This building is the architectural symbolism of harmonious and cultural coherence of Earth’s civilisation, the official view.
In reality, it conceals the Portal between the present and the future.
As the guardian I hold the key.
I am tired, and before my passing, I will reveal some dark secrets; nations will disintegrate into anarchy, and great men mauled to their death. Those people trusted me with their souls, and safe-keeping of wealth stolen by their evil deeds of injustice. They abused the power of the future.
I have locked the gates and taken the Portal with me.
The creature was here.
Malky dusted the frost from his Morg Detector.
The reading showed ten in a thousand parts of nitrogen dioxide
and traces of nitric oxide.
Malky locked his visor, sealed his suit and turned on its heater.
His knees began to shake.
He saw the frosted roses in a vase of water pellets.
What was the Morg after?
Was this a Valentine’s gift and attempt at amorous flattery?
Or a trap.
Were there frosted chocolates?
A lyrical voice called, ‘Malky’.
His detector bleeped nitric warning. Too late.
She was beautiful. He was frozen in love.
Where is everyone! Such diplomatic bad manners.
The Ehevan envoy, Sil Chasack, switched to transmit, she strode around
No sign of the humanoids, she reported. Typical arrogance.
She was sent by the Galactic Federation to instruct ‘Earth’ on environmental sustainability for their survival.
Where were they, don’t they care about trading coffee?
Measurements showed the Blue Planet was deteriorating in a self-consuming infestation, the Mollaks are considering a cleansing cull; as a warning.
Sil wiped the window and looked out, there were no signs of biological life in the dark poisonous atmosphere.
Pity, this Mocha Djimmah tastes superb.
It’s okay Malcolm, if you want to cry.
I’m so scared.
Tell me, Malcolm, what makes you feel so afraid?
I see colours, following me.
Now Malcolm, I am here to help, tell me what things?
I can’t, you’ll think I am . . .
Here’s a tissue, Malcolm. I understand. I am here to help.
Do you? I think you are one of THEM!
Don’t shout, Malcolm, we are all the same.
No, we’re not, you’re weird.
Malcolm, you are the one who is different.
SEE! am I the only one?
Please Malcolm, join us, be an umbrella person.
George, the transporter is landing.
Will I miss this place?
We did our best George, we must start over, a new beginning.
I feel a failure; all the destruction and greed.
Oh, George, remember the woolly mammoth.
Downhill since then. Where did we go wrong?
We gave them dreams and intelligence. Our experiment had potential.
Yes, we did very well, but should we just abandon them?
It’s too late, they are out of control; a self-consuming infestation.
George, the bag?
Yes, all human goodness, fully packed.
Think of our next creation; “Mensch”.
A perfect ideal; the Trappist Zone is ready.
It was hot and stuffy hiding in the cellar and after days of waiting Marcie saw one.
It sauntered past, composed, confident and majestic in a fine metallic plumage.
Marcie and Mary shuddered, the trap was set.
The Pheasant paced back and forth guarding the building, it had alerted Species Control about the find. Hurry, it had reported, before the humans attempt an escape.
Mary gripped Marcie’s hand, to stop her shaking. Why did these giant Pheasants find female flesh such an addictive delicacy?
Worse; why had they volunteered to bait them?
A man’s idea! The last women on Earth.