by Terry Bisson
Easier said than done. Ship was no help. Frank woke him with a shout and asked him where the Lander was parked, but Ship just replied, “I forget,” and went back to sleep.
“Machines don’t forget things,” I said. “He’s just lazy.”
“They do if they can’t remember them,” said Frank. He was beginning to look dejected again.
“Maybe the starship uniform knows the way,” I suggested.
“Stella, you’re my lucky charm!” Frank exclaimed, grabbing my hand. He led at a run and I followed down endless corridors tangled with vines. My feet were killing me by the time we found the door marked SALLY PORT.
There was no knob.
“Open,” said Frank. It was voice-activated and thanks to the uniform, he knew just what to say.
The door lensed open and there was the Lander, a nifty little saucer with twelve seats, which saddened us but only for a moment. “The two of us will be enough for what it is we have to do,” Frank said, squeezing my hand.
“Where are the controls?” I asked.
There weren’t any.
Just then, Ship woke up. “The Lander is automatic,” he said, “pre-programmed for descent and safe landing.” Then he went back to sleep.
“He may be lazy but he is programmed to awaken when we seriously need him,” said Frank. “All aboard!”
I could tell he was excited by the prospect of starting the human race all over again. By this point, so was I, his Eve.
I squeezed his hand and we got in.
As soon as we had settled into our G-chairs the Ship spit out the Lander like a watermelon seed and soon we were descending through the atmosphere with a faint whistling sound.
Clouds whipped by (there was a little oval window) and we saw a vast ocean below.
“I hope it doesn’t land in the water,” I said.
“Courage, Eve,” Frank said, squeezing my hand. “I hope you don’t mind if I call you Eve.”
“Actually, I do,” I said. I preferred Stella and told him so.
The Lander was slowing and I could see towers ahead. It looked like …
“New York City!” said Frank. “I’m amazed that it’s still standing after six thousand years.”
So was I. We both recognized it from the movies.
We landed as softly as a snowflake in Central Park. Through the oval window we could see grass and a rock or two. Then a face—a teenager with a funny haircut—peered in, grinned, and disappeared.
“That’s strange,” said Frank. “Has a savage or two survived in spite of everything?”
He opened the hatch and stuck out his head. “Oh, no!” he said.
“What is it?” I asked. “Is the atmosphere still good?”
“There’s oxygen,” he said. “But there’s another problem. Come see for yourself.”
By now I knew what to expect. Several teenagers, all boys, were staring in the oval window at me. I joined Frank at the hatch and saw people all around, picknicking and playing radios and throwing Frisbees to dogs. Except for the teenagers, no one was paying any attention to the saucer.
“It’s New York, all right,” I said. I knew it well from the movies. “But aren’t we supposed to be the only humans left?”
“Exactly,” said Frank. “Something is very wrong here. I can’t figure it out.”
He seemed at a loss, so I took control. “Come on,” I said. I scrambled out the hatch and he followed more slowly, looking dejected; dismayed, actually.
All of a sudden, people noticed us. A whole crowd followed us out of the park, some of them with cameras. It was the bra and panties, I knew. I figured they thought I was a supermodel on assignment and pretended not to notice them.
It was annoying, though, and I was worried about the cops, so I ducked into Altmans and picked out a nice outfit. The clerk must have thought I was a supermodel too, because she let me have it, even though I didn’t have any money. She just kind of stared.
I had left Frank at the door (men hate to shop, I knew from the movies) and I found him standing outside, smoking a cigarette he had bummed from somebody. “Maybe the disaster never happened after all,” he said. “But why has nothing changed in six thousand years?”
Even in the starship uniform he looked confused and irresolute. “Let’s get something to eat,” I suggested (forgetting we had no money).
We ducked into a Greek diner and I ordered the burger platter which came with fries. Frank got the Greek salad. Through the plate glass window I could see New Yorkers bustling along the sidewalks and hailing cabs, men and women together, as if busily rebuking our Adam and Eve presumptions. I was disappointed but not as disappointed as Frank.
Finally the coffee came. “This is the best coffee I’ve had in six thousand years,” I said, trying to cheer him up.
“This is no laughing matter, Stella,” he said, putting me in my place. “If we’re back on Earth after six thousand years, how come nothing has changed? How come they left us up there in orbit for six thousand years?”
“Maybe they forgot,” I said. “Maybe this is an alternate Earth.” I had seen that in a movie, which meant that he had too.
“There are no alternate Earths, Stella,” he said gloomily. “That’s just in science fiction.”
“At least we survived,” I reminded him.
There was no arguing with that. But Frank was no longer paying any attention to me. He was toying with his coffee and studying the mural on the wall behind the counter. (The badly painted mural, I might add.) But it was the mural, I think, that gave him the answer.
“Remember in Farewell Atlantis, when the dolphin
saves the baby?”
“Sure.”
“What if,” he said (back to his old self), “the disaster happened six thousand years ago, in ancient times? What if there was a highly developed civilization, capable of putting a ship into orbit, that knew it was doomed and sent an Adam and Eve six thousand years into the future to repopulate the planet? That made this final heroic effort before they were lost under the waves?”
“Do you mean …?”
“Atlantis,” Frank said.
“Sounds plausible,” I said. “But if we are from Atlantis, how come New York seems so familiar?”
“The movies, Stella! The orientation.”
“How could the Atlanteans have known what New York would be like in six thousand years?”
“Maybe they were just guessing.”
“You are the one that’s just guessing,” I said. I was beginning to enjoy thinking for myself. “And besides, if they knew New York would be filled with people, why go to all the trouble of sending an Adam and Eve?”
“I’m still trying to figure that one out,” he said. “Let’s get the check.”
Getting the check was a huge mistake. As soon as they found out we had no money, the Greeks got mad. Frank tried to explain our situation but that didn’t help. Finally they agreed to let him work it off in the kitchen, washing dishes.
Meanwhile I got a job in a Gentlemen’s Club (luckily, I had held onto my bra and panties) and we sublet a little apartment just the other side of Carnegie Hall. Frank got promoted to chef (the Greeks liked the uniform, and it knew how to cook) and we even had a little money. I discovered I loved New York. But even so, it was all, still, a bit of a letdown. We weren’t even lovers, since apparently the only part that had interested Frank was the Adam and Eve part. He avoided the streets, since the crowds of people depressed him. He spent all his time, when he wasn’t working for the Greeks, reading about Atlantis and trying to figure it out.
Finally, he gave up. “There are too many unanswered questions,” he said. He ticked them off but I already knewthem by heart. “We have to contact Ship,” he said. “He is the only one with the answers.”
That took some doing. The uniform had been washed several times and its memory-fabric was fading, but with what was left (and a lot of hard work!) Frank was finally able to devise a device that could call Ship in orbit. I
t was sort of like a big telephone.
“Here’s hoping he wakes up,” I said.
“Don’t discourage me, Stella,” said Frank. “I need you by my side now more than ever.”
He let it ring and ring and finally Ship answered. (We’re talking about almost a week here.)
Ship’s robotic voice sounded just like a regular voice on the phone.
Frank explained his Atlantis theory and Ship said, “You got it about right. The twelve of you were put into orbit just before the big wave came. It was a tsunami. Everything disappeared under the waters.”
“Why didn’t you tell us all this before?” Frank demanded.
“Yeah! And why all the starship this and starship that stuff, when we were parked in orbit all the time?” I asked. We were on speaker phone.
“The starship stuff was for morale,” said Ship. “They were afraid to spring it on you all at once. And they figured that the truth, that you are from Atlantis, would mean more if you figured it out for yourself.”
“Makes sense,” muttered Frank. “Didn’t take me all that long.”
“How did the Atlanteans know what New York would be like six thousand years in the future?” I asked.
“They didn’t,” said Ship. “They only knew that a civilization capable of TV would develop again in a few thousand years, and they programmed Ship, that’s me, to wake you up when the broadcasts reached a certain critical mass.”
“And if they never reached that critical mass?” Frank
asked.
“Then you would have slept on and eventually died, quite peacefully. But the Atlanteans were right, as you see. Technology is a law of civilization and civilization is a law of nature, apparently. And the same TV that triggered the awakening was also handy for orientation, so you wouldn’t be landing in a totally unfamiliar world.”
“What TV? We were at the movies,” I said.
“I tried to make it seem like the movies, but it was TV mostly,” said Ship. “Most movies aren’t broadcast.”
“Just as I suspected,” said Frank. “That’s why the credits were so short.”
“Some of them weren’t bad, though,” I said. “But what I want to know is …”
Frank beat me to it. “What is the point of a new Adam and Eve if there are enough people around to create a civilization?”
“The Adam and Eve thing was your own idea,” said Ship. “The Atlanteans knew that civilization would redevelop. They weren’t worried about the survival of humanity. There were plenty of primitive people around, mostly in Greece, who they knew would eventually develop TV and movies and so forth. Even space travel.”
“If we weren’t Adam and Eve,” I asked, “then why were we naked?”
“That was my idea,” said Ship. “I guess I should be ashamed.”
“You guess!” I was sick of him.
“Stella!” Frank whispered, shooting me a look. Then he took a deep breath and asked the million-dollar question: “So, Ship, if I’m not Adam and she’s not Eve, then—why are we here?”
“To bear witness,” said Ship. “The Atlanteans want to be remembered.”
“But we don’t know anything about them!” Frank complained. “Apparently all our memories of Atlantis were erased while we were in suspended animation.”
“Even civilizations have privacy concerns,” said Ship.
“And Atlantis is just a myth as far as folks here are concerned,” Frank went on. He was getting heated. “Everything I read about it is just myth and legend or cuckoo stuff. Most people don’t believe any of it.”
“Until now,” said Ship. “Now the two of you are living proof that there was a great civilization, one that cared enough to send a message across the ages. That Atlantis really existed. That it had a technology and a society sufficiently advanced to send you here. Just tell them who you are, where you came from, and how you got here. Twelve would be better but you two are enough.”
“Really?” I asked.
Frank took my hand and squeezed it. “So that’s our job?”
“That’s your sacred mission,” said Ship. “Your Destiny. Your Destiny is just beginning and now mine is done. I am even now in descending orbit, about to burn up in the atmosphere. Then will I sleep. We machines don’t share yourenthusiasm for existence. I don’t envy you your wearisome survival but I do envy you your mission. It is a great and a glorious one. Farewell.”
“Farewell,” we both said at once, and hung up and ran down into the street. Everybody was already looking up at the meteor flashing across the sky, the brightest that any among them had ever seen.
They were all oooohs and aaaahs. Only Frank and I were silent, looking up at the last fading remnants of the Ship that had borne us here across the millennia to bear witness to the vanished glories of the distant past.
Frank is full of surprises. He took me in his arms and kissed me, for the first time. We were in Times Square.
“I wondered if you were ever going to do that,” I said.
“You won’t have to wonder any more, Stella,” Frank said, his eyes gazing deep into mine. “I need you by my side now more than ever. We have a Destiny to fulfill. A story to tell. One that will fascinate, amaze and inspire the world. The story of a great people who would not, and now will not, ever be forgotten.”
And that’s what we’ve been doing. But it’s been tough sledding.
Corona FAQ
Will I feel different?
Isn’t that the whole point? You will feel better immediately: more energetic, and steadier, since the crude, often irregular pulses of your original “pumper” will be replaced with a constant velocity circulatory stream.
Will I still have “ups and downs”?
Of course. But without the distracting surges associated with excitable muscle fiber. The glandular/chemical moods that folklore attributes to the “heart” are fully accessible, but more controllable. Think serenity.
How long will it last?
A lifetime. As the name implies, the Corona Centurion™ rotary heart is designed (and guaranteed!) to last for a hundred years. It will easily survive the more primitive organs that it reliably services.
What if I have to replace the power supply? Will it require another operation?
Say goodbye to painful surgery. The Corona Centurion™’s long-lasting lithium nanocell is located “outboard” in the wrist. Replacement is a simple outpatient procedure, once a decade or so.
Will I have trouble sleeping? Staying awake?
Not likely. The occasional problems associated with the earlier prototypes have been corrected. The body’s natural photoelectrics easily compensate for the absent archaic “ticker.”
Some speak of an altered sense of Time …?
Only for the better. The removal of the pulse is compared by many to the switchover from a digital to an analog clock. Most find that they are more patient.
Do I have to use Synth™? Can’t I keep my own blood?
Why would you want to? It’s just sea water. Synth™, especially developed for and with the Corona Centurion™, flows better and carries more oxygen and nutrients. And the nanorganic bearings in the Centurion’s rotor require its use. Accept no substitutes.
What about diseases?
It’s time to retire those white blood cells. The immunity additives in Synth™ make “blood-borne” maladies a thing of the past, while its detergents neutralize internal toxins and wastes.
Are there different Synth™ types?
Please! Blood “types” are a vestige of evolutionary trial and error; mainly error. Synth™ is compatible with every lymphatic configuration.
Must it be so blue?
That’s for your own safety. In the unlikely event of an accident, it alerts medical personnel that your circulatory system has been upgraded.
Is there a danger of violence?
Relax. While it is true that Corona’s technology was originally developed for military purposes, the Centurion’s controlled flow rate is
fully indexed to the exigencies of civilian life.
How long does Synth™ last?
Synth’s™ plasma base doesn’t degrade under normal operation. Full efficiency of its special additives, however, requires its replacement every six months, in a painless and inexpensive outpatient procedure. Think of it as a simple 5-liter oil change.
What about “the chill”?
While some say chill, most say “cool!” Among its many advantages, Synth™ is far better at cooling the body than blood. You will quickly adjust to your new body temperature of 91.6 degrees. We have found that air conditioning costs at our Phoenix home office have been reduced by 44%!
What about music? Dancing?
Grab your partner! The ballroom floor will seem smoother than ever. Traditional musicians who insist on the “thump” of the old pumper can find aftermarket add-ons.
Will I still have normal human emotions?
Of course. You will find that they are steadier and more predictable, as they no longer vary with “blood pressure.” It’s true that you will no longer laugh, or weep, but most people consider this an advantage in both their professional and personal lives.
What about love?
Ah, the big question! Not to worry. Be prepared to enjoy romantic attachments that are more constant and more satisfying than ever. Independent laboratory tests have proven the supposed sexual side effects to be mostly frivolous or exaggerated.
And now can we ask you a question? Why wait for your heart to weaken, to falter or even to stop? Why depend on a stop-and-start evolutionary “kludge” when you can upgrade to reliable steady-stream circulation? Ask your doctor about the Corona Centurion™ today! Coronary care patients may be covered under Medicare, and trade-in discounts may be available, subject to transplant market protocols.
Billy and the Circus Girl
Billy had a little dick. When he rubbed it, it got bigger.
That seemed to defy the laws of physics as Billy understood them. So he decided to show it to his science teacher, Mr. Smart.
“Look here,” said Billy.
