Total Amnesia: Forgotten Lives

by J. W. Northrup

  I turn my attention back to the TV to watch the events unfold.

  Two hours go by and the gas continues to flow from the UFO’s, spreading a relentless blanket of death over our poor defenseless planet. The end appears inevitable now. Even if they somehow found a way to stop the UFO’s, at this point the deadly gas will eventually completely permeate the atmosphere of earth. Like it or not, the aliens are moving in and we’re moving out.

  Interestingly enough, the gas only affects humans. Dogs, cats or any other living thing is apparently unaffected.

  I can’t help chuckling as I watch the TV. Even now the news media is concentrating on irrelevant sensationalism. The reports are showing bodies flying off buildings, looting, rape, crying babies and frantic baptisms. It’s all very interesting as each station tries to be more dramatic than the next―worried about ratings to the bitter end.

  I’m watching a scene at a pastry shop where people are gorging themselves in a final feast. Another channel shows a scene at a bar where people are guzzling beer, whiskey, whatever they can grab. Champagne is spraying all over. An attractive woman is surrounded by a group of men and they’re tearing her clothes off. The camera begins shaking wildly and the screen goes blank. It is now a world with no rules; an opportunity to dramatize all the things you secretly thought about but never dare in your final hours on Earth.

  According to reports, half of the world is now dead. It will be about 8 hours before the UFO’s pass over California but the gas will permeate the area in less than three. Gas masks have no effect. Airtight environments do nothing to stop the all-pervasive gas that moves through solid material as easily as it moves through the air. Scientists have run out of ideas and the prevailing attitude is apathy.

  It is not the situation I would have imagined. Where are the unexpected hero’s? What happened with the sudden, last minute inspirations leading to desperate plans to save the day? It appears to be all just gloom and doom and resignation from the media outlets, with every report ending in some variation of “We can only pray.”

  Religion has blossomed. Every church, every synagogue and mosque is filled with the people listening to their particular holy man validating their particular prophecies. Is Christ really coming? Is this Mohammed purging mankind? Should I pray, and re-introduce myself to a god I have virtually ignored for the past 10 years? I think that somehow that would be wrong. I can’t bring myself to do it. I have chosen my path and that path is a path of finding the truth, not giving in to it. I certainly can’t fake my integrity it even if it does mean my eternity. Obviously god would see through it anyway, right?

  Were I to stand before St. Peter and say all the right things (with my ecclesiastic lawyer whispering in my ear) would I be allowed to pass? I think not.

  I do seem to have an inability to deny that which I know in preference to a more favorable truth. I know that it is right to remain true to one’s integrity. You can’t be condemned to hell for that can you? Can you?

  Time passes and the TV shots have become repetitious videotapes of earlier scenes. Nothing is live now. A strange, unseen unemotional voice is saying that nukes have been fired with no effect. Finally the TV picture turns to static.

  Well, that’s it. The TV’s are gone, that makes it official, life as we know it on earth is over. Our universal pacifier has been pulled rudely from our mouths and in its place, reality.

  Now for the first time I’m actually getting scared. This is really happening! From all indications I’ve got less than two hours to live and with that thought comes a stab of nerves in my stomach.

  Will it be painful? Will it be like drowning or will I be wracked in horrible, painful convulsions? What do I do in my final hours? Should I find some lonely girl and end it all with an orgasm. No, no way. Well, there are donuts in the cupboard, half a pizza and beer in the refrigerator. Donuts and re-heated pizza sound good and as of 3 hours ago, it’s all totally guilt free.

  Finally it’s beginning to sink in and I’m really not ready for this. My thoughts go to my family back in Cassville, my father, my mother and my sister―their faces, their voices. I wonder what they are going through and if they are thinking about me, wondering if I am thinking of them. I have to admit, for the first time in my life, I am homesick. I want to see them and say goodbye and hear their voices, just one more time. I pick up my phone, just to make sure that it is useless and see the “no coverage” logo. Yes I will never see them again. The thought creates a lump in my throat as I realize I am sitting alone in my apartment while the world comes to an end.

  No, I’m definitely not ready for this and I shouldn’t be alone like this. I slowly stand up, sigh and walk into the kitchen to retrieve the food, there’s really nothing else to do.

  A knock at the door!

  It must be someone looking for Mark or Alex. Maybe it’s some stupid government “emergency troops” using this as an excuse to control everybody.

  I open the door. Huh?

  Standing there with a worried look on her face is the subject of my dream this morning―Professor Espree!

  I’m delighted…no, I’m confused. Why is she here?

  “Professor Espree?”

  A worried look evaporates into relief when she sees me.

  “Oh Tim, thank god I found you!” She says, taking her words from my dream.

  She reaches in her purse and pulls out what looks like some kind of multi-meter. She turns a knob on the device and quickly holds it up, pointing it at my head.

  “What is that, Professor…?”

  Suddenly I feel a sharp burning sensation in the back of my head! The pain is growing rapidly to an unbearable intensity.

  “OWWW! What the…OW! What the hell are you doing Professor! What is that thing! OW!!!

  I’m bent over in pain, clutching the back of my head.

  “I will be gone soon,” she says soothingly.

  I feel the pain begin to subside from the small area somewhere inside my head. It feels as if some portion of my brain has been burned out! I look antagonistically up at the Professor.

  “What the hell did you do that for? What is that?”

  She smiles sympathetically, “I’m sorry Tim, but the gas is almost here, I had to give you the antidote.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Toko is turning red as he inspects the progress of the harvest on the monitor.

  He turns to the Harvest Administrator.

  “Damn it Salso! The stupid humans just detonated a bunch of nukes! What kind of idiots do they have here managing this population? Now we’re going to loose milli-terms cleaning up the mess!”

  Bisto is nodding slowly, “With the bankruptcy they couldn’t afford a training staff on this planet and with a skeleton crew of technology trainers and no behavior support crew other than those mental health weirdo’s, the humans kinda went wild.” He glances at Salso whose color has faded to dark green.

  “I think we should have known that this was inevitable.”

  Salso knows he is the person Bitso was referring to when he said “we should have known.” Bisto is such a covert, butt kissing, putz.

  Toko turns to Salso, “Salso! WHY didn’t you tell me about this?”

  “Because I wasn’t informed…”

  “It’s right there!” barks Toko pointing to the computer. “WHY didn’t you tell me this was an unstable population?”

  “Well, sir, there was nothing to indicate…”

  “WHAT do you mean it wasn’t indicated? It’s your job to do the preliminary radiation threat assessment. It’s right there in your job manual!!!”

  “Sir, I didn’t see any…”

  “IT’S IN THE MANUAL!”

  Salso is gray. The manual is 100 pages of material in fine print without a single illustration. The manual is for cover-your-ass lawyers to write and fly-faced Centurians to read such as Goot. Anybody who wants to get anything actually done does not read manuals, they gain experience by doing work. Any Harvest Administrator will roll his eyes when
you mention “the manual”. They rely on Centurians to notify them if they are violating some clause in the manual. Of course if you don’t ask the right question, you won’t get the right warning.

  A nuclear assessment may be in the manual and it may not be. General Harvest Manuals are not written for unusual Harvests such as this situation with Earth. He knows damn well Toko has never read the manual either. But there is no sense trying to reason with him.

  Bisto is smiling an evil little smile―glowing a contented shade of light green. He pushes on the intercom. “Hey Goot, is the radiation cleanup time subtracted from the bonus time limit?”

  There is no hesitation in Goots response. “Per Rule 237, Section BC, Part 347a, Page 244, Paragraph 23 Universal Corporate Policy Code, radiation and or chemical toxification is subtracted from the bonus time providing said Harvester has a type 4390-A insurance policy in force.”

  “And are we insured? “

  “Of course.”

  “Thank you Goot.”

  Bistro smirks at Salso. “Looks like we’re covered Toko.”

  “Good.” He turns to Salso. “Then you can take this time to study your job write-up.”

  “But sir, we’re in the middle of a Harv…”

  “I know what we’re doing Salso, now I want a full report and revised checklist outlining your responsibility for preliminary bid studies―no more than 2 pages―in my computer by the time the cleanup is done.”

  “Sir that manual is 100… (Sigh) never mind.”

  There’s no sense trying to reason with him.

  Salso slowly stands up and exits the Bridge. He can hear Bisto chuckling as he leaves. He’s sure Bisto hasn’t read his stupid manual either.

  Salso gets to his desk and tries to bring up the latest job search on the computer. “Outside access denied” appears on the screen. He miserably opens up the Harvest Administrator Manual and begins to scan through it.

  Back on the bridge Bisto turns to Toko. “Looks like gassers are done sir. We can begin harvesting in about 10 milli-terms when the planet is cleared.”

  He points to a location on the planet. “They only got off a few nukes over here and one there.”

  Toko leans forward confidentially. “Good; but don’t tell Goot about it. We start the harvest immediately. Then we allot the cleanup time but subtract the time after the cleanup is completed so we are assured a bonus. Then we use the cleanup time to make up a good chunk of our costs.”

  “Sir, you know that if QC finds any evidence of radiation infection the whole lot will have to be vaporized and we’ll be billed for it.”

  “I know, I know. You know those regulations are ultra-conservative. We both know the chance of radiation infection is slim to none and the so-called minimum acceptable levels exceed actual safe levels of radiation by about 20 times. Salso put us in a bad position. I’m just trying to handle it.”

  “Good idea sir.”

  Bisto smiles at Toko. “So we don’t need to tell Salso about this do we?”

  Toko smiles back. “It was his job to handle this. We ended up handling it for him. No, we’re not telling him anything.”

  24 light years away, inspector Security is viewing the scene on the bridge of Universal Harvest Inspection Ship 397R38-28A-43J.

  “Gottcha!” he says when he hears the conversation between Toko and Bisto.

  “You boys think you solved a problem. Your problems are just beginning.”

  He turns to the communicator. “Harvest Inspector DPO-3977A-92985372 reporting violation of universal Harvest protocol code UNC-364967-A by Universal Harvest Ship 397R38-28A-43J. Ship is located at the following Universal coordinates: SUCS 28.378 lps @ 73.6,38.5,182.8.”

  Secazit pushes a button, “Transmitting recording of violation.”

  “Copy that,” responds an unknown voice from an unknown location. The voice will now summon a police ship to the location to arrest the two offending harvesters.

  There are billions of Harvest ships in the universe and only millions of inspectors. Most of the violations go unreported―so it’s just bad luck that one is caught. Toko and Bisto’s luck has gone bad.

  Secazit turns his attention back to the rows of viewers. He turns on the sound from Salso’s office where Harvest Administrator is frowning at the manual. Suddenly Salso looks up―apparently having an idea―and punches the intercom.

  “Goot? Can’t we start the harvest in the unaffected areas while the cleaners are operating? That way we can make up some of the costs!”

  “Rule 8363a, Section B, Part 37a, Chapter 37 of the Universal Safety Code states no harvesting occurs within 20 cent-lengths of areas affected by radiation until radiation levels are reduced to 38 rads in said affected areas. The diameter this planet is only 18 centi-lengths. Therefore no harvesting can legally occur until 38 rads are achieved planet-wide.”

  “Of course,” says Salso miserably, never mind.

  Secazit is listening in and glows a grin. Not only has Salso caught a break, he just dodged a bullet. Had he been on the bridge with Toko and Bisto, he would also be destined for a prison planet. Now he may have inherited a ship of his own.

  CHAPTER 6

  I’m staring at Espree standing in my doorway.

  I’m overjoyed…and puzzled. Espree says she has the antidote?

  “Someone found an antidote? Uh, wow, where did you get it?”

  “I’ve had it quite some time,” explains Espree, brushing it off as if it were some trivial thing.

  She looks at me with a relieved smile, “Thank god I found you Tim! In all the dissonance I was unable to detect you. I have been searching for you all morning. I had no idea they were about to harvest this planet and I was not prepared for this.”

  “Harvest?”

  “’Invaded’ would probably make more sense to you,” she says.

  It doesn’t.

  “You know what’s happening Professor? Are we being invaded by aliens?”

  “That is correct Tim. I don’t think the word ‘alien’ is appropriate, but it will suffice.”

  “And that thing is an antidote for the gas?”

  “Correct. Well, it’s actually not an antidote Tim, it’s a deactivator. You see the gas stimulates a particular node in your brain near the pineal gland and it will suppress the nervous system. The deactivator destroys that node.”

  This is fantastic! We have an antidote for the gas!

  “Where…I mean who discovered…how did you get it?”

  “Oh, I have had it for some time.” she says again, rather offhandedly, casually putting it back into her purse. She’s acting real strange, like this isn’t important.

  “Wow! So how did you get it? How do you know about all this?” I ask again, since the last answer didn’t make any sense.

  “I picked it up some time back Tim,” she says somewhat irritated, still trying to dismiss the whole subject―which is very odd considering the circumstances.

  “How many people have you given the anti…er been deactivated?”

  “Including you?”

  “Yes!”

  “One”, she says smiling.

  Was that a joke? She couldn’t be trying to make a joke could she?

  “Huh?”

  “Tim, this is the only one…”

  “The only one? How come you…why aren’t you…”

  “Tim! Never mind the deactivator, we need to talk.”

  “OK, well, but first…I mean how many people have these things? What do you think we should do?”

  “This is the only one Tim and you’re the only one I need. Now please, you must come with me to my office, I have some important things to show you.”

  “But Professor, shouldn’t we be doing something about, I mean deactivating everyone else?”

  “There is really no point Tim.”

  “No POINT?”

  I’m stunned. What does she mean by that?

  “There’s no point? You have that, that deactivator thing and you’re just goin
g to use it on the two of us and let everyone else die?”

  She smiles casually and begins explaining as if I just don’t get it―which I don’t.

  “First of all the gas is not lethal Tim. As I said, it simply suppresses the nervous system. Secondly, this sort of thing is happening millions of times a day in other worlds. In the scheme of things, this is merely business as usual. My purpose is to discover a way to stop the practice in general.”

  “What? What about…”

  “Tim!” She reaches out and grabs my shoulders looking intently into my eyes. “I only want YOU.”

  This is so weird! She was saying the same thing this morning in my dream. Is this still a dream? It must be! No, it isn’t, I know I’m awake; don’t I, or do I?

  But why does she only want to be with me? Why is she here? This must be the dream. No, I know I’m awake and I know she’s standing there telling me she only wants to be with me.

  “Don’t worry Tim, you’re wide awake and this is really happening.”

  I expected the next statement from her to be along the lines of “I have always loved you Tim,” but―exasperatingly enough―she has gone back into her usual confoundedly friendly yet aloof manner and now I wonder if I misunderstood the meaning behind those words.

  “You must come with me to my office Tim; I have some very important things to show you.”

  “You mean about what’s happening?”

  “Yes, it is about what is happening. Come, we need to go.”

  So of course I go with her. Unlike everyone else in the world, she’s has no problem controlling me.

  As we walk across campus she seems completely oblivious to the hysteria going on around us. People are running back and forth with wild “what do we do” looks on their faces; all apparently with some destination in mind. They keep looking up at the sky as they hurry along to what they probably believe will be their final resting place.

  I ask why she isn’t deactivating these people, but she just shakes her head and says I will understand when she has a chance to explain.