(C) Simon Stalenhag

The Empty World

Arin
What is fixed can be broken
4 min readJun 9, 2015

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Every day the lifters groaned off the spaceport flats, their bellies full of the young, like fish on the seafloor with their mouths full of small fry. Overhead the skies of old Earth wore a tired look — weathered old blues, familiar grays, and wispy whites that were torn away by the wind, leaving no new sensations.

The giant screens floating above the spaceport gates showed far brighter futures: alien sunsets in mauve and violet, red twinned suns lowering into a pink ocean, pitted moons rising into skies undimmed by light pollution, innumerable stars patterned in unnamed constellations.

The old men and women who worked the port watched the young pile into the holds of the great generation ships, confident in the science of the stasis chambers, brave against the not-insignificant chance of system failure or meteorite impact. Earth was emptying of its young people. Only the young would want to go, awaken in a new world having aged only a few decades while traveling a few dozen light years. The birth rate on Earth was nearly zero. The old who stayed postponed death and prolonged the last dreamtime with their longevity drugs.

One of those stayed was there that day to watch the lifters rise on their columns of fusion flame, just as he would most weekends. Mentally switching off his retinal shades, he turned to his companion. “A girl in my building unit left on that one today.”

His companion, who hadn’t been looking at the lifter, grunted in response. The man lifted his hand and pointed, the late sunlight glinting off his fingers. “I feel like there won’t need to be more of those soon. Not many more young people left who want to go.”

“You mean not many more young people at all!”, his friend remarked acidly. “We are getting younger now, so don’t fret”, said the man, turning over a well-worn joke.

“Hmph. Some of us are back in the womb machines, seems like,” came the sarcastic response.

As they walked down from the small viewing balcony, the man and his companion stopped at the spaceport gates. The area was quiet, except for the returning birds, still unsettled by any major launch. Quiet activity could be seen around the edges of the launchpad, as men operating waldos and autonomous robots moved around, organizing the space for the next launch.

The man emerged on the street, which was empty. There were few vehicles. The roads were mostly deserted now. Travel was hardly needed when any experience could be enjoyed remotely. His companion bent and extruded serviceable wheels from his shoulder sockets. The man climbed on to the notch on top, and they proceeded home.

The ride was quiet, each lost in thought. As they reached the arcology entrance, the man spoke. “So, see you again next week for a bit more stargazing?”

“Not sure, actually. I might have to spend some time in the fabrication unit in my building.”

“Oh, is it far along?” “Yes,” said the other happily. “Chrolux and I are going to be parents.”

“Wow, that’s gone faster than I expected. I’m happy for you!”

“Yes. These new designs are great. Minimal fuss and within two weeks you can have your own new mini-droid.”

“Cool. Do you have a name yet?”

“We’re still processing options. We’ll probably pick one randomly.”

The man waited till the chromed hulk of the droid had disappeared down the street, moving much faster without his human rider. As he ascended in the elevator chute, the man passed empty floors and atria, now filling with paper trash and old electronics. Holo signs for a departure party for some long-gone young family still flickered in a recessed colony garden, dimly illuminating riotous plant life. In some alcoves the quiet, powered down forms of droids waited, occupying the space no one else would need.

In his own unit, the man quickly took his hourly dose of the longevity drug. On his tiny balcony, he settled into his viewing spot, sipping a chilled glass of synthahol. His metal hand dripped a few beads of condensation.

Yeah, next year he could quietly knock down the wall to the next unit, now empty for half a year. More space to stretch, perhaps have the new droid family over with their kid. The official waiting period was over for a new tenant. He could also get a new leg, with the artificial nu-skin that allowed full sensation. He was tired of the bother from his regrown knee joint.

A lazy sunset eased in over the hazy cityscape. Flocks of birds circled around the carcass of the empty arcology opposite, and he could see deer stalk through the gardens far below, openly colonizing the now overgrown, wooded plots, wary for the occasional urban cougar. In the distance, air-adapted droids cruised the sky, joyriding on thermals. He leaned back into his hammock, content.

It was good to be old in an empty world.

From: Silicon Embers. 2041. Marduk Press

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