For Fifty Years

A piercing shriek penetrated his head and he woke up to the mother of all headaches.

Where am I?

A red light was flashing on his right and he realized it was the oxygen alert inside his helmet.

Oxygen? How long was I out?

He tapped on his wrist control and he saw a blurry "22:43" appear in a reflection that appeared to be beyond his visor. He had been out for twenty-three hours.

No wonder my oxygen is critical. How long have I got?

There appeared to be an hour's worth of oxygen at the current consumption rate. Since he had been unconscious for so long, the average was likely to increase.

Where is everybody?

"Pat? Anyone? This is Ron. Come in, anyone."

He consulted his message buffer, but it was empty. Not a whisper for over twenty-three hours. This could only mean he was out of range, or something massive was blocking his reception.

My head! Think! Focus!

He started scanning his environment but his helmet lights revealed only rock, on all sides, with the exception of a small opening right above him. Or was it below him and he was upside down? Or maybe he was lying down?

I can hardly move. I must be inside a crevice.

He started scratching the surface in front of him and observed in what direction the dust was settling. It was floating very slowly towards his feet.

At least I'm the right side up. I need to get out of here. If no one has found me by now, I'm my only hope.

This wasn't the first time he was in an accident, of course, but it had never involved unconsciousness, and rescue teams had always shown up within minutes. He suppressed the creeping panic. A quick tap on his wrist showed him his thrust control panel.

Minimal upward thrust. Here goes nothing.

He pressed his arms against his body in order to take up as little space as possible. The gas thrusters in his boots shot into action. He moved. His suit grated against the rock's surface as he aimed his head carefully at the opening. For a moment he feared his backpack might get stuck, but he cleared the opening without effort. Now his helmet lights only showed distant dust. No walls. Dust on every side. And utter darkness.

As long as I can go upward, I'm not stopping.

He put his arms upward in case he would hit a ceiling. His helmet projected an ascension rate of one meter a second. One meter a second was enough to hurt your head when colliding with solid rock. Or lithium.

One week to retirement. It's such a classic.

"Rescue team. Come in, rescue. Ron Miller for rescue. Come in." In the back of his mind, the silence didn't come as a surprise, and fighting a panic was taking more energy.

Eighty meters. I don't remember falling eighty meters. I must have lost consciousness before that.

His helmet indicated "DT: 132 m" when his arms collided with solid rock. He pushed away from the wall behind him and the ascent continued unhindered.

After another two agonizing minutes, he gathered enough courage to try again. "Rescue team. Come in! Mayday!" His heartbeat increased. He closed his eyes. And he was bathing in screaming silence. And dust.

It took him another two minutes before he spotted the stars. Bitterly few brighter stars. His helmet projected the distance travelled since activation of the thrusters was two hundred and seventy meters.

I was at work at level six, so I fell one hundred and fifty meters?! If this hadn't been Pluto, I'd be apple sauce.

He reduced his upward thrusters to keep him level and activated a side thruster in order to touch down on the edge of the mine. He took a very deep breath and closed his eyes again. "Rescue team. This is Ron Miller. Come in!" He tapped his wrist control and a communications diagnostic screen showed up in front of him. To his horror, all test results were nominal.

Why is it still so dark? Where are the floodlights?

The entire site was usually bathing in light, but all he saw were the surface right in front of him and the brightest stars, among them the Sun.

They're gone. These lights are never turned off.

There was as much dust floating above the surface as there was in the mine.

Dust hasn't settled yet. This could only mean something major happened. A massive explosion. A meteorite impact?

There was virtually no atmosphere around Pluto, so dust settled purely by gravity. Even though that was a tiny force on this planetoid, if any particles were still "airborne" after twenty-three hours, it meant they were descending from a tremendous altitude. Only a major impact could explain it.

Can't wait for the dust to settle. Oxygen will last maybe forty minutes.

It was impossible for him to orient himself without any visibility, so he called up the homing beacon locator on his wrist.

Please. Please. Don't let it be dead.

After three seconds a down arrow was projected in front of him. The tag next to it read "ABL9006". All his muscles tightened and his throat started to feel dry.

ABL9006? For the past two years this has been LMP003.

He turned around until the arrow indicated upwards and started to stride in that direction. He knew he had to hurry, but with limited visibility this was a deadly undertaking. The area was littered with sharp rock and cracks.

He saw no trace of any human or mechanical remains for half an hour.

Why did they change the beacon? The old one got damaged? So somebody is still alive at the base and their radio equipment is out.

He got startled by a loud signal inside his helmet, accompanied by the frantic blinking of the oxygen warning. He realized that if he didn't reach the base within ten minutes, his life would end. Four point seven billion kilometers from home. One week from retirement. Ten months from being reunited with his family.

His younger colleagues might have been relocated to another mine on one of the Jupiter moons, but for those above thirty, this was it. The market for lithium had collapsed since the introduction of the Q-cell, nearly a year ago. Mining on Pluto had become so horrendously expensive, only one company was still hanging on, but corners were being cut on all fronts. Their Pluto freighter was on its last set of engines, and any setback would mean a premature end of the company's Pluto enterprise.

The freighter. I can't see it through the dust. Or maybe it's behind the asteroid.

Five minutes. "200 m to beacon" his helmet indicated.

It's straight ahead. I should see it any second now.

He strode on for another minute.

Where is the base?

The old beacon was located in the middle of the base, which used to be a compound of different-sized structures.

Did they put the new beacon outside the base...?

A small structure on his left caught his eye. He moved towards it and discovered it was one of the miner quarters. Two minutes.

He turned the airlock's handle and pushed it open, entered, and pushed it shut behind him. The panel inside was illuminated, which indicated it was still being powered by the module's RTG generator. Ironically, it was based on decaying plutonium. He slammed the large button on the panel and immediately air was rushing into the lock.

He snapped off his helmet and took a deep breath. His head was pounding and he was more exhausted than he had ever been.

When he woke up, ten hours later, his head was still hurting, and he avoided looking straight into the soft tritium lighting. At least he had managed to get out of his suit and enter one of the ten bedrooms before passing out. When he looked through his window he noticed all the dust had finally settled.

This must be one of the old crew modules at the outer rim of the compound. I can't make out any other modules. I'm not even sure where my quarters were. There are no points of reference.

He left the bedroom and went to a window at the other side of the container. His suppressed fears suddenly transformed into the crystal clear realization that this was pretty much the only remaining structure of the compound. He could make out some smaller transport containers and two or three disused vehicles. The usual compound floodlights were gone and the only artificial light in the area was shining out of the windows of his crew module.

The last shuttle must have taken the central command module with it. I'm lucky they left this first-generation crew container. It must have been more expensive to retrieve than abandon.

After gathering some breakfast, he spent the next hour taking stock of the module's remaining supplies. Water was recycled for over ninety percent and the remaining tanks would last him for decades, if he lived soberly. Food supplies, he calculated, would keep him alive for at least fifty years. It wouldn't be a gourmet's dream, but he'd be alive.

He left the airlock at 11:10 and proceeded towards the nearest vehicle.

I have no idea what I'd do with a CTV if it worked. It's not like I'd be making trips to the grocery store and back.

He needed to do something. Get a grip on his situation. Anything was better than sitting it out in the module. For fifty years. Or less. Alone with his thoughts. "Anyone? Come in, anyone. Ron Miller...alllll alone on Pluto." He felt it couldn't hurt to beam out some UHF waves. It's not as if they lasted over a kilometer or two. The suit com system was designed for intra-crew communication only.

The first crew transportation vehicle he found had a shattered cockpit. Apparently it had encountered one of those sharp rocks at high speed. He might have been able to fix it over the next two decades, but right then it was useless. He spotted a second one, almost a kilometer away, at the other side of the compound.

They must have looked for survivors. Most of the men and women at the mine's entrance must have bought it, though. Some of them down below with me might have survived. Maybe some were lucky enough not to get swallowed by a freaking crevice and got rescued.

The CTV seemed in operational shape, but the panel at the cockpit door wasn't illuminated. It had no power.

The RTG is busted or they took it out to service a more recent vehicle. Or they put it in one of the drills at the mine. This operation was clearly running on its last resources. This meteorite or whatever calamity was clearly the final straw.

A faint flash in his peripheral vision caught his attention. He turned his head towards it. A small bright dot was rapidly rising on the horizon.

The freighter. It was behind the asteroid...

He felt his heart beat in his chest.

I need to get back to the module.

As he turned around to head back, he was overwhelmed by a bright light passing overhead. It was accelerating upward.

A cargo shuttle...

He noticed it had a cargo container attached underneath and wondered why they were still hauling lithium to the freighter. Unless...

...it's the crew module...

Fifty years later, the Abandoned Base Locator beacon sent its last signal. No one would ever see the perfectly preserved frozen human leaning against it.

Edon

1

Edon was afraid to open his eyes. His dreams had been vivid and rich. So much richer than his wakeful hours had been over the last three days. He was aware of the light permeating his eyelids, he could feel the sheets that enveloped him, and he was desperately trying to pick up any scent. There seemed to be none. He knew his window was wide open and there ought to be many odors in the mild autumn air. But he couldn't smell any of them.

It had gotten worse by the day, and he was terrified to discover what cruel twist nature had in store for him this time. To cut short his agony, he swiftly opened his eyes widely and scanned the room with eyes jerking from one corner to the other. Everything was still there. The colors were normal. He calmed down, but realized the day was long from over.

After a small breakfast, which had tasted slightly sweeter than usual, he ventured outside. His world was an idyllic one, chosen from ancient romantic novels, including the stark seasonal contrasts with all their sensory pleasures. He managed not to grow tired of it and hadn't switched for over a hundred years.

The smells that are so typical for autumn were not there. They hadn't been there yesterday, and the day before that they had been a mere hint in the air, instead of the full-blown aromatic spectrum he was used to. Hesitantly, reluctant to enforce his fears, he picked up a golden birch leaf and held it close to his nose. Not the slightest hint of any fragrance. Just before wanting to drop it, he froze. Something else about the leaf was not right. It had no texture. The texture of a birch leaf might not be exceptional, but the total absence of it was odd. Edon noticed the contours were ridiculously simple. Putting the leaf in his pocket, hoping it was a mere coincidence, he walked over to a chestnut tree and picked up one of its fallen leaves to examine it. Little or no texture. The muscles in his body tensed and he felt the hairs on his neck stand up.

Adal was living in a similar world and the compatibility had turned them into friends. When Edon appeared on his doorstep, Adal wasn't surprised at all, but he immediately noticed the fear that engulfed the face in front of him.

"Greetings, Adal," Edon said with a forced smile, betraying an uncanny anxiety.

"Hello, Edon. You look worried! Has it gotten worse?"

He clumsily put a dozen leaves into the hands of Adal. "Look! Look!" Edon started pacing through the room, almost crying.

"Oh no, it's continuing..." Adal had no idea how to comfort his friend. "Anything else...?"

"Yes, the smells, they are completely gone! And a couple of minutes ago I examined my hands. Look! Look, Adal!" He held his hands in front of Adal's eyes.

The fine skin texture had melted into a homogenous and dull color.

"If this goes on, I'll be gone tomorrow! I can't understand it. I'm not going mad, am I? I mean, I can think straight, I can remember everything. But my dreams feel more real to me now than reality!"

Edon sat down and put his hands over his head. "Why is this happening to me? Why?!"

"It isn't happening to you only, Edon," Adal said after a while. Edon raised his head and stared at Adal blankly. "You? You...too...?"

"No," said Adal, "and it's bugging me. There are reports from all over the universe. Planets vanishing, whole clusters fusing into odd shapes, oceans without waves, cloudless skies. Everything is getting bland and duller!"

"You heard about this? When?!" Edon's eyes stayed locked on Adal's, wanting to hear every bit of information that would help him get out of this nightmare.

"Just yesterday," Adal said. "You know we live pretty secluded lives by choice, news doesn't reach us very quickly. Apparently it has been going on for three or four days."

Edon threw his head back, realizing that it had all started about three days ago. Tastes, colors, small things.

"Are you saying everyone is experiencing this?"

"Yes," said Adal, "that seems to be what I'm hearing." He paused. "Except...outside of your leaves and hands, I haven't noticed anything."

"You haven't noticed the changes in texture, the lack of smells, the colors...? Anything?" Edon grabbed Adal's hands. They were fully textured. He ran outside, snatched a handful of leaves and inspected them. Fully textured with complex edges. And the aroma in the air! Edon filled his lungs with the autumn air he loved so much.

He came back in, crying again. "What is happening? Why not you?"

"I don't know! Maybe something is wrong with me!" Adal dropped into a chair. "We've known each other for, what, eighty years now? Has anything like this ever happened anywhere?"

Edon didn't reply and there was a long silence, during which both of them seemed to try to figure out an explanation, but realized this was way above their capacity to comprehend.

After a small eternity, Edon asked Adal whether it was okay for him to stay at his place for a while, since his own environment seemed to be falling apart. Adal agreed and was relieved. This was not something one should have to endure alone.

2

Three thousand years into the new era, the Earth was a lush and green planet, abounding in wildlife. The last human being to roam the planet was elevated into the Universe over two thousand five hundred years ago. "The Universe" was an extremely elaborate device, that plugged into the human brain's somatic nervous system and was capable of simulating any kind of environment the brain desired. Any muscular action the brain ordered was translated into a simulated action in the Universe. The human body had therefore become wholly redundant and was detached from the brain shortly before elevation. The brain was placed in an environment that allowed it to survive several hundred years.

To maintain the installations that made up the Universe, robots were used. They were also responsible for eventual cloning procedures, or other reproductive processes where the DNA of two people were merged into a new person, elevated into the Universe at birth.

Reproduction had caused the population count of elevated individuals to rise to three hundred billion, causing a great many installations to be built in several locations on Earth.

During the early phase of the Universe, elevated humans still had contact with the real world through devices such as exploration robots that interfaced with the device, but the possibilities of the Universe were so vast that most individuals lost interest in the real world and preferred to live out their fantasies in the Universe. Communication between elevated humans was perfectly possible within the Universe and nobody saw any use for the real world, riddled with dangers, disease, and discomfort. The real world was all but forgotten after a thousand years.

3

Edon had been staying a mere two days at Adal's place when his face started to show triangular artifacts that reminded Adal of an abstract painting. His voice didn't have the same timbre as usual and sounded monotonous. Conversation with Edon, however, was still normal. He had experienced no discomfort, outside of the mental agony.

Adal knew he was losing Edon, and probably everyone else in the universe. During the last two days he had done some exploring, and every place he could dream up seemed real enough to him, without any lack of odor or color or texture. Everything seemed just as perfect to him as it had been for three hundred years.

The people he visited and their environments, however, were in the same state as Edon and his environment, reduced to elementary building blocks and devoid of any complexity.

All Adal could do was to host Edon in his environment and let him enjoy it for as long as he could.

On the third day, Edon was gone. So was everybody else. Adal was alone in the universe.

4

The robots had spotted the comet two hundred days before impact. It had the size of a small town.

Two days after impact, the Earth was smothered in ashes and toxic fumes. Lava was flowing freely on all continents. All wildlife was extinguished.

Installations were being eaten by lava, one by one. The Universe had automatically concentrated all remaining computing power to the bare essentials, which were rapidly diminishing by the day. Most energy went into keeping the organic brains alive and functional.

After the last installation had gone up in flames, and with it over three hundred billion souls, all that was left of humanity was the one thinking entity on board of a small installation in geostationary orbit, launched exactly twenty days ago, with the randomly selected elevated brain that goes by the name of "Adal."

Filling in the blanks

Going on vacation means many things to many people. For us, it's mainly observing, trying to understand. Mind you, I'm talking about a vacation, not the elevated concept of purposeful "travel," during which people do important things. What we do is utterly unimportant and selfish. Such is the nature of a vacation. Sitting on a terrace and sipping a latte macchiato for a whole hour, observing. A latte macchiato simply because you can't drag a whole hour out of an espresso. You can't drag a whole hour out of a latte macchiato either, you'll retort. Don't forget we're on vacation and just don't care.

We get an endless parade of incomplete stories, tiny fractions of a larger picture. The brain hates incomplete stories. On the pebble beach below, a young couple appears to stride towards a comfy spot on which to lie down and do nothing. Until they suddenly stop in their tracks. The woman's expressions and gesticulations are excellent. Language becomes totally superfluous, although we pick up some German sounds, and fill in the nationality blank with "Swiss."

The young man goes into a resigned surrender mode, probably out of experience, and wisdom.

We detect a five minute cycle, after which the gesticulation dies down and a response is forced out of the victim. He knows it's a trap, of course, but there are no options. He nods and the cycle restarts. After the third or fourth cycle, she undresses, puts on a bathing suit, kisses the victim on the mouth like a seagull would spear an unsuspecting sole meunière, dives into the sea, swims to Corsica and back before the sole meunière had time to blink, and lands on the pebbled spot. After which she immediately starts to gesticulate.

We can't stand the vacuum and start filling in the blanks. "They are probably staying at our hotel." That would answer all the questions. He booked the trip, she trusted him, and after five minutes in the hotel, they realized there's a railway track going straight through the middle of it.

There is a railway track going straight through the middle of it, but there's a railway track going straight through the entire village, which is a narrow band squeezed between the mountains and the sea, with more vertical real-estate than horizontal.

He grabs his phone, a call is made, and they leave the beach. His theory was they'd get used to the trains thundering through the room, hers was that she'd kill him before the end of the next night. "They're checking out."

We already had several days to check out his theory. And he was right. Luckily.

Of course, they could just have been arguing about his mother wanting to move in with them.