The reasonable man adapts himself to the world; the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Therefore all progress depends on the unreasonable man.
--George Bernard Shaw
It’s the year 2009, the date December 31st, and only a few hours to go before a new decade dawns. Whilst the vast majority of people are preparing to bring in the New Year with a bang, three middle-aged friends have managed to find some peace and quiet.
"Same again, Joe."
"Don’t you think you’ve had enough," said Bob, sounding genuinely concerned.
"I’ll decide when I’ve had enough!" barked Jack
"Hey," Joe said in as near to a soothing manner as his coarse voice would allow. "Take it easy Jack. It’s New Years eve you know. Hell, it’s a new decade tomorrow you can have what you like just don’t wreck the place. OK?"
Jack pursed his lips then raised his hand in a gesture to say sorry. Both he and Bob sat in strained silence watching Joe, the owner of the bar, pour out yet another drink. From outside oohs and ahs of the crowd watching the firework display permeated through the seasonal music that Joe had laid on.
"What’s wrong Jack?" asked Bob. "You’ve been acting lousy all week and you haven’t stopped drinking since Christmas Eve."
"What’s wrong with that? Everyone drinks at Christmas."
"Yeah but not many punch their father in law on Christmas day then drive his car into the neighbours front garden."
"No," Jack sheepishly admits, "but I bet it crosses their mind."
Bob smiled wryly.
"Here you go Jack." Joe placed the small glass of bourbon in front of Jack and then turned his attention to the small TV screen hanging on the wall to his right.
"Cheers Joe." He took a quick sip of his drink then nodded to the TV. "I don’t know what you see in that guy Leno."
"Aw come on Jack," said Bob. "You’ve got to admit he’s funny sometimes. Some of his stories…"
"Some of his stories."
"Say," added Joe without taking his eyes of the TV. "We haven’t heard one of your stories for quite a while. The bar has emptied out for the celebrations outside, why don’t you tell us one now its quiet."
"Well," Jack finally allowed himself a smile (he liked to have an audience), "I have a got a story for you but this one is true. In fact, it’s the reason why I’ve been acting so ticked off." He paused for a moment making sure he had everyone’s attention.
Joe managed to drag his attention away from the TC. "Go on then," he implored. "Tell us."
"It was two days before Christmas day and, oh, about 3.30 in the afternoon. I’m sitting alone in my office, behind my brand new mahogany desk twiddling my favourite fountain pen wondering what the hell I could buy Sheryl for Christmas.
Business had been quiet all week and I had no more clients to see that day so I decided to knock off early. You see, I needed to get in the good books with Sheryl after forgetting her birthday so I thought I would get her something special for Christmas.
I’d just begun to get out of my seat when I heard Greta, my secretary, quite uncharacteristically raise her voice. I couldn’t make out what she was saying but it didn’t matter anyway because suddenly my door burst open."
"Who was it?" demanded Bob. "Not your ex again."
"No, thank God." Jack laughed at the thought then finished off what was left of his Bourbon. "Any chance of a refill? It’s a long story this one."
"Oh all right then," Joe answered ruefully. "But this is the last one."
Jack waited until he had refreshed his vocal cords before resuming. "No, it was this little weasel of a guy. Ted Marshall is his name. Must be about sixty, I was surprised he was able to force his way past big old Greta. Deathly pale he is, and thin to. Everything about him looks old and faded except his eyes, they’re still bright not dulled and bloodshot like most old timers. He’d used my services on and off for about fifteen years. Small fry stuff, he wanted people followed, their contacts noted boring stuff like that.
Anyways, Greta stormed in after him and started to apologise for the disturbance. She went to grab Marshall but somehow he managed to evade her then rush towards me. He grabbed me by the arms and I half expected him to plead for protection from big Greta but instead he blurted out, ‘Please! I, sorry I mean we don’t have much time. She’s already phoned the police and I must say what I have to say now!’"
"What did you do?" asked Joe.
"Well, being a highly trained and respected private-eye -"
"Ha!"
Jack ignored Bob’s good-natured sniggers and continued. "I did what any good ‘quack’ would do. I let him say what he wanted. My reasoning being that he would calm down whilst telling me his problem and anyway the cops were already on their way so…" He shrugged his shoulders.
"Good thinking Batman," said Bob. "Bit brave of you though wasn’t it? Not like you at all."
"Well, when you have a colt .45 in your left hand drawer you can afford to be as brave as I was."
"True."
A loud bang went off outside, causing Bob to start. "Wow," exclaimed Joe. "Some fireworks display, huh?"
"Marshall mentioned something about fireworks."
"Oh?"
"Yeah." Jacks features became troubled. "I forgot about that, but." He looked over his shoulder, as if to make sure no one else was listening, and glanced at his watch. It was nearly eleven. "Anyways, I’m getting ahead of myself. This guy waited until Greta reluctantly left the room before he started talking and when he did start….Jeez."
Bob exchanged puzzled glances with Joe who’d now stopped cleaning the glasses. "Yeah? What did he say?"
Jack emptied his glass then ran a hand through his thinning hair. He looked up at the TV screen just above the bar in the corner. Jay Leno was hosting his New Years Eve Special. "He said, it all began on Mars."
Bob made a nasally sniggering sound. "What!?!"
"Mars," repeated Jack flatly. "All of us are descendants from Mars. We started on that planet then moved to Venus and now we are here."
"I reckon you’ve drunk more than I thought," said Joe.
"Well, you said you wanted a story. You decide whether it’s true or not."
"Alright then. Go on."
"Well, to cut a long story short, Mars, he said, was our original home. It was just like Earth is or should I say was but we advanced so quickly that we corrupted the environment to the point where it became almost uninhabitable. The leaders took the decision to move everyone over a period of time to a new cleaner atmosphere, and the best one at that time was Venus. But of course, us being us we never learned from our mistakes and it wasn’t long before Venus was heading in the same direction as Mars. It was then that a select group of people formed an organisation to prepare for the inevitable."
"The move to Earth," mused Bob, slightly more interested now. "How does Marshall know all this anyhow?"
Jack smiled crookedly. "He was there."
"Yeah right! That would make him millions of years old."
"Maybe. Anyway, I reacted just the same as you did, but in a more professional manner of course."
"Of course."
"Anyway this time the transition was going to be different. More controlled."
"How?"
"This was the bit that got me uncomfortable."
Joe took the hint and refilled Jacks glass. "Cheers Joe." Jack took a large gulp then continued. "Did you know that about 80,000 years ago, which isn’t much in planetary terms, the human population of this planet was only 2,000?"
"Eh?"
"Scientists have only just started to realise this. There are over six billion of us now but every one of us have this strand of DNA, which mutates every generation. They can actually tell how long we’ve been around. It’s like counting rings on a tree stump."
"So, by counting the mutations they can calculate how long we’ve been around."
"Exactly. But ask yourselves this: why were there only two thousand of us left? Scientists claim that it was a massive volcanic explosion, the Lake Toba volcano in Sumatra, but was it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Think about it. If what Marshall told me is true then perhaps there never was human life on this planet. Maybe it wasn’t until the settlers from Venus arrived that human life existed here."
Bob and Joe remained quiet, lost in their own thoughts.
"Marshall let me ponder this for a few minutes while he lit a cigarette and filled my room with sweet smelling smoke. What he said sounded like pure fantasy and there was no way he could prove, but then I don’t think he wanted to prove it. I reckon in a funny way the conversation we had was a form of counselling for him. I suppose after 80,000 years he just had to tell someone. I still didn’t buy though, so I pointed out that we have archaeological excavations that prove our early existence, but he just smiled and said, ‘you are told what to believe by people who have been around a lot longer than you have. People who do not want their tracks to be found.’ As a private eye I knew exactly what he was getting at."
"So you’re saying that our history may have been created for us?" asked Bob.
"Yes. It sounds like some 50’s sci-fi movie, but we may actually be third generation Martian."
Jack let this sink in and fought desperately hard not to burst out laughing as he watched his two friend’s exchange concerned glances. He could almost hear the cogs ticking in their brains. Now it was time to go in for the kill. "The story didn’t stop there either, you know."
"I need another drink," said Bob to Joe. "Pour one for yourself while you’re at it."
Jack continued. "Marshall said when the settlers arrived on Earth they were, as I’ve already mentioned, far advanced than our world even today. They had already experienced all the social and political troubles that we are going through, they had already dealt with the inherent problems of technological advances so they decided to try and stop the settlers from making the same mistakes again. And so, the only way to do that was to ensure that memories of the past were still present even to this day."
"Marshall," Joe stated.
"Yep. He and just over forty of the original settlers where designated the job of steering us safely through our evolution. Immortality had been achieved long before the settlers arrived, but of course, only a select few were allowed to benefit from it, although Marshall gave them impression that it was an affliction. By taking some prominent but mainly hidden positions in our society down the years they were able to manipulate certain events, but with a mixture of success. However, they had achieved their goal: the continuation of human life."
"Yeah," admitted Bob, "but how?"
"You name it: Religion, disease, politics, war, and famine. Need I go on?"
"Creates diseases?" Bob sounded sickened.
"Hey, keep you’re voice down. But yes, these guys use all kinds of mechanisms to control our population."
"All for the good of humanity." Bob spat.
The three friends sat in silence. The fireworks still exploding outside occasionally lighted up the bar. The crowd continued to ooh and aah. In the distance an unintelligible announcer continued reading out his script.
"This group," said Joe. "You said they prepared the way for the transition."
"Yes."
"How? That kind of thing doesn’t happen overnight."
Jack sighed and fought his conflicting emotions. Of course this was a stupid story, he thought, but it was the reason he had been in a foul mood. Despite his inner denials, he couldn’t ignore what Marshall had told him. "No," he agreed. "No it doesn’t, but when you’re allowed to live as long as Marshall has then it doesn’t really matter. You see, everything has been planned out just like the second generation had everything planned out for them, except this time it has been done better."
"You can’t just programme events, press a button and wait for them to happen," said Bob.
Jack smiled ruefully. "You forgot what I said. They have seen it all before, they know that eventually we will make this planet just as inhospitable as the previous two. We seem to have this death wish; all they can do now is delay the inevitable. Even now they are preparing our next destination."
"Which is?"
"Mars of course! We’re repeating the cycle. Going back to where it all started. The old red planet is only just starting to recover from our last term of residence and with a bit of help from Marshall and his friends at NASA it will be re-open for business soon."
"How soon? "
"I never got the chance to find out. Two Police officers had arrived by then and were knocking on the door. I only had time to ask him one more question."
"Which was?"
"What happened to the people who were left behind, did they just die out? He was silent as one of the officers read him his rights and the other cuffed him but he had this sad looking smile on his face all the time. I thought he wasn’t going to answer me, but just before he was led away he said, ‘It is better to know some of the questions than all of the answers. Bear in mind that we had to cover our tracks. Everything had to be covered. Everything. Oh, and remember this also: The most likely way for the world to be destroyed, most experts agree, is by accident. That's where we come in; we're (he smiled sadly) professionals. There’ll be fireworks for sure, but remember to watch out for the lights. We can cause accidents. We’ve done it before.’ Then, that was it. He was gone."
"What happened to him?" asked Joe. "Did they chuck him in a cell?"
"Your guess is as good as mine. I had to go and do some Christmas shopping remember. Much good it did me too." Jack looked at his watch. Ten minutes to go. On the TV above, he watched Leno (now outside of his studio) hosting proceedings. What looked like city dignitaries surrounded him along with a few famous celebs.
"Fancy some fresh air Jack?" asked Bob trying to lift the mood. "Wanna seeeee the Lights, Ha Ha."
Jack smiled. "Nah. Go on, it’s too crowded out there. I’ll stay in here and see in the New Year with Joe."
"Suit yourself," said Bob as he creaked out of his seat.
Joe watched him walk away. He opened the door and strode out into the throng. He caught a brief glimpse of the massive firework display that Los Angeles had put an event that now seemed mandatory for any self-respecting city across the globe. "Reckon he’s hoping for a New Years kiss off one of those nice looking blondes out there."
Jack smiled. "I think you could very well be right." His smile quickly evaporated. "Not long now then."
"Nope. Tell you what," said Joe as he reached beneath the bar. "Seen as it’s a special occasion an all." He produced a bottle which Jack hadn’t laid eyes on before (which is a rare phenomenon). "How’s about sharing a drink of my finest?"
Jack’s face lit up when he belatedly recognised the dark amber fluid in the bottle. "Well, I wouldn’t say no."
A minute or two later and they were both savouring the unique flavour of Scotland’s finest. Jack raised his glass and nodded his head. Joe smiled and did likewise. "You know, J…" He stopped mid-sentence, a puzzled expression appeared on his face and his mouth formed an ‘O’.
"What’s up?" asked Joe.
It took two attempts for Jack to say the words. "Seen what’s on the TV?"
Joe looked over his shoulder at the TV. His face suddenly felt leaden and his stomach heavy.
Long moments passed.
"Do you think it’s one of Leno’s pranks?" said Jack from seemingly far away.
"If it is, he’s one sick cookie." Both men quickly searched for a logical answer to what they were seeing. "Quick," Jack rasped, "put CNN on. Let’s see what they’re showing."
"Yeah. Good thinking." Bob fumbled for the remote control. "I’ve a good mind to ring Leno’s bosses up. He’s gone too…."
"Oh Jesus," Jack croaked.
Suddenly the bar was filled with a tremendous light. Joe was forced to shield his eyes from the intensity. "Wow," Bob absently said. "Some firework that was."
Jack couldn’t care less about the firework after what he had seen on the TV. "Funny," he heard Joe say, "The crowds didn’t cheer that one. Heh Heh."
"No!" cried Jack, ignoring the first signs of mental breakdown in Joe’s voice. "No!" he roared as he stumbled towards the exit.
"Hey Jack. What’s happened to the lights and everything."
Jack went to grab the door, but it opened seemingly on its own accord. "Oh my God Jack." It was Bob who had opened the door. His face was ashen. "The Lights, Jack. This is what he meant by the Lights."
Jacks looked past him and into the night. For the first time he became aware of the pathetic whimpering and breathless denials of the crowds. They all looked in one direction. The direction which Jack was now looking. The direction of the huge mushroom clouds illuminating the night sky.
The End
Iain McWilliam, a wanabee master of sci fi, was the author another short story to appear on Aphelion, No Laughing Matter. It’s took him a few years to come up with his long awaited (at least in his eyes) follow up. For the past year he has been stuck on the last chapter of his first novel and has took out his frustrations by writing a number of other short stories which he may release in the near future. Despite being from the UK his main writing influences remain both Phillip K Dick and Robert A Heinlein.
E-mail: iain.mcwilliam@cwcom.net
Visit Aphelion's Lettercolumn and voice your opinion of this story.
Return to the Aphelion main page.