ve got. And, I don’t know, maybe they’ll help.”

  “Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ll have a word with the embassy—”

  “Oh! Um. There’s one thing…”

  “Yes?”

  “You know how we’re supposed to have anonymity and all that?”

  “We’ll do our best to preserve it. Unless you prefer otherwise.”

  “Uh, no. I don’t, I mean yes, I want to keep the anonymity thing. Just in case it doesn’t work out.”

  “That’s fine. I think we can work something out with the Diplomatic Service. There’s a few people on board here. I’ll have a chat to them and get back to you. Okay?”

  “Okay. Thanks!”

  I went back to Iokan. He was where I’d left him, still staring out the window, though we were higher now and the gentle curve of the Earth was turning into a more pronounced arc. I was surprised when he spoke.

  “You know, this isn’t the first space elevator I’ve seen.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. The Antecessors used to have one, before the cataclysm. They buried it under the Pacific, in a sea mount.”

  “They buried it?”

  “They didn’t leave it connected all the time. It could retract back under the sea.”

  “That’s quite a piece of engineering.”

  “The idea was that one strand would come down from orbit, and another would go up from the sea, and they’d connect. When we found it, we set it off by accident, but there wasn’t anything in orbit for it to go to. It jumped up, went into the sky, hung there for a while and fell back down. Started a tsunami. Not one of our best days.”

  He fell silent again with an apologetic smile.

  “Iokan… listen. I know you think this is going to end with you going off and being one of them, but… I think you should be a little more cautious. It’s not just going to be you and them at the meeting. There’s a lot of Exploration and Diplomatic people with us, and the ICT as well. If we see the Antecessors giving us any trouble, we’re going to come back here straight away. And we’re not going to leave you behind.”

  He smiled at my lack of faith, then looked out at the black sky above the blue Earth. “Don’t worry, Asha. It’s going to be fine. You’ll see.” I left him to it and went to speak to the Diplomatic Service about Liss’s request.

  Half a day later, the Earth was a black disc rimmed by blue, and the lights of Hub Metro and a few scattered settlements were the only things visible on the night-time surface. We were called to our cabins to strap in for deceleration as we approached the counterweight station, where we took a shuttle to join our ship, the Exploration Service Vessel Geology, a journey of three more days. She was waiting out beyond the moon at the L2 point, where the gravity of Earth and Moon cancels out. The L1 point was nearer, lying between Earth and Moon, but that was occupied by Grainger Station and the main transit points to and from other universes. The Exploration Service preferred to use L2. It was less convenient but allowed them to emerge into a new universe hidden behind the moon, and was easier to defend should something follow them back. A number of vessels were stationed there permanently with as much weaponry as the IU could muster, which isn’t much and hardly what you would need to defend against a serious invasion; but since the Exploration Service is tasked with finding either empty worlds or planets of scientific interest, it’s rarely much of an issue.

  Today, it was an issue.

  We’d learned from Department Zero records that an EM cage together with a light-opaque shell could be effective in keeping Antecessors out, so the transit sphere had been enclosed and rigged with the most powerful cage we could build. It was necessary because the transit spheres for uncontacted worlds have to be powerful enough not only to send
material to another universe, but to bring it back as well. If the Antecessors chose to return with our ship, we needed to be able to contain them.

  Iokan sighed as the Geology cruised gently through the entry port of the transit sphere. To him, it was a waste of effort, but he didn’t trouble himself to explain at length. A shadow fell across the viewing deck as we entered, and then there was only the safety lighting inside the sphere, newly rigged because they aren’t usually enclosed. And then that too was gone as the windows polarised and shutters slid into place to block even the slightest view. We were dealing with beings made of electromagnetism who would treat glass as an open door. No chances were to be taken.

  “How long does it take?” asked Iokan. A bell sounded throughout the ship. “Not long,” I said.

  For a moment, we were nowhere, nothing and no-one. We were conscious of nothing, but very much aware of the nothingness.

  Then we were back. Iokan blinked. “That was it?”

  “That was it.”

  “We’re here?”

  “We’re here.”

  He got up, suddenly full of energy, taking a nervous breath. “How long before they come?”

  “If everything’s going according to plan, we’re sending the signal now. So about eight minutes for that to get to the sun, then eight minutes for them to get back, if they move at lightspeed. Call it twenty minutes, maybe a bit less.”

  “Ancients… after all this waiting, suddenly we’re moving fast.”

  “We’ve planned this very carefully.”

  “Well. Do we have to be anywhere in particular?”

  “I’m waiting for a signal.”

  “What happens then?”

  “I’ll tell you when it comes.”

  He was a little shocked. “Are you keeping secrets from me…?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why…?”

  “I’m under orders.”

  “I didn’t know you were a soldier.”

  “I’m not. But I have superiors, and they have concerns about security.”

  He was taken aback as he realised the implications.

  “You mean they don’t trust me?”

  “They’re being cautious.”

  “Hm,” he said, mulling it over. But his frown did not last long. “I will see her, won’t I?”

  “Of course.”

  “And they’re not going to stop me going with her?”

  “We’ve made arrangements to let it happen. If that’s what you want.” A chime sounded in my ear, and a message appeared before my eyes. “It’s time.” He took a breath as I rose. “Are you ready?”

  He nodded, flexing his hands, trying not to show how much he trembled. “I’m ready.”

  I took him through the ship, escorted by two security guards, to the recently installed Diplomatic Bay, a massive safe room in which normal humans could meet Antecessors without fear of contamination. A laminate carbonglass barrier protected the people within from both vacuum and anything electromagnetic. An EM cage was laced invisibly through it, and in addition the glass was polarised to opacity millions of times each second, so even something travelling at the speed of light couldn’t get through without being sliced in half. As an added precaution, we were issued with eyeglasses that would disrupt the sudden bursts of light-based information that had induced everyone on Iokan’s world to suicide.

  The bay was big enough for a substantial number of people, but for now it was just me, Iokan and some security guards. Other people flickered into being in one section of the bay: diplomats and investigators, all of whom were restricted to remote access for now. This was primarily a diplomatic mission, but it was Iokan who had been invited first of all, and our initial responsibility was to let him join his species if that was what he wanted. The Antecessors had said they would come in peace and offered guarantees of safe conduct, so we were treating them with as much trust as we could under the circumstances.

  Iokan was the only one smiling in the bay, and the only one who could not hear the ship’s Captain speaking to us through our implants, reporting that a response had been made to our initial hails, and that it came from very nearby — they had been awaiting our arrival in lunar orbit. They were coming to us now.

  The empty space outside the bay filled with stars, a galaxy of lights surrounding and circling the ship. One of them brightened and approached, a point of light that became a disc, then a sphere full of suggestions of interlocking shapes, endlessly changing and forming, and then, as it floated into the bay, unfolding into a gleaming human shape whose brightness made us glad of the dimming effect of the glass wall between us and the creature.

  The shape it unfolded into was that of a woman, hazy in form and outline save for the face, where her features sharpened to become those I’d seen in surveillance footage from the last days of Department Zero.

  Iokan wept behind his glasses and stepped forward. “Szilmar…!” he whispered.

  She floated there beyond the glass, and looked around, searching. She reached out and touched the barrier, then recoiled with a very human look of pain.

  Words appeared on the far side of the glass wall, back to front from the perspective of all but the energy being: Please do not touch the glass.

  She cocked her head.

  More words followed. We apologise for any discomfort due to security precautions. Welcome to the Exploration Service Vessel Geology.

  She read, then looked through the glass, scanning with who knew what senses. Please use the keyboard to communicate. A keyboard of light was drawn in the air in front of her. She didn’t immediately register it; instead, she locked eyes upon Iokan.

  As far as he and the woman of light were concerned, there were only two people in the bay. He pushed past the security guards, who stepped aside when they saw me nod, and reached out to her, laying his palm flat on the barrier. She smiled back, and reached out her own hand, spreading it as close to his as she dared.

  Messages came silently to me from the diplomatic team, saying they were about to ask the security guards to intervene. I begged them to wait. She might not be happy if we dragged him away.

  Iokan took off his protective spectacles and looked on her with his own naked eyes, seeing the woman who had died and returned from heaven.

  “Take me,” he said, full of joy and wonder. His words appeared automatically on the glass for her to see.

  Her smile turned to sadness. She mouthed one word, too quick and indistinct for our translators to catch it. But Iokan understood, and looked confused. Someone thought to move the keyboard of light to her side. She noticed it, and tapped out a message: I will not take you.

  His confusion turned to shock. She tapped again. It was wrong. It should not have happened.

  Iokan could barely get out the words: “But it was holy…”

  She looked at him with sadness and pity. You still feel as I did when I saw them.

  “Yes!” he cried.

  They were wrong. It was a crime.

  “They are perfect…”

  They’re just a remnant of what they were. They didn’t know they were doing any harm.

  I noticed the remote projections of the ICT investigators paying close attention with raised eyebrows. But for Iokan, the shock was terrible. “No… it’s not true…”

  We all felt the same as you when they took us. But we are the majority now and we will not commit the crime again.

  “You’re… you’re… you’re not my wife! You’re lying!” He screamed it through tears. “You’re lying!”

  She looked at him with a deeper sadness than light can show. I saw her speak two words, lost in silence. But to someone who knew the language, their meaning must have been clear, and I could easily guess: “I’m sorry.”

  “No… no…” He turned from her, looking terribly stricken, seeing what I suppose must have been pity on my face. And realising he had been mistaken. It was too much for him. His eyes rolled up in his head and he slumped to the floor.

&nbs
p; A security guard was with him in an instant, checking him over, and telling me he’d simply fainted. I looked up at Szilmar floating beyond the glass, looking anxious and worried. “He’s just passed out,” I told her. “He’ll be fine.”

  The words appeared on the glass in front of her and she nodded. She tapped on the keyboard. Please look after him. He’s suffered more than any of us.

  I nodded, and with the help of the medic, lifted him onto a stretcher, took him inside the ship, leaving the diplomats to face the shining woman, who watched her broken husband with sad, helpless eyes.

  13. Asha

  Ranev still had his tan, and looked as though he’d just been in the sea. He told me he’d been running therapy sessions out in the shallow water where his patients felt comfortable. He assured me it was a hard slog, but I found myself doubting it.

  “Have you heard?” he asked.

  “About what?”

  “Ardëe.”

  “Nothing official.”

  “It’s getting worse.”

  “I got that from watching the news.”

  “Could be an evacuation coming,” he said. “You know what that means.” I knew well enough: drop everything we were doing, endless trips up and down the Lift, years spent consoling and healing the survivors only just escaped from yet another dying world. And for the group? No one had said, and my messages asking for clarification from management had gone unanswered.

  “They might ask you to hand your group over to someone else.”

  “Or worse…