DEADLINE
A short story of 2300 words
© David Lowe, January 1992
One by one, Earth's cities were vaporised. Not all of them. Not the most important ones. Just places the human race could be expected to miss. Chicago, Kyoto, Kiev - Barcelona. Those sorts of cities.
The nuclear powers panicked and pressed their buttons, but nothing much happened. Some of the missiles fell over in their silos, but that was about all. Nervously, the people of the Earth waited to be told what was going on.
The delay was due to radioactivity.
Some weeks before the cities disappeared, many of the world's leading electronics engineers had been abducted. Nobody thought much of it at the time, but these people were the first to meet the biggest corporate genius the planet had ever known.
Dazed, the fifteen scientists appeared in the teleport bay of a spidery spaceship orbiting 100 kilometres above the globe. Immediately they were bombarded telepathically with an array of signals. Within ten seconds their brainwaves had been tested for recognition of the 45 million most common languages in the universe. The scientists knew none of them. The ship tried a few more.
Two days later it was clear that conventional methods would not work in this case. Finally, using a combination of stick-figures and primitive hieroglyphic symbolism, the message got through. The engineers had been abducted to build a communication system. The system was to be designed in such a way as to allow the new Chairman of Earth, Nerb, of the Andromeda Galaxy, to communicate with his share-holders - the people of the planet.
One by one the engineers filed through to meet their new boss. First in line was Harold Culprit.
Culprit was shocked to see that Nerb looked like a giant transparent stick insect. Inside the alien's body he could see oddly coloured liquids rolling around and gurgling.
Using convoluted telepathy, Nerb asked the engineer if he had any better communication ideas. Culprit asked several personal questions about Nerb's antennae. Yes, they could be used to type on a keyboard. No worries, thought/said the engineer. Off he went.
The ship obligingly teleported the necessary material up from Earth, and Culprit set to work. Unfortunately he fell ill mysteriously. The next engineer, having been interviewed laboriously by Nerb, replaced Culprit and continued the work. He also fell ill and soon died horribly. This process continued.
One of the engineers, Babbit, had some medical knowledge and recognised the symptoms of radiation sickness. For some reason it only seemed to begin after the engineers had met with Nerb. Tactfully, the engineer suggested to the Chairman that he would soon run out of engineers unless he gave them some kind of protection. Angered by the delays, Nerb agreed.
Something was lost in the translation. First a wetsuit arrived in the teleport, then a tuxedo. Finally the ship brought up the necessary silver suit. Unfortunately Babbit was the only engineer left. He finished the device one week after the cities were vaporised, apologised for the delay and explained its operation to the Chairman. Nerb thanked the engineer and put him through a shredder. He was no longer required.
Five minutes later Nerb appeared inside the United Nations building in New York. It was 3am, and no-one was there apart from a security guard. The guard fired in horror at the transparent stick insect. The bullets went through its body unaffected and thudded into the wall behind. From the ship orbiting above, a destructive beam pierced the atmosphere and the roof of the UN building in New York. The security guard was vaporised.
Chairman Nerb returned the next day at 11am. He appeared in the crowded main conference hall and scuttled to the podium. The hum of many languages died down. Laboriously he began to tap away at a computer keyboard with his antennae. Security people behind one way glass spoke into walkie-talkies. Suddenly a squad of SWAT men sprang from the side doors and ran at Nerb, machineguns levelled. He continued typing. From both sides the men in caps opened fire. The bullets flew through the stick insect in opposite directions. The SWAT men had shot each other. Dead and dying commandos lay on the floor. Nerb continued typing. Delegates stared open-mouthed.
Finally he finished. With one leg he plugged the keyboard into a portable printer, with the other he patched it into a small guitar amplifier. An electronic computer voice addressed the delegates in a monotone.
'Dear Earthlings, thank you for the welcoming entertainment.' Nerb waved one antenna at the groaning SWAT men on the floor. He continued. 'My name is Nerb. I am pleased to announce my acceptance of the role of Chairman of this planet. Though I must admit that a short time ago I myself did not know where your planet was, I am sure it was no fault of your good selves. No matter what others might say, rest assured that I believe Earth is more than capable of meeting my corporation's requirements. Together, we will achieve
great things...and an excellent financial period.' Nerb rubbed two of his legs together as if to stress this last point.
He paused and typed some more. 'Now. On to business. You may have noticed some of your planet's cities disappeared recently. I must take the credit. The missiles, too were my own work. I simply will not accept sabotage of perfectly good assets. Consider it a demonstration of my company's desire for us both to understand each other from the outset.'
The delegate from New Zealand pulled out a revolver and fired off six rounds. The bullets had no effect. Soon the delegate was a very small pile of ashes.
'That reminds me,' said Nerb via the computer's voice. 'I should explain that I am not really here. I, and my machines, are what you Earthlings might call a hologram. Naturally my technology is far more advanced than your clumsy devices - in this form I can hear, see and SMELL you all. Actually I am on a spaceship having my antennae scratched by an excellent piece of massage hardware. Please don't allow this small matter to come between us. I won't.'
Nerb continued as the delegates sat stunned. He laid down the agenda to his new Board of the World. Increased productivity. Economic rationalism. Out of the red and into the 'real world'. There was no place in the modern universe for the old-fashioned ideas that had held Earth back in the past.
Nerb had done his research.
To spread his message to the world, the Chairman ordered the planet's most successful advertising agency, Libell Slanders, to come up with an image for him. Their response was enthusiastically received: 'Uncle Nerb of the Caring Corporation. Making more out of less better.'
Gradually, word of what had happened spread around the globe. Rebellions rose and were silenced. Humanity stopped what it was doing and started doing something else.
Nerb's greatest innovation was the 'Pleasure Factory'. It could be used to produce anything that might be required, and was powered by the human male's sex drive. Electrodes tapped directly into the brain and stimulated the sex centres according to work performed. If output was high, then the worker received a corresponding sexual high. The rest of the body was not involved in the process, and could therefore be used to perform whatever menial task was required.
Women were used to produce more men to power the pleasure factories. The scheme seemed to suit humans particularly well.
As he frequently told the United Nations as they quivered in their seats, there was one thing about Earth that Chairman Nerb detested. The smells. Everywhere there were smells. Trees, smoke, sea breezes, musty books, coffee, animals, sweat, flowers - all of these smells rankled with him. Never had he worked on a planet with so many smells. Nerb set about solving the problem. To replace the more offensive smells, he ordered his chemists to concoct an Official State Odour, which smelled to humans rather like disinfectant. It reminded Nerb of his home planet.
The Smell Police were formed. Their job was to trace any sources of smells apart from the O.S.O., ie illegal odours, and destroy them. Crates of O.S.O. were shipped to every corner of the world.
It was here that humanity finally said no. Not loudly, but no all the same. Without the old smells, people soon found that their memories didn't work properly. Risking severe penalties, a black market in smells was formed. One of the black marketeers was a young single father named Jeremiah Hub.
Jeremiah had a daughter, Samantha, who was nine years old. One day Samantha went to the black market to see her father. The Smell Police were there, destroying everything. They wore gas masks as they confiscated the intact bottles and fumigated the broken ones with Official State Odour. Samantha saw some of the Smell Police bundling her father into a paddy-wagon. Helplessly, she ran after the car as it sped away, siren blaring.
Meanwhile there were problems developing over at the UN. It seemed the radiation problem also applied to holograms. Soon all the delegates took to wearing silver anti-radiation suits with face masks to meetings with the Chairman. Their voices were muffled, but that hardly mattered. It was Nerb who gave the orders. Everywhere he went, inspecting productivity, workers donned the silvery suits as they watched their leader pass.
Nerb did not like what he saw. Productivity was dwindling. Workers were dying left, right and centre. Not only that, but they died smiling.
'Chairman Nerb sir,' pleaded the UN delegates. 'It's the pleasure factories. The doses are too high.'
Nerb's antennae hammered the keyboard angrily. 'How can you guarantee me productivity?'
Silence.
'You could bring back the smells, Chairman Nerb.' A quiet voice up the back.
Nerb vaporised the speaker without turning his mandibles.
He typed. The machine spoke. 'There is to be an essay.'
The delegates looked at each other.
'Every Earthling shall sit the test.'
The media of the world zoomed in.
'A question. To be answered in 35 words or less. Listen closely Earthlings.'
Samantha Hub watched her aunt's televison set.
'Complete this sentence: 'I should be allowed to live because...' I shall repeat the question. 'I should be allowed to live because...'' Nerb typed. The voicebox continued. 'Send your replies to Uncle Nerb, care of The Caring Corporation, New York USA. The deadline is 21 days from today.'
As the deadline approached, the world's postal services became completely over-taxed and clogged with mail. The computers on Nerb's spaceship analysed the replies that did get through for worker potential. Most were obvious attempts at flattery. As the ship orbited the planet the vapourising beam worked overtime on these failed entries. The second-most common responses were pleas for mercy and appeals to Nerb's humanity. These cut no ice at all with the Chairman's machines. The little piles of ash grew in their thousands. Very few people actually answered the question.
With a stub of pencil Samantha began work on her entry. By candlelight she wrote, tongue at the side of her mouth as she concentrated.
The deadline arrived. Millions of illiterate people and those who could not afford stamps were vaporised. All the others whose mail still clogged the exchanges went the same way.
Nerb, back on the spaceship, was disappointed with the planet's performance. He consoled himself with the fact that the Earth's food resources could now be put to more productive purposes.
Suddenly the ship's power dimmed. The computers beeped and complained. Red lights flashed. Nerb scuttled over to the machine's intestines. With one of his fore-legs he pulled out the piece of paper jamming the main computer. A reply to the question. Nerb analysed its contents and quaked with fury. No-one would dare. It must be a mistake.
Samantha Hub was at school in choir practice. They were practising the 'Ode to Nerb' for his 400th birthday celebrations. They were many gaps in the ranks of the choir. Samantha stood in the back row.
Suddenly Nerb's hologram appeared in the school hall. The choir stopped singing uncertainly as the planet's ruler scuttled up to their teacher, his interior liquids bubbling menacingly.
Antennae quivering, Nerb typed upon his machine. The tinny voice spoke, 'Which one is Samantha Hub?'
Samantha tried to hide behind her friends, who pressed in around her. All of a sudden she lost her balance and fell off the stage. Nerb scuttled round the back.
Samantha dusted herself off bravely. 'Me sir. I'm Samantha,' she said.
Chairman Nerb held out the hand-written essay with one claw. He typed with the others, 'Is this your work?'
'Yes sir.'
'Read it.'
Nerb turned round the paper so the girl could see it.
Samantha stood on her tip-toes and began reading. 'I should be allowed to live because Mr Nerb loves nobody but himself and he hates everything and he kidnapped my daddy the smell-seller and because someone has to tell him you can't run the world like a tin can factory. Samantha.'
'You meant what you wrote?' asked Nerb, shivering.
'Yes sir. Every word.'
In all his 400 years Nerb had never known such honesty. Inside his transparent shell his liquids seethed. Involuntarily his feelers wound around each other. Nerb's body curled as if in pain. His skin ruptured and a ghastly stench filled the air. Samantha stood back in horror. Nerb dropped his keyboard and his feelers scratched the air helplessly. Finally he fell on his back and disappeared.
The spidery ship orbiting the planet exploded in a ball of pink slime and was gone.
Soon exciting smells filled the world again, and peoples' memories returned.© David Lowe, January 1992