The End of All Things (42 page)

Through various false starts and diversions, I ended up writing nearly 40,000 words—almost an entire short novel!—of material that I didn’t directly use. Some of it was recast and repurposed in different directions, and a lot of it was simply left to the side. The thing is when I throw something out of a book, I don’t just delete it. I put it into an “excise file” and keep it just in case it’ll come in handy later.

Like now: I’ve taken various bits from the excise file and with them have crafted a first chapter of an alternate version of
The Life of the Mind,
the first novella of
The End of All Things
. This version (roughly) covers the same events, with (roughly) the same characters, but with a substantially different narrative direction.

In an alternate universe, an alternate version of me went ahead with this version, and
The End of All Things
ended up being a rather different book. Which would be cool. I’d like to meet up with that John Scalzi and trade books.

Please note: This version of the story is noncanonical and mildly spoilery for the version that is, in fact, canonical. While you don’t have to read the official version of
The Life of the Mind
to read this (or to enjoy it), I recommend that you do to fully appreciate the compare and contrast.

Also, this version ends on a bit of a cliff-hanger. Which will never be resolved. Sorry about that.

Enjoy!

—JS

PART ONE

The
Robert Anton
skipped into the Inhe system, near a small asteroid that in the not too recent past had served as a Rraey space station and repair dock. The Rraey had officially abandoned it, along with a substantial number of other territories, after a series of military political setbacks, contracting back to the species’ core planets and systems. “Officially abandoned” did not mean it was not in use, however.

Control,
sent Giovanni Carranza, pilot and captain of the
Robert Anton
.
This is the
Robert Anton
, requesting docking assistance
.

“Copy
, Robert Anton,
” said an artificially generated voice, the standard voice of Control. “You’re some distance away. Can you maneuver any closer to base?”

Negative,
Carranza said.
Engines are dead. Maneuvering jets are dead. Both died on the other side of the skip.

“How did you get to skip distance?”

Inertia,
Carranza said.
Burned the engines as long as I could before I had to take them offline. Saved enough energy to run the skip drive. It was a very slow trip
.

“Copy that,” Control said. “Your status otherwise, please.”

The
Anton
is heavily damaged,
Carranza said.
Hull compromised, weapons systems partially destroyed. Communications work, obviously, but outside sensors are dead. I knew I skipped from timing alone. If anyone other than me were on the ship, they’d be long dead. We’re a mess
.

“Did you complete your mission?”

There was a hesitation.
Yes,
Carranza said.
The mission was completed. It wasn’t pretty but it got done
.

“It’s going to take us some time to get you back to dock,” Control said. “We’d like to start analysis of your mission as soon as possible. Please send along your mission logs and recordings, as well as your damage report.”

Sending,
Carranza said.

“Thank you,” Control said.

The
Anton
took a beating. I’m not sure it’s repairable at this point.

“I’m looking at your damage report now. You may be right about that.”

What does that mean for me?

“You don’t need to worry about that right now.”

You and I agreed that if this mission was successful that I would be done,
Carranza said.

“I’m well aware of our agreement,” Control replied.

I don’t want the state of the
Anton
held against me.

“We asked you to complete the mission,” Control said. “You did what we asked you to do.”

I know it’s been harder for you to get more ships. To get more pilots.

Control didn’t say anything to this.

I would like my body back,
Carranza said
. I would like to go home
.

“Don’t worry,” Control said. “We’ll take care of you.”

Thank you,
Carranza said, and then died as Control signaled the release of a neurotoxin into his brain. The effect was instantaneous; Carranza had felt relief that his wishes would be granted and then he felt nothing at all.

The person behind Control waited until it received the signal that Carranza’s brain was past any attempt at revival—not long at all—and then ordered tugs to bring the
Anton
into dock and crews to take what was salvageable from the ship before reducing it to scrap.

Carranza had been correct that it was harder to get ships recently, but the
Anton
’s useful days were done. As were Carranza’s. Pilots were also hard to come by. But their usefulness was limited by their ability to believe they would ever be free. There would be no way for Carranza to believe that after today.

A waste.

But fortunately, a replacement was on the way.

*   *   *

“The time has come for treasonous ideas,” said Otha Durham, from his lectern.

An amused murmur rippled through the corps of Colonial Union diplomats, assembled in one of the State Department’s conference theaters. Durham, undersecretary of state for the Colonial Union, and speaking to the crowd on the occasion of an otherwise-standard assembly to award a medal to one of their number, smiled along with them.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said, and then assumed the part of a bored diplomat in his audience. “Oh, God, there Durham goes again, pretending to have big thoughts and presenting them with
such drama
.” He smiled again as laughs emerged from his audience, and held up his hands as if to acknowledge an affectionate criticism. “Fair call. Fair call. I don’t think it’s any secret that I’ve made dramatic statements a calling card of my career. But work with me for a minute here.”

Durham looked out over his audience, becoming serious. “For decades—scratch that, for centuries—the Colonial Union has been charged with the role of keeping humanity safe and secure in our universe. A universe which was and continues to be hostile to the idea that humans exist within it. Ever since we have made our presence known in space, other species and other powers have sought to remove us—to eradicate us. And if we know anything about humanity it is this: We don’t go down without a fight.

“And so we have fought. Humanity has fought, for centuries, to earn and keep our place in the universe. The Colonial Union and the Colonial Defense Forces has fought that fight for our species, for centuries.”

Durham shrugged, acknowledging the fact of centuries of near-constant warfare. “So be it,” he said. “But where does that leave us, the diplomatic corps of the Colonial Union? We have existed all this time, alongside the Colonial Defense Forces, but as an afterthought, an also-ran—because not only was the idea that diplomacy with the alien races we encountered might be a useful tool ridiculed, it was indeed considered very nearly a treasonous thought.

“How can we seriously think diplomacy could work when time and time again the other species out here with us attacked us, killed our colonists, and claimed the planets and systems we had claimed for our own? In this light, how could diplomacy be seen as anything other than an abdication of responsibility for the species? How could it be anything other than treason?”

Durham looked out at the diplomats assembled before him, quiet now.

“Diplomacy as treason. Reaching out with an open hand instead of a fist, treason. The idea that intelligences that evolved on different worlds, in different ways and in different environments, might yet still find a common ground, treason. If you consider all these things almost fundamentally a betrayal of humanity, it makes sense that in the end, all you have left is the war. The fight. The struggle that leads to ruin, for one or both species.”

And here Durham smiled. “But this is the thing,” he said, and then motioned to the diplomats attending his words. “
We
know better. We have always known better. The Colonial Defense Force’s battle for us is often necessary, and sometimes inevitable. But when the opportunity comes for the open hand rather than the fist that, too, is often necessary.

“And now, also inevitable. The Colonial Union has long—has too long—relied on the planet Earth to provide it with the soldiers the Colonial Defense Forces needs to fight our battles and enforce our will. But we no longer have that option. Colonel John Perry’s appearance in Earth’s skies with the Conclave trade delegation put our relationship with the Earth on hold; the destruction of Earth Station, the planet’s sole egress into space, destroyed it.”

Durham looked directly at Ambassador Ode Abumwe, sitting in the front row of his audience with her team, nodding to her in recognition of her presence on Earth Station when it was destroyed. Abumwe nodded back.

“The Earth wrongly blames us for its destruction, but right or wrong, we can’t go back to what was before,” Durham continued. “Now the Colonial Union will need to find soldiers from its own colonies, from its own planetary populations—a transition that will take time, and is already causing no small amount of unrest in the Colonial Union’s previously peaceable ranks.

“And in the meantime, the formerly
treasonous
idea of diplomacy becomes the Colonial Union’s primary tool. To make allies. To buy time. To secure our place in the universe, not with a weapon, but with reason. Diplomacy is now the primary resource by which the Colonial Union, and by extension humanity, keeps its place. What was treason has now become a treasure.”

“Which, clearly and obviously, brings us to Ambassador Ode Abumwe,” Durham said, lightly. Once again, laughter rippled through the assembled diplomats. Durham motioned for Abumwe to rise and to stand next to him at the lectern. She did so. Durham’s assistant Renea Tam also approached the lectern, wooden box in hand.

“Ambassador Abumwe, over the last year you and your team have found yourself at the center of a number of diplomatic storms,” Durham said, turning to her. “When you could, you triumphed. When you could not triumph, you were able to at least find a silver lining to some of the Colonial Union’s darkest clouds. We have asked a lot of you, and of your people. None of you have disappointed us. Time and again you’ve impressed us with your determination and your resourcefulness. Also, the fact that one of your team saved the daughter of the United States secretary of state from the destruction of Earth Station was no small feat.” Another ripple of laugher. “The initiative your team shows flows from the top. It is your leadership that set the example, for them and for all of us.

“The Colonial Union owes much to you and your team in these difficult times,” Durham said, and nodded to Tam, who opened the wooden box, revealing a medal and a framed document. “As a symbol of the regard of both the Colonial Union Department of State, and the secretary herself, it is my absolute pleasure to present you with the Distinguished Honor Award, for your exceptional and outstanding service.” He lifted the medal with its ribbon out of the box and placed it around Abumwe’s neck. The assembled diplomats applauded and Abumwe’s team leapt to their feet and cheered. Abumwe offered up one of her rare smiles to them.

Durham held up a hand to silence the audience. “On a personal note,” he said, and turned to Abumwe, “Ambassador, I have known you since you first arrived at the State Department. You were an intern and I was on my first posting, and that was”—here Durham intentionally mumbled a number—“years ago. Even then you were a smart, perceptive, driven, and serious person. The first three of these I would never fault. They have taken you far. But I still believe that you are sometimes more serious than you absolutely need to be.” He nodded to Tam again, who set down the medal box and reached into her suit jacket to offer a small object to Durham, who took it. “And so in addition to the Distinguished Honor Award, as a token of personal esteem, my dear friend Ode, I offer you this.” He presented the object to Abumwe, who took it. It was a funny-shaped rubber doll.

“What do I do with this?” Abumwe said.

“Squeeze it,” Durham said.

Abumwe did so. Its eyes popped out and it offered up a squeaky chuckle. The diplomats laughed.

“Thank you, Otha,” Abumwe said. “I don’t know what to say.”

“On the contrary, I think you know
exactly
what to say,” Durham said. “You’re just too diplomatic to say it.”

*   *   *

Durham spent an hour at the after-ceremony reception meeting and greeting with Abumwe’s team, and in particular making the acquaintance of Hart Schmidt and Harry Wilson, the two members of Abumwe’s team who escaped Earth Station as it was literally disintegrating around them.

“I don’t imagine that’s something you want to relive much,” Durham said to Schmidt, after he had been introduced to him and one of his friend’s friends, whose name vaporized from Durham’s mind almost instantly after the introductions were made.

“Well, I was actually unconscious for the worst of it, sir,” Schmidt said, and nodded to Wilson. “Harry is the one who can tell you what it was really like.”

“And what was it really like?” Durham asked Wilson, turning to him.

“Completely terrifying,” Wilson said, and everyone laughed. “Or it would have been, if I hadn’t been actively distracted by trying to stay alive on a trip through the Earth’s atmosphere. Which was also terrifying.”

“That’s right, you skydived from Earth Station down to the planet.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Which means you’re the one who saved the U.S. secretary of state’s daughter.”