The fact that unemployment insurance still existed, in spite of the Earth having been blown up, still amused me. Today, it entertained me as I waited in line at the Unemployment Office, on one of the surviving Network Transfer Stations that belonged to the former Terran Transit Authority. The clerks and maintenance staff dutifully processed paperwork, ran the restaurants, and handled all the work involved in a station of this size. This one was mid-sized, all told, with the ability to Transit-with-a-T a few hundred starships a day. Not that it was ever to see such traffic again. I chit-chatted with the teller, exchanged pleasantries, and was given my pitifully small weekly dole. It was better than nothing at all.
Twenty years ago, the Earth had been contacted by an alien race for the first time. A massive Gateship unfolded into existence within our Solar System, near Saturn. Five years ago, the Earth was invited to be a provisional member of a galactic Counsel of races, a council that had been formed thousands of years ago. Two years ago, the Earth exploded, blowing large chunks of humanity out of existence. Overnight, we went from many billion people to several million people. Roughly two percent survived, give or take. Yet, somehow, Humanity as a group survived…and was still providing welfare to its former citizens. I reasoned it was out of sheer spite.
Oh, yes, there was quite a scuffle at the next Council meeting. “Terribly sorry,” they said, but not much they could do. No, it was not an act of war. No, there’s no evidence of outside forces. Perhaps your planet was simply unstable, it was terribly tectonic, you know. And so on. For some reason, we were granted full membership. Maybe they felt bad for us. Maybe they felt that there wasn’t a great deal of harm we could do, since there were so few of us left. In any case, we did gain access to the full Transit Network, and quite a lot of assistance in the process of finding a new home world for Humanity. Of course, that process is still ongoing.
Of course, that left a lot of people without jobs, or focus. Companies had no place to ship to, or even goods to ship at all. Entire corporations literally evaporated, leaving stranded employees out amongst the stars. A mass shuffling occurred, with people getting placed into whatever positions were available. This led to a lot of people being displaced out of their jobs, due to various ‘isms’. Fascism, communism, consumerism, favoritism, racism, even sexism. So many isms, so little time left. My personal ism was one of the oldest Humanity had to offer, cronyism. There was still plenty of ‘power’ left being a part of Earth’s spot on the stellar Council, and I didn’t have enough connections in the Old Boy’s Network to keep my job. Boot, and there goes ole Walsh Tarlton. Sorry about that, chap, but here’s some unemployment money to keep you going until you find a new job.
That left me going from temp job to temp job, as I tried to work my way to a planet I had some relatives on. My sister, Janet, and her husband had managed to score one of the Plantation Rights on a recently Terraformed planet a few hundred light years from Earth. It was hard going even with the advantages of the alien technologies that had been branded NeoTek by the companies that managed to score the deals. But it was a place to call home, and try to start again. We’re very pig-headed, we Humans.
I took a moment to spend some of my handout on some fast food. No, it wasn’t good food, but the franchise everyone liked to call Mister Mediocre had already expanded to various Transit Stations, and so the legacy of Earth’s finest cuisine had survived the destruction of its origins. Plus, it was cheap. I got a little extra each week than most of my fellow survivors, a bit of a bribe to keep quiet about my unceremonious booting from my position as an aide to one of the Ambassadors. So I could afford it. Mostly. Each dip into the dole took away from the money I needed to save up to afford the Transit out to my Sister’s place on Bellerene, so I was necessarily stingy with what little I was given.
I looked around at my fellow citizens, casually assessing their mood. I had learned the skill back home in various political offices, and it was put to good use at the stellar Council. Most of the diners were dutifully noshing on their metameats, washing it down with an ice-cold cola-like beverage. There wasn’t a lot of ‘natural flavorings’ left and what survived was either bought and consumed by the stupidly rich, or carefully conserved by a handful of groups hoping to re-populate a new Earth from their seed-banks. I hadn’t decided, as of yet, who was the smarter group. Only a couple of people stood out, including a man and a woman who looked like they were fresh off of a very long run on a small ship. You could tell from how clothes that get put through the chemical washers on a ship tended to fade and wrinkle.
No real surprise, however. This station was primarily Terran, being the closest one to where Earth once was. It still got traffic moving through. Yes, you can still travel to the Sol system. Some mining activity goes on in the moons and asteroid belts, as well as relic seekers picking over the debris. Most of the wreckage has been cleaned out, but there’s the occasional big score that draws in the hopeful. Additionally, on Luna, there’s the home of the Church of Holy Terra. Mostly nut-jobs, but they do count a fair number of survivors as members of their flock. A small donation will get you access to their Museum. I hear Elvis will be arriving soon.
Yes, I’m a bit cynical. I have a hard time maintaining a good attitude towards the whole thing, but I’m not depressed enough to use one of the thoughtfully-provided suicide booths. Besides, I hear they use the remnant DNA to try and breed more humans. I know, there’s a lot of conspiracy going around these days. Earth blown up by aliens, humans being bred as slave labor, or used for food by some hungry carnivores on planet cannibal. The truth is far more boring; Earth blew up, we’re a dying race, make the best of it, kiddo.
I drained the last of my milkshake, not thinking about what they were using for milk nowadays, and stood up to dispose of my trash and tray. That’s when my radar went off. The couple had been watching me and it took about fifteen minutes to put two and two together. For whatever reason, they had decided that I was, in fact, the guy they were interested in. I, for the reasons of self-preservation, decided that I was, in fact, the guy who was going to take this moment to disappear.
Ducking out of the café, I stepped behind a group of dockworkers. My clothing wasn’t all that different from theirs, and I walked with them for a bit, before using a corner to reverse course, and back down a hallway. There was a cross-corridor that led directly to one of the more-crowded malls, and I planned to use that to shake any lingering pursuit. About halfway down the hallway was when I realized I was in trouble. The woman was in front of me, and I didn’t have to look back to connect the slow footsteps with her companion.
The woman spoke. “Hello, Mister Tarlton. You’re a very hard man to track down.”
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