Terry Pratchett - The Long Utopia

‘Like a dandelion,’ Sally said, seeing it suddenly. ‘Or a puffball fungus. To colonize all the empty space, as widely as possible, as fast as possible, before anybody else gets a chance. And that means sending seeds off in all directions, as many as you can.’

‘Ah.’ Stan closed his eyes. ‘I understand. They take apart the whole Earth. They capture the dispersed mass, turn it into—’

‘Copies of themselves, probably,’ Lobsang said. ‘The numbers are staggering. If they turned this whole world into a horde of beetles, each of which weighs as much as an adult human, say, then there could be as many as ten billion trillion of them, scattering in all directions. Far more beetles than there are stars in the Galaxy.’

Stan said, ‘And each one, in principle, capable of landing on a virgin world, and replicating away until it’s achieved the same damn thing again.’

‘All of which is why we needed to ensure the beetles didn’t spread into the Long Earth stepwise, that we contained them here. Otherwise—’

Sally smiled. ‘Otherwise, in a few years, the worlds of the Long Earth would be going up like a string of firecrackers, one by one.’ She mimed explosions with her fingers. ‘Poom! Poom! Poom! … And from each contaminated world the beetles will spread out to infect an entire Galaxy.’

Stan shook his head. ‘You know, I told my followers that above all they should do no harm. This world was inhabited, with a freight of life of its own, unique, irreplaceable. What kind of being would do this?’

‘Creatures like humans,’ Sally said bluntly. ‘That’s all. I don’t imagine you ever saw much of the Datum – of the mess we made of that, in the end.’

‘Humans also built cathedrals,’ Stan said softly.

Lobsang said, ‘Even with the beetles it might not be as black and white as that. There may have been a more innocent motive at the beginning, a drive for peaceful colonization. Perhaps these beetles are descended from units which – mutated. Went rogue. Maybe a programmed drive to be efficient , not to be wasteful of the resources they accessed, morphed into a commandment to use up all the resources in reach. Well, the places they transform will be tidy, but it will be the tidiness of death, of sterility. After all they don’t seem to be intrinsically evil; they even seem to have played with the children of New Springfield. It’s just that they got out of control.’

‘Garbage,’ Sally said. ‘You’re overthinking it, Lobsang. The beetles are just like us, and that’s that.’ She held out a plastic plate heaped with sandwiches. ‘Chicken or beef?’

Lobsang tentatively took a chicken. ‘There’s one option I need to inform you about,’ he said. ‘Before I have to use it.’

Sally, suspicious, glared at him. ‘Even now, you’ve got a stunt to pull, Lobsang?’

He pointed to the sky. ‘I could upload myself to one of the Cowley ’s satellites. Transfer my seat of consciousness from this ambulant unit into space. Where it might survive even the final destruction of the planet—’

‘Do it,’ Stan said.

‘It would mean abandoning the two of you.’

‘To a last few minutes of fire and brimstone?’ Sally said. ‘So what? I agree, Lobsang. Keep observing for as long as you can. That’s why we came here.’

‘And if you ever get the chance,’ Stan said, ‘tell somebody.’

Lobsang nodded. ‘I’ll make it so.’

Stan said, ‘But if you’re leaving early, Lobsang—’

‘Yes?’

‘Can I have that last chicken sandwich?’

IN THE NEXT brief night Sally actually managed to sleep a little, her thin survival blanket over her body, her head on her backpack.

She was woken by her own coughing. Smoke in the air, tickling her throat. She opened her eyes. Lying on her side, under her blanket, she was facing out of the little camp, and looking at the trunk of a long-dead tree, wrapped in an equally dead strangler fig.

But there was movement inside the fig, in its shadows, dimly visible in the dawn light. A small face poked out of the lattice of wood, a long snout, big eyes. It seemed to study her, as if she might be a threat, or an opportunity. Then the creature scuttled out into the open. It wasn’t much bigger than a mouse, with smooth brown fur, but with big, powerful back legs, like a miniature kangaroo. It sniffed, looked around – froze – and then leapt into the air, clopping its jaws closed around some insect, and landed and scuttled back into the shadows.

Lobsang touched her shoulder. ‘One last dawn. One last chance for the furballs to hunt.’

Still lying under her blanket she said, ‘All coming to an end today, then.’

‘I’m afraid so—’

The ground lurched, and Sally, lying there, felt herself being lifted up . As if she was a child in a stepwise footprint of Wyoming, and her father had scooped her up in his arms. The rise went on for seconds, pinning her to the ground. Then, just as suddenly, it stopped, she gasped, and the land fell , surely through several feet. She landed hard on her back.

‘Up you get.’ Lobsang stood over her, hand outstretched.

Feeling very elderly, Sally accepted the help. But then she pushed her feet into her boots, grabbed her pack, her multi-pocketed jacket and her hat, and was ready for action once more.

Stan was already on his feet, grinning. ‘The end credits.’

‘I think so,’ Lobsang said.

‘I don’t suppose there’s any point asking what’s for breakfast?’

Sally smiled. ‘It’s your show, Stan. Where do you want to be?’

He pointed upwards. ‘Top of Manning Hill again. We may as well get the best view we can.’

‘Good,’ said Lobsang. ‘I’ll lead the way, I know the trail. But watch out for fissures. And if there’s another tremor like that big one, throw yourself flat …’

The view from the top of the hill was obscured by drifting smoke. Overhead, clouds streamed like a speeded-up movie effect. From up here Sally could see that the remaining buildings of New Springfield were shattered now, heaps of splintered timber, and along the line of Soulsby Creek a deep fissure had opened, revealing the glow of lava. The spilled water hissed and boiled.

Lobsang said, ‘Look at that. Our place was destroyed early, by the winds at the top of this hill. Now the rest of the town has gone.’

‘Shaken to pieces,’ Sally said. ‘I’m sorry, Lobsang – George.’

He shrugged.

‘Fire,’ said Stan. He pointed. ‘There, there, there …’

Whole swathes of the continent-spanning forest must be alight now. Sally saw how the fire was spreading, the trunks of mature trees going up with whooshes, like splinters of kindling. In one place she thought she saw movement, heavy animals on the move. Those big birds the colonists had spoken of, presumably. They’d survived this much, then.

She pointed this out to Lobsang. ‘But there’s nowhere for them to flee.’

‘No. The fire’s spreading. Joining up. When it surrounds this hilltop we’ll be trapped—’

‘I suspect that will be academic, Lobsang.’

There was a tremendous groan from deep within the hillside, as if the rock itself was stressed beyond endurance. Again the ground lurched, dropping this time, and Sally stumbled, almost fell. Even when the drop was over the ground continued to shudder.

‘Down,’ Stan shouted. ‘Let’s sit down. That way at least we can’t be thrown over.’

They hurried to comply, sitting in their tight witches’ circle, on the shaking ground, holding hands firmly. Sally watched the clouds washing past the sun. She was convinced she could see the sun itself shift across the sky, visibly, so fast was the world’s rotation now.