The Last Man on Earth Club

by Paul R. Hardy

  I leaned back in my chair, sighed and rubbed my temples. The Professor leaned into the mic.

  “Hello Kwame. Ebbs here.”

  “Professor.”

  “I know it’s a bit rough and all, but at least you’ll be able to see your wife soon. Well, an image of her, at any rate.”

  I glared at him. Neurologists tend, in my opinion, to assume a greater knowledge of human character than they actually possess.

  “I don’t even remember what she looked like,” said Kwame.

  “You won’t have that problem for much longer. I can promise you that,” said the Professor. I switched off the mic in our booth.

  “Professor,” I said, shaking my head. He frowned.

  “Ah. Not very tactful?”

  “Not very tactful at all.”

  “I do apologise…”

  I switched the mic back on. “Sorry about that, Kwame. Keep your eyes on the dot.”

  “I am fine,” he said. “It will be good to see her without…”

  “He’s closed his eyes,” said the tomographer as half the screens flatlined.

  “Do you need a break?” I asked.

  “Yes. Please,” said Kwame, sitting alone with his head in his hands as the lights in the room came up.

  9. Elsbet & Iokan

  That evening, once I’d returned Kwame to the centre and he slept under a sedative, I noticed Iokan heading to the infirmary. I’d let the group know they could visit Elsbet if they liked, since she’d been informed of their existence, but warned them not to mention Katie. Iokan was the first to take up the offer.

  He turned up at the door to her infirmary room with a bland smile, willing to help as always. “Hello,” he said.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “My name’s Iokan. I’m one of the other patients.”

  “Oh. Right. You’re from another universe.” She still didn’t really believe it.

  “We all are,” he said as he stepped inside and let the door close.

  “And everyone on your world is dead.”

  “In a manner of speaking… I suppose so, yes.”

  “What, you don’t know?”

  “It’s… complicated. I came here to see if there was anything I could do.”

  “Wake me up?” she said with a despairing shrug.

  “I can’t do that. This is all real, I’m afraid.”

  “How do I know?”

  “Ah! That’s a philosophical question.”

  “A what?”

  “An inquiry into the nature of reality?”

  She looked blank. Philosophy was not a common pastime in the asteroid belt. “Yeah. I suppose so, except reality’s not answering, is it?”

  “Well, you can never really prove that reality is real. There’s always the possibility it’s an illusion. But you can say that about the whole of your life. At some point, you have to accept that what you’re experiencing now is real…”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because otherwise you’re going to be stuck.” She sat down on her bed and folded her arms. He went on. “They’re not lying. They really are doing their best.”

  “They said the Earth in my universe is gone. The machines destroyed it.”

  “I think so, yes.”

  “So we lost the war.”

  “I don’t think that’s true.”

  “We lost the Earth! How can we win if the homeworld’s gone?”

  “Your people are still safe, aren’t they?”

  “Yeah. Safe. On asteroids, in little stinking burrows, living on fucking algae and drinking water that’s been pissed so often the taste never goes away. That’s what the fucking machines did to us.”

  He pulled up a chair and sat down close to the bed.

  “The machines are all gone now. Your people are still alive. The others in the group… they don’t have that.”

  “You believe them, do you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You reckon everyone on your world is dead?”

  “I was there. I saw it happen.”

  She looked back at him with a first flicker of sympathy.

  “Our ancestors came back. They took my people with them, they took their… I suppose you’d say they took their souls. But everyone had to die first. It was terrible while it was happening, but they’re safe now, and one day I’ll see them again.” He took her hands. “One day you’ll see your people too.”

  He noticed she was looking at him a little oddly. His speech had affected her somehow. Or maybe something else.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Have I seen you here before…?”

  He paused, remembering the injunction not to speak of Katie. “No… you haven’t.”

  She was still looking at him: wounded, lonely, in need. But reserved. She looked away.

  “Elsbet…? Can I call you Elsbet?” he asked. She nodded. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “No,” she said.

  “I’m…” he struggled to find words. “You see, the thing is…” She looked back up at him. “I understand… well, I’m told your condition leaves you at risk of seizures.”

  She nodded. “They said that.”

  “There may be a way to control them.”

  That was it; he was worried he’d caused Katie’s last seizure by refusing her demands. Elsbet knew none of this, and was intrigued. “How?”

  He took a breath, stood up from his chair, and leaned over the bed to kiss her. She scrambled away from him.

  “That’s your idea of medicine…!?” she demanded.

  “I’m sorry… I thought…”

  “I’m a soldier!”

  He seemed puzzled. “So was I.”

  “I don’t know what it’s like in your shithole of a universe, but where I come from, soldiers choose. Do you get me?”

  He shook his head, still baffled.

  “It means I don’t have to spend my life rutting with every fucknuts that wants a shag and making babies for the war!”

  His eyes went wide as he understood. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise…”

  “I should have your balls for this.”

  “I didn’t know how things were on your world. I apologise.”

  “I didn’t have a world.”

  “Of course. Ah, I’ll take my leave, if I may.”

  “Yeah. Get the fuck out.”

  Iokan headed for the door — but before he could reach for the controls, a chime sounded around the centre, and magnetic locks snapped tight on the door. My voice came over loudspeakers.

  “This is a security alert. I’ve had to lock down the building. The situation’s under control but we need you all to stay where you are for the moment. I’m sorry about this — I’ll update you as soon as I can.”

  Iokan tried the door: the controls refused him. There was a handle designed to be used in power failures, but that wouldn’t move either. He turned back to Elsbet, who sat on the bed looking distinctly annoyed.

  “I think we’re stuck here for a while,” he said.

  She folded her arms. It was going to be a long night for the pair of them.

  10. Security

  HUB SECURITY INCIDENT REPORT

  Incident Number: 897-9898-gf

  Date: HD y276.m7.w2.d3

  Reporting Officer: Sgt. Fers, I.

  Incident Location: Lhasa Bar & Club, 2345 3rd Avenue, District 2, Hub Metro

  Officer Leberrine responded to an emergency call at 23:45 hours, and found the owner of the club, Mr. Dawa Dorje, in a state of distress, while the club itself had suffered damage to fixtures and fittings. Mr. Dorje reported an assault approximately thirty minutes earlier by an unidentified female who questioned him regarding criminal activities. Mr. Dorje was extremely emotional and repeatedly confessed to a number of offenses against the Biodiversity Statute, but insisted he had never been involved in any kind of genocide. Officer Leberrine was unable to calm him. An ambulance was called, and Mr. Dorje was given a mild sedative.


  I interviewed Mr. Dorje at the station at approximately 00:45. He stated that he was on the premises while it was closed to conduct a stocktaking exercise, along with several employees who were assisting him, when the assailant broke in and attacked them. Mr. Dorje’s employees attempted to subdue her but they were unable to do so. The assailant stated that she only wanted to speak to Mr. Dorje, and allowed the others to escape. She proceeded to beat Mr. Dorje until he admitted to smuggling offences, but then asked questions regarding wider criminal networks. He insists that no such networks exist and he knows nothing of genocide on other universes, which the assailant seemed to be primarily interested in. He was unable to supply a full description of the assailant because she was masked, but was certain she was using a phonetic translation device. He also told us she demanded to know where the security recordings for the establishment were, and then destroyed them (both physical and data copies).

  Mr. Dorje was remanded in custody pending a search of his premises following his confession, and officers were despatched to arrest his associates. The Psychiatric Centre reported no escapes of inmates, nor have there been any other reports of an individual answering the same description.

  11. Intruder

  The truck came in to land at the vehicle paddock across from the main building, audible warnings reporting it was approaching ground level. The garage behind it opened up and the vehicle reversed inside to the sound of further warnings.

  As it halted, a baggage compartment at the back popped open and a masked figure in black rolled away. The driver would find the opened compartment a minute later and wonder how he’d managed to leave it open after a supply pickup in the outskirts of Hub Metro. But by then the stowaway was making a perfectly timed run to the main building as sensors switched themselves off along her path. She leapt two stories up to catch a newly opened window with one hand, and then swung herself inside, entering an unused room in the shuttered part of the centre.

  A door opened for her and she snuck away down the hall towards the staircase leading to the residential corridors two floors below. She paused on the stairwell and leapt to the ceiling, clinging to a centimetre of foothold while Veofol walked below her. Once he had gone, she slipped silently down to the floor and continued on.

  She went straight to the corridor that housed the personal rooms of the residents, one of which opened despite her failure to use the fingerprint, voiceprint or numeric locks. She stepped inside, said “Lights on,” and pulled the mask from her face.

  That’s when Liss got a nasty shock. Her room was gone. All the pink, fluffy and girly fittings were removed. All that was left was an empty, unformed grey shell. She turned to see the one object left behind — clamped into the wall, squat and functional, was a SAR launcher. SAR stands for Semi-Aerosolised Restraint. She had time to mutter “shit!” before it fired a cloud of adhesive droplets at her, binding her in a sticky mesh. She struggled and tried to jump, ending glued halfway up a wall, progressively constrained as she fought against the SAR polymers.

  Once she’d stopped struggling, security guards felt safe enough to enter and point weapons at her. Lomeva Sisse, the security manager, took special pleasure in her capture; the final touch of the empty room had been her idea, and avoided the possibility of physical confrontation and serious injury. She proclaimed the situation safe once her officers had made sure Liss could still breathe, then allowed me to enter.

  I could see her black clothes were actually stolen from Iokan — the black poloneck, the combat trousers, all adjusted to fit her. I thought she’d only been using her sewing kit to attach pink bobbles to everything she wore. But instead she’d been preparing for this all along.

  She glared down at me, still squirming enough to keep the mesh tightening around her. “Just relax, Liss,” I said. “It’s over. Security are going to take you away for an interview in Hub Metro. That’s out of my hands. Is there anything you’d like to tell me before you go?”

  “My name is Liss Li’Oul. Reservist. Paranormal Response Group. Identity number 1656710. I’m not telling you another damn thing.”

  “Liss… we didn’t destroy your world. We want to help you. Surely after all the time you’ve been here, you understand that?”

  She just scowled at me. She was determined to play the part of a prisoner of war. I tried something else: “We want to find out who killed your species as much as you do.”

  “And what would you do about it? Let them off with a fine? Smack them on the wrist? Take away their fucking toys?”

  I sighed. “We’ll talk again, Liss.” I looked at Lomeva. “You can take her away now.”

  They came in with tranquillisers and restraints and took her away to security headquarters in Hub Metro.

  PART SEVEN — JUSTICE

  1. Committee

  The next morning, I was summoned to an emergency meeting of the Special Counselling Groups Committee, representing everyone who had an interest in my group, none of whom were likely to be happy with me.

  I sat down in the remote conference room, and around the circular table, images of the committee members glowed into life. Henni Ardassian, head of the Refugee Service, sat opposite me, with the other members scattered around the table.

  “Is that everyone?” asked Henni, looking around. “Is there anyone else from Diplomatic?”

  A man spoke up. “Ms. Isnia is already in another meeting. She asked me to sit in. I’m Emmet Wlasky, in charge of operations.”

  “I’m very surprised she wasn’t able to attend herself.” Baheera om-challha Isnia was deputy head of the Diplomatic Service. It was her memo about the discovery of Iokan that had led to the creation of this committee, and eventually the therapy group. The politics of it all wasn’t supposed to affect me, but Liss’s escape might well end that.

  “It was rather short notice. We still have an ongoing situation elsewhere…”

  “We all do, Mr. Wlasky. Please ask her to call me after the meeting. So. Dr. Singh.” She looked at me. “We’ve all read the report. The members of the committee doubtless have some questions for you.”

  Koggan BanOrishel, the man from Hub Security, jumped in first. “I want to know why a member of the public is sitting in my cells, beaten half to death.”

  “I do regret that,” I said. “But we were aiming to reduce the risk as far as possible. I believe if we’d confronted Liss directly, she might have fled and caused a good deal more injuries. Or worse.”

  Koggan counted my misdeeds on his fingers. “You could have searched their rooms. You could have questioned them at the centre. But instead — and I’m quoting here — you ‘elected to wait for another escape attempt.’ You waited until someone got hurt, and then you took action.”

  “We did everything we could to minimise the risk.”

  “And yet you yourself were still injured.”

  Koggan indicated my arm. The bruises from Olivia’s attack were almost gone, but the medical staff insisted I keep it immobile for another day. “That’s an unrelated incident. Another member of the group attacked me. A hazard of the job, I’m afraid.”

  Koggan barely paused, despite his misstep. “But you didn’t think about the risk to Hub Metro, did you? We weren’t informed. In fact, you didn’t tell anyone. Not even this committee.”

  “And what would have happened if she had told us?” This was Mykl Teoth, who headed the counselling section of the Refugee Service — my boss. “We’d have been forced to take action. We’d have had the centre turned upside down, and then we might have had an entirely unknown quantity on the run with who knows what risk. She didn’t even know which one of them it was. Can you imagine what it would have been like to have the cyborg on the run? An admitted killing machine?”

  “You’re talking about might-have-beens—”

  “Colleagues, we’re not here for recriminations,” said Henni. “We’re here to discuss how to respond to the new situation. I understand Ms. Li’Oul is now in custody?”

  �
�That’s right,” said Koggan.

  “Regarding Mr. Dorje, the man who was assaulted: is he pressing charges?”

  Koggan replied: “He doesn’t have to. It’s a criminal matter.”

  “But he himself has admitted to criminal acts?”

  “Which is irrelevant. Assault is still assault.”

  “So Ms. Li’Oul will face criminal charges?”

  “I can’t comment on that until the prosecutors have looked at the case.”

  “We’ll have to see how that progresses. What about the device?”

  “Definitely illegal but safely contained.”

  “I mean, how was something like this from such an undeveloped world even able to exist here?”

  “We’re not entirely sure. Of course, we’re not in charge of security procedures in Quarantine…”

  “The technology situation on Liss’s world is rather unusual,” I said. “If you take a look at the background document, you’ll see they often developed artefacts far in advance of what might be expected. I don’t think Hub Security can be held responsible.” Koggan gave me a confused look. He hadn’t expected support from me.

  “I see,” said Henni. “And what about security at the centre?”

  Pellawanatha Fedissba answered — she ran Facilities for the Refugee Service. “Sensor coverage has already been stepped up, but as long as the centre is as close as it is to Hub Metro, there’s a limit to how much we can do.”

  “I’d like to consider a move, if that’s possible,” said Henni.

  “Is that necessary?” I asked.

  “Ms. Fedissba, if you can prepare a shortlist of alternative sites?” Pellawanatha replied that she most certainly could.

  I had to speak up for the group. “Ms. Ardassian, I have to object. The group has just settled in. They’re comfortable, they’re making progress. If they have to move when we’ve only just started, it could have a serious impact on therapy.”

  Henni thought about it. “How serious?”