Paul Hardy - The Last Man on Earth Club

“We’ve planned this very carefully.”

“Well. Do we have to be anywhere in particular?”

“I’m waiting for a signal.”

“What happens then?”

“I’ll tell you when it comes.”

He was a little shocked. “Are you keeping secrets from me…?”

“Yes.”

“Why…?”

“I’m under orders.”

“I didn’t know you were a soldier.”

“I’m not. But I have superiors, and they have concerns about security.”

He was taken aback as he realised the implications.

“You mean they don’t trust me?”

“They’re being cautious.”

“Hm,” he said, mulling it over. But his frown did not last long. “I will see her, won’t I?”

“Of course.”

“And they’re not going to stop me going with her?”

“We’ve made arrangements to let it happen. If that’s what you want.” A chime sounded in my ear, and a message appeared before my eyes. “It’s time.” He took a breath as I rose. “Are you ready?”

He nodded, flexing his hands, trying not to show how much he trembled. “I’m ready.”

I took him through the ship, escorted by two security guards, to the recently installed Diplomatic Bay, a massive safe room in which normal humans could meet Antecessors without fear of contamination. A laminate carbonglass barrier protected the people within from both vacuum and anything electromagnetic. An EM cage was laced invisibly through it, and in addition the glass was polarised to opacity millions of times each second, so even something travelling at the speed of light couldn’t get through without being sliced in half. As an added precaution, we were issued with eyeglasses that would disrupt the sudden bursts of light-based information that had induced everyone on Iokan’s world to suicide.

The bay was big enough for a substantial number of people, but for now it was just me, Iokan and some security guards. Other people flickered into being in one section of the bay: diplomats and investigators, all of whom were restricted to remote access for now. This was primarily a diplomatic mission, but it was Iokan who had been invited first of all, and our initial responsibility was to let him join his species if that was what he wanted. The Antecessors had said they would come in peace and offered guarantees of safe conduct, so we were treating them with as much trust as we could under the circumstances.

Iokan was the only one smiling in the bay, and the only one who could not hear the ship’s Captain speaking to us through our implants, reporting that a response had been made to our initial hails, and that it came from very nearby — they had been awaiting our arrival in lunar orbit. They were coming to us now.

The empty space outside the bay filled with stars, a galaxy of lights surrounding and circling the ship. One of them brightened and approached, a point of light that became a disc, then a sphere full of suggestions of interlocking shapes, endlessly changing and forming, and then, as it floated into the bay, unfolding into a gleaming human shape whose brightness made us glad of the dimming effect of the glass wall between us and the creature.

The shape it unfolded into was that of a woman, hazy in form and outline save for the face, where her features sharpened to become those I’d seen in surveillance footage from the last days of Department Zero.

Iokan wept behind his glasses and stepped forward. “Szilmar…!” he whispered.

She floated there beyond the glass, and looked around, searching. She reached out and touched the barrier, then recoiled with a very human look of pain.

Words appeared on the far side of the glass wall, back to front from the perspective of all but the energy being: Please do not touch the glass.

She cocked her head.

More words followed. We apologise for any discomfort due to security precautions. Welcome to the Exploration Service Vessel Geology.

She read, then looked through the glass, scanning with who knew what senses. Please use the keyboard to communicate. A keyboard of light was drawn in the air in front of her. She didn’t immediately register it; instead, she locked eyes upon Iokan.

As far as he and the woman of light were concerned, there were only two people in the bay. He pushed past the security guards, who stepped aside when they saw me nod, and reached out to her, laying his palm flat on the barrier. She smiled back, and reached out her own hand, spreading it as close to his as she dared.

Messages came silently to me from the diplomatic team, saying they were about to ask the security guards to intervene. I begged them to wait. She might not be happy if we dragged him away.

Iokan took off his protective spectacles and looked on her with his own naked eyes, seeing the woman who had died and returned from heaven.

“Take me,” he said, full of joy and wonder. His words appeared automatically on the glass for her to see.

Her smile turned to sadness. She mouthed one word, too quick and indistinct for our translators to catch it. But Iokan understood, and looked confused. Someone thought to move the keyboard of light to her side. She noticed it, and tapped out a message: I will not take you.

His confusion turned to shock. She tapped again. It was wrong. It should not have happened.

Iokan could barely get out the words: “But it was holy…”

She looked at him with sadness and pity. You still feel as I did when I saw them.

“Yes!” he cried.

They were wrong. It was a crime.

“They are perfect…”

They’re just a remnant of what they were. They didn’t know they were doing any harm.

I noticed the remote projections of the ICT investigators paying close attention with raised eyebrows. But for Iokan, the shock was terrible. “No… it’s not true…”

We all felt the same as you when they took us. But we are the majority now and we will not commit the crime again.

“You’re… you’re… you’re not my wife! You’re lying!” He screamed it through tears. “You’re lying! ”

She looked at him with a deeper sadness than light can show. I saw her speak two words, lost in silence. But to someone who knew the language, their meaning must have been clear, and I could easily guess: “ I’m sorry .”

“No… no…” He turned from her, looking terribly stricken, seeing what I suppose must have been pity on my face. And realising he had been mistaken. It was too much for him. His eyes rolled up in his head and he slumped to the floor.

A security guard was with him in an instant, checking him over, and telling me he’d simply fainted. I looked up at Szilmar floating beyond the glass, looking anxious and worried. “He’s just passed out,” I told her. “He’ll be fine.”

The words appeared on the glass in front of her and she nodded. She tapped on the keyboard. Please look after him. He’s suffered more than any of us.

I nodded, and with the help of the medic, lifted him onto a stretcher, took him inside the ship, leaving the diplomats to face the shining woman, who watched her broken husband with sad, helpless eyes.

Ranev still had his tan, and looked as though he’d just been in the sea. He told me he’d been running therapy sessions out in the shallow water where his patients felt comfortable. He assured me it was a hard slog, but I found myself doubting it.

“Have you heard?” he asked.

“About what?”

“Ardëe.”

“Nothing official.”

“It’s getting worse.”

“I got that from watching the news.”

“Could be an evacuation coming,” he said. “You know what that means.” I knew well enough: drop everything we were doing, endless trips up and down the Lift, years spent consoling and healing the survivors only just escaped from yet another dying world. And for the group? No one had said, and my messages asking for clarification from management had gone unanswered.