Stryker #5, At the End of Eternity – Chapter 3

“Somewhere in this ancient ruin is a spaceport. We’ve found some old maps that place it somewhere to the south, although its precise location has been lost to time. I’m sure it’s much too soon to be thinking about interstellar travel, but I sincerely hope that when we finally reach that sector we’ll find something. Uncovering a starship – especially if it still works – would be astounding!”
–Noel Lawson
June 18, 7243
 

Monroe Araiza was in his living quarters, deep in the ancient stone fortress that was high in the mountains. It was early in the afternoon and he was taking a moment to get caught up on his journal. He had started keeping a diary years ago to chronicle the current events and happenings of Adrasta. At times he wondered why he bothered. Given the serious genetic problems that plagued his people, it was quite likely that the city was in its final days. Millennia of inbreeding had caused extensive damage and rendered people almost entirely infertile. If a cure was not found soon then a century from now they would simply die out. When that happened there would be no one left to read his carefully-kept notes. They would simply sit in a vault until they returned to dust.

His only hope was that perhaps, one day, someone from the stars would find the city and recover his notes before they disintegrated. It was a faint hope, but not an impossible one. There was the intriguing fact that the stars had reappeared. It was true that three years had gone by and there had been no visitors from the stars, but there was always hope. Perhaps the Rangers had just been busy.

Monroe finished entering the previous day’s entry and then set down his pen. His colleagues preferred entering data into their electronic devices, but Monroe refused to so. Whenever he was chided for his old-fashioned ways he pointed out that a thousand years from now his notes would still be legible, but their computers would be little more than trash. Information stored in a computer has a very short life, but words in a book can outlast entire civilizations. That is why his apartment was crammed floor-to-ceiling with real books, printed on real paper; the information in them would long outlast any computers that the city possessed. As soon as he realized that the end of his race was upon them he began writing down as much information as he possibly could. It was the only way he knew to ensure that the data survived. He just hoped that the Rangers would appreciate his work.

The elderly man placed his journal back into his desk and glanced around the room. His apartment was small, but he liked it that way. There was a tiny kitchen, a small bathroom with a shower, a small bedroom, and a living room, which was where he was now. The walls were covered with bookcases, and the books were stacked two deep. There were several chairs, a few end-tables, and some lamps that lit the room. Books were stacked on every available surface. His apartment was very cluttered, but it was well-organized. He knew right where everything was and everything had a place.

Before Monroe could get up he heard a knock at the door. Monroe glanced at a clock on the wall and realized that it was later than he thought. “Come in,” he said aloud. “It isn’t locked.”

The door opened and a middle-aged man walked into the room. “You really should keep it locked, you know,” he replied as he closed it behind him. “Things are not as safe as they used to be.”

Monroe shrugged. “So they say. I daresay that I have very little that others might want. All I really have are my books, and while these books are very valuable to me I suspect that they are of little use to others. I have freely offered this information to Adrasta for decades and have had precious few takers. People simply have different priorities.”

Doyle Leblanc nodded. “But there are still some who seek the path of wisdom. Not everyone agrees with Evan Maldonado.”

“Perhaps, but there are too few who disagree. The public at large supports him and that gives him the power he needs to carry out his genocidal campaign. But please, have a seat. I suspect his campaign is exactly what you have come to talk about.”

Doyle nodded and sat down. “I’m afraid so. I wish I had good news to give you, but I don’t. I have heard the reports regarding Evan’s neutron weapon. The bomb went off early this morning, and sadly the bomb was completely effective. Every bit of human life, animal life, and plant life in the Mercado forest has been eliminated. Moreover, the radiation is decaying as expected. Evan’s weapon has achieved exactly what he intended it to achieve and has operated within expected tolerances.”

“So it was everything he wanted,” Monroe replied, sighing. “I had hoped that his men had made a calculation error and that the bomb would not work. I knew that was unlikely, but since this was new technology there was always a chance that they had overlooked something. But it looks like Evan has won. He has the bomb, he proved that it works, and he will now press on to get the permission to build the bomb on an industrial scale. The savages do not stand a chance.”

“It’s terrible,” Doyle agreed. “Really terrible. He’s actually going to carry out the complete annihilation of the tribal peoples, isn’t he? Evan is going to kill every last one of them – and destroy this planet’s ecosystem while he’s at it. Does he not realize the complete insanity of a global nuclear war? Does he not understand the devastation that it would cause?”

“Not to mention the loss of life. Tens of millions of people are about to be slaughtered, and all for nothing. Evan’s grand dreams of world conquest will never happen. Our genetic code simply doesn’t have that much time left. Despite his denials we are a dying people. All he is really accomplishing is making sure that when we finally die off, the rest of the planet will be dead as well.”

“There must be something we can do,” Doyle replied. “We can’t just let this happen. We cannot permit Evan to wipe out the rest of the savages. There must be some action we can take or some strategy we can pursue. We must end this!”

Monroe sighed. “I don’t know how much we can actually do. Our numbers are small and we have no public support. But I suppose we can at least stand up and protest. Evan is scheduled to make his formal report to the council this evening and request permission to proceed with his genocidal campaign. The meeting will be an open meeting, so we can attend it and protest. I very much doubt it will change anything, but we can at least try. Perhaps the Lord will bless our efforts with success.”

“He has not blessed our efforts so far,” Doyle commented. “We tried to prevent the construction of the neutron bomb but we were not successful. Hundreds of people died today because of our failure.”

Monroe shook his head. “No, Doyle. Hundreds of people died today because Evan chose to kill them. This was his doing, not ours. We are like the Old Testament prophets, warning society of their evil ways and urging them to repent before it is too late. Israel did not listen to those prophets; instead she chose to ignore them and, in some cases, murder them. With us it is the same. We are warning our people, but ultimately the choice is theirs. Israel refused to repent and went on to judgment at the hands of the Babylonians. It is my great fear that Adrasta will also refuse to repent and will go on to judgment and doom.”

“Couldn’t our genetic problem be considered judgment?” Doyle asked.

“Perhaps,” Monroe replied. “But it is entirely possible that once this city crosses the line into genocide, God Himself will intervene. He may not allow us to live long enough to become infertile. He may decide to step in and help those who cannot help themselves – and if our people will not listen then He may destroy us all. But all of that is pure conjecture. All we can do is take what opportunities we have to protest and do what we can to spread our message. If they do not listen to us – well, their blood will be on their hands, not ours. All we can do them is warn them of the error of their ways.”

“Do you think they will listen?” Doyle asked.

“I hope so,” Monroe replied. “But I do not know. Israel refused to listen to the prophets that God raised up and sent her. Will our fate really be any different?”