Paul Hardy - The Last Man on Earth Club

I turned up in her room unannounced. She jumped out of bed and saluted.

“Sit down,” I said. She obeyed and sat on the edge of the bed. “We’re not going to be sending you back to your unit, Sergeant.”

She looked a little panicked. “You’re putting me back in the general population?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Sir. I’m signed up for the duration. I’m trained as a pilot. I’m no use in the general population.”

Interesting — but I had no time to pursue it now. “Things aren’t like that here.”

“Sir…?”

“We don’t have a general population. You won’t be sent there. But we can’t send you back to your unit, either.” She was utterly baffled, now. “I’m going to be honest with you instead.”

I stepped a little closer. “Elsbet, do you know what a parallel universe is?”

She shook her head, not knowing what to make of me.

“You’ve never heard of the concept?” I asked.

“Major… I don’t understand.”

“Okay. I’ll explain. You live in a universe, with planets and asteroids and stars and galaxies and all the rest.”

“Yes…”

“But it’s not the only one. There are others.”

She must have thought I was insane.

“There are other universes, Sergeant. Similar to yours, with all the planets and asteroids and stars and galaxies, but the people are always different. History is never the same. There are universes where there wasn’t a war. Do you understand me?”

“Uh… yes.” She might have understood me, but she didn’t believe me. Her eyes darted around the room.

“That’s where you are now. A universe with no war. We have no armies, and I’m not an officer. I’m a therapist. I’m only here to help you. We can’t send you back to your unit because it’s in your universe, and it’s too dangerous for us to go there. We already lost a lot of our people the last time we went.

“I’m sorry to break it to you like this but you deserve to know the truth. I’ll answer any questions you have…”

She looked down and clasped her hands together. They were trembling. Not a good sign.

“It’s a lot to take in, I know. You do understand me, don’t you, Sergeant?”

She looked up at me. “Oh, yeah.”

Then she ran for it.

She rushed forward, trying to barge me onto the floor — but I wasn’t there. I was only an image, projected remotely from a place of safety, and she found herself running through nothing.

“Sergeant—” I tried to say, but it was no good. She tracked back, eyes wide as she realised I was just an illusion, then turned and dashed for the door.

It swished open for her. She found the infirmary outside deserted, the windows shuttered, every door closed. She tried the first one she came to — it stayed locked. She hammered on it, tried to find a door control, but there was nothing. She tried another door — the same. And another.

It opened. She ran through, into the centre, past more doors that wouldn’t open, meeting no one, running down the path we’d laid out for her, until she turned a corner and saw an open door ahead of her — a door into blinding light. But it wasn’t a light. It was an exit from the building, and it was so much brighter outside that she was momentarily dazzled. She dashed towards it, shielding her eyes as they adjusted — until she saw what lay beyond the corridors she thought were buried inside a cold rock halfway out to Jupiter.

The forest, stretching forever, more shades of green than the eye could see, a blue sky above fog-strewn mountains in the pale distance. Before the forest, a green glade with a small vegetable garden, neatly laid out with shoots budding into life.

And sunlight, warmer than any she’d ever known, making the colours burst out as a cloud passed away and the sun shone full upon the garden. And as she approached the doors, her run slowing to cautious, astonished steps, a smell no one from an asteroid could ever know: the morning’s rain, still wet upon the grass.

Spellbound, she stared through the doors at the green world outside, unable to go further. When I caught up with her, judging she wasn’t a threat any more, I found her weeping at what she saw. I put a hand on her shoulder to show I was real. She could barely tear her eyes from the sight to look at me.

“It’s… Earth …”

“Yes.”

“But this is… this is in the Testament! Just like this… Those are… trees? And… sky?”

“That’s right.”

“They destroyed it. The Testament shows it! All the smoke and poison and, and… machines …”

“In your universe, perhaps. This is another Earth. A parallel Earth. There was no war here.”

“It can’t be real. I’m dreaming!”

“Then go outside. See for yourself.”

“I can’t…”

“You can. It’s just a few steps.”

She looked at me, needing support. “I’ll go first, if you like,” I said. I walked ahead of her to the exit, and stepped outside. I turned back and held out a hand. Nervously, she joined me, and I led her across the paving into the garden.

She had no shoes on, and noticed how wet the grass was. “It was raining earlier. Mind yourself, the grass is a bit slippery,” I said. But she didn’t mind. She revelled in the feel of the grass between her toes.

“It’s… squishy .”

“That’s soil, underneath the grass. That’s what most of the surface of a planet is like. That’s what plants grow out of.”

“Plants don’t grow in soil. Plants grow in water.”

“In hydroponics, yes. But this is how they do it on a planet. Come on, let’s go further…”

The sun was high and the centre’s shadow was cast only a short way into the garden. We crossed the border into sunlight. I noticed she was nervous, and when the sun hit her, she flinched and cried out.

“What is it, Elsbet?”

“It’s… hot …”

“Yes, direct sunlight. That’s what you get on a planet.”

“Aren’t we going to get burnt?”

“The atmosphere protects us. You’ll be fine.”

But she wasn’t fine. She was breathing hard, and hunched over, as though she expected something from the sky to hit her.

“Elsbet? Are you all right?”

“It’s so… big …”

Her eyes were wide, she was hyperventilating, her hands were shaking. She was having a panic attack.

“Okay, Elsbet, that’s enough for today, we need to get you back inside…”

She looked up at the sky, and gasped. Sun, a few scudding clouds, and endless blue. I knew the problem at once: she’d grown up on an asteroid, enclosed by walls, and had never stood exposed to an endless space without protection. Veofol had anticipated it. His people, living in orbital habitats, had the same problem. I summoned him and a medical team as Elsbet slumped to the ground, hiding her head.

“You were right. Agoraphobia,” I said as Veofol and the medics came running up.

“Let’s get her inside,” he said. The medics tranquillised her and we carried her back.

Later that day, it was Olivia’s turn for a therapy session. She didn’t show up, so I pulled on some boots and went to her. She’d returned to the garden after the commotion with Elsbet, under a lower sun and the pleasant warmth of the afternoon. She wasn’t out there to rest, though. She was working hard, bent over and muttering at weeds as she yanked them out of the earth.

“Aliens and weeds trampling all over, this planet’s nothing but aliens and weeds…” Elsbet had trodden on some of the plants in her panic, so I thought it best to go over, apologise and see what we could do to help.

“Olivia?”