[OT] Short sci-fi story: The Lifeboat
Alternate title: The refugees. haven't decided yet.
This is just something I've been working on for the Last week or two. Not exactly a happy story, but hopefully it is at least thought-provoking. I'll be putting it up on my website presently, after a little polishing.
Feedback, as ever, more than welcome.
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The Lifeboat
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"...still refuse to speculate, although they still have not ruled out the possibility of alien spacecraft. The Hubble space telescope will be in position to take more detailled..." John switched the radio off with a satisfying click and looked back over his shoulder, examining the ruler-straight lines of his furrows with no small degree of pride. Why should he be interested in strange objects way out in space when there were far more pressing concerns much closer to home? If he wanted to get a good crop this year the seeds would have to go into the ground before the weekend, and that meant getting this field ploughed today. He felt a hard bump through his cab's suspension, and then a sound like a very brief earthquake or avalanche. He turned turned back to face front again to see a chuge cloud of earth and dust about half a mile distant. His hands dropped from the wheel, and his straight furrows were ruined just before his feet slipped off the pedals and stalled the engine. He cursed, watching as the dust was carried away by a strong breeze from the west. When it did, his mouth fell open, and his life changed forever. He climbed slowly from the cab, his eyes fixed on the sight being slowly revealed. When he realised what he was looking at he blinked, hard, and rubbed his eyes before looking again, but it was definitely still there.
And it was definitely still a spaceship.
And, apparently, it had just crash-landed right in the middle of his potato field, on the far side of the farmhouse.
He looked again, thinking that is must be something other than a spaceship, but it was a very difficult conclusion to avoid. It was big. At least four or five times the size of the farmhouse in length, if not very much taller or wider. In shape it was somewhere between a cigar and a wedge, like the offspring of some obscure liaison between a ferrari testarossa and the Hindenburg. The wider end- the end which looked most like the 'back'- was slightly raised above the ground, with the 'nose' buried quite deeply into his field. Clearly it had been a rough landing. It was plain to see why though, because there was a hole the size of a barn in the ship's rear with black smoke rising from it. Apart from the obvious damage though, the thing seemed to be unnaturally shiny and metallic. Squinting against the reflected sunlight into the monster's side, he could see the far side of his house, distorted slightly by the curve of the massive mirror now dwarfing it. John realised this could only a spaceship, but a very large part of him wanted to believe that it was something else. A building maybe, except that buildings didn't just fall out of the sky. An airship was his next thought, except that nobody made airships any more, and even if they did airships weren't made of solid metal and they weren't heavy enough to embed themselves 20 feet into solid earth.
He began walking toward it. With that surprisingly detached and lucid state of mind that often accompanies shock, he reflected that it would have been quicker to drive over there in the tractor. Somehow that just didn't seem like the right thing to do, so instead he broke into a run. It also occurred to him that maybe he ought to be running in the opposite direction, but this thing was on his land and it seemed proper that he should deal with it himself. He was too far to get anywhere useful on foot anyway, and the nearest phone was in the house, which was between him and the spaceship. It was at least a quarter of a mile back to the farmhouse and he was out of breath when he got there, finding his dogs by the door, barking frantically at the shining monstrosity with their tails between their legs. John crouched between the two animals and hugged them to his sides, rubbing their fur in reassurance, and as their agitation gradually died fear struck him for the first time.
There were dark rectangles in the spacecraft's side, and what looked like ramps extended to the ground. His heart leapt up into his throat and he felt tears in his eyes. He wrapped an arm tightly about each dog's neck as a hundred horrific B-movie scenarios rushed through his mind, and he suddenly wished he owned a gun. Perhaps they would be friendly. After all, if they were here with hostile intentions surely they would have destroyed him already. In fact, they wouldn't have bothered with him at all, and just blown up the city instead. The dogs' barking had changed to irregular whimpers now, and they both licked at his face, their confusion and fright now stemming as much from John's own reaction as from the spaceship itself. John stood up and with quivering legs and began walking towards the gate. 'It's obviously damaged.' he told himself. 'They're probably here to ask for help. Probably not a threat at all.' There was a shovel leaning on the wall, and he felt himself pick it up, clutching it in both hands and taking comfort from its weight. 'No threat at all.' He told himself.
It was the longest walk of his life. About half way between the farmhouse and the spacecraft he saw something emerge from the hatches he had observed earlier. It was still too distant for him to see clearly, and not knowing the exact size of the craft he found it hard to judge sizes, but it looked a little like a beach ball walking on chopsticks. More followed, until about a dozen of them were visible, clustering beneath the smouldering hole in their vehicle as though assessing the damage. Suddenly one of them broke away from the group and began moving toward John. Directly toward him. He panicked. He dropped the shovel onto the soil as he turned to run, but immediately tripped and fell, winding himself as he hit the earth. He clenched soil in his fists and kicked his legs to get back on his fet and flee but checked himself. He took a tight hold of his hysteria and pushed it down, and with deliberate calmness stood and turned. The creature was only ten or twenty metres away now and advancing steadily, nimbly. He stared at it with breathless fascination. This thing walking toward him was probably only half a metre tall, supported upon four thin, inflexible legs which tapered into spikes that sank a few inches into the earth with every step. These legs were distributed evenly around a flattish, circular body that made it look for all the world like a walking coffee-table, except that the top was not flat. It bulged up in the middle as though a smaller disc had been stacked centrally upon it, and another, even smaller one stacked atop that. Two more of these body sections were slung down below, hanging beneath the main body and swaying with each movement like bags of shopping. The creature's skin was a deep red, although the others seemed to range from vibrant oranges all the way down to bluey purples.
Carefully, John bent down to pick up the shovel again, but made a conscious effort not to appear too aggressive. He held it just below the handle, the blade resting lightly on the ground. The alien came within two metres- a respectful distance- and then stopped. John couldn't see eyes or anything else that might betray any kind of expression. He was still trying to think of something appropriate to say when a flat, dry voice came from some unseen feature.
"Hello."
"Hi." John mananged.
"This is where you produce food, yes?" Said the creature. Its two top body sections swivelled back and forth slightly, as though looking around, and John started slightly at such a strange opening question.
"Yes, this is a farm." There was an awkward silence. "Why, are you hungry?" He brought his free hand to his mouth to make eating gestures, despite the apparent lack of any language barrier. It was a stupid response, he thought, but then it had been a stupid question. The creature paused, and shifted its weight around on its legs as though giving this question extensive thought.
"No." It said finally. "But you have equipment and materials here for producing food. You will need them." Behind it, a series of blinding, flickering lights on the ship's rent hull demonstrated that repairs were underway.
"Need them? What for? What's going on?"
The alien settled its weight on all four limbs, and a flexible tentacle- or it could have been a tongue- emerged from the very peak of the creature and swept around the entire upper half of the body.
"Yes, I must explain. Forgive me. We think your people are aware of the fleet approaching your planet."
"The objects in space? On the radio?" John asked. The creature paused to consider again, then answered carefully. "Yes."
There was another anxious pause, as John waited for an answer. The alien spoke again just as he was about to prompt it.
"Unfortunately, they are coming to destroy you."
There was a long, dreadful silence.
"To destroy me?"
"To destroy your people. Your planet."
John was understandably speechless, so the alien continued. Its voice was still flat and expressionless, but the way it kept shifting its weight gave John the impression that it was uncomfortable with this news.
"They will attack in just a few hours. You must prepare to leave."
"Why?" He finally managed to ask. He looked up at the sky for signs of impending destruction, but saw only white clouds and sunlight.
"Because if you do not, you will be..." the creature began, but John cut him short. His fear and shock was giving way to anger now.
"No, why do they want to destroy the Earth? What did we ever do to them?" The alien gave another of its long pauses, but this time it was not a thoughtful silence, the air of discomfort was obvious.
"Because they knew that my people would try to stop them. It is a cruel strategy to divert our forces in a war that should not concern you. I am sorry."
"You're sorry? You come to me and tell me that my entire planet is going to be wiped out and you tell me you're sorry?" He was rushing with a hundred feelings and thoughts that he didn't have the words or even the emotions to express. He raised the shovel above his head and flung it in the direction of the alien. The blade sliced into the ground before the creature and remained upright, handle quivering gently.
"Sorry's no good to me. If you want to do something, you can stop being sorry, get your damned spaceship off my potatoes and shoot the bastards out of the sky." He span round and started stalking back toward the farmhouse. His words and actions didn't make much sense to him, but none of this did. This arrogant little lump drops out of the sky and without even introducing itself tells him that he's sorry but the Earth is going to be destroyed? How the hell is he supposed to respond to that?
"We tried." Came the voice, it's very lack of emotion almost heartbreaking. "We thought we could defeat them before they got here, but their numbers were greater than we anticipated. Four hundred of our best ships. Ninety thousand crew, all destroyed." John turned back to face the creature again. Behind it, smoke still poured from the spaceship's wounds behind the crude-looking patches now being lifted into place.
"My ship and twelve others were the only ones to escape. One went on to report to our other fleets and organise a counter-attack. The rest of us came straight here to do the only thing we can to save your people from extinction."
Tears streamed down John's face. He didn't want to believe it, but how could he not? The spaceship appearing from nowhere on his field, the radio reports, this thing before him that simply couldn't be anything other than a being from another world. It might be lying to him, of course, but why? What could it possibly gain? He had to believe it, and he had only a few hours to come to terms with it.
"You're here to evacuate us."
"Yes." It said.
"But that ship, it's too small. You could only get..."
"Our life support can accomodate thirty of you in this ship, at most. Some of the other ships are bigger. In total, we will be able to evacuate perhaps five hundred- if that many can be persuaded to come."
Five hundred. Five hundred people- probably less- to rebuild the human race.
"Then I should start bringing people together." Said John, numbly, and the creature sivelled its body sections around a little before replying.
"Yes, but it is also important that you gather equipment."
"Equipment?" Asked John.
"Yes. You can only eat food that is native to this world, so to survive on another planet you must bring your food with you. That is why we came to your farm, you will have what is needed to build a new farm on a new world. You must also bring all the other materials you need for survival."
John sank to his knees in the soil. "All in two hours?"
"Yes, about two or three hours." Said the creature, shifting its weight again. "Please, hurry."
"...behaviour has never been observed in asteroids before, but scientists are already countering alarmist reactions with new orbital calculations that might explain how objects might naturally adopt such close grouping and parallel courses. In other news, today's cricket..." Kenneth switched off the radio, he wasn't interested in cricket or asteroids. No doubt his son's loony girlfriend would be frothing at the mouth already, talking about aliens and spaceships. Ken himself preferred to go with the simplest explanation to any mystery, since that usually turned out to be the right one. He was still mulling this over when he heard the scrunch of gravel from outside. Whoever it was must have come down the drive dangerously fast, and Ken shuffled along behind the counter to look out of the window with narrowed eyes. It was John's old landrover. Not like John to come tearing up like that. In fact, it wasn't like anyone to come tearing up to Ken's shop like that- people just didn't tend to need farming supplies in that kind of a hurry. Besides, wasn't John supposed to be ploughing today?
The bell jangled as John stumbled into the shop and started looking around with the eyes of a hunted man. He grabbed a bag of chickenfeed and started hauling it out to the landrover.
"Af'noon John." Said Ken, with studied casualness. John looked up at him as though he'd been shot. "You was in here buying feed not Last week. Little green men come down and stole your Last bag did they?"
John simply stood and stared.
"You know, on the news. Them asteroids in space and everyone saying it must be aliens on account of them being like they're in formation."
John continued to stare.
"Just a joke, John," muttered Ken, somewhat aggrieved.
John snapped himself back together and continued hauling the feed out into the drive. He was back in the door in an instant with another jangle of the bell.
"Just put all this on account for me Ken," He said, "I'll pay you tomorrow." Ken raised an eyebrow.
"Sure thing, John. What's the hurry though? I thought you was ploughing today."
"Umm, can't really explain now Ken, don't have time. Listen, come by the Arms tonight, I'll buy you a pint and tell you all about it." This was satisfactory for Ken. He couldn't fathom it himself, but John was a sensible type and he'd have a good enough reason. Ken produced a short pencil from behind his ear and began noting down the chickenfeed John had already taken, and the hand-pump he was hauling out the door now. The bell above the door jangled for a third time upon his return.
"Listen, Ken, you got any hand-ploughs?"
"Hand-ploughs, John?" Laughed Ken. "This here's the twenty-first century." John shook his head and disappeared again through the door, this time with an armful of shovels and picks. His explanation tonight would have to be a mighty good one.
"...that the government have retreated into nuclear bunkers are being strenuously denied. Meanwhile, crowds are gathering outside..." Maggie switched off the radio. She didn't need to be distracted by things like that, not now. Not with her brother acting so strangely. Just his tone of voice had scared the life out of her, she'd never heard him sound so desperate. He'd told her to leave work immediately and then pick the kids up from school- tell the teachers anything, tell them someone died, just get them out of that school- and bring them straight over to the farm and be there, absolutely without fail, be there by half-two. She'd said he was crazy, and he'd said he knew it sounded that way but this was the most important thing he'd ever asked her to do. She just had to trust him and do as he said, just for a few hours. Just humour me until three O' clock, that's what he'd said. It was so unlike him- normally he was so calm and level-headed, but the fear in his voice... she shivered and carried on driving. It was only just gone two, and the farm was less than three miles away now.
"...haven't you heard the news? Those aren't asteroids coming, they're spaceships and they're going to destroy us. We have a chance to get out..." Helen cut him short.
"John, this is madness. Spaceships, aliens destroying the planet, you're going crazy." John was sweating, but his eyes were cool now, only the faintest edge of desperation remained in them. He had spent all his panic and nervous energy at Ken's store, what was left was either calm, dispassionate pragmatism or emotional exhaustion. Either way, had a job to do, and he had barely an hour left to do it in. He was a practical soul, and once he had decided to accept the little creature's words, he simply had to get on with it. First he had called his sisters, his parents, his wife's brother and several friends, desperately begging them to drop everything and come round with their families straight away. He'd been careful not to hint at why, because he knew that if they heard his story without first seeing the spaceship on his potato field they would dismiss him as either drunk or mad. However, it seemed as though even the proof of the alien craft was not enough to convince some people.
"Helen, look again at that bloody thing on our potato field. What is that if it's not a spaceship? And what are these," he waved at two of the nearby space-creatures, deftly carrying bags and boxes from the farm's out-buildings, "if they're not aliens?"
Their three children, just taken out of school on some truthless excuse all stood behind their mother goggling at the enormous spectacle on the field. "I don't know," she said, "Maybe it's all some kind of practical joke. Maybe for a TV show." John clutched his hair in his fists and shook his head. "Open your eyes. Look at them. Watch them move. That's not some special effect, this is real. Look, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe they're wrong, maybe they're lying, but our lives could be at stake. Our entire family's lives."
Helen fell into his arms and began to sob. He couldn't blame her, it was too much for anyone to take in, especially when someone else was trying to convince you. It was easier to simply call them a liar, just to avoid the massive conclusions that followed inevitably from accepting the truth so undeniably before them. John had had no such vehicle for his disbelief, but even so he had been close to outright denial.
"If I am wrong, if the world isn't going to end, then we'll know in about," he checked his watch, "an hour. But until then, just for the next hour, we should be prepared for the worst. Just in case."
Helen nodded and dabbed her nose with a tissue. "Just in case." She said, thinly, nodding more vigourously now. "OK, fine. you've already caused such a commotion I might as well play along for now, but just until three O clock. If the world doesn't end at three, you've got some explaining to do." She managed a laugh, and John smiled broadly at her, planting a kiss on her neck.
"Good." He said. "We've already got most of the equipment on board, and all the seeds, the chickens and the feed. I've got some stored food out of the barn, but you should probably raid the kitchen as well. Maggie will be here any minute and I'll have to explain everything to her. You pack up as much tinned food and warm clothes as you can and send one of the kids into the loft for the camping gear."
"...demanding to know why pictures from the space telescope still have not been released to the public. NASA officials have not yet responded, but pictures from independent ground-based telescopes are looking increasingly..." Maggie switched off the engine and got out of the car, checking her watch once more as she shouted for some help unloading. John had sent her off to get some supplies from the supermarket- tinned food and matches, basically- and she had made it back with less than five minutes to spare. The deadline of three o clock had never been officially set by the aliens, who spoke only in vague yet increasingly urgent terms, but that was the launch time everyone was working towards. two figures hurried over and Maggie realised with dread that neither of them was her husband. He still wasn't here. She had made dozens of calls and left as many Messages, but his mobile was switched off and his office couldn't track him down. She left the shopping and ran over to John to check. Maybe he was here, maybe he was helping with the loading somewhere, but John's face told her everything she needed to know. He wasn't here. She froze, and fought the urge to run back to the car and track him down, but there were only minutes left. Steph and Vince had already decided not to come, because they had received John's calls and rushed over without first picking up their daughter. There simply wasn't time to go back, pick her up and return, so they had elected to stay behind and face the end of the world as a complete family. Maggie now faced a similar choice, except that she was faced with the prospect of abandoning her husband to save her children. She broke down there and then onto the rich soil of the potato field, crying not for the choice she had to make, but for the choice her heart had already made for her.
"...are leaving Earth's atmosphere now. Would you like to see your planet?"
Nineteen human beings huddled among the meagre pile of goods they had been able to assemble in the Last two and a quarter hours. The cargo area already smelled of chickens and fertiliser. An image of Earth wavered slightly in the air before them, clouds obscuring most of western Europe and the Atlantic. The planet was receding swiftly, but a number of other craft could be seen rising from the surface. One from Russia somewhere. One from Africa. Silently, they fell into the formation, tiny and insignificant against the familiar outlines below. The alien spoke again, voice as featureless as ever.
"The attack will begin shortly. They will fire high-velocity projectiles, causing huge explosions and tidal disturbances. Many millions will die in the first strike, but most will be killed by clouds of dust that will block out sunlight for years. Without sunlight, advanced life will eventually end."
Somewhere at the eastern end of the Mediterranean- was that Turkey or Egypt? John's geography had never been much good- a silent grey bloom climbed up into the atmosphere. The Earth was smaller now, and the tiny silver convoy behind them seemed larger in comparison, much more real.
"There may be some survivors." The emotionless voice said, perhaps hoping to offer some comfort. "Some will have food stores sufficient to survive until the clouds clear, and with the technology to create artificial light, your people might be able to preserve enough fragments of the ecosystem to rebuild it."
More of the mushroom clouds were sprouting now, all over North Africa and Europe, and a few white impacts could be seen in the Atlantic. John tried to imagine the thousand-metre tidal waves now racing toward the Americas, but it all looked so slow, so peaceful, so distant. 'I'll never get to visit the Carribean after all.' He thought, and then realised he'd said it out loud. No one noticed though, they were all watching the Earth's demise, their eyes glued involuntarily to the tragedy. It was tiny now, almost too small and dim to see against the shining silver train in tow. The enemy craft were nowhere to be seen. John wondered what they looked like, these aliens to whom human life meant so little. Were they some other species, or was this war an internal struggle between different factions of the miniature creatures who had become their saviours? Earth was so small now as to appear completely featureless, just a shining blue disc. He wanted to go back. He wanted it desperately but there could only be death there, and he had a family to provide for.
The landing site was in the centre of a broad, scorched circle, littered with charred vegetation. The aliens had cleared away a few kilometres of native flora with their ships' weapons to give the introduced plants a chance to establish themselves. The site had been well chosen, slightly downhill from a freshwater lake surrounded by a tall, sickly pale green plants of some kind. The impressive display of firepower had already proved that these alien 'trees' burned well enough to keep them warm at night, but whether they would yield any kind of useful building materials remained to be seen. John brought a fistful of still-hot alien soil to his nose. There was nothing unfamiliar about the smell of it but here, on this other planet- who could say? Would his crops grow here? The alien's assertion that humans could only eat Earth food implied that nothing from this world would be able to eat the plants and animals brought from Earth, but that didn't necessarily mean something wouldn't try. Once more he was flooded with thoughts of science-fiction horrors and he struggled to think of something more positive. He felt he had a good chance of growing at least something here, but nothing could shake the certainty that the refugees would have to endure a great many hardships before ever achieving any kind of stability. They might all be starved inside of a year.
He had worked hard to pack a potential farm into the spacecraft in two hours, but he was expected to unload in just one. The alien crew was anxious to unload and rejoin their forces, apparently they were needed in some new offensive that might yet save other worlds from Earth's fate. With their help, the nineteen refugees had almost finished unloading when two more craft rushed noiselessly into view and gently touched down nearby. Each craft was subtly unique in size and dimensions, and each one bore hastily-repaired damage. Hatches and ramps appeared and emerged, and human figures began stepping cautiously out.
From the smaller of the ships three men, four women and about a dozen children emerged, all dressed in vibrant African colours. They led a pair of underweight cows and carried a few sorry looking sacks and some well-used farming tools. John estimated that he had brought enough food to sustain his own score of survivors for perhaps six or seven months on very lean rations. That was barely long enough to make the first harvest- and that assumed that he could actually yield a worthwhile crop here. The African ship seemed to have brought a lot of hungry mouths and very little to put in them. That said, if they could somehow feed the cows until the first harvest, their milk would be a valuable addition to the community's nutrition. However both animals were female so unless the third ship or the other lakeside settlement happened to have brought a bull, they would be the Last of their kind. Also, John reflected, these people probably had valuable experience to share about the kind of non-mechanical subsistence farming that they would all now rely on. Provided they could find a common language, that is.
The third ship was unloading too, and from the shouted accents this one had made contact in New Zealand. At least there would be no communications problems here, John thought, but he saw no agricultural equipment being unloaded. However every one of these arrivals carried camping gear and a full rucksack and one pair of men- brothers, by the look of them- were busily unloading some scaffolding poles and tarpaulins. They would make an excellent shelter until something more permanent could be built from local materials. Nonetheless John felt a rising sense of hopelessness at the thought of all these people eating into his meagre food stores, until he saw a hugely pregnant woman trying to push a shopping trolley full of tinned goods out onto the bumpy terrain. A second full trolley followed, and then all kinds of other items, some more useful than others: Furniture, children's toys, two mountain bikes, an antique lawnmower, a box of saws and carpentry tools, a bag of empty bottles, a box of fresh fruit, an assortment of pot plants, four rolls of lawn turf... It seemed these people had decided to simply pack everything they could lay their hands on and sort it out later, as opposed to selecting only those items which seemed obviously useful. It struck him as an eminently sensible approach. There was no harm in bringing too much, and a creative mind could turn almost anything to a practical use. The Last item to be rolled out of the Kiwi ship was a beat up old Volkswagen Camper van with a pair of surfBoards strapped to the sides. Better than a tent, John considered, and immediately wished he'd brought his tractor. There had been room on the ship, but he'd left it behind in the knowledge that it would be useless as soon as it ran out of fuel. However what little fuel it carried could have saved them days of back-breaking work in establishing the farm and dragging timber around. Once the fuel ran out, the plough could perhaps have been cannibalised into hand tools and cab would have at least provided somewhere reasonably comfortable to sleep. Still, too late now, and there was no sense in dwelling on that which had been lost.
He surveyed his new community. The Africans had already managed to get a fire started- heaven only knew what with- and their children mingled excitedly with those of the other two Groups. These three lifeboats were the entire settlement. The aliens had decided not to place all their eggs in one basket and divided the twelve shipfuls of survivors between five landing sites. This was one of the larger ones, apparently. There was to be another about 10 miles along the lake's coast, and a third large settlement over two thousand miles away on the other side of the continent. If they all survived, they would be able to find those distant neighbours, but how many generations would it be before they were ready to take on a trans-continental trek across alien territory? How much of their shared origins would those distant offspring remember? The final two settlements were destined for another planet altogether. It would be a thousand years before that lost tribe could ever be rediscovered because the aliens would never return. They had told John that all maps and records regarding these resettlements were to be wiped out, for fear that the information should fall into enemy hands and lead unfriendly forces to these fragile remainders of human civilisation. There may be other another pocket of humanity out there among the star; two, if anyone on Earth should survive the nuclear winter that was now setting in, but as far as John was concerned, this planet held the future of his species now and the weight of thousand future generations suddenly settled on his shoulders. The successes and failures of the next few years would be the foundations upon which entire civilisations might be built, and the stories they told to their grandchildren would one day be the stuff of myth and legend.
John felt slightly giddy, but he couldn't afford to consider that now. The adults were now gathering tentatively around the fire and introductions were being made. There was work to do, and John stepped forward to take his place among his people.
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Thank you. 
Linear Mode
