The Saved

The Message Began:

We cannot be sure that you are as yet sufficiently evolved even to be able to understand this communication. After all, we did not know that you existed until after the explosion.

The general threw his coat to an orderly as he entered the war room. The stars on the shoulders tinkled against each other. "What a damn nerve," he muttered. "Who do they think they are?"

The technical-duty officer looked up from his computer. "With all respect, sir," he said, "it seems obvious they're further advanced than we."

"Further advanced? Oh, maybe they've got better gadgets, if that's what you mean. Never mind, never mind. Go on with the decrypting."

"Yes, sir."

It is not important if you do not comprehend this message. We will save you anyway, through the same means we used to travel through space to get here. Do not be afraid.

"Afraid!" snorted the general, scandalized.

The transfer will be instantaneous. Not only will it not require any action on your part, you will not even be aware it is happening until you arrive in our ship.

"You're sure it's not a hoax?" asked the general, hoping against hope.

"I don't think so, sir. Skywatch reported tracking an unidentified object in cislunar orbit eleven hours ago. The message began coming in-- same message, over and over--since about ... let's see"--he tapped the keys of his pocket calculator swiftly--"about a quarter to one this morning. We called you in Washington right away, sir."

"I know damn well you did," grated the general. "Are the Russians getting this?"

The tech officer brightened. "I think not, sir," he said. "We began jamming right away. I don't think the Russkies can sort out the real signals, not without something like this." He patted the keyboard that connected the Denver war room to the big mainframe computers under the Colorado Rockies. "And we know they don't have that!"

"Um," said the general, slightly mollified. "Is there more to the message?"

"Oh, yes, sir." The tech officer started the crawl of the text again:

Bear in mind that we can save only you from the effects of the explosion of star alpha centauri. We were able to reach your system only a short time ahead of the wave front. Your pets, domestic animals, possessions, and so on, cannot be rescued in time.

"If they leave the Russians to burn up," grinned the general, "who cares if they don't save the guppies? But what about Alpha Centauri? What does it matter if it explodes?"

"Well, sir," said the T.O. hesitantly, "I'm not your best witness on this, but the National Science Council people say that if this is true, it will be such a big explosion that it will just about burn us up. Even so far away."

"And that's going to happen when?" asked the general uneasily.

"The message from the object in cislunar orbit said only, when the wave front reaches us. Our people are working on it, sir, but I could try to figure it out for you now--"

"Do it!"

"Yes, sir," said the T.O., reaching into his pocket. His hand came out without his little calculator. "That's funny," he said, looking around to see where he had put it. Unsuccessfully. "Well, I'll do it on the mainframe, General--"

But the keyboard to the mainframe was gone, too. So was the modem. So were the printer and the CRT, and when, with a sudden shock of fright, the T.O. patched together a closed-circuit-TV link to the computer center in the Rockies, the huge rock chambers were empty. Empty of storage reels, empty of processors, empty of everything, at least, that related to computers, calculators or any other form of machine intelligence. All that was gone. What was left was only the pets and the domestic animals, fingering the stars on their uniforms or staring, pop-eyed with wonder, into their communications screens ... as outside, the sky brightened and brightened some more and kept on getting brighter.