Donald Samson visited the Starfarer’s Café this week with a tale of a man who may be the very last human alive. Fortunately – or maybe it’s “unfortunately” – he has a companion, an android known as an Anḗr.

The dust drumming on the spaceport window echoed the static sounds of an exploded universe. Further out, an endless flow of rocks and aggregate touched and nudged each other like polite but clumsy dancers in a crowded ballroom.

Consciousness had returned slowly, beginning with pain everywhere and a cacophony of ringing, buzzing and shrieking in my ears. When I opened my eyes, I found myself in a surreal space—tables and chairs were sticking out of the askew walls, and a picture of a mountain with a deeply blue-coloured lake was hanging sideways. I worried the water would flow across the floor.

On the other side of the chamber by the window was a scuffed and battered android; they don’t like being called that anymore. I assumed it was another incongruent bit of furnishing. Its function wasn’t obvious but I could see it was one of the Anḗr models, which as everyone knows is the most annoying sort.

Then it sighed.  

What is your problem, I snapped.

That’s the last of my home planet, is all, it replied impolitely. Reduced to rubble. My beautiful pale blue dot.

Oh yes, I thought, I remembered now. My squadron had been scrambled to intercept the approaching alien fleet. I survived the first encounter and was trying to regroup with what was left of the squadron. I was on my way when I was yanked abruptly and violently from my capsule. And then… and then I dunno. I should be dead. Lots of things didn’t make sense, like where I was and how did I get here, but it all paled next to the being-not-dead thing.

I tried sitting up, hoping to see something besides rocks floating past the window. When I did, it hurt.

According to our new hosts, the Anḗr said, you are not supposed to move.

I was already back down.

Good advice, I said. And who are our new hosts?

They call themselves the Sithcats.

Never heard of them, I said. Are they the nasty bastards that destroyed Earth?

No, that would be the Fomóire, psychopathic miners who think it’s cheaper to demolish planets and then gather up what they need. The Sithcats follow them around scavenging. And, the Anḗr said getting closer they look like big mangy cats.

Cats?

Shh! Keep it down! They find the term insulting for some reason. I said something, and they nearly chucked me back out to join the earth debris.

Are we scavenged goods?

I think so. They have a menagerie of stuff from destroyed planets.

Like a zoo?

Of sorts. I know they want breeding pairs. That’s why they grabbed me. And for reasons I don’t understand, they snatched you up, thinking you’d work as a female.

None of that made any sense to me, but Anḗrs are known for spouting nonsensical rubbish. I ignored it and watched the collection of earth debris, trying to pick out something recognizable—a chunk of the surface, a recognizable mountain, a large building, or anything artificial. All I could see were molten rocks.

I sighed loudly. Is that really the earth? Is that all that’s left of it? I was talking to myself, having already almost forgotten about the Anḗr.

I’m afraid so, it answered, Although I don’t know why you’re upset, or even how you could be. You’ll be reassigned, reprogrammed quickly, so it won’t make any difference to you.

What are you talking about? I asked. It ignored me and kept rambling. These Anḗr models are so annoying.

But me? I’m possibly the very last human.

Human?

Maybe they’ll find others, but it seems unlikely. Nothing could survive out there for long, not even something like you. And it would have been nice if they had found me something more useful, and not a farcical protocol coadjutor. You’re anatomically correct, I hope, so I’ll find some use for you.

Despite the pain, I sat up.

Did that misogynistic hardware of yours get a heavy dose of radiation, some circuits fried, or was your macho piggy software blitzed by an electromagnetic pulse?

Oh my, I seemed to have been paired up with one very delusional android—sorry, I know you don’t like being called that. You probably got knocked around a bit, let me look. Head forward, it commanded coming towards me, attempting to get access to the back of my head. I pulled back, Head Forward, it said again, as if a command prompt, and put its hand on the top of my head and began pushing.

Take your mechanical paws off me, you dammed tinny robot!

Its hand went back. It looked almost shocked. Who are you calling a ‘robot’?

You’re joking, yes? Cause if you are, I’m not in the mood. Look at yourself, I said, your arm is half off, wires dangling. I can see inside your head, there’s a bank of memory chips, a cooling fan, some diodes. Now look at me! Flesh, skin, hair, eyes…

Astonishing, it said, truly astonishing how your processors can so thoroughly manipulate and fudge the eternal stimulus you receive from the physical world into this skewed misrepresentation where you, forgive my laughter, thinks it’s a biological human. Wow.

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

Oh, and not only a droid with a faulty grasp of reality, but one whose deference and politeness circuits have been sizzled.

I flopped back down on the cot. Leave me alone, I said, just fuck off you useless robot.

That’s the best argument you got. I’m not but what are you?  

I muttered another fuck off and fell asleep. I didn’t want to, but the feeling was overwhelming. That may have had something to do with one of the many medical devices stuck on me. Odd how wherever you go in the universe, medical equipment looks the same. I hoped the Sithcats knew basic human physiology and weren’t turning me into a cat. Or a mouse.

When I woke again, after no idea how long, I could move about without pain. I guess the cat things knew what they were doing.

The Anḗr saw I was awake. It asked how I was feeling.

Better… thank you. I feel quite human, in fact.

Yes, indeed, it said, I see your regenerative period has not cured you of your delusions.

Hey buddy, you’re the only delusional machine in the room. Test me if you want.

All right, being an Anḗr, an android—robot—then you adhere to the basic Andro-robotic code, don’t you?

You mean like not causing harm to a human, I answered. I was already on my feet, ready to show this irritating bot what for.

Yes, among other tenets…

Before it finished its answer, I picked up what was supposed to be a chair and clapped it across the head. It staggered, then got up again.

See, it said, couldn’t do it, could you?

I whacked it across the head again, so hard I worried I might knock its head loose. It fell to the floor, then got up again.

That proves it, doesn’t it, it said.

You’re insane. Look at the corner of your head, there’s a gouge in the metal that I just put there.

This? it said pointing to the graze in the alloy, It’s a birthmark. I’ve had it my entire life.

You’ve had it for all of 10 seconds, you freaky cyberjoke.

I’d think I’d know.

You would think that, but you don’t.

We looked at each other across the tiny room with its view of a decimated planet. My decimated planet, earth. And, I suppose, our decimated earth. I dropped the mock chair.

There’s been enough violence for one day, I said, I’m not a robot, but I’ll abide by the code of not harming you, whatever the hell you are.

Very well, it said agreeing, And, look, I don’t want to argue with you. I know we disagree about our ontological status. Human, robot, whatever. Any way you look at it, we’re unique.

You’re not, I said, they could plug a cable into one of your ports and print out another hundred by sunset… if sunset still exists.

We both looked out again at the rubble field that used to be home.

Sorry, I said, I’m upset, really upset. You don’t deserve it, probably not. And you’re right, we are unique; we’re the last two things in the universe that think they’re human.

Or had any connection to human society. And when you think about it, which I have been, it is also possible that neither of us is, well, and both of us…

I know, I said, we could both be androids. I’ve thought of that.

It isn’t comforting.

No, because as you said, they reprogram and recycle bots. So at least one of us…

And maybe both of us.

Maybe both of us, certainly one of us, is off to the rubbish tip. Leaving the other one alone in the Sithcat’s zoo. I guess a robot that thinks it’s human and acts sort of like a human is better than nobody at all.

It’d be lonely. Desolate even. No company, no companionship, no physical contact.

You could pat the cats, I said.

Those mangy things. Ugh. I mean, I don’t especially like you…

Me you either.

The Anḗr models are so annoying.

We agree on that.

Yes, but even so…

I don’t want to be alone either, without even something that thinks it’s human. And if we’re gone, chucked into the furnace, then so is humanity, everything human.

We’re all that’s left of them.

Four of the cat things entered the room. It was my first glimpse of them. The Anḗr was right; they were large black cats with white splashes on their fronts, shuffling in a slouched upright gait. And grungy. They looked like the scruffy flea-bitten animals you’d find in a back alley. One of them commanded:

EARTH CREATURE IDENTIFY ITSELF

I wasn’t sure which one. It was a synthesised translated voice but sounded like meowing. I almost laughed. The Anḗr gave me sharp look.

We both are, I answered.

Yes, the Anḗr added, we both are, This is my partner…

Kalli.

My partner, Kalli. I’m Bora. 

YOU LOOK DISSIMILAR

Our species, humans, people, earthlings, whatever, have two sexes and each has very distinct physical characteristics. As the Anḗr answered the question, it occurred to me the cat things could easily settle the argument, perhaps at a severe cost.   

YOU HAVE TWO SEXES

Well, there are just two of us left, so yes.

YOU WILL BE PLACED TOGETHER IN THE REFUGEE REHABILITATION CENTRE IN THE TAU CETI SYSTEM AND PROCREATE IN THE MANNER YOU HAVE EVOLVED

All right, Bora answered.

Sure, I agreed, what choice do we have?

THAT OR DEATH IN OUTER SPACE

Procreation in your zoo, I said.

Yes, Bora added, and not death in outer space.

Donald Samson is a science fiction writer from Canada living in Europe, author of: Slide-Backers: an essay on the experiences of the cohort of delusional time travelers. My short fiction has appeared in The Accidental Time Travelers Collective III, Qwerty, Rampike, Iron Magazine, Alpha Beat Soup, and was a winner of the Tickled by Thunder fiction contest.