He guided her into her small room. They looked outside where his friends were playing. “I wish I could join you,” she said softly. “But if I go outside they’ll come to me. I just can’t bear to be around them.” She gazed into his eyes. “You’ll make sure that Johnny keeps the air conditioning running?” He nodded. “You’re a good boy, Adam.” She patted his hand. “You can go now.”
He nearly ran through the corridors trying to escape back into the sunlight. What she had said confused him. The wardens treated him and his friends kindly. Or at least they were fed and clothed and watched over so they wouldn’t hurt themselves. Once outside, he walked over to the swings, ignoring Mary’s plea to join her. He did not like seeing Grandma angry. Was it something he or his friends had done? They had to call him three times before he realized it was time for dinner.
The irradiation had been total and devastating. At first the tremendous number of infants born with Down Syndrome was considered a statistical anomaly. Within a month we knew better.
The genetic damage the visitors had imparted reached every corner of the globe. Even preserved ova and sperm were affected. Governments around the world forgot about the spaceship hovering just beyond our atmosphere as they concentrated on this new disaster. Research on AIDS, cancer, muscular dystrophy and all other medical concerns was abandoned as scientists and geneticists tried desperately to find a solution. Without success.
One chromosome; one extra chromosome! That’s all that was necessary to bring us to our knees. The drain on the world’s economy became tremendous as nations tried to deal with the problem of feeding, clothing and teaching so many mentally handicapped. A few nations, Asian nations in particular, took the most drastic and fatal steps; the infants were simply killed. Others fought among themselves in the misguided belief that their imagined enemies had fertile men/women hidden away in underground laboratories. While our real enemy remained above, waiting patiently.
Within 30 years our society in general was in complete collapse. International cooperation was no longer a possibility. Nearly the entire continent of Africa shut itself off from the rest of the world as warlords fought for control of a population shrinking dramatically through disease, famine and tribal retribution. Central America suffered a similar fate. A last, great Holy war raged in the Middle East. Nations prohibited travel into and out of their borders. Even the Internet disintegrated slowly but inexorably. The general population shrunk inevitably as well, through war, disease, illness and plain old age. But now there was no way it could be replaced.
She closed her diary and sighed, then coughed a shuddering cough and covered her mouth with a handkerchief. It was stained with blood when she removed it. It didn’t alarm her; she had known for months she was dying. She had lost feeling in her legs long ago and in another time, in another place, they would have been amputated. Instead she set her diary on those useless limbs and stared out the window where the children were playing.
The last hope of Earth, she thought bitterly. Playing outside in the sunshine, most half naked, being dutifully watched by the wardens. “Why?” she asked aloud. “Why do you care? Are you just curious? Are you here to gloat in your total victory?”
Even when they finally arrived, landing after 60 years to claim their prize, secure in the knowledge that the remaining humans were too weak and disorganized to fight them in any way, the wardens never tried to communicate. “You never told us why, you bastards!” she said then coughed again. Spasms shook her for several minutes, rivulets of pain swept through her veins. She was gasping and weeping when the agony finally ceased.
She knew then she had waited long enough, maybe too long. She felt confident the wardens would not interfere with their plans, not after so many years of benign neglect. More from habit than hope, she reached over and turned on the ham radio. Commercial television and radio had long since vanished from the airways so ham radio operators scattered across the planet had become the last reliable source of news. But even they had to succumb to the increasing lack of power, failing equipment and failing health. As she had expected, all bands were silent.
She turned off the radio. When was the last time she had heard another voice? Five years ago? Four? Was she the only human left? “Stop it,” she scolded herself. “The children are human, too.” And, for better or worse, they would be the ones who would initiate the plans her group and begun 20 years previous. Gritting her teeth, she wheeled herself out the door. It was time.
The children screamed with delight and ran to her as she made her painful way through the front door and out into the sunlight. Mary tried to sit on her lap but she pushed the child away quickly. “Adam, I need to see you. The rest of you go back and play.” She saw the wardens approach. “Quickly, Adam, get me back inside. Now.”
Adam pushed her through the glass doors into her air-conditioned sanctuary. She smiled briefly as she saw the wardens hesitate, then stop at the entrance. “If you weren’t so fat, you could get through that door, couldn’t you?” She looked up at Adam. “We’re going somewhere different today. Go down the corridor to your left.”
Adam followed the unfamiliar path. Except for Grandma, they all slept, dressed, played and, when necessary, ate in the same large room near the entrance. The teaching room, lavatory and Grandma’s room were the only places they were allowed to frequent. She had warned them that the other rooms were dangerous and after several spankings he and the others had obeyed. He felt apprehensive as he pushed her down the dim hallway. Where could they possibly be going?
“Stop here.” He pushed her before a closed double door. She leaned forward and painfully inserted a key into a panel on the right. The doors opened into what Adam imagined was an extremely small room. “This is an elevator,” she said. “Push me inside. Press that bottom button,” she continued after they entered. Adam started as the doors closed and long dormant machinery sprung into life. He looked at her and trembled as he suddenly felt like he was falling.
“Don’t worry, dear,” she patted his hand. “This is a very short ride. We’re going down to the basement. There’s something I want you to see.”
The elevator stopped with a jolt, then the doors opened onto a vast, well-lit room. Adam gazed without comprehension at the multitude of tables, equipment and other paraphernalia that awaited them. Grandma wheeled herself into the complex, Adam following reluctantly. She stopped directly in front of a large console, Her fingers flew across the control panel and the screen in front of her sprang into life. “This is a computer,” she explained as Adam walked up behind her. “The big brother to the one you’ve played with. It may be the last working one on our planet, I don’t know. Sit in this chair next to me. I want you to type your name.”
Adam obeyed. Without thought he entered his name, not even looking at the keys as he typed.
She smiled and patted him on the back. “Do you remember this room? It’s been over 15 year since I brought you and the others down here. When the wardens came, I had to stop that. I didn’t want them becoming too curious. Not that it would have mattered much, I guess.”
Adam looked around the room. Other memories stirred in the fog deep inside his mind. “Where is Doctor Adams?” he asked, suddenly recalling the tall, gentle man who had spent so much time with him.
“He died a long time ago, dear. But I am glad you remember him. Now, do you remember how to turn on the equipment?”
Once again his fingers moved unbidden. The controls, the screens, everything looked like the lessons he had practiced and enjoyed on the laptop during playtime. Seated at the console, other memories returned, as if the lid to a locked trunk were opened and a century’s worth of dust had erupted. He didn’t need any instructions now, his command of the computer was nearly instinctual. One by one the lights of the machines around them glowed as they revived from their dormancy. He smiled at her when he was finished.
“Do you remember what all these lights mean?”
“No,” he admitted reluctantly. Th
e glow of his achievement was dimmed immediately by her question.
“No matter,” she smiled and patted his hand. “Susan will.” She pointed to one of the panels. “That registers the output from the thermoelectric generators below us. We built this complex here, near a volcano, so we could easily generate electricity. Of course, if we had known how the wardens abhor the cold, we would have chosen another, less friendly location. But at the time we didn’t know anything about them.
“Did you know,” and she laughed bitterly, “that we built this all for you? And your friends, of course.”
Adam didn’t reply; he was entranced by the display on the computer panel. His fingers continued to fly across the keyboard, opening files, issuing commands, turning on one piece of equipment after another. He was beginning to remember more about the many months he and his friends had spent down here, being taught to operate the equipment.
“You were our last great hope,” she continued. “Our last great experiment. The geneticists had run into one dead end after another. From what we could determine, every person on earth, even those preserved by cryogenics, had been affected by the wardens. They must have been studying us for many years to understand that mongoloids are sterile. And to develop whatever they developed that so successfully and totally ruined us.”
She paused. “Do you know what an ‘idiot savant’ is?” His continued silence was his answer. “It was our last, great hope. We collected those we could identify from all over the world. Cindy can read and memorize anything, even if she has no idea what it means. Tony is a mathematical genius. Johnny can repair just about anything mechanical. Your talent, obviously, is with the computer.
“At one time there were a dozen of you here. As well as a small group of scientists and teachers. But, over the years, especially after the wardens arrived, there were no doctors or medicine available.” She squeezed his arm. “People die, Adam. All the other scientists, the teachers, some of your friends... they all died. Just as I am going to. Very soon, I think.”
His fingers paused on the keyboard. “Dr. Granger is dead? Mrs. Mockingstern?” Forgotten names and faces hovered dimly in his memory.
“Yes. We’ve kept them in a cryogenic state in chambers deep below us. To preserve their DNA if nothing else.” She patted his arm. “I’m sorry, my dear, but we didn’t keep your friends. Because of the wardens, their DNA has been irrevocably altered. It would have done us no good to continue our cloning experiments on them.”
She glanced up at the monitor. “All the continuing genetic experiments will be conducted and monitored by the computer, with Susan’s help. Statistical estimates establish our first signs of success occurring in 457.8 years with our current equipment. I won’t be alive, then, of course. But you and your friends will be.” She pointed to his chair. He hadn’t noticed the array of dials, gauges and devices he couldn’t recognize, let alone name, that were embedded within each arm. Once connected, the machine would nourish him, pump his blood for him, provide electrical stimulus so muscles and nerves wouldn’t atrophy, fight infections and the cancer that was growing inside him... even breath for him if necessary. “We did have some success. The Sustaining Process was developed late in our experiments. Too late for us, unfortunately. Not for you.” She paused. “You enjoy the computer, don’t you, Adam?”
He nodded. He tried to pay attention but the lights and monitors in front of him fascinated him. He could stare at them for hours.
She opened a drawer near the console. “This is my diary,” she said as she placed it carefully within. “I want Cindy to read it to you and the others frequently. I never want you to forget. And when the others are finally born, I want them to know as well. Everything of what we were. And everything the wardens took from us.” She patted his hand. “Now I want you to go back outside to get the others. Bring them here. Don’t tell the wardens. You will do that for me?”
Adam nodded and reluctantly left the console. “I’ll be upstairs, waiting for you,” she called as he entered the elevator. There were only two buttons inside. He pushed the top one and felt a jolt as the doors closed and it began to rise. It took him fifteen minutes to find his way outside.
She watched his process through the monitors. “We’re asking you and the other children to do so much,” she whispered. Children, she thought bitterly. Each of her charges was at least 40, yet cursed with the emotional and intellectual maturity of a 12-year-old at best. The last warriors of Earth.
She wheeled herself over to another section of the underground complex, one much larger than it appeared on the surface. Even after the aliens had arrived, it had taken them a good 15 years before they had even bothered to land on the island. “No hurry, right, you bastards? You knew you had won.” Maybe not.
By now Adam had reached the others. The wardens huddled in their little group, basically ignoring the “children” at play. Her hand paused over the activation button. Could she do this? Once this project was initiated, there was no turning back. Below this room was another, a miniature refinery poised to produce vast quantities of chlorofluorocarbons. Increasingly infrequent short-wave reports had confirmed that the invaders preferred desert regions to the near exclusion of all others. Only slowly had they ventured into other climes, yet much of Earth they totally avoided still. Her group had located their complex on a small tropical isle; it was the heat, not the humidity that the aliens enjoyed enough to visit.
Their climactic preferences had been the inspiration for this final, desperate response. Once generated, the CFC’s would be released into the atmosphere. Over time, her group had hoped the chemical would completely destroy the protective ozone layer. Over time, the Greenhouse Effect would begin, gradually raising the planet’s temperature, increasing the cloud cover, generating violent storms. Increasing rainfall throughout the planet. Including the deserts. Perhaps hastening the appearance of the next Ice Age.
She noted the others following Adam reluctantly back to the Home. “I didn’t want to do this,” she whispered. But she had waited as long as she could. “And what am I doing to our planet? And what legacy, dear children, am I leaving you?” she asked the monitors.
Adam and his friends were inside the building now. The wardens paused at the doors, then wandered slowly back toward the hive-like structure they lived in. “Show’s over,” she said and pushed the button.
Back upstairs, she found the children aimlessly wandering the corridors. They entered the elevator reluctantly, but once in the laboratory they went willingly to their separate workstations almost by instinct. Mary cried as the tubes and sensors were inserted into her, but the others were so engrossed in their respective tasks that they took little notice as the Sustaining equipment was started. Each now also wore headphones connected to the computer. The machine would guide them through their tasks when they needed it.
Satisfied, Grandma went upstairs and locked the great glass doors leading into the complex; other doors had been barred for years. The locks wouldn’t stop the wardens, of course, so she turned up the air conditioning throughout the complex to discourage them further. Convinced she had isolated them as much as possible, she returned to the elevator.
She smiled as she wheeled back into the underground laboratory. Adam remained entranced by the computer, entering commands almost unbidden. Johnny had a panel opened and was joyfully checking the pipe fittings. Susan had taken her station in front of the control panels for the genetic equipment and was already initializing the first experiments. Cindy sat by herself in a far corner. It contained a vast library of information on CD’s, nearly every morsel of human knowledge the scientists had been able to salvage; she was currently staring at a small monitor, engrossed in an encyclopedia. It was fortunate, Grandma thought as she wheeled herself unnoticed to the back of the complex, that their attention could remain so focused so long once they found a diversion they enjoyed. Because they would be working by themselves for many years to come.
She entered a number on a keypad an
d a hidden door slid open. It closed behind her and locked solidly. “One more task,” she whispered. “One more task and I can rest.” Around her were the bodies of her fellow scientists, each entombed within cryogenic chambers. They were not there for any hope of revival, they would provide the raw genetic materials that the machines would require for the cloning experiments.
Her own chamber lied open in a far corner of the room. She wheeled herself over to it, locked the wheel chair, grabbed the corner of the cubicle and slowly, painfully pulled herself in. She had difficulty moving her senseless legs so she could position herself properly within the cramped container, but finally succeeded. She pulled a worn photograph from her pocket and stared at it one more time. It was of her and her infant son, taken over 40 years ago. “Good-bye, children. Good-bye, Adam, my son,” she cried, then closed her eyes. She didn’t notice the mechanical whisper as the metal top closed over her, but she did notice the pain as the needles and tubes penetrated her body. Then she noticed nothing at all.
“It’s story time; it’s story time!” The children gathered around Cindy, eager to end the lessons on agriculture, basic medicine, construction and other topics they were bombarded with daily. Within her chair she remained linked to a series of tubes that fed her, tubes that cleansed her, tubes that had enabled her and the others to survive well onto a thousand years deep below the complex. Her charges formed a circle, each smiling face lacking the encephalic folds, thick tongue, scraggly hair and other physical attributes that were part of Cindy’s legacy from Down Syndrome.
Before & Beyond Page 18