The Last Human

by Zack Jordan

  “I know you, Sarya the Daughter,” says an Observer. “Though I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

  * * *

  #

  [Parameters adjusted successfully. For best results, please do not dwell on existing memories during transfer.]

  —TRANSFER RESUMING—

  The small being stares at her, its gold eyes wide and unblinking. It is leaking red fluid from several places—quite a bit, it seems. Most likely, it is moments from death. She wonders what species it belongs to and misses, for easily the sixty-fourth time, the simple access to information that a Network connection would provide. That may well be the worst part of these long voyages, the absolute lack of contact with anyone and anything. But no! That is not loneliness, as her implant might suggest. One may call it isolation, if one must call it anything at all. Loneliness implies weakness, and Shenya the Widow is, well…Shenya the Widow.

  [What do you think it is?] she asks, prodding the squishy little figure with the flat of a blade. Perhaps the ship Librarian is also unfamiliar with it. That would be convenient, for even Shenya the Widow becomes nervous when the Librarian goes hungry for too long.

  [You should have asked it before you killed it], says Shokyu the Mighty.

  “You know, I’ve known you were here for quite some time,” says the thing beneath her. It blinks its golden eyes up at her, seemingly quite cheerful for someone impaled and bleeding out into alien soil. “I saw you come in from the tunnels.”

  “How many know of this place?” Shenya the Widow asks quietly.

  “Oh, no sense in getting the galaxy in an uproar just yet,” says the figure conversationally. “Though I may have some ideas on that. So for now I’m the only—”

  The rest of the sentence is lost in a gurgle. Shenya the Widow rises after the thing is done and cleans her blades in the rustling vegetation. The discovery is now hers, and once the Librarian has fed, Shenya will no longer have to fear for her life every time she opens its containment. That’s two rivals with one blade, as the saying goes.

  [Killing won’t help your loneliness], says her Network implant.

  [I did not kill it for therapy], snaps Shenya the Widow, hoisting the body onto her thorax. She releases a disgusted hiss as its skin touches her beautiful carapace, leaving it smeared with oil and goddess knows what else. [I killed it for purposes of research…and profit.]

  [Ah, so you didn’t enjoy that.]

  [I enjoy everything I choose to do. But in this case, I also have a little one to feed.]

  [Do you think feeding the Librarian makes you feel less alone?]

  Shenya the Widow hisses as she turns back toward the ship, preparing a devastating reply. If she hadn’t grown so accustomed to the constant voice in her head, she would have treated Shokyu the Mighty to a factory reset long ago.

  “Whoops!” says a familiar voice. “You’ve accidentally killed one of Me!”

  [Did you hear that?] asks Shokyu the Mighty, instantly and with more than a little fear attached. [You just killed a high-tier.]

  This is one of the few times in Shenya the Widow’s life when her implant’s concern may be entirely warranted. She drops the body and whirls into stance four, low. She backs herself against one of the largest trees in the area and raises every available blade into a quivering fence of death. The tree is large, easily a meter in circumference, rough brown and massive enough to stop a good-size projectile from taking her out from the back. She sends out an ultrasonic ping, sifting its echoes for clues.

  “I’m right here,” says the voice. “If You would stop killing Me for a second, we could oh, for My sake—”

  Shenya the Widow is in the air as soon as she identifies the source and has silenced the second speaker as quickly as the first. She crouches over its body, blades buried eight centimeters in the soil beneath it. She fires another ping, but there are too many of these trees. She can detect the crunching sound of dry vegetation being crushed, and what sounds like soft speech, but both are too low for details. They could be coming from anywhere. In fact, after listening for a few seconds she begins to think that they are coming from everywhere.

  [This is it], says Shokyu the Mighty. [This is how we die. Pointlessly. Painfully, probably—although I’m sure you won’t mind that at all.]

  “It’s not very neighborly,” whispers the voice from beside the nearest tree.

  Shenya the Widow whirls, but sees nothing but overgrowth.

  “Nor very pretty,” says the voice, now behind her.

  Widow reflexes respond, but again there is nothing to see.

  “It’s hungry, maybe,” suggests the voice, directly above her. She cocks her head, but her nearly spherical field of view reveals nothing. Even in infrared nothing stands out; despite the cooling day, everything around her is nearly the same temperature.

  “It doesn’t seem to be eating Me, though,” it muses.

  Shenya represses a shudder. Eat a thing like this! No, she does not understand how the Librarian does it.

  “Excuse Me,” says the voice from somewhere behind her. She cranes her head in a slow half circle but sees nothing. This invisibility is beginning to annoy her.

  “If I come out will You promise not to kill Me again?” it says from ahead and to her left.

  “I just feel like that’s starting off on the wrong foot,” it says from above.

  “Or blade, if You prefer.”

  “You’ll be perfectly safe.”

  A few seconds ago Shenya would have laughed at the thought of danger from these miniature creatures…but the question has come from more directions than she can easily count. She stands slowly, withdrawing her blades from the rapidly draining body beneath her. Their edges, she notes with satisfaction, are still in perfect condition. This thing’s bones are nearly as soft as its disgusting flesh.

  “You have to say it,” says the voice. “You have to say, I promise not to kill You anymore.”

  [Just say it], begs Shokyu the Mighty. [We don’t have to die here, unless this is a stupid Widow honor thing.]

  Shenya the Widow sends out one last ping, which shows her nothing. “Fine,” she snaps in Standard. It annoys her to speak anything at all, but one does what one must when one is lightyears from the Network. “I pledge not to kill You anymore…today.” It seems sensible to place parameters on the oath.

  A rush of expelled breath comes from eight different directions. “I appreciate it,” says the small figure that has just stepped out from behind a tree. It blinks its golden eyes, the muscles in its face working overtime to push different parts into different configurations. So much effort, and it only makes the thing more hideous. “So anyway,” says its voice in a conversational tone. “What was I saying?”

  It takes her a moment to realize that the figure in front of her isn’t moving its mouth—it is simply watching her with those gold eyes—but of course the voice is now coming from behind her. She checks herself mid-whirl, lowering her blades as if that were her plan all along. There is an identical individual behind her, which now makes four if she counts the two she just killed.

  [Spooky], says Shokyu the Mighty, sounding much perkier.

  [When I desire your opinion on a matter], says Shenya the Widow internally, [I shall ask for it]. Externally, she composes herself. “You were claiming this…discovery,” she says out loud, after an embarrassing length of time hunting for the right Standard word. It has been a while since she has spoken aloud.

  “Of course,” says a voice above her, from the trees.

  “Yes, congratulations on that!” says another. “You are now the second person in the galaxy to know My secret.”

  [A secret?] says Shokyu the Mighty. [That sounds promising. Or profitable, if you prefer.]

  “You are a person, are you not?” asks one more small figure who has just strolled around her tree, upper limb
s behind its back. It leans forward to examine her with its gold eyes.

  [It wants to know if you’re high-tier], says Shokyu the Mighty. [Or a group mind. Or both, maybe.]

  [You certainly have a talent for stating the obvious], says Shenya the Widow. Outwardly, she has already swept into the act that has made Shenya the Widow famous corporation-wide. “Of course I am a person,” she says smoothly.

  “Of course It’s a person!” says a chorus of the same voice.

  “No offense intended,” says the one in the tree above her.

  “You just can’t assume, in this day and age.”

  “So many species zipping around,” says another, demonstrating by running through the leaves with its arms out. “One can’t keep track of who’s become a person and who hasn’t.”

  Strange sounds are now emerging from all around Shenya the Widow, as this creature displays its displeasure from every body it has available.

  [Nice job], says Shokyu the Mighty. [You’ve got Him.]

  “Yes,” says Shenya the Widow, turning slowly to keep as many bodies in sight as possible. “It is quite…disgraceful.”

  “Anyway!” says the nearest individual. “My name, rendered down into primitive mouth noises, is Observer.”

  “Hello, Observer,” says Shenya the Widow. “And I am—” She pauses, reaching for something other than Shenya or Widow. “That is, you may call Me—”

  [Darkness], suggests her implant. [That’s a good group mind name. Now you’re glad I keep a copy of the registry, aren’t you? Or…Silence is available, looks like. Scariness is taken, sadly.]

  “Hunter,” finishes Shenya the Widow. She never takes her implant’s advice if she can help it, and she never admits to it when she does. Hunter is a nice name, and it fits her. For a moment she imagines it as reality: billions of bodies, sharing billions of thoughts, all distilled down to the name Hunter. This is the part she is now playing.

  “Hunter,” says Observer musingly, several of Him tapping fingers on the lower parts of their awful faces. “Hunter. Interesting. I wonder why I have never heard of You.”

  Shenya flicks her blades in a Widow shrug. “It is a large galaxy,” she says.

  “Not related to the Predacious Array, are You? Next sector over?”

  [Searching registry…], says Shokyu the Mighty. [Interesting. It’s a plant that covers an entire planet. Some theorize that it’s intelligent.]

  “We are not related,” says Shenya out loud. “Though We do…run into each other on occasion.”

  “Oh, how nice,” says Observer. “Tell Her Observer says hello, will you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Anyway,” says Observer. “Let’s talk about this, er…discovery of Yours.”

  “Yes,” says Shenya the Widow. Silently and not so subtly, she flexes every blade on her body.

  [If you’re thinking about murdering them all], says Shokyu the Mighty, [it’ll never work.]

  [Thank you. I can see that.]

  [I mean it’s just a matter of logistics. You probably can’t even see most of them.]

  [Thank you], says Shenya the Widow. She is annoyed to admit that her implant is right, but she does relax her blades. She chooses an Observer at random. “My employer is able to offer you a finder’s fee for your part in the discovery,” she tells it. “Shall we say…one percent?”

  “Oh,” says a different Observer, blinking. “How…generous.”

  “My employer assures me that this is a rare find,” continues Shenya the Widow in her gentlest voice. “I am sure that it will be profitable as well, in the right blades. Your one percent could be worth more than you imagine.”

  All around her, Observers are shuffling their feet as if uncomfortable. “Here’s the thing,” says one, scratching the white growth on its head. “I’m not sure You’ve realized what this discovery actually…is.”

  [Say it’s a lost colony from an extinct civilization], says Shokyu the Mighty. [I mean, it has to be, right?]

  [That is a ridiculous guess], Shenya the Widow fires back. [The commission said we were looking for a research vessel.]

  [Which this is not.]

  [It does not follow that it is a colony, or from an extinct civilization.]

  [It’s clearly a habitat, and it’s way outside Networked space. Plus, this guy seems really excited about it.]

  [Fine. It is a colony. I will even grant that it could be a lost colony. But the rest of your theory?]

  [What else do group minds care about? They’re always going on about Who has reached maturity and Who has gone extinct. It’s like Widows and obituaries.]

  [Why, you insolent—]

  “You’re a little slow, aren’t You?” asks an Observer, cutting into the internal argument.

  Shenya the Widow stares at the speaker, blades twitching as she decides whether she is, in fact, going to murder it.

  “Totally understand!” says another. “I get that way too, when there are only a few of Me around.”

  “Like now!” says the voice from behind her. “I’ve got barely a couple hundred bodies here, and let Me tell You, I’ve almost forgotten what real intelligence is like.”

  “I am…not slow,” snaps Shenya the Widow. “I was simply…thinking a moment. And yes, of course I know what this is. It is a—” And then she sighs, because she will never hear the end of this. “It is a lost colony, from an extinct civilization.”

  A silence grows, as many pairs of golden eyes watch and judge her. And then:

  “You do know!” says an Observer.

  “But You can’t possibly know which one,” says another. “Go ahead. Guess.”

  [No clue], says Shokyu the Mighty. [You could try Freewheelers or Silverteeth, maybe. There are a few other extinct species from around here—but none that anybody actually misses.]

  But one fortunate guess per day is luck enough. “I do not,” admits Shenya the Widow.

  “What You’re standing in right now,” says an Observer, turning with its arms outstretched, “is the only settlement of Humans in the known universe.”

  Shenya stares at this last speaker, mandibles stilled into silence. In her head, a seismic shift in priorities is taking place.

  [Well, that was literally the last thing I expected], says Shokyu the Mighty, [And just so you know, you are coming across as extremely threatening right now.]

  Shenya the Widow is aware, but she can’t help it. Her blades are at full extension and quivering, and her mandibles are a blur. A hot, quivering, magnificent fury is building in her thorax, a true Widow rage. The Humans.

  But Observer, it appears, cannot read Widow body language. “Follow Me,” says one of Him, turning away. “You should really see this.”

  Shenya the Widow stands frozen for whole seconds before shaking herself free of her fantasies. “Lead on,” she says quietly. Oh yes. Lead on, strange one, and Shenya the Widow will follow. She will shadow You to the end of the galaxy if a living Human is at the end of the journey.

  [AivvTech Mnemonic Restoration]

  [Stage 1]

  * * *

  #

  [Good news! I have now constructed an emotional baseline. That means I should be able to predict each memory’s effect on you with a medium degree of certainty. As many factors are currently in play, I will be shifting the order in which I transfer memories. But don’t worry! You’ll recall them chronologically.

  [In Stage 1, you will experience memories that I believe you will find neutral. When we finish these, we will move on to Stage 2.]

  * * *

  #

  [Initiating memory transfer…]

  * * *

  #

  [I’m sure someone will be quite happy to see you], says Shokyu the Mighty.

  Shenya the Widow wobbles in her ship’s cargo bay, the ine
briant in her system making it much easier to admit that her implant is right. The Librarian will be happy to see her; she is absolutely sure of it. Look at it there on the containment monitor, its silvery surface expressing—well, expressing nothing at all. But surely on the inside it is feeling just as celebratory as she is. Or it will be. Or something. Can a Librarian become intoxicated, as she is right now? What if she fed it this inebriant bar she is currently chewing; what happens then? Oh, but no. Why waste a good bar when she has something better? Oh yes, my little one, you will like this very much indeed.

  The Librarian’s containment hisses open on her command, filling the cargo bay with a heavy metallic drone. The Librarian itself does not change appearance at the sight of Shenya the Widow, but then that is difficult to do when one is both suspended in midair and compressed into a sphere by a ten-gravity containment field. Shenya gazes at her reflection in its mirrored surface and wonders if it is uncomfortable in there. Well. Even if so, she is sure this will make it all worth it.

  She begins by releasing a few leaves into its field—careful not to brush the edge with her blades—and watches them whip upward to the sphere at ten times their natural acceleration. They lie against its silver surface, and then sink beneath it without a ripple. The process is invisible from here, but within that shining mass the leaf is being taken apart into its constituent atoms. Every measurable quantity is being learned and memorized. The Librarian will know the structure of this leaf so well that it could recreate one from scratch, given the right materials, and no scanning process in the galaxy would be able to tell the difference.

  Sometimes it will do exactly that, when it is bored. Shenya has opened the hatch in here to find body parts or plant life on the floor, as the Librarian has apparently created them for its own entertainment and then pushed them out of its field. This one has never resynthesized anything particularly dangerous, but she still checks its monitor before opening its containment. A corporate legend tells of a ship that returned to dock on autopilot, with nothing aboard but a Librarian and a swarm of flesh-eating insects. Some theorized that the explorer in question had shipped with a particularly spiteful Librarian, but in Shenya the Widow’s opinion the explorer’s first mistake was having flesh in the first place.