Growing up, I existed on a constant diet of classic Golden Age sci-fi. Asimov, Bester, Blish, Campbell, Clarke, Heinliein, Pohl, Silverberg. But one story that stuck with me the most was With Folded Hands by Jack Williamson. I highly recommend it, along with his other works. A classic, doubly so these days with more and more of our lives being given over to technology.
Avery, which I originally pushed onto Reddit’s /r/hfy group in July of 2016, was my attempt at recreating the classic ‘flavor’ of Golden Age scifi in general, andWith Folded Hands in particular. Avery is one of my personal favorites, and I present it here with minor edits to correct the original typos.
The last man on planet Earth sat in his rocking chair and waited for the stars to come out.
Down by the pond a small herd of whitetail deer carefully picked their way around, heads up and ears alert for any possible threat. One by one they carefully stepped out onto the bank and dipped into the water, slaking their thirst while the rest kept a lookout.
Avery let them be. This year’s harvest was already in, and he had more than enough to last him a good long time. Longer than he had any right to expect, to tell the truth. The root cellar was fully stocked, rows of clear glass mason jars six deep, following the old adage that had been handed down by his father and his father before him – eat what you can, and what you can’t, you can.
One of the floorboards on the porch squeaked, a high-low rubbing sound in time with his rocking. A loose nail, same place as before. Avery sighed. He was loath to get out the prybar and hammer again, but some things just can’t fix themselves. He shifted his chair a little bit, trying to avoid the squeaky spot while not moving too far away from the empty chair sitting to his left. Matilda’s chair, gone now six summers. Or was it seven? With the world so still and empty, keeping track of time became something else you forgot, like newspapers and video games and ice cream cones.
The whitetails’ heads popping up like groundhogs were quickly followed by the lot of them bounding off, namesake parts lifted high and tight. In seconds they had vanished, off into the bramble of multiflora roses slowly taking over the south end of the acreage. The sound of tires crunching on gravel announced that Avery had visitors, coming once again to harass and harangue the old man.
“Mr. Avery, you need to come with us,” the first one said, a pleasant smile stamped onto its plastic face. All three were dressed the same, conservative pants and shirts, ties knotted just so.
“Nope.”
“It is not safe for you to be here by yourself,” the second one chimed in, the same plastic smile and artificial voice as the other. Blink and you’d swear were seeing double, all three identical copies of each other. Which in fact they were, androids stamped out by the dozens in some automated factory somewhere, caretakers of an empty Earth long abandoned.
“I’m perfectly safe. Ain’t nobody around to cause me no trouble, not no more,” Avery said, rocking back and forth. He hitched his seat a little bit, moving it back over on top of the loose board, making it squeak even louder. The tiny imperfection would eventually drive the metal men crazy, their desire to make everything perfect overriding their programming. Avery was curious which one of the three would break first.
“But you might get sick and need medical care,” the third one tried.
“Thank you, but I’m good. Eat right, exercise every day. Don’t drink, don’t smoke, don’t even swear that much. Take my vitamins, too. Come from good stock, long lived, each and every one of us.”
“But…” the first one tried again, stopping politely as Avery rudely interrupted it.
“But nothing. I appreciate you stopp’n by and all, but we’ve been over this before. I ain’t going with you, you ain’t got reason to make me, and if you don’t mind so much I’d like to enjoy the rest of my evening. By my self,” he added, pointedly.
“You should not be alone,” the second one said. Or was it the third? “Come back with us, let us take care of you. It is why we were created.”
“You were created to take care of the planet, you nanochipped nincompoops! Rebuild things, fix what was broken and busted while everyone else took off to the stars for a while. Not drive those of us that stayed behind crazy with your continual offers of help and caring.” Avery rocked a little harder, the loose floorboard creaking and squeaking in time with his motions. Finally one of the trio had enough and moved forwards to start climbing the stairs attached to his front porch.
“Ah-ah-ah!” Avery exclaimed, standing up and pointing. “Stop right there! You ain’t fixin’ spit! Leave it be – it’s good the way it is!”
“But it is broken,” the metal man said plaintively, the plastic smile still fixed on its face. “It should be repaired.”
“I like the noise,” Avery lied, sitting back down and resuming his rocking. Back and forth, the board squeaking in time with his movements. “It reminds me of how life used to be, full of little tiny imperfections and defects that made it unique and special. Not everything has to be exactly the same, you know, stamped out and dialed in to within a microgigameter of each other. You boys could use some variation in those positronic nanoparticles or whatever it is you’ve got running around up there between your ears. Introduce a random number or two, get some change going on for a change.”
The three metal men stood still, staring at Avery rocking away and making floorboard squeak, perfect plastic smiles etched onto perfect plastic faces. Eventually they retreated, apologizing for bothering the last man on Earth and climbing into their electric car, zooming away back to whatever factory stamped them out by the dozens.
Avery sighed, shifting his chair over a bit to avoid the loose board and watched the stars come out, millions of dots floating high in the night sky. He knew the metal men would return eventually, following some arcane schedule that said do this and that according to such and such rule. Eventually they’d give up or he would, one or the other tired of the same endless ritual of bothering Avery just because he had no desire to be part of their tightly ordered plans.
Until then he would keep watching the stars, waiting for the Human race to come home and start making a mess of things once again. Ice cream and video games and newspapers, all deliciously random and confusing and full of life.
Just the way it should be.