Sharla receives a very odd e-mail, which she almost deletes without reading. All her instincts cry out: it’s a scam, stupid, delete it! But her right index finger betrays her and she opens the message anyway.
Somewhere in the universe a switch changes from off to onor from no to yes.
The message is headed in bold face caps: August 7, 20–. The text is a simple question: Is this you?
Relays that were forged by beings long ago extinct start to click and hum.
Sharla feels the ground shift a hair under her feet and her nerves jangle like bells. The date cited in the message is her birthday.
A signal passes rapidly through the relays, through unimaginableairless spaces.
She finally turns off her computer and sits there in the semi-dark. The room around her seems to be charged with a special electricity.
In an office that is not really an office, one red light comes on and starts blinking at regular intervals.
Sharla lays down on her bed and picks up a book she has been reading, a Norwegian police procedural that someone had recommended, but the words dance around until she puts it down and closes her eyes.
A finger that is more like avery this wire reaches out and presses a button that is more like a flower.
Sharla opens her eyes, emerging slowly from a half-sleep to realize that her computer has restarted on its own. She gets up and walks towards it, feeling like she is still asleep but knowing that she isn’t. On her screen is the same message, but with a note indicating that it has been resent. The cursor blinks suggestively: Is this you?
Sharla works in an electronic store that sells high end computers, tablets and phones. She is constantly surprised by the range of customers, from hip-hop kids of all races, with hoodies, tats and earrings, to dark suited executive types, to balding geeks in their Spock tees and Vans, all staring up at huge screens with the same idiot devotion. On her break, she mindlessly opens her e-mail and finds the same message: Is this you? In the pocket of her beige sales slacks, her phone keeps vibrating.
Around a council table that is not really a table, the assembled beings must decide what to do about the current situation. They all agree that the process, however regrettable, cannot be stopped. The meeting adjourns.
Sharla finds her computer on again when she returns from work and is unable to turn it off. Even with the power cord pulled from the wall the screen remains lit with the same message: Is this you?
The same message is sent and repeatedly resent to a pre-selected group of people. At present 586 have answered YES and 701 have answered NO. Sharla and thousands of others have yet to answer. Those who have answered all have their devices returned to their control. Agents are dispatched to the homes of those who answered YES. These people are taken and placed in vehicles with no windows and driven to abandoned aircraft hangars in deserts around the world. Agents are also dispatched to those people who answered NO. They remain inside with the inhabitants, awaiting further directives. No agents are dispatched to those who have not answered.
Sharla is bored. Without the use of her computer, she feels cut off from reality. She picks up and throws her Norwegian police procedural at her computer, but it misses and strikes the wall behind it with a papery splat. Is this you? Is this you? Is this you?
The people who answered YES are taken from the hangars and marched blindfolded out into the lunar coolness of the desert night. After a hour of walking, they are forced onto their knees. The agents, following strict protocols, walk behind the kneeling people, who are crying and calling out for water. When an agent reaches the hundredth person, he leans down and whispers in its ear. The person then gets up and wanders off into the desert to almost certain death. The rest are marched back to the hangars. This ritual is repeated every two hours until all are gone. The hangars are then cleansed and abandoned.
Unable to sleep, Sharla goes into her tiny kitchen and roots around in a drawer until she finds what she is looking for. Then she walks back into her bedroom and approaches her computer. She swings the heavy claw hammer up and down repeatedly until her computer is smashed into hundreds of plastic, metal, and glass shards. Ignoring the angry knocks on her floor from her downstairs neighbor, she then smashes her phone to bits as well. Sweeping the shards into a large shopping bag, Sharla goes out to the dumpster and deposits the bag. Back inside, she pours herself a scotch and drinks it, then turns out the lights and falls into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.
Those who answered NO and their families are ‘wiped’ and sedated. When they wake up they have no memory of the agents and have lost only a nanosecond of time. But inside their heads a mechanism has been inserted that begins counting down from one million. When the mechanism reached zero, these persons will begin speaking a language they do not understand and which has not been spoken on Earth since just after the Second Ice Age. Eventually, they will either commit suicide or be institutionalized for the remainder of their lives.
Sharla buys a little blue spiral notebook and takes it everywhere she goes. She pays particular attention to people who are constantly checking their phones or tablets. She has no idea why she is doing this, but for whatever reason, it makes her feel calmer. For a time, she contemplates changing her name and ‘disappearing’, but finally decides that it would probably do no good.
The relays that were opened begin to close in descending order across infinite space and time. The red lights blink off. The council meets one final time and adjourns. All notes from the meetings are erased and each member is resigned, or perhaps relieved, in the knowledge that they will never be called on to serve again.
jundanu 