The Last Man on Earth Club
Paul R. Hardy
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Six people are gathered for a therapy group deep in the countryside. Six people who share a unique and terrible trauma: each one is the last survivor of an apocalypse.
Each of them was rescued from a parallel universe where humanity was wiped out. They’ve survived nuclear war, machine uprisings, mass suicide, the reanimated dead, and more. They’ve been given sanctuary on the homeworld of the Interversal Union and placed with Dr. Asha Singh, a therapist who works with survivors of doomed worlds.
To help them, she’ll have to figure out what they’ve been through, what they’ve suffered, and the secrets they’re hiding. She can’t cure them of being the last man or woman on Earth. But she can help them learn to live with the horrors they survived.
is named Iokan Zalacte. His report of events on his world cannot be trusted.” She looked straight ahead and said nothing else. Iokan turned to me, momentarily at a loss. “Can you give us a bit more detail than that?” I asked. She turned her head again. “Iokan reports that theistic intelligences which he terms ‘Antecessors’ revisited his planet two months ago, approximately three thousand years after departing during a cataclysm that destroyed their civilisation. He claims they offered his
away at your liver and everything else as well. Ovulation goes wrong, the eggs come out dead or shrivelled or something.” “And you knew that then?” “No. That’s what your doctors said when they got hold of me. If it was happening to me it must have been happening to the rest. And the men as well, I don’t doubt, not that they’d admit it.” “So. You staked everything on being able to build a community.” “That’s what I said.” “And when that failed?” “I told them to hang on until someone got us
unique experience of loss which we hoped would bring them together, but each had suffered their loss in a very different way, and it was just as likely they would be driven apart. I had psychomedical histories for those who had been on Hub for some time, but their resistance to previous attempts at therapy suggested deeper problems as yet undiagnosed. And of course, it would be virtually impossible to create a medico-genetic map with only a single surviving member of a species to draw upon,
than a hundred metres. The sun was just a vague glow and the air temperature fell even further. He didn’t care. He looked about; he was still alone. He took off his robes and stood naked in the snow, waiting for whatever might come. 7. Elsbet “I just popped in to see how you were, really,” I said. “I’m fine and my fingers are fine,’ said Elsbet, with another sidelong glance at the despised neurologist. “You’re not going, are you?” “I have to pick up Liss soon. She’s having a meeting in
rest, with a deep-lined face, hard-worn calloused hands and sun-beaten skin. She’d left her hair ragged and unwashed, and I knew from her file that she was still cutting it herself. There was a finger missing on her left hand, and scars on her arms that looked like bite marks. Her clothes were copies of the styles she’d worn on her own world, practical and hard-wearing: coarse woollen shirts and slacks, along with boots that could cope with rough terrain. The only thing that looked like it came