The Last Human Ch. 46: Arrival

Sanctuary was originally built long before the Fifth Aberrant War. Part of an initiative to develop a longer distance Gravitronic Relay, these gates were built in thin regions of spacetime. While I have good guesses for why the project was abandoned, nevertheless the portals remained for those wishing to firmly leave the civilized parts of the galaxy. We were now fifty thousand light years away from anyone who could harm us.

But that is only the first part of the story. There were only a few select individuals who knew of these gateways’ existence, fewer who knew where to find them, and only one man outside the galaxy who had the foresight and resources to attempt a human colony in the middle of the war. Secrecy was paramount, and most people who departed for Sanctuary were never allowed back. If the galaxy ever learned of this place, endless fleets and armies would befall this last refuge for our species, hoping to plunder the treasures here.

Amon was one of the few who had been permitted to come and go as he pleased. He was one of the strongest warriors in the galaxy, and while his motives were often questionable, the one thing you could be sure of was that Amon would never betray humanity to the alien. This made him an indispensable tool for many years, ferrying survivors to the last place in the universe where they would be safe. But as the centuries passed, frantic reunions turned to bittersweet tragedies and then to emptiness and silence. Decades passed before a new face appeared, and all the while, for once in our species’ long history, time was not on our side.

Still, I believe there had been a chance at Sanctuary, at least close to the beginning. In its early days, the population was strong enough to begin again—barely. A new human society could’ve flourished on this end of the galaxy, but it was not meant to be. I learned the final killing blow was neither the pride that led us into the Fifth Aberrant War nor the infighting at the end of it. What ended Sanctuary were the very people Amon and others were trying to save. They came to this second chance broken. They saw no point in continuing the race.

These were the people who in a single lifetime saw humanity go from the venerable ancients of the galaxy to being hunted little better than animals. They were a people out of time and out of place. Amon and the rest could gather together the names and the bodies but not their spirit. That was gone forever, and so this home died before it even really began. Amon told me that he was long disillusioned with Sanctuary, and in short time, I learned why. There was a heaviness that drags you down here, saps the life out of you.

I felt it even as we emerged from dark space into the system. Amon charted the scenic route through, giving both me and Leah a once in a lifetime opportunity to see some of our history with our own eyes. Ancient ships littered the system like a graveyard. Some were as regal and impressive as the Etchmiadzin—the vessel that had saved me from the Xurak. Others came from different, but no less high-minded builders, sleek and lithe craft which looked like birds soaring on golden reflective wings. I saw museum pieces, tower-ships hundreds of miles long. There were great vessels of war, cylindrical ships so big as to carry whole fleets like clinging insects in their hulls. There were domed cities, built on thrusters large enough to carry them through the galaxy. Me and Leah saw them all from the viewport in the mess hall, passing through in the void.

It occurred to me then, and I did not know why I had not realized this before, that humanity wasn’t simply one species—one people. My race had always been this abstract thing in my head to which I belonged, but I had no real sense of the shapes and forms, as much as Ingrish and Amon tried to instruct me in them. For myself, humanity was simply this monolith where every stone was more or less the same. A human from Kaal was essentially a human from Charys and so for every world, which were equally all the same like the others.

When in reality, what I saw out there was a mosaic of a thousand different cultures, philosophies, peoples, all haphazardly saved from wreck of the Fifth Aberrant War. I would have this realization again and again over the centuries. As there were many kinds of humans, there were also as many kinds of Dalfaen, Rhodeshi, and even Mantza. My brief experience with all of them was only a limited view, like peering into a basin and mistaking your reflection for the depth.

It is true only a few men can appreciate this axiom: when you burn a world, you burn a million.

As we made our final approach in the system, I saw the wreckage of the last line of defense—and it was proper to call it wreckage because it had been taken from the graveyards of the Fifth Aberrant War. Ringed orbital cannons with cold power cores and pocked with holes sat in orbit. Massive 3-D constructors sat motionless with their hundred arms, still half finished printing spaceships. Defense satellites, capable of shielding whole worlds, circled silently along their paths. For any alien world, it would’ve been impressive. For myself, I could only think what else there had been, if these armaments were only scraps of a distant outpost.

We approached the world. Sanctuary itself was a terraformed moon orbiting a greenish-blue gas giant. Far from the menacing shades of Voynich, the giant ball of clouds seemed almost like a second disk of sky, suspended high above the first. The moon of Sanctuary was an icy rock barely brought into habitability by the scavenged terraformers which were now scattered husks across its surface. I suppose that was a trait you were never going to get rid of in humanity—in our particular strand at least. Would it have been easier to live in space habitats? Yes. Was a habitat, no matter how large, ever a real home? Never.

There was only one city on the moon, built along the coastline of a frigid ocean. They had used pre-fab units. Once intended for the quick colonization of a world, they were nevertheless so artistically well-crafted that they could rival any alien city built by hand. Built upon hexagonal foundations, the city of Sanctuary rose into a couple hundred towers interlaced with transport bridges and landing pads. These white, clean structures suited the cold, glittering sea.

It was a city that looked like it belonged at this end of the galaxy, timeless in its beauty and yet also unbearably alone.

The Aphelion gently coasted along the architecture, like a tired bird coming home to roost. It found a landing pad near the edge of the city. As the clamps clunked down, giant glass panes rose from the pad and extended over the ship into a dome. Seconds later, the surrounding atmosphere was pumped with warm air.

From my viewport, I saw two figures emerge from a nearby access door. I took a deep breath and squeezed Leah’s hand. It was time for us to meet the rest of our species.

…

Amon strode down the landing ramp first while we waited in the airlock. We were too far to make out the specifics of the conversation, but it was terse. Not yelling, but I could tell there was whispered hostility. I saw the old soldier finally turn and wave us over. I instinctively took hold of Leah’s hand as we stepped out of the ship and walked along the landing pad.

The two figures were a man and a woman, both far older than Amon. The man was balding, his hair thin wisps on his head. His face was softened by countless years of comfort but not egregiously so. He had a gold eye patch affixed by diamond studs on his left eye. It was something I found garish. I discovered among older humans, there was a tendency to glamorize old war wounds, despite having the technology to correct such disfigurements. Meanwhile I was the only one stuck with something that could be called an actual scar.

My eyes turned to the woman in the distance. She wore her hair in a long braid draped around her shoulder. She had a sharp, calculating face that was creased with a scowl. I could tell neither of these two particularly liked Amon, and therefore I suddenly liked neither of them. Perhaps that was harsh, but my previous experience with Waylon Tyrell soured me on such things. Nevertheless, I wanted to know everything about these strangers. I wanted to spend every second here in a room with them learning all I could.

The argument was suddenly cut short as we approached. Their eyes bulged as if seeing something extraordinary—and tragically they were. Excitement, joy, pity, remorse, they looked at us if we were both walking miracles and the most pitiable of aliens. They looked at us as if we were both objects of endless value, and at the same time, reviled for what we meant.

If I could describe what me and Leah were to Sanctuary in the coming days, it was that we were proof it wasn’t over. And with that, came all the happiness and horror it entailed.

“We can have this conversation later,” the elderly man told Amon.

The older woman dazedly reached out, to stroke Leah’s hair as if some long lost daughter. I pulled my sister back, suspicious. Leah shrunk behind my back, although I got the impression from her that she was simply shy of strangers. She had known many more humans than I had. While for myself, every encounter poised to change my world forever.

The elderly woman seemed offended, but she did not push the matter, instead clasping her hands together and turning to Amon.

“I imagine you must have had a long journey. Can we offer you some real food?”

Amon gave a slight nod, and we were ushered away from the landing pad.

We passed down the clean, white halls that seemed meticulously spotless for their size. I surmised some sort of automated scrubbing machine, and so much of Sanctuary was indeed automated. Everything from manufacturing to the livestock to the maintenance drones for the maintenance machines. Not a single person in Sanctuary had to work a day in their remaining lives.

We were led into spacious living quarters and took our meal on a balcony that overlooked the sea. We sat at a long table while the elderly man brought out plates of food.

I sank my fork into a cut of meat and ate it. Slowly chewing, I watched the tension between Amon and the elderly couple. It was clear there was some history between the three. My sister kept shifting uncomfortably in her seat, glancing around while I sat near motionless with my eyes boring into the two strangers.

The older man finally coughed. “This shouldn’t be such an awkward occasion,” he said, glancing to the woman. He stood up and went over to a cabinet where he procured several glasses and a wine bottle. “This is cause to celebrate! Amon, however did you stumble upon these two children?”

“I found the boy on a Mantza planet—an insect world. The girl is more complicated,” Amon replied, staring at the woman.

“Oh, why don’t we just get this out of the way?” The older woman suddenly snapped, crossing her arms. “You brought four aliens here, Amon. We scanned your ship. It’s a wonderful thing that you rescued two children. But you also put them in jeopardy. You put all of us in jeopardy.”

“As pleasant as you were the last century, Ariel.” Amon took the wine glass and sipped it. “Two of the aliens aren’t leaving this place, one I trust with my life, and the other I’ll silence if you’re so picky about it.”

“It’s not just the aliens,” the older man took his seat again. “We heard about what you did. What you failed to do at the Death Games.”

“From our mutual patron, I assume. What did he ban me from Sanctuary too? Caliban, forgive me, but I thought you were in charge of Sanctuary.” Amon turned to the elderly man who stiffened in his seat.

“I think… we would all rest easier if you gave your side of the story. You traded the future of humanity, for… for what?”

“For me,” I spoke up, and the room fell to an awkward silence as the elderly couple were suddenly unable to look me in the eye.

“We still need an answer, Amon,” the woman demanded.

Amon rested back in his seat and scowled. “I didn’t trade anything. Most of the embryos were stolen, well beyond my reach. Of the two hundred that were offered to me, they were probably already tampered with—if it wasn’t already a trap. My choice was between saving the one person I knew I could or trusting a psychotic alien. I hope the right answer is clear to you.”

“And we’re to believe the legendary Amon Russ had no inkling of the Xurak attack? That a man of your talent and experience was caught completely off guard?” Ariel pushed.

One could hear a pin drop in the room. I suppose this was one instance where Amon’s reputation worked against him. Not many knew him in the galaxy—simply too big of a place—but of those who did, he was a hero of the Fifth Aberrant War, villain of the collapse, savior of the afterward. The man’s deeds surpassed the man. Now they expected him to be a god.

“Yes,” Amon said while looking he could murder the two. “I didn’t know. And if our patron with the largest spy network in the galaxy didn’t know either, I don’t see how I would.”

Ariel pushed anyway. “You had the Etchmiadzin. You were wearing a Carapace Suit. You had—”

“If you cared so damn much, you could’ve stuck out your necks. You could’ve taken your ships and done the right thing for once. Say what you will about Waylon, at least he tried.”

Ariel stared daggers at Amon. “Against the entire Rhodeshi military and every power aligned with them? There was no guarantee—”

“No, there wasn’t.” Amon cut her off.

There was an uncomfortable silence in the room for a long moment before Amon spoke again. “I’m past the point of asking permission. Me and mine are staying. The only question here is whether you have the guts to aim one of those orbital cannons down because that’s what it’s going to take to get rid of me.”

The woman went pale white at that suggestion.

“Guess that answers that question,” Amon snorted and he got up from his seat. “I’ll take some of the living accommodations on the outskirts of the city. Don’t worry. I’m not interested in interfering with any of your affairs. I came here so someone I love could die in peace.”

That appeared to be that, and we also made to stand up to go with him.

“Wait!” Caliban reached out. “I’m sorry for the cold reunion. It wasn’t right of us. You have no idea the blow it was, having that kind of hope snatched away at the last second.”

The woman looked unbelievably angry at her partner, but a quick look from Caliban shut her down. Amon seemed unimpressed, but he waited for what Caliban had to say next, which might as well have been an act of actual respect.

“Is it okay if the others come meet the children? It’s been so long since new faces—especially young ones have come here. The whole city will like to see them when they hear the news.”

Amon shrugged and jammed his thumb in our direction. “That depends entirely on them.”

Caliban turned to me, and summoning a warm smile, offered his hand. “Welcome to Sanctuary. I hope this first encounter didn’t sour your opinion of us. It’s been… difficult on this side of the galaxy.”

I studied the offered hand for a moment. It came as some surprise to me. Normally, I sorted people into the enemy or indifferent category and moved on. Leah had been an odd exception but an exception nevertheless. That the man’s hostility melted away so quickly, I realized to my own surprise that this man could reach out like this because we were the same people in the end, even if they had vicious disagreements with Amon.

It was all so bizarre—this confused and awkward conversation. Everyone seemed so on edge. No one particularly knew what to say.

I took the man’s hand and shook it.

“I do have one question,” Amon slowly asked. “Is the old man still alive?”

It was a profoundly surreal question to me. Amon, the oldest man I had ever known, was asking an even more elderly man whether an old man was alive. At the time, I wasn’t sure how much more ancient someone could get.

“Yes,” Caliban chuckled and looked down. “He’s even still walking too, if you can believe it.”

“Good.” Amon hesitated. “I have news I need to run by him. There’s been a change in the galaxy.”

“What sort of news?” Ariel asked, unhappy but clearly interested.

Amon glanced between Caliban and the woman. “All I can say right now is that humanity might not be as doomed as we thought.”

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