Post-Human Trilogy

by David Simpson

  8

  James followed Thel’s lead as they streaked out of the atmosphere and eastward, above the continent. There was no way to communicate other than with hand signals, but Thel’s extreme speed was making it impossible for James to stay within range of her. For most of the trip, Thel was just a little green star, at times more than a kilometer away from him. He understood her mindset: She had to get home. But with each passing moment, James was becoming more and more sure that there would be no one to greet her when they arrived.

  Thel slowed for a moment over the eastern seaboard of North America before plunging downward at several times the speed of sound. Most of the east coast was completely clear of cloud cover, and it made it easy for her to eyeball her home. James lost sight of her as she darted downward, but he figured it would be easy enough to pick her up again, as he guessed for himself where the city was. Nevertheless, he estimated a little too far to the south and found himself traveling up the coastline. Before long, he reached Manhattan and was slowing down as he flew over the Brooklyn Bridge.

  He’d visited Thel in New York countless times, including that fateful night last New Year’s Eve when he’d started to have the wrong thoughts—the ones that were recorded by the nans and reported to his wife—reported to everyone. The message e-mailed to everyone on his contact list, neighbors, co-workers, relatives, was simple:

  High Sexual Arousal in Presence of Thel Cleland, Saturday, December 31st.

  The thoughts were reported because he was married. The nans didn’t report regular sexual attraction to members of the opposite sex, even if those feelings occurred outside of a marriage. They only reported the strong feelings—the ones strong enough that they might cause the subject to act. People were reported all the time. Most people were reported several times in their marriages, but it was the first time that it had happened to James—and James was supposed to be special.

  Despite the number of times James had been to New York, he’d never visited the Brooklyn Bridge. Like the Vancouver Public Library, it was a relic, even more so in fact, but unlike the library and very much like modern architecture, it had been practical in its time. It wasn’t very functional anymore; no one had need for a bridge now so it was preserved as a keepsake of an earlier time—an odd time when the bridge was a lifeline to the rest of the world. Crude petrol-fueled vehicles had once rolled over the bridge on crude rubber tires; nowadays, the only people who visited it were those curious about a bygone era. One could walk over the bridge and pretend they were like those sad creatures who were locked to the ground, slaves to gravity like most mammalians.

  A closer inspection of the bridge revealed more red stains. Icaruses all over.

  New York, the second biggest hive in North America, was deserted. Just like Vancouver, there was no one flying above the massive skyscrapers and famous skyline—no one but James.

  James darted toward Thel’s apartment. She lived in a skyscraper near the Empire State Building. Her building dwarfed the old relic and stretched over 300 stories into the sky, but even it was nowhere near the tallest building in the city. Thel lived on the 193rd floor, but with no automatic guiding system, it was extremely difficult to find her apartment among the thousands in the building. He guessed the general proximity and disengaged his magnetic field. “Thel!” he called out.

  “James!” Thel sobbed in return. She was above him, leaning out of the entrance to the apartment she shared with her younger sister. She looked faint and, with no nans to prevent her from falling victim to shock, she stumbled off the ledge.

  James raced up to catch her in his arms and then guided her back into her apartment. It was luxurious inside, as all homes were now. With no limits to the size of new buildings, it became possible for massive numbers of people to live in spacious apartments, even in places as densely populated as New York City. James put Thel down on her couch as she sobbed and held her hands to her head.

  “She was…she’s…in her bedroom,” she related to James in a weak voice. “There’s…almost nothing. Oh God.”

  James didn’t say anything in response. The pain was beyond words. He’d experienced it too. Everyone was gone. Everyone. The loss was complete—inescapable—blackness.

  “I’m gonna be sick,” Thel uttered before holding her hands to her mouth.

  “Don’t!” James responded, holding her head back as the vomit rushed into her mouth. “We don’t have any food. You need to keep it in, Thel. I need you to swallow it down.”

  Thel did as James asked her, choking back the vomit and wiping tears from her eyes.

  “You’ll need those calories. We don’t have a replicator. There’s no way to eat.”

  “James, what’s happening? What could have done this…and why?”

  James stood and walked to the entrance of Thel’s apartment. The magnetic door was still disengaged, and the wind blew through his hair as he reached the ledge. Like Vancouver, there were fires in the city and robots fighting those fires and cleaning the streets, but other than that, there was nothing—not even people. No people. That was the future. But in a way, it was also like looking back in time.

  “It was definitely the nans, but other than that, I’m not sure yet.”

  “Is it everywhere? Is there…anyone left besides us?”

  “I’m not—”

  “James, tell me what you’re thinking! I know you have an idea. I can see it in your eyes!”

  She could see right through him.

  “I think something went wrong with the download.” He turned to Thel, who was still sitting on the couch, ghostly white and streaked with tears and sweat and vomit. “I think there was a virus in the upgrade.”

  “How? There are so many safeguards. It’s impossible…isn’t it?”

  James shook his head. This he really did not know. “Thel, we need to rendezvous with the others as quickly as possible. We’re not safe. None of us should be alone.”

  9

  Rich Borges sucked his lips back against his teeth, a habit he’d had since he was old enough to experience stress for the first time. Stress became a frequent visitor when the Governing Council identified you as a gifted scientist. Decades of trials and tests were all one had to look forward to before they finally deemed you fit to participate on a real project. Rich was fifty-four years old before he was chosen to replace another scientist during the Martian terraforming project. That was over fifteen years ago. Ever since then, his life had been far less stressful. He got along beautifully with Commander Keats and, as a result, was handpicked to participate with the small group who were working on Venus. Added to that, the nans usually regulated his mood enough to keep his anxiety problems in check. But now, without their assistance, he was coming apart at the seams, reverting to that old familiar sucking and the grinding of his teeth that used to accompany every exam situation. A twisting feeling roiled in his stomach as he wondered if he knew all the variables.

  As he traveled up the west coast of North America from his home in San Francisco, past Oregon and Washington State, right through Seattle, he wondered what those variables were. He hadn’t seen a soul. His huge family was gone. He was a great-grandfather, the patriarch of a family with nearly one hundred members, but they were all gone. He’d checked on them all. Some of them were erased completely, no sign of them. Others were just red stains on carpets or couches, impossible to identify, the sickening smell of blood permeating everything. He was a patriarch no more.

  During his training days, Rich developed a wicked sense of humor. It was a coping mechanism. Being funny made it easier to deal with stress. If you always focus on making people laugh, you’re less focused on your own fears—on your deficiencies. It also put other people at ease. If they felt less threatened by you, by the clown, they wouldn’t look as hard for your faults. Rich felt riddled with faults. He was Swiss cheese.

  All those faults were coming to the surface now. He could barely keep his eyes open as he headed north past Seattle. He would be in Vancouv
er soon, a city he’d seldom visited before today. He didn’t know the city well; all he had was his atlas. Thank God my city shares a coast with Vancouver, he thought. He would have been hopelessly lost if he’d had to travel a more complicated route. He was totally dependent on the automation of daily life and he knew it. And now he was left to his own devices. Completely free. Terrifying.

  Rich was relieved when Vancouver appeared in the distance. Soon the rest of the group would return, and he wouldn’t be alone anymore. It was too quiet. Disconnected from the Net, disconnected from millions of voices, it was like being dead. Was he dead?

  It wasn’t as easy to find Commander Keats’s house as one might have thought. Rich had noticed that James often believed the people around him were as perceptive as he. Most of the team members had never been to James’s house, yet he expected them all to know the way back. How? Was Rich supposed to notice something about the Commander’s street that made it different from the thousands of other city streets? The house looked like all the rest of the houses—metallic, an igloo shaped bunker with some grass out front and a few big trees in the backyard. Not much to go on. Was Rich supposed to know the types of flowers in the front garden? James would probably notice that type of detail. He’d know all the Latin names. Having a photographic memory must be wonderful. But what about everyone else? Rich, like almost everyone else before today, had a 149 IQ—he was brilliant. But not that brilliant. Not brilliant enough to think his way through this. Not brilliant enough to stand over the remains of his whole family, his children, his grandchildren, his great-grandchildren, and comprehend it all.

  And now he had to find that one goddamned house. One house! And I can’t even do that! He stopped in a neighborhood that looked exactly like the fifty neighborhoods he’d just been in and sat on a tree stump. He disengaged his magnetic field and took off his helmet and gloves and struck a pose reminiscent of Rodin’s Thinker. It was sunny outside now, and the subdivision he was in was built on the side of a mountain. He was looking over water that sparkled like he’d never seen water sparkle before. He’d thought San Francisco was the most beautiful city in the world, but he had to admit now that it couldn’t hold a candle to Vancouver in July. Why hadn’t he come here before? He thought that maybe if his family were still alive, he might have brought them up for a vacation. The camping must be amazing.

  They’re all gone.

  Suddenly, the silence was replaced by something else. A hum—electrical—not far away. He turned to his left and saw the source: a street-cleaner. But it wasn’t cleaning the street. He’d never seen a street-cleaner that wasn’t cleaning a street before. It seemed to be coming toward him.

  Alarmed, Rich stood quickly. “What the hell?”

  The street cleaner stopped. What was it doing?

  Suddenly, another hum. This time it was to his right. The same thing. A street cleaner coming toward him. He’d never noticed how ugly they were before. They must have weighed a couple of hundred kilograms with all of the equipment they had to carry—all of the cleaning fluid they needed to transport. They were modern—functional. The A.I. had designed them. Aesthetic appeal was apparently not one of the parameters in their design. They looked like robotic hunchbacks. A large head was always close to the pavement, held by a skinny, giraffe-like neck—always, except for now that is. Now, the neck held the head and its glowing red eye two meters into the air, craning it toward Rich.

  “What do you want?” Rich took a defensive stance and the second robot stopped as well. They didn’t leave. They stood to either side of him while their electric hum sent chills throughout Rich’s body. Never had a robot approached him. It was unwholesome. Suddenly they were alive. No longer invisible machines. “Are you watching me?” Rich asked.

  A third hum joined the fray. Another street cleaner began to approach from behind the first robot.

  “It’s starting to get a bit crowded in here, don’t you think, fellas?”

  Then salvation came. Two green balls of light cruised overhead.

  “Oh thank God!” Rich put his helmet back on and lifted off into the air. “I’ll be seeing you guys around, okay? Say hi to everyone else in Freaky Robot Town for me, will ya?”

  He ignited his magnetic field and blazed through the sky in pursuit of his two companions.

  10

  James and Thel set down in his front yard in the late afternoon sun. Old-timer was already there, looking pale and extraordinarily grim but relieved to see the safe return of his friends.

  “Where’s Rich?” James asked him, concern in his voice. “He should have been the first one back.”

  “He’s right behind you,” Old-timer responded.

  At that very moment, Rich was disengaging his magnetic field and pulling off his helmet. “Had a bit of trouble finding the place.”

  “I’m just glad you’re okay,” James replied, putting his hand on Rich’s shoulder.

  “Screw that! I’m not okay!” Rich exclaimed, his lip quivering as he felt himself coming apart at the seams, his anxiety overwhelming him. “I’m not even close to okay! Everybody’s dead! Everybody’s dead!”

  Thel pulled Rich close and let him sob on her shoulder. “We know, Rich. We know. Everyone’s gone.”

  James watched as Rich expressed the emotion that the rest of the team was trying to quell. How could this happen? He turned to Old-timer, who sat on the lawn and looked off into the distance, thousands of miles away. He knew he didn’t have to ask, but he did so anyway. “All gone?”

  Old-timer pulled himself out of his trance just long enough to look up at James, with a face empty of the characteristic joy that James had always found there. “Yes.”

  “There’s something else,” Rich began, pulling himself away from Thel, “Street-cleaners. They just surrounded me…a couple of blocks from here!”

  Rich’s words momentarily stunned the others. Old-timer and James shared looks of surprise.

  “What do you mean?” Old-timer asked.

  “I was resting a few blocks from here, and street-cleaners—three of them, came up to me, one by one, and just…watched me.”

  “What the hell…” Thel began but let her words drift away in the breeze as she saw another street-cleaner suddenly appear at the end of the street.

  It floated slowly toward them and set down only a few meters away from James’s house, small legs unfolding from the underbelly of the mechanical monster. It was only the first robot to appear as, slowly, the last humans on Earth were surrounded. One by one, nearly a dozen street-cleaners appeared and took their places in a semicircle, facing James and the others.

  “What’s going on?” Old-timer asked, frozen.

  “I think it’s your cologne, Old-timer. I’ve been meaning to tell you, it’s very attractive,” Rich suggested, his voice quivering.

  “They’re just watching us. Why don’t they do something?” Thel questioned.

  “You can’t assign motives to them, Thel. They may behave as though they’re alive, but they’re just machines,” James answered. “It’s the A.I.—it’s looking for us,” James continued, his words like ice.

  “The A.I.? How do you know?” Rich asked.

  “There may be no people left, but there are plenty of robots on the streets. One of the A.I.’s functions is to watch over all of the other machines on Earth—sort of like a robot nanny. If the A.I. were damaged or destroyed, the robots wouldn’t function. It controls all of them.”

  “What does it want?” asked Thel.

  “Right now, I’d say it wants to communicate with us. The street-cleaners aren’t equipped with any sort of com device, so the A.I. can’t speak to us through them. Unless my guess is off, however, I think we’ll be having company very soon.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” said Rich.

  “Keep them distracted,” James ordered his three companions. “I’m going to leave a message for Djanet.”

  “Are we going somewhere?” Old-timer asked.

  S
uddenly, the sky was filled with an enormous dark shape. A disk twice the size of James’s house came to a halt, its rapid approach and sudden stop created a deafening roar as the wind was torn violently.

  “Just about crapped my pants,” Rich uttered, swallowing back his fear.

  “Yes,” James replied to Old-timer. “We are going somewhere.” He walked into his home and remained there for over three minutes, an amount of time that seemed like an eternity as his companions faced the ominous metallic entities around them.

  Old-timer stood nearer to Rich and Thel, hoping his presence would calm them. In all his years, a street-cleaner had never approached him. He’d never noticed one watching him before. Never marveled at their demonic red eyes.

  Suddenly a gigantic circular door opened up in the underbelly of the hovering disk and the disk began to slowly lower itself. “What’s it doing now?” Rich asked.

  “It’s an invitation,” James replied, appearing from out of the house and walking past his team. “Keep your wits. Let’s go.” He lifted off the ground and flew into the belly of the disk, disappearing into the bright light within.

  “Crap. Crap,” Rich whispered, valiantly trying to stave off hyperventilation.

  “Come on,” Thel said reassuringly, gently helping Rich up into the air. “It’ll be fine.”

  Old-timer was last to enter the darkness above. “What have you in store?” he mused to himself before cautiously following his friends into the mouth of the unknown.

  Once Old-timer was inside, the door closed, and the disk streaked away from the commander’s house like a black bullet.

  11

  The trip lasted less than a minute, but even a minute is too long to be shut inside a metallic coffin. The only discernible feature within the disk was the light fixture on the ceiling that shined a harsh and unforgiving light.