Robert Silverberg - The Alien Years

The Entities are leaving the Earth. Leaving, packing, clearing out.

What? What? What? Gradually Frank decoded what Andy had said, extracting actual concepts from it, but even so he had trouble getting his mind fully around it. Leaving? The Entities? Andy was speaking craziness. He must be in some delusional state. All the same, Frank felt a dizzying wave of astonishment and bewilderment engulf him. Almost without thinking he looked up, staring into the sky, as though he might find it full of Entity starships this very minute, dwindling and vanishing against the blueness. But all he saw was the great arching dome of the heavens and a few fluffy clouds off to the east.

Then Andy seized his wrist, tugging at him, drawing him into the communications center. Pointing at the screen of the nearest computer, he said, “I’m pulling it in from everywhere—New York, London, Europe, a bunch of places. Including Los Angeles. It’s been happening all morning. They’re packing up, getting aboard their ships, moving on out. In some areas they’re completely gone already. You can walk right into their compounds, nothing to stop you. Nobody’s there.”

“Let me see.”

Frank peered at the screen. Words sprawled across it. Andy touched a button; the words moved along, other words took their place. The words, like Andy’s spoken ones of a few moments before, were reluctant to yield any meaning to him. Frank conjured significance out of them slowly, with a great effort. Leaving… leaving… leaving. It was so unexpected, and so strange. So damned confusing.

“Look here,” Andy said. He did something to his computer. The words disappeared and a picture blossomed on the screen.

“This is London,” he said.

An Entity starship standing in a field, a park, some broad flat expanse of greenery. Half a dozen colossal Entities solemnly parading toward it in single file, stepping aboard a platform, riding up toward the hatch that opened for them in the starship’s side. The hatch closing. The ship rising on a column of flame.

“You see?” Andy cried. “The same thing, all over the world. They’re tired of being here. They’re bored with Earth. They’re going home, Frank!”

So it seemed. Frank began to laugh.

“Yes. Pretty fucking funny, isn’t it?” Andy said.

“Very funny, yes. A riot.” The laughter was coming from Frank in unstoppable gales. He fought to pull himself together. “We sit up on this mountainside for fifty years trying to figure out ways of making them go away, and nothing works, and finally we decide that we’re simply never going to succeed. We give the whole thing up.

And then a couple of years later they go away anyhow, just like that. Why? Why?” He wasn’t laughing any more. “For God’s sake, Andy, why? What sense does any of it make?”

“Sense? You should know better than to expect anything that the Entities do to make sense to us. The Entities do what the Entities do, and we’re not meant to know why. And never will know, I guess.—Hey, you know something, Frank, you look like you’re almost about to cry!”

“I do?”

“You ought to see your face right now.”

“I don’t think I want to.” Frank turned away from Andy’s computers and wandered around the room, bewildered, confounded.

The possibility that all this might actually be happening was starting to sink in. And, as it did, he felt a sensation as of the ground liquefying beneath him, of the whole mountain atop which he stood turning plastic and insubstantial and beginning slowly to flow down itself toward the sea.

The Entities are leaving? Leaving? Leaving?

Then he should be dancing with glee. But no, no; he was lost in perplexity instead. His eyes stung with anger. And suddenly he understood why.

It maddened him that they might be gone from the world before he had found a way of driving them out. He realized in amazement that the sudden departure of the Entities, if indeed they had departed, would create a yawning vacancy in his soul. His hatred for their presence on Earth was a huge part of him; and if they were gone, without his ever having had a chance to express that hatred properly, it would leave a mighty absence where that presence had been.

Andy came up behind him.

“Frank? What’s going on, Frank?”

“It’s hard to explain. I feel so goddamned peculiar all of a sudden. It’s like—well, we had this big high holy purpose here, you know. Which was to get rid of the Entities. But we couldn’t bring it off, and then it happened anyway, without our even lifting a finger, and here we all are. Here. We. Are.”

“So? I don’t get what you’re saying.”

Frank groped for the right words. “What I’m saying is that I feel—I don’t know, some kind of letdown, I guess. A kind of hollowness. It’s like you push and push against a door all your life, and the door won’t budge, and then you stop pushing and walk away, and then—Surprise! Surprise!—the door opens by itself. It bewilders you, you know what I mean? It unsettles you.”

“I suppose it would, yes. I can see that.”

But Frank saw that Andy didn’t see it at all. And then his thoughts raced off in the other direction entirely. None of this could actually be occurring. It was idiotic to believe that any such thing as a voluntary Entity withdrawal was going on.

He nodded toward the screen. “Look, what if what we see here isn’t real?”

Andy gave him a vexed look. “Of course it’s real. How can it not be real?”

“You of all people shouldn’t need to ask that. It could be some kind of hacker hoax, couldn’t it? You know more about these things than I do. Couldn’t it be that somebody has worked up all these pictures, these bulletins, and sent them out over the Net, and that there isn’t a shred of truth to any of them? That would be possible, wouldn’t it?”

“Possible, yes. But I don’t think that’s what’s happening.” Andy smiled. “If you want, though, we could check it out at first hand, you know.”

“I don’t understand. How?”

“Get in a car. Drive down to Los Angeles right now.”

They made the journey in just two and a half hours, which was an hour less than usual. The roads were deserted. The LACON checkpoints were unmanned.

The route Frank had chosen brought them into the city via the Pacific Coast Highway, which took them along the western rim of the wall and delivered them to the Santa Monica gate. As he made his inland turn toward the wall he saw that the gate was wide open, and that there were no LACON functionaries anywhere in sight. He drove on through, into downtown Santa Monica.

“You see?” Andy asked. “You believe, now?”

Frank answered with a curt nod. He believed, yes. The unthinkable, altogether inexplicable thing seemed really to be true. But he was finding all of this harder to digest than he could ever have expected. It was as though some great inner wall cut him off from the joy he should be feeling over the bewildering departure of the Entities. What he felt instead of happiness was something closer to despair, a profound inner confusion. That was the last thing he would have expected to feel on a day like this.

It’s that sudden sense of absence, he thought. He saw that clearly now. The central purpose of his life had been stripped from him in the course of a single day, had been yanked away lightheartedly, almost flippantly, by the ever-mystifying beings from the stars, and it might not be easy for him to find a way to cope with that.

Frank parked the car a few blocks inside the wall, just at the edge of the old Third Street Promenade. There had been a huge shopping mall there once, but the shops had been abandoned long ago and boarded up. Santa Monica was a silent city. Here and there, little scatterings of people could be seen moving slowly about in a dazed, blank-faced way, as though they had been drugged, or were walking in their sleep, lost in trances. No one was looking at anyone else. No one was saying anything. They were like ghosts.