The gaunt man stumbled out of the broken building into the knee-deep snow. He clutched a brittle black binder in his tireless grip. His long, dark, centuries-unwashed hair whipped in the wind.
He ambled to his idling pickup truck and tore a string of chains from behind the seat and proceeded to coil the jangling iron around his prize. He moved with the precision of a spider. After clipping it with a padlock, he threw the bundle on the seat beside him.
He smiled nervously at it, finding it hard to accept the search was finally over.
The last temptation.
His hand tossed the truck into gear and he drove towards the orange horizon.
As the plow glided softly through the snow, he tried remembering what “the others” used to call the object.
Something with an A…
The snow thinned as he drove closer to the orange glow, and the white ground was soon replaced with dark, brittle crust. Numerous gorges appeared on either side of the road, and he wondered when he should stop to continue on foot.
He slowed his speed and leaned forward to get a better view through the windshield. Fortunately, the way was unbroken due to the bedrock ridge that the road was built upon, and he arrived without incident at his destination: the edge of Earth.
The planet, once a sphere, was now a bowl. When the Sun decided to die and carve out a slice of Earth, it exposed the planet core. But now this last source of heat and light was rapidly losing energy to the vacuum of empty space.
The man parked the truck, took the bundle of chains and opened the door. The heat was oppressive, but it helped distract him from the impending temptation.
As the man approached the cusp, the core’s rays stretched to the stars overhead, making the horizon a perpetual sunset of Hell.
Around him the ground laid scorched, and with the surrounding trees and shrubs crisped to charcoal, his tattered rags and overgrown black mane effortlessly blended into the scene. Only his pale face, now reflecting the core’s light, stood apart. His slimy hair and beard whipped in sync with the hurricane winds that threatened to suck him over.
He crept towards the edge of the planet, finding the safest rock outcrop on which to cling. He dropped to his knees and crawled until he could stare over the cusp and into the fiery glow.
Thousands of miles below, the core radiated the last of its energy into the bowl. Bits of the mantle dissipated into orbit, eventually solidifying into peculiar shapes.
With twitchy movements, the man adjusted himself so his feet casually dangled over the cliff. The core’s heat seeped through his boots, but he didn’t care–he hadn’t felt pain in a few hundred years.
He studied the bundle of chains for a brief moment before taking the padlock’s key out of his pocket. He roughly unlocked the padlock and tossed it into the orange glow before unraveling the chains. When they fell away, his insides squirmed because he remembered the name of the object.
Album. Photo album.
He opened the album but immediately looked to the stars. All he had to do was drop his head to face the images–mere rectangles on a flat page—to remember what it meant to be human. Perhaps he could even pretend that the last four-hundred years of being the only human on Earth never happened.
He bit his lip and closed his eyes, then kept them closed as he lowered his face to meet the page. He inhaled, held the air, then exhaled. It took his entire will to keep his eyes closed.
No. I still don’t need any of you.
Satisfied, he closed the album. He reopened his eyes and stood up with a forced smile. He craned his neck to the stars and extended his arms to release the last temptation into the core’s inferno.
I passed th—
A gale tore the album’s cover loose. Caught off guard, he stared at the exposed page and its barrage of rectangles.
The contents, as clear as the day they were created, stared back at him. The assortment of images featured two-legged figures, each variously adorned in colors. The tannish-white ovals were the worst parts, with their rows of distinct white shapes peeking out of half-moon creases. For some strange reason the man expected them to speak.
His chest squirmed but he held his composure. But then one of these figures, a close-up framed with curly golden strands, pierced him with her two teardrops. Their blue allure enchanted him, but before he could savor the sight, that page tore off.
And so, one by one, all the pages tore free. His desire to savor the contents, only to have the pages rip off, solidified a growing void with every loss. A hiccup jolted his stomach, sending a tremor up his throat.
“Ack!” The man flinched, dropping the images into the blinding light.
He staggered and teetered, bending over the cliff’s edge, flailing his arms for balance. With a heave, he regained footing and crouched to safety.
He coughed from the tremor, but nothing came out. Something like a groping hand lingered in his chest, fingering for the right grip.
Don’t need them!
He turned around and looked into the darkness. The fingers kept prodding the gaps in his ribs, as if searching for a way out.
I passed the test. Yes. I don’t need any of them! Time for my new start.
He smirked at the irony in his words, for that’s what the rest of the humans promised when they left Earth and departed to their new planet of Paradise. His grin faded upon recalling their exact words. “A new…” he said, inaudible in the wind. He stared, unfocused, to merely mouth the second: “…creation.”
The hand poked inside him again.
I don’t need them.
An array of cracking hummed the bedrock, tickling his feet. He looked to the rock, knowing it would soon crumble, but before returning to his truck, he fixed his attention on the largest red star above.
Because there, Icarus V, he smiled, is my new home. My new empire.
With the crispness of a machine, he pivoted from the core’s hot glow and strolled to the truck.
He nearly reached the vehicle when a vigorous quake rattled the ground. Turning to the planet edge, he gaped when the bedrock, where he had just been standing, fell from sight. Its departure carved a ravine nearly to his feet. Eyes wide at the imminent crumble, he sprang into the truck and sped into the snowy darkness. The core’s glow eventually faded from sight in his rearview mirror.
* * * * * *
Flat woodlands turned to hills, between which the road wound, meandering through shallow valleys. Mountains soon rose on either side and the snow became deeper. Its flakes fluttered into his windshield, forcing him to slow his speed. He squinted through the white specks, lit up as they were by the headlights, to follow what he assumed was still the forest road.
A snowdrift exploded over the plow and buried the rest of the truck in a plume. He flipped on the wipers and leaned over the wheel.
He rolled down the windows to feel the air. He flinched at the way its subzero touch tickled his skin. He quickly rolled the window back up, shaking his head and clenching his teeth. Just as he suspected, everything away from the edge of the planet had grown colder.
Eventually the road emerged into a wide, treeless valley, where the rooftops of his little empire glistened in the orange twilight. Rising above the empty city stood his technological masterpiece, tall enough to rival the surrounding peaks. Three rockets were equally spaced around its flanks, each of which, by itself, would’ve dwarfed anything NASA could have created.
Then he noticed something, shocked he hadn’t seen it sooner: the launch facility’s lights were off. His gut twisted and his head throbbed at this new nuisance.
Wretched servants! You had one job! Must I do everything myself?
In minutes he was at the facility, smashing through the half-closed gate, eyes scrambling for his servants, whom he called the Hands. None were seen, so he plowed his way to the loading dock.
He threw the shifter into park and groped for his flint and steel in the glovebox. Once they were pocketed, he rummaged behind the seat for his winter clothes. Finally, he grabbed the door handle, sighed in preparation, and flung it open.
The winter air instantly weakened his muscles, so he quickly fumbled into the jacket before donning hat and gloves. He then trotted through the snow to the man door adjacent to the dock. Knee-deep snow blocked the entry. Retrieving his flashlight again, he used the butt-end to rail against the glass. After a few hard hits, it cracked and shattered to the floor inside.
A gust of something grotesque, like the blend of burnt oil and rotten meat, gassed through the opening. He gagged and grumbled through the broken door, kicked the snow off his boots, and led the way with his flashlight.
He used his lungs, which he no longer needed for breath anyway, to expel the stench that hung around his nose. It sent mist into the flashlight beam.
He scuttled through the loading dock and eventually acclimated to the smell, but he maintained a disgusted scowl anyway.
He followed the beam into the main room and meandered through the machinery. The facility was spotless when he left, but now dust caked everything.
Off to the right sat the large power plant. A year prior it was running brilliantly and he couldn’t fathom how the Hands managed to let it stop.
After a few corners, the stench made a resurgence. It grew stronger with every turn, until, finally, his light beam fell on a small crowd of humanoid figures. In his examining beam, their melted and disfigured faces awkwardly turned towards him.
He originally created them with human faces. He realized this to be a mistake after a few decades. Fortunately for him, a blowtorch was all he needed to erase their soulful expressions.
He filled his lungs to speak. “Well, well…” he said, lowering his head, clenching his flashlight to tolerate their putridity.
They twitched and hummed, as if their movements were restricted. Their quivering intensified and their voice boxes rattled off a flurry of desperate alarm messages: “Master! Oil, oil, please, oil…”
“Was I not clear?” he said.
“Duties we performed, but–” one said.
“You were gone, master, gone too long,” said another.
“Our oil supply dwindled.”
He stopped at the nearest one and grabbed the back of its neck. “Hand, what is your duty?”
“To serve you, Master.”
“Yes.” He eased his grip. “Me.”
The android turned to him. His gnarled face concealed his left eye while the right glinted blue in the ambient light.
“Me…” he repeated with a faded voice, staring into the iris’ glow.
The Hand’s eye gave a kind shift of the brow, and the man glimpsed his own face in the polished cosmetics.
“Me?” he nearly shouted. He clenched harder on the back of the android’s neck and, with a swift pivot in the hips and legs, smashed its forehead on the floor. In a bout of quick, strong motions, he obliterated the Hand until its voice box ceased crackling out pleas.
The man halted when everything above the android’s shoulders laid in bits.
At the sight of their fellow servant, the other Hands did their best to bow, but their hips were stuck.
The man rose to his feet, calm, without a breath of exertion. He threw his hair to the side with a roll of the head, then glared around the fidgeting crowd. “Everything for nothing,” he said, “if you fail to get this powered.”
“Yes, Master, yes,” they said in near unison.
Many of them, through sheer desperation to show penance, broke their mechanics to bow. “Forgive us.”
His face relaxed at remembering his mistake: he never intended his search for the world’s last photo album to take a year. So he never programmed them to maintain themselves in his absence.
“I…” he said after a moment, forcing a subtle nod, “grant mercy, just this once.”
“Countless gratitude, Great One.”
He spun away and returned his flashlight beam to his path, walking briskly to the storage closet wherein the oil was stored. The door’s hinge was rusty, so he had to force it ajar. He found the newest oil can and shook it to see if it was still useable. It sounded like sludge, but he carried it back to the Hands anyway.
“The crumble is coming,” he said. “Do you remember what that means?”
“Destruction, Master.”
“I don’t think you truly understand.” He popped the cap and raised the can above the closest Hand, pouring it over its head.
“Master,” the Hand said with a flinch, “that is the improper application–”
“Eternal destruction.” He said, pulling out the steel and flint. With a quick twitch of the wrists, he sent a burst of sparks onto the Hand.
In a moment, the automaton’s head and shoulders were aflame. Its voice box garbled incoherent error codes.
“Fire!” The other Hands said. The man walked around them, applying oil to their hips and legs first so they could safely retreat from the flames.
The burning Hand ceased pleading, now sending streams of synthetics down its torso and emitting a horrid stench of burnt electronics and melted plastic.
“Master, fire!” the others kept shouting.
“I’m not interested in drifting on this cold rock for eternity..” He pointed to the other end of the large room, towards the power plant. “Get it going,” He paused to look at the heap of burning parts, “or join that one.”
* * * * * *
He stood on the loading ramp, two hundred stories up, awaiting the Hands’ report. A small window offered a last look of Earth.
It was a successful temptation. He leaned over to it, noticing the horizon had grown much closer than anticipated. The orange glow of the core lit up the entire valley.
As everything outside crumbled, he imagined his destination, of what it would look like, but the pictures in his mind were only a rehashing of Earth.
Not like Earth, a better Earth.
The golden-haired face from the photo album came to his mind, and with it, the fingers inside inched higher up his ribcage. He bit his lip and imagined the face twisting and melting into that of the Hands.
I never needed you.
“Master,” came the voice of the twisted face. “How may we serve you?”
He imagined a blowtorch. He ignited it.
I’ll prove you wrong.
“Master, how may we serve you?” The twisted face repeated, loud enough to break his daydream. “Salvation is prepared for launch. How may we serve you now?”
He took a moment, wondering why he chose such a dumb name for the craft. In his periphery, the twisted faces stood, waiting for his response.
“You are relieved,” he said without turning.
“As you wish, Master.” The sound of awkward machinations hummed as they bowed and pattered away.
“Wait, no.” He kept looking out the window. “There is something you can do.”
They wheezed back to give another bow. “Yes?”
“Gather all the Hands, and position yourselves beneath the launch thrusters.” He finally looked at them. “Let me know if they ignite when I launch.”
“We are at your service, Master.” They bowed a third time, then departed.
He inhaled the piercing air through his nostrils and held it in his lungs.
Last breath of Earth.
He went into the cockpit and closed the hatch. Once strapped in the seat, he flipped switches and pressed buttons, retracting the ramp and activating the preliminary launch systems.
The beast rumbled. After the computer automatically completed its pre-flight startup sequence, he was ready to ignite the launch engines.
He exhaled until his lungs compressed completely and nodded in a clumsy attempt at closure. He turned the switch and everything rattled as his masterpiece leapt from the ground. The snow in the valley instantly evaporated as the flames erupted from the exhaust vents. The facility caved inwards from the inferno, absorbing the Hands into a tomb of melted rock and metal. A few avalanches made their way down the surrounding mountains, quickly fizzling to steam, followed by the mountains cracking and throwing chunks to the valley floor.
It only took ten seconds to reach 5 Gs, even though the thrusters were at their minimum output. He grinned through the gravity forces at the way his special, lightweight blend of fuels performed.
The propulsion intensified, and after the mountains cracked, a canyon formed, which split what remained of the planet in two. As it did, gravity lost its hold and everything went silent. The weightlessness lifted him in his seat, causing the belt to press into his chest and waist. Staring out the window, into the star-speckled black canvas, he cycled a few steady airless breaths.
The ship spiraled around to give him a view at the pulverized Earth. Its terrestrial pieces gradually orbited and jostled around the dwindling core. Satisfied at his work, he turned away to prepare the interstellar voyage.
Before commencing his journey, he confirmed the readiness of the sleep module. Inducing comatose for the 230-year trip was his little way of rewarding himself for such a successful empire.
When the module was set, he got inside, shoved the IV into his arm and taped it, then closed the lid and strapped his body down. The computer screen above him displayed a prompt to ignite the Stellar Thrusters.
He raised his finger to accept, but the blue teardrops returned to his mind.
What do you want?
They matched his question with a blank gaze.
Want to see what you missed?
The face shifted, forming what appeared to be a subtle grin, but it blurred and he couldn’t be sure. He blamed it on the IV fluids.
Well, do you?
The golden strands rustled in an imagined breeze.
Fine!
His twitchy hand pressed the screen to take him back to the ship’s autopilot settings.
Cancel Autopilot to Icarus V?
He jabbed the affirmative and reentered different coordinates. This new journey would be slightly longer, but it was the destination that caused his fingers to quiver as he held them over the screen’s confirmation:
Set new course to New Earth?
He raised his eyebrows at the preposterous prompt, then reclaimed his frown to turn to where the blue teardrops stared back.
This is your idea. I’ll prove you wrong.
The ship only had fuel for one trip. There was no going back from this decision. With this in mind, he hesitated before finalizing the ignition. The fingers tickled his ribs again, but before they could do more, he confirmed the prompt.
The craft responded with a jolt. G-forces pulled at his insides with enough to chase the fingers from his insides. For the first time in four centuries, he closed his eyes to sleep. It would take the craft a month to safely accelerate to top speed, but before the first minute was over, he had drifted into oblivion.
* * * * * *
The module opened, but it took him a few hours to fully open his eyes. He took his time sitting up, uneasy at the return of weightlessness, for the ship had stopped its rotating and was now ready for descent. His atrophied muscles barely functioned as he tested his arms and neck.
He inhaled just to feel the vacuum of space in his lungs, which seemed to be enough to somewhat clear his mind. He removed the IV, levitated out of the module and glided to a window facing humanity’s new home.
The planet laid in shadow, haloed in the aura of its sun. But as the spacecraft moved into orbit, the yellow dwarf peeked into view. The star’s golden rays illuminated clouds, oceans and terrain beneath New Earth’s atmosphere.
The potential glories were ready to be built, and the man closed his eyes in the fantasy. He pictured himself landing in their midst, emerging from the craft.
Will they bow?
He opened his eyes to see that the golden rays had grown.
Like Earth.
The prodding fingers tickled his chest again, now stronger in his weak body.
Like Earth?
His insides were hollow, as if he were hungry. He had forgotten what it meant to eat.
No, not like Earth at all.
He grinned away the odd hollowness.
Not when I’m done with it.
Then an unforeseen question struck: What will I say to them?
Words flashed through his mind, but he couldn’t decide which ones to use. He had memorized volumes on Earth, but their array of vocabulary failed to supply anything worthy of his arrival.
I’ll just say nothing.
But his decision was too late–or too uncertain. A trickle of disorder had formed. It sent his mind into a cascade. Even in weightlessness, his body lurched as if suddenly returning to gravity.
Then a horde of faces leapt to his mind like a house of mirrors. Every android, unmarred and flawless, stared at him with a semblance he had tried in vain to melt away. He closed his eyes but they were still there.
But that was just the start. A barrage of other faces, smiles and forgotten expressions from long-buried memories enveloped him. They joined the androids to form a greater audience. All leered in pity at his hunkered spectacle.
The writhing fingers sprang from his ribs to clench his windpipe, and for the first time in centuries he panicked for a lack of air. It only lasted a moment, but it was enough for the lowest depths of memory to surface.
A familiar woman smiled.
My daughter…?
He couldn’t remember if he had any children, but he wasn’t about to pry the memory to be sure. Whoever she was, the image was too much. The soul couldn’t be silenced.
“No, no, no!”
His voice brought no noise in the vacuum of space. He screamed so hard that his skull nearly fractured from the exertion. Whatever fluids that happened to be left inside him came spewing out in globs. He writhed, weightlessly spiraling as he clawed out handfuls of hair.
He threw himself to the ship controls. The screen read the inevitable:
Automated landing sequence initiated. Ship will begin descent in thirty seconds.
“What? No!”
…28…27…26…
“Cancel! Crash land! Destroy!” He pushed buttons in a flurry.
Cannot cancel. Please prepare for landing. 21…20…
He clenched the monitor until its screen cracked. With a demonic twist in his lips, he hurled himself into the escape pod as the spacecraft eased into the atmosphere. He wrenched the pod door shut and pulled the release lever before it was too late.
A blast launched the pod from the ship, spiraling him back into black space. His sight melted from the intensity of the propulsion. When he recovered himself, he went to a little window to watch New Earth shrink into the distance. There was neither engine nor thrusters in the pod–only the mercy of void velocity.
The frail hand inched up to his throat. There were no more distractions. There was nowhere to flee. It finally crept into his mouth.
He gagged, but all that came out was a bit of liquid from his eyes. It wobbled weightless in front of him. The sight of his own tears gave him something like a cold sweat. He closed his eyes and curled into a ball, rubbing his shoulders for warmth. It only brought shivers.
He groped his face like a potter vainly attempting to fix a ruined jar. He gouged and clawed. His fingers sank into his eye sockets to mutilate his skull into a less human form. But his immortal body resisted the prodding.
The cramped pod continued its journey, powerless, into frigid darkness. The man hovered in weightlessness, careening ever farther from humanity’s new home.
He found solace in picturing his spaceship landing in their midst, empty. He knew they would be perplexed. A grin leaked into his face, finally deciding on the words he would say to them. He uttered them with a soundless voice.
“Who’s wrong now?”
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