Paul Hardy - The Last Man on Earth Club

“I don’t want your rotten tea,” she said.

“Is there anything else I can get you?”

“You can get me out of here!”

“The only place I can send you is the Psychiatric Centre, Olivia. You know that.”

She stabbed a finger at me. “And you know that’s a load of crap. You can send me somewhere else and you damn well know where it is.”

“You’re referring to euthanasia.”

“Of course I’m referring to bloody euthanasia. And as it happens…” She looked at the view outside the window, across the endless forest. “What’s to stop me going off by myself and finding a nice cliff to jump off?”

“Well, first of all, there aren’t any cliffs here. But if you’re thinking of killing yourself some other way, we’d intervene and prevent it. We’d rather you didn’t hurt yourself.”

“Oh, because keeping me here isn’t hurting me at all, is it?”

“The idea is that we help you get better.”

“I’m not going to get better. I don’t want to get better.”

“Olivia…”

“That’s Doctor Mordlack to you. If a little shit like you can be a doctor, then you can damn well use my title.”

“If you like. Doctor Mordlack — if you really want euthanasia, we’re willing to give it to you…”

“No you bloody aren’t!”

“We are. We just need you to cooperate.”

“More bloody therapy.”

“A last attempt to get better. And an honest attempt. In your case, that means addressing your PTSD, which means you have to talk about what happened to you…”

“I don’t have PTSD. I’ve told you lot so many times I don’t know how often, but you never listen!”

“Then you won’t mind talking about your experiences.”

“I want my privacy! Can’t I have that? Last survivor of a dead world and I can’t even take anything to the grave because you lot want to satisfy your curiosity!”

“This isn’t about us—”

“Rubbish. You’re all wringing your hands and going ‘sorry we couldn’t save your species, please let us save you to make up for it’. Well I don’t want saving!”

“Olivia—”

“I told you. Doctor Mordlack!”

I took a stronger tone. “Olivia. The only person who can certify you ready for euthanasia is your current therapist. And that person is me. If you cooperate with me, you may just get what you want. If you don’t, then nothing will change. Are you willing to cooperate?”

“No I am not!”

“Would you prefer to go back to the Psychiatric Centre?”

“I’d rather go back to Tringarrick.”

“You have to understand, this is your last chance. If you can’t cooperate this time, we’re not going to try again. You’ll go back and we’ll reduce your therapy to a minimum. But we won’t let you kill yourself. Is that what you want?”

She stared back at me, furious but out of options.

I asked her: “Are you willing to at least stay here for a while and see what happens?”

She took an exasperated breath, the closest thing to assent I was likely to get. “It’s not going to get you anywhere.”

“Thank you.”

PSYCHOMEDICAL HISTORY — SUMMARY

IOKAN ZALACTE

Iokan was discovered lying among a number of corpses, suffering from malnutrition, dehydration and his universe’s variant of cholera, possibly contracted from drinking tainted water. He had a number of small untended injuries, some of which were infected. He was only a few hours from death when found.

Initially, he was placed on emergency hydration and nutritional support. The cholera and other infections were then treated with wide human spectrum antibiotics, but these had dangerous side effects and were discontinued. It was soon observed that his own body was producing species-specific antibiotics which were far more effective. These were traced to surgically implanted glands in the space vacated by a previously removed appendix.

He awoke after three days of unconsciousness, and was first interviewed by therapists at Grainger station. He seemed to be aware of the existence of other universes and relatively unsurprised to find himself in our company. While his physical health showed remarkable progress, his psychological state was troubling. He claimed that godlike entities he termed ‘Antecessors’ had been responsible for the mass suicide of his species and their conveyance to a paradisiacal afterlife, and that he had been left alive to communicate their message to the IU.

It is difficult to determine whether he is entirely delusional, although the absurdity of his claims tends toward this conclusion. Scans were made of his brain function, and increased activity in parietal and temporal lobes was discovered, which is linked in most human species with spirituality and religious experience. It is possible to stimulate this artificially with psychosurgery, but it is difficult to tell whether this was done by the ‘Antecessors’, or whether Iokan has simply had a religious experience caused by malnutrition, dehydration and the stress of living through the extinction of his species.

Iokan was still ill, but rapidly getting better. His skin had regained colour and he’d put a little weight back on. He’d managed to get out of the hospital clothes, and into something he said was normal wear for an academic in his society. It looked more like the ecclesiastical robe you might see in a religious community on a less developed world, worn with little else apart from sandals. He still had to limp as he went to the window to look outside.

“Would you like a bigger window?” I asked.

“Oh, yes. Please,” he replied. I turned the wall back to full transparency. He breathed a sigh as he looked over the valley and wooded plain beyond, rainclouds low over lakes in the far distance.

“You like the view?” I asked.

He nodded. “I never thought other universes might be as beautiful as home…”

I took a seat. “How long have your people known there were other universes?”

“A while. But we only started opening portals recently.”

“That’s how we found you. We detected nanoscale portals and investigated.”

He looked back at me, still calm and contented. “That was the idea. You found us. And you came.”

“We were too late. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “Don’t be. We’re better off now.”

“You’re sure of that?”

“You seem very determined to think we’re not.”

“Every single person on your world committed suicide, and yet you say they’re better off. That worries me.”

“Who are you concerned about? Them or me?”

“You.”

He turned away from the wall. “We should get started, then.” He limped to a chair and sat down with a relieved sigh. “How can I help you today?”

“Well, first of all, you’re not here to help me. I’m here to help you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve been through a terrible trauma. We’re here to help you recover from that.”

“Hm.” He furrowed his brow, a little obviously. He was gearing up for a debate, not therapy. “Do I seem traumatised to you?”

“Yes.”

“Really? How so?”

“Because trauma is a normal human response to the things you’ve experienced. But you don’t seem troubled at all, and that’s a sign of deeper problems.”

“I see. So you’re using a lack of trauma as evidence that trauma exists? That’s a strange kind of logic.”

“Not if trauma is normal for the situation.”

“I think you should look more closely at your assumptions.”

“One of my assumptions is that the extinction of a human species is a bad thing. I also assume, based on more than a decade of working with survivors from dead worlds, that people who survive a genocide suffer because of it.”