The car’s engine burned the last drops of gasoline and then slipped into silence. I shifted into neutral and let it coast the last few feet before it rolled to a final stop. I opened the door and slid out quietly. Just over the dunes to my right I could hear the Oregon Coast, the sounds of the ocean the only ones filling the air. I found it odd that it was deserted here. This would be the type of place I would spend my last moments, and so I was.
100 days ago.
They came via television signal. They were everywhere, all the broadcast channels and cable networks. We couldn’t be rid of them, even if we wanted to. Scene after scene of the worlds they inhabited. The Abancans: thirty worlds strong and they were coming to us.
I reached into the car to get my jacket and thought better of it. The beach was full of life and I wanted to feel all of it. I shut the car door for no real reason and made my way to the dunes and beaches beyond. I didn’t bother locking it. I did pull my collar tight and jammed my hands into my pockets. I crested the dunes, looking at the ocean beyond.
95 days ago.
They were the Abancans. That was the only word, the only phrase we could decipher from the multitude of footage we received. We later realized that the rest had been deliberately distorted.
They were somewhat like us, but with far more variety. Ruby red in color they were much more varied in height, weight - every aspect you could think of.
Except for the color.
We should have known then.
I walked towards the water, watching little birds scurry at water’s edge, dashing in and out with the waves. In the past I may have thought it futile, now at least they had something to do.
I started to walk down the beach. I glanced at my watch. I still had a little time, a lifetime really. I didn’t know what exactly I was looking for, just that I would know when I found it.
75 days ago.
Then they let us know what to expect. Out of the sky would come great spheres, a quarter mile in diameter and the same ruby red as the Abancans themselves. They would show no obvious signs of propulsion but throbbed with energy, boundless energy. The spheres would approach slowly, defying almost every law of physics we knew, flaunting their power as they slowly descended from the sky. Then they would slow to a stop at roughly a kilometer and wait.
We waited in anticipation and wonder.
I had been walking for just a few moments when I came upon a large tree trunk that had been washed up on the shore. I sat down for a moment to rest. The last days had been draining in many ways, emotionally most of all. Another group of dashing birds waged a battle with the crashing waves as gulls flew overhead. The sky was spotted with white puffs of clouds but otherwise it was a clear, beautiful day.
This was the place. This would be where I would breathe my last.
50 days ago.
The truth.
When the scenes on the televisions changed, they changed without warning. The time for acclimation was over. It was time for reality.
On each of the thirty worlds we were now seeing what life had been before the Abancans arrived. Up until now we had seen only worlds teaming with happy, smiling Abancan life. Now we saw the worlds as they had been, teaming with their own awe inspiring diversity of life. Two caught the public eye. One race we nicknamed the Elephants, large and solid they seemed at piece with their world. The others were the Peacocks, a beautiful race devoted to art.
They were all gone after the Abancans came, just stepping stones from one world to the next.
That was when the riots started.
I sat and watched the waves come in and out. They seemed to play with the birds, taunting them as they came and went. I was becoming quite attached to those little birds.
The sounds of the ocean were invaded by something new and at first I thought that my final moment had come. It grew louder and I realized it was a plane, a single engine plane flying just above the tree tops. It passed over me and sped into the distance.
In its wake a stream of thousands upon thousands of sheets of paper in all sizes fluttered to the ground. The little dashing birds ran in a fit of panic, the gulls pecked at them in hope that they were something to eat. I got up and walked a few feet to the nearest one and picked it up. I studied it as I walked back to my log. There was printing on both sides, plain and to the point. On one side was the number “31" with a “no” symbol on top of it. The other side was even simpler - a mushroom cloud.
25 days ago.
During the broadcasts the Abancans made it quite clear what was going to happen. They also made it quite clear that resistance was pointless. On world after world they showed the Abancans being attacked with all manner of weapons, many of which man has not even dreamed.
And nothing happened. The Abancan defenses were perfect.
On the one hundredth day the spheres would then open and a bright, red cloud would pour forth. Whether it was a living virus or nanotechnology was meaningless. Shortly after the Abancans began their campaign things would begin to change. On most of the worlds the dominant life would transform into a new version of the Abancan people. On less fortunate worlds, the Peacock’s for example, the dominant form was somehow not compatible with the Abancan. They simply died.
On those worlds another native species would then become Abancan. Then the Abancan would move to the next world, thirty so far.
The loss of the Peacocks stunned and horrified the Earth. The riots faded until there was nothing left.
I sat on my log and felt, more than anything else the end come. And I have to admit it made me smile.
On the horizon great white plumes rose from the oceans. I knew that behind me the same was happening inland from silos in the ground. Above, aircraft from all nations of the world let loose their arsenals. Even in space, where we had lied to each other about their very existence, we turned the weapons upon ourselves.
And on the Abancans.
There would be no thirty-first Abancan world, and I could live with that.
copyright 2010 Daniel Berg
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