The End - Visions of Apocalypse

They docked at Mainstay One’s transfer point. Neither were accustomed to free fall and when the shuttle’s hatches opened they made their way, clumsily, hand over hand, along the wide connecting tube’s wall. The more experienced of their fellow passengers jumped the length of the umbilical, turning in mid-flight to arrive at the other end feet first. A dolphin sailed past, propelled by puffs of air from a small jetpack, harness-looped around its fins and controlled by neural implants. Allan recognised the cetacean. Klakkatik-k’ka, a systems analyst from Capella, who had helped design the Sail’s gravity anchors. Allan whistle-clicked a greeting and the dolphin slowed.

“Coordinator Allan,” Klakkatik-k’ka said. “What an unexpected pleasure. I left farewells with your department. It is good to say them to you in person.”

The dolphin was one of the last of his team to leave. There were few Project people left on the surface and those that remained were packing. It’s one thing to know that the Project would work; another to be around when it didn’t. The planet was all but abandoned to the hands of a billion Zealots.

The three of them ducked into a nearby observation globe to get out of the flow of traffic. The view from the globe was spectacular. They all instinctively orientated themselves so the Sail was over their heads; it seemed natural to have the Earth ‘below’ them. The central core of Mainstay One, vast, shining, white and silver branched some ten miles above them, and then branched again and again, till it formed a web of glistening rigging that spanned, arch-like, to meet the rigging from other Mainstays. Below them Mainstay One divided into three and then those divisions divided into three again. The ends of these nine roots were supported by, and supported, the vast Gravity Anchors that gripped the planet. Embedded cores of incredibly dense Neutron star stuff that would tug the Earth from its orbit as the Sail pulled them away.

“It’s like a cathedral,” said Clara. “The way the rigging forms those arches. Like a vast Gothic cathedral.”

“What the humans build the humans would destroy,” said Klakkatik-k’ka.

“You mean the bombings?” said Allan.

“Save us all from gods with thumbs,” said the dolphin. He waved a flipper. “Man’s gods are always making things, and destroying them, and making anew.”

“And ’phin gods?” asked Clara.

Klakkatik-k’ka rolled. A complex sequence of jet puffs sent him joyfully twisting and spinning in the air.

“They dance,” he called, and spun again. “They dance!”

They parted in the docking area. Klakkatik-k’ka swam off first; his flight was being held for him, leaving Clara and Allan to say goodbye. There was an awkwardness between them. Then Clara kissed him.

“Goodbye, Allan.”

“I’ll call,” he said. “As soon as I know what I’m doing… after my meeting with Ruiz.” She smiled and turned, following a blue guidestrip towards the low level intershuttle bays. He watched her go, vaguely hoping she would look back and — what? Wave to him? Run into his arms and swear she’d never leave his side? He shook his head. He was far too old for juvenile fantasies like that. It was a bit of fun, he told himself, leave it at that. But the memory of their lovemaking was strong. Her passion had been intense. Her scent was on his skin, occupying his suit with him. He watched the blue departure airlock till it had fully cycled and opened again. Only when he saw she wasn’t there did he turn and leave.

* * *

Ruiz met him at the lock. Smaller than Allan remembered, he bounced, as only a Bonobo in free-fall can bounce, and landed on Allan’s chest, knocking them both spinning end for end. Ruiz picked through Allan’s hair, ritually grooming him.

“Nya!” Ruiz grunted in mock disgust. “Nothing! You never bring me anything!”

Allan laughed. “Can we shake hands now?”

Later, after a seemingly endless round of meetings and status reports from department heads, they retired to Ruiz’s quarters; a three room apartment with a private bathroom and (of all things) a window. Ruiz cooked as they chatted about college days. Allan looked through the window. It was comforting to see Earth cosseted in its mesh of rigging. He understood why the designers had included it and he was glad he had approved the expense. After the meal Ruiz fetched brandies.

“I meant to send you this,” he said. “But with one thing and another….” He motioned Allan to sit before the wall screen. “I’ve had a chance to run a few more sims and a few ‘what if?’ scenarios. Looks like our suiciders weren’t as random or careless as we thought. Take a look…” The screen filled with an animated schematic of the Sail. Red dots flashed, Allan recognised the pattern of the bombs, and the Sail slowly distorted.

“What you’re looking at is vastly speeded up, of course,” said Ruiz. “It would take about three weeks in real time.”