“Listen to the Churchill function.” Mr. Shakespeare’s benevolent expression remained the same, but his voice changed radically. “Boy, you should be home in bed. All children should be home in bed!”
The fragiles in the library gasped in amazement. The voice was exactly that of Sir Winston Churchill; and Michael knew that the words were exactly as they had been spoken on a frosty autumn evening long ago.
“Now the Victoria function: You want too much, child. You want far too much.”
The Queen’s voice was unmistakable.
“Now, the Ellen Terry function: Poor Michael. I was only teasing.”
Michael vividly recalled the Ellen Terry’s laughter as he tried to bite her throat.
Again Mr. Shakespeare spoke in his normal voice. “So you see, we are only extensions of the machine that has brought you, the Overman culture, to maturity.”
Michael’s own voice was unsteady. “You have not yet told us what kind of machine it is.”
“Our identity is defined as Intercon Comcom Zero Nine—Intercontinental Computer Complex Nine—the last and greatest computer system in the world.”
There was a brief silence. No one moved. It was as if the awesome revelations had temporarily paralyzed the fragiles. Michael gazed at Mr. Shakespeare. Late sunlight slanting through the library window lent a subtle radiance to his white hair and wrinkled face. A subtle illusion of humanity rested on this component of Intercontinental Computer Complex Nine.
Michael tried to think of Mr. Shakespeare as an instrument being used by a distant machine, and thought the effort would probably cost him his sanity.
His mouth was dry. His tongue felt like parchment. Michael licked his lips and spoke with difficulty. “You called us the Overman culture. Tell us why—and tell us clearly. Above all, we have to know what we are.”
“You explored only one passage, Michael. Eventually, you would have explored the other. You would have discovered for yourselves all that you need to know. But perhaps it is as well that I am here to lead the way. Come, then, and see your origins.”
Mr. Shakespeare turned towards the door at the far end of the library.
32
“This is mankind!” The words seemed to come from nowhere. They echoed and reverberated between the dark-green glassy walls, the black shiny floor and the illuminated ceiling of the vast chamber.
The journey down the underground passage had not been long—nowhere near as long as down the passage that led outside London—and now the fragiles were confronted by a scene that was both terrible and wonderful.
“This is mankind!” said the voice once more. “You are now in the Overman Suspension Vault. I am Cryogenics Control, Station One. I have you on my screens. Greetings and welcome. You are standing in the preservation chamber that was constructed for Julius Overman in the twenty-first century of the Christian Era. Here lie the last three natural-born human beings on Earth.”
Michael was in a state of shock, as were the other fragiles. He looked at the great chamber, at the intricate system of pipes, at the panel displaying a bewildering array of gauges and dials, and at the three large, transparent, triple-walled cylinders containing the bodies of three naked human beings—a man and two women. Suddenly, he had a presentiment of the truth. A presentiment also that the truth might be too terrible to bear.
“Let me explain.” Mr. Shakespeare’s voice was oddly gentle. “This chamber was discovered one hundred and fifty years ago. It was discovered during a magnetometric survey of the island of Tasmania. These bodies, preserved in liquid helium, are the bodies of Julius Overman and his two wives, Abigail and Mary. Until they were placed in the cylinders, none of them was clinically dead. Julius Overman had his preservation chamber constructed very well by the standards of the time, with primary, secondary and tertiary circuits for all electronic and cryogenic systems. There were automated repair networks and three independent cryogenics control systems. There were heat-exchange power units designed to function in sequence for a very long time. Unfortunately, no mechanical system can function with perfect efficiency indefinitely, and no biological system can be preserved indefinitely. Mr. Overman and his wives have been in suspension too long. There is irreversible brain damage.”
Michael looked at Emily. Tears were trickling unheeded from her eyes as she stared at the huge cylinders. He knew why she was crying. She was crying for the immense loneliness, the immense sadness of three human beings, caught in crystal, frozen beyond life, beyond death, locked into history, an icy epitaph for an entire civilization.
Then he looked at Ernest, and saw the tragic understanding in his eyes. Then he looked at the other fragiles. Some were unable to bear the sight, and held each other tightly, hiding their heads against breasts or shoulders. Others stared, awed, saddened, oppressed.
At last Michael found his voice. He turned to Mr. Shakespeare. “You say they have been in these cylinders too long. How long is too long?”
“Ten thousand years,” said Mr. Shakespeare. “They entered these suspension units in the same century during which the race of man destroyed itself. Later, when you have received special training, you will be able to understand exactly what happened. But it is sufficient now for me to explain that, during the twenty-first century, there were four great military and technological powers in the world. They were the North American Federation, the United States of Europe, the Russian Commonwealth and the Sino-Japanese Republic. The first nuclear war was between the North American Federation and the Sino-Japanese Republic. It destroyed over two thousand million human beings. During the second nuclear war, which took place toward the end of the century, between the Russian Commonwealth and the United States of Europe, a doomsday weapon was eventually used. It is impossible to determine whether it was used by accident or by design. In this case the doomsday weapon consisted of a self-replicating biochemical poison, dispersed by air and water, which attacked the central nervous system of almost all primates—especially man. Climatic dispersal brought about the destruction of the entire human race within a few decades.”
Michael did not clearly understand all that Mr. Shakespeare was saying, but the general pattern was clear. Clear—and horrible to imagine. Suddenly, he was struck by a thought. “This poison—is it still active? Outside…. Outside London?”
“The poison was eventually neutralized, but far too late to save any human beings.”
Michael’s head and his entire body seemed to be aching with shock, with sadness and with a profound awe. At the same time, he felt oddly numb. He wondered if he were going mad. Then he wondered why he was not going mad. He wondered if the other fragiles felt like this. He marveled that he seemed to be still capable of rational speech.
“If the human race is dead,” he said slowly, “then what are we?”
Mr. Shakespeare smiled. “You are the second human race. There is much to explain. But first, it is my duty to present to you the testament of Julius Overman.”
33
Mr. Shakespeare went to the instrument panel that was fixed against the glassy walls of the vault. There were several switches and studs under the rows of dials, gauges and meters. Every switch but one was protected by a glass covering. Mr. Shakespeare pointed to the switch and to a small ceramic tile underneath it on which there appeared to be words.
“Michael, despite some discouragement and a great deal of derision, you persisted in your intention to learn to read. These instructions are in the English language. Would you care to read them?”