A Memory of Mankind: (This Alien Earth Book 2)

by Paul Antony Jones

  “You haven’t seen anyone else since that first day?”

  “Some,” Freuchen lied, “but they mostly stayed avay from us, although I can’t think vy.” He gave a big friendly grin and stretched his huge frame.

  Emily nodded silently. I couldn’t tell whether she believed us or not.

  “The aurora and the pixie dust that first night were our first real signs that we weren’t on Earth anymore,” I said.

  “Aurora? Pixie dust?” Emily looked confused, then gave a little laugh. “Oh, you mean the bliss.” She paused for a second, then added, “I think I prefer your names for it. Go on.”

  I saw no need to tell her that, according to Silas, we were on Earth, or, at least, some far-flung future version of it, in some alternative dimension. That I would save for a time when we knew she could be trusted. Until then, we would let this play out, get a feel for what kind of a person Emily, and the rest of her people were, then decide on how much real information we would share.

  I continued, “It kind of sealed the deal that whoever or whatever’s behind the Voice that asked whether we wanted to live or not... well... the probability is that they aren’t human. They must be incredibly advanced to have brought all of us here.”

  Emily smiled.

  “And that’s really it,” I said. “We’ve been traveling along the coast since we arrived. It was only when we were finally able to make it over the mountain range that we realized there were other… survivors.”

  Emily stood and walked around to the front of the table. Then, sitting, she said, “And the sword and armor you’re wearing. Where did that come from?”

  “Ve liberated it from a dead man,” Freuchen said, bluntly. “He no longer had any need for it.”

  “Can’t argue with that,” Emily said. She silently looked us both over for several seconds. “Most of the people here arrived at the same location on the coast. We survived the first couple of days together then made our way over the mountain. We lost twenty-three people.” She seemed genuinely sad at that. “Then, we stumbled on this place.” Emily got to her feet, raised her arms to encompass the whole encampment. “There’s a mixture of people from the last five-hundred-or-so years here, enough that the language barriers have been overcome and we’ve been able to get things done. We opened a school in the first week and started to teach English-as-a-second-language to our residents who didn’t speak it. Now, about ninety-five percent of us can hold a basic conversation.”

  I smiled broadly, genuinely impressed by how organized the camp seemed to be and thankful that I wouldn’t have to worry as much about my translative powers giving us away. “So, why New Manhattan? Is that where you were when the Voice contacted you?”

  Emily took a moment, as though she were wondering whether to answer or share her information with me. Eventually, she said, “I was a reporter in Manhattan and New York. There was an… event, and I was the only survivor.”

  “Wow!” I said, intrigued. I took a sip of water from my mug. “Nobody else in Manhattan survived?”

  Again, a long pause. “As far as I know, there were only a few survivors left… in the world.”

  “Vat?” said Freuchen.

  “You’re joking, surely?” I said. “Was it a pandemic? A nuclear attack?”

  Emily shook her head. “Neither, really. It all happened so fast, I’m still not really sure what it was exactly and, trust me, you probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Anyway, I made contact with a man who was part of a group of survivors in the Stockton Islands—they’re in the far north of Alaska. I was making my way to them when I was attacked in a forest by… some things. I think Thor came to my rescue, but by the time he reached me the… creatures had me.”

  “And that’s when the Voice asked you to make the choice,” I said.

  Emily nodded. “This thing had me on my back. It was about to take my head off and then… poof!” She imitated a slow explosion with her fingers. “Time just… stopped. The Voice asked me if I wanted to be saved, and the next thing I know, I was dumped in the ocean, along with the back half of one of the things that attacked me… and this guy.” She leaned over and scratched Thor behind his ear.

  I had no idea what she was referring to when she talked about the ‘things’ that had attacked her. Still, I could tell I wasn’t going to get any more information out of her on that subject. Not yet, at least.

  “Well,” I said, “look at it this way: in another universe, there’s probably a version of you that survived. And who knows what she might have achieved?”

  Emily laughed loudly. “You know, I never thought about it like that. Well, let’s hope she has an easier time of it.” She leaned back against the table. “Okay, so, tell me, are you passing through, or are you looking for something more permanent? We can always use more hands.”

  “Stay,” I lied, “We’d like to stay and help out in any way we can. Just tell us what you want us to do.”

  Emily eyeballed us both. “You both look like you can carry your own weight. I’m going to leave you in the hands of our foreman.” She turned to the young guard who had escorted us in. “Robert, would you go fetch Bartholomew, please? Let him know we have a couple of new guests.”

  Bartholomew Mwangi was almost as tall as Freuchen and just as wide in the shoulders. His hair was cut so short, it was little more than a burr, his skin the color of umber, a thin sheen of sweat glistening over every exposed inch. He was an imposing-looking man, lean but strongly muscled, his mouth set in an intimidating frown. But that menacing demeanor dissolved the second he smiled, lighting up his face as brightly as the aurora lit up the night sky.

  “Bartholomew, I’d like you to meet Meredith and Peter,” Emily said.

  “Freuchen,” Peter said, extending his hand. “Just call me Freuchen.”

  “I am delighted to meet you,” Bartholomew said. His heavily accented voice was deep and melodic, his words forming a sing-song rhythm so fast they almost melted together. He wiped his hands on his dirty jeans, then first shook Freuchen’s hand, then mine. His grip was firm but not crushing. I was surprised by the softness of his skin—especially for a man who was so obviously used to hard work—until I realized that any calluses he might have earned would’ve surely vanished each night when the aurora worked its magic.

  “Do you think you can find our new guests a place to stay, maybe put them to work?” said Emily, leaning back on the table, smiling.

  “Of course. Of course,” Bartholomew said enthusiastically. “Follow me, and I will give you the grand tour,” he said, “then I’ll show you to your cabin.” With a hand between my shoulders, he ushered us out of the cabin and back onto the main path, leading us toward the bottom of the pit.

  “Everyone seems very friendly,” I said after the tenth person had waved or called out a greeting to him.

  “Yes, it’s hard not to know everyone when you live as closely as we do here. It reminds me very much of where I grew up.”

  “Where was that?” I asked.

  “Kenya. A town called Voi. My daddy worked the docks in Mombassa until he died when I was nine. My mother died a year later, so I had no choice but to leave. I traveled to Mombassa, found the first crew that would take me, and I rode the sea until the day I was brought here.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  He waved his hand as if shooing away a fly. “Pfft! It was a long time ago, and if it had not happened, then I would not be here now. The universe moves with its own will.”

  I had to smile. Bartholomew was the first person I had met since I’d arrived who seemed genuinely happy to be here on this other Earth.

  Freuchen asked, “And vat ill fates caused you to land on these shores?”

  “I was the Bosun of the Kirinyaga, an oil tanker. We sank on our way to Libya, 16th of June, 1985.”

  “That’s horrible,” I said.

  “No, no. Thank God we had not picked up any cargo when we went down. It would have been a hell of a mess. A hell of a mess.”r />
  I began to suspect that Bartholomew was just one of those permanently optimistic guys who, no matter what life threw at them, would always see the positive side of it. We reached the bottom of the pit and walked to the edge of the lake.

  “There is a cave system down there,” Bartholomew said, pointing below the water to the right. It was difficult to hear him over the roar of the waterfall as it crashed into the lake, creating a constant foam of bubbles and waves that kept the surface of the lake in motion. “One of our people has managed to go in about two hundred feet and says that he believes the caves go much, much deeper.”

  “That seems very deep for someone to dive unassisted,” Freuchen said.

  “Janus is a free-diver. He is capable of holding his breath for almost ten minutes… the problem is he needed to hold it for twelve, which is how he ended up here with us.” Both Bartholomew and Freuchen laughed uproariously at this joke, and I realized that these two men were cut from almost identical cloth.

  “Amazing,” I said. “The lake is so beautiful.”

  “Yes, the lake is, as you say, amazing. It is as though we have stepped back into the Garden of Eden. And perhaps that is what is happening, eh? Perhaps, the universe is giving us a chance to start it all over. A second chance to get it right this time. Who knows? Not me.” He gave one of those huge grins then said, “Come, follow me.”

  He led us to a spot on the lakeshore where seven logs had been dropped into the water ten feet apart from each other. The tops of the logs were shaved flat, so it was easy to walk out a good thirty feet or so into the lake. “We wash our clothes here,” Bartholomew said. “It’s simple but works. And we have several people skilled with the needle who will be happy to patch up yours for you.” He pointed at a couple of rips and tears in my jeans. “They are also working at spinning yarn from our sheep.”

  “Sheep?” Freuchen said, astonished.

  “Yes, we have a flock of sixty sheep… well, mountain goats and sheep that we have captured. In the farm.”

  “Farm?” Freuchen said, looking at me, eyes wide in disbelief.

  Bartholomew laughed. “Yes, farm. It is about a mile away. We also have other livestock; bison, wild pigs, deer, rabbits, turkeys, ducks, and some things that we don’t have a name for but taste very, very good.”

  “This land is abundant,” Freuchen said, then added, “It is almost as if someone vanted us to prosper, don’t you think?”

  Bartholomew made no reaction to Freuchen’s subtle attempt to find out whether he knew about the Architect or, perhaps, even the Adversary. But if he was masking his thoughts, he was giving an Oscar-worthy performance because I saw no sign he was hiding anything from us. Quite the opposite, in fact.

  “Yes, yes, you are quite right,” Bartholomew said, enthusiastically. “We have had many, many discussions about why we might have been brought here and by who. We have reached no consensus. But the one thing that we do all agree on is that whoever the Voice is, he wants us to survive. To prosper, as you say.”

  I glanced at Freuchen, who surreptitiously raised an eyebrow at me, then said, “Yes, it is almost as if by some design. As if some great architect designed and placed us all here for a reason.”

  There was still no reaction from Bartholomew, and I quickly drew the conclusion that these people knew nothing of the titanic struggle that had, and for all I knew, still was taking place behind the curtain of this world.

  “Come, it is time I introduced you to some of the others in the camp. We have some fascinating people. At least, we think they are. There are some here whose grasp of English is not very good, but we are working on that. Even so, they are talented individuals.”

  “Actually,” I interjected, “I’m kind of tired. All of this is just so… overwhelming. Do you think you could show us to our cabin? I know I’d like to rest awhile. If that’s not too much of a problem?” The idea of my ability to translate any language being discovered would raise far too much suspicion this early on. These people all seemed friendly enough, but I needed to talk with Freuchen and try and suss the place out a little more before we showed our hand.

  Bartholomew shook his head. “Forgive me. Of course. Of course. Come, follow me.” He led us back up the path, nodding to people as we passed them. We reached a cabin on the opposite side of the pit, directly across from Emily’s.

  Bartholomew opened the door and ushered us both inside. It was identical in layout to the one we’d met Emily in. On the wooden table were bowls of fruit and some dried meat. A pitcher of water and two wooden mugs with two wooden cots in the room adjacent.

  “I am in the next cabin over,” Bartholomew nodded to his right. “If there is anything you want, please just come and find me. If not, I will return for you a little later. Until then, please rest.” He stepped to the open door, smiled that ridiculously broad grin again, then closed the door behind him.

  Freuchen moved to the door, opened it a crack, and looked out. “He’s gone,” he said, walking back to where I had taken a seat at the table and sat down next to me. I poured us both a mug of water, pulled a strip of dried meat from the bowl, and smelled it.

  “Smells good.” I nibbled an edge then took a big bite. “Taste’s great. I think it might be bacon.”

  Freuchen grabbed a large piece and devoured it in two huge bites. “Vat do you think of our hosts? Can they be trusted?”

  I nodded. “I think so. They seem just as genuine as Edward and the rest of the Garrisonites.” I was pretty much convinced by now of my theory that the Architect either selected people who were inclined to getting along with others or that each of the candidates had been altered somehow to be more amicable. If I had to guess, I would choose door number two. A few genetic tweaks here and there and everyone just gets along. It made the most sense to me.

  Freuchen nodded as he swallowed another chunk of meat. “I agree, but I think ve should stick vith the original plan. Let’s give it tonight, and then ve can assess our situation again tomorrow.”

  “Sounds good,” I said, taking an apple from the bowl and crunching into it. It was deliciously sweet and crisp. “So, how do we keep my… ability to ourselves?”

  “You either stay in the cabin, or you take a chance that no one vill notice.”

  “Or I could just come clean and tell them about it. They’re going to find out sooner or later.”

  “Perhaps. Or maybe ve should just vait. Even if someone notices, there’s no reason for them to suspect us. Not if ve stay quiet. But if ve have to, ve can explain your ability and say ve don’t know how you got it.”

  We ate until we were full, then I suggested we should get some rest. It would be nice to sleep with a roof over our heads again.

  Freuchen said that he wasn’t tired, so I left him at the table and headed into the bedroom. The beds were basic wooden cots with plank supports to lie on. I climbed beneath the fur blanket. It wasn’t exactly what you’d call comfortable, but compared to sleeping on the ground, as I’d done since we got here, it was sheer luxury. Within minutes, I was asleep.

  Seven

  Walking out of the bedroom, stretching the stiffness from my shoulders. Freuchen was asleep where I’d left him, his arms folded on the tabletop, his head resting on them, snoring like a bear.

  “Hey! Wake up,” I said, shaking him by one meaty bicep.

  “Eh? Vat?” he exclaimed, bringing himself to a sitting position, eyes wide.

  I gave a little laugh. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

  He waved my apology away, shook his head, and got to his feet. “I vas dreaming I vas vith my vife at our home in Greenland, hunting seals.”

  “You never told me you were married,” I said, surprised at this sudden moment of openness from Peter.

  Freuchen’s eyes became sad, his face flushed red. “Navarana. A fine, fine woman. She bore me two beautiful children before the Spanish Lady stole her from me in ’21.”

  “Spanish Lady?” I said, confused.

  Freuchen
’s lip quivered as he spoke. “The great influenza outbreak. It took so very many around the vurld… millions, they said. And my beautiful Navarana vas the least deserving of death among them all.” He sucked in a slow, deep breath, then said, “Come on. Time vaits for no one. Our hosts vill be vundering ver ve are”

  Shadows had crept up to the cabin’s front door. Stepping outside, we saw a line of large campfires, twelve in all, burning along the winding path back up to the surface. The smoke from them twisted and curled up toward a sky, purple and bruised with night’s approach. The smell of roasting meat wafted to us from spits hung over the fires. New Manhattanites were slowly making their way down from the surface and heading to the fires, sitting or standing around them in groups, laughing and talking.

  “Everyone seems so relaxed,” I said, reminded of weekends barhopping through Santa Barbara before everything went to shit.

  Freuchen nodded. “They have an idyllic life here. All the food they need. Freedom from a tyrannical government, illness, and other hardships. Yes, I think I understand vy they are so happy.”

  “If they only knew the true reality of it all,” I whispered.

  “My friends, over here,” a voice boomed. Bartholomew stood tending a fire between the two cabins next to ours. “Please, come join us.”

  From somewhere further along the trail, a guitar began to play an upbeat tune, and a woman’s voice sang along with it.

  Two men and four women sat around the campfire. They were all dressed in modern, store-bought clothing; shirts, pants, jeans, sweaters, leather shoes, and sneakers. All were in their late-twenties-to-mid-thirties and seemed to be conversing quite freely in English. Four seemed to be couples judging by the way they lay against each other holding hands.

  I put on a big smile and joined them.

  “Here,” Bartholomew said. He handed us cups of brown liquid. Freuchen sniffed his, then sipped the contents. His face cracked open in a huge smile. “Mead! The drink of the gods.”