Evolution

Andromeda and the Galaxy were heading for a collision, still another half-billion years distant. The two great star systems would pass through each other like mingling clouds, with direct collisions between stars rare. But there would be a vast gush of star formation, an explosion of energy that would flood the disks of both galaxies with hard radiation. It would be a remarkable, lethal light show.

But by then there would be little left alive on Earth itself to be troubled by the catastrophe. For the brightening of the sun was life’s final emergency.

Morning came with its usual stark suddenness. Scuttling lizards and insects disappeared into the nooks and crannies where they would ride out the day, waiting for the richer opportunities of evening.

The baby mewled. Her fur stuck up in clumps, and the pucker where the belly-root should sit looked inflamed. She kept up her complaints, her bulbous little head turning to and fro, until Ultimate had chewed some more liverwort and dribbled it into her mouth. Cactus, too, was grumbling, picking dirt and bits of dried shit from her fur.

This morning it didn’t seem such a good idea to be out here in the middle of nowhere, so far from home. But as she held her baby Ultimate knew she had to stay away from the Tree — stay away, or lose her baby. She clung to that one irreducible fact.

Ultimate and Cactus began to work their random way across the landscape, heading roughly away from the quarry. Just as they had yesterday, they ate where they could — though they found no water — and they avoided the rat-mouths and other hazards.

And, at some point past noon, when the sun had begun its climb down the sky, Ultimate suddenly found herself facing the sphere once again.

She had forgotten it existed. It did not occur to her to wonder how such an immense object might have gotten here from there, in the quarry.

Cactus showed no interest, once she had figured out that you couldn’t eat the sphere. She passed on, grumbling to herself, picking bits of crimson dust out of her fur.

Her baby asleep in her arms, Ultimate walked up to the sphere’s purple-black bulk. She sniffed it and, this time, tasted it. Again that unidentifiable electric tang subtly thrilled her. She lingered, somehow drawn. But the sphere offered her nothing.

But suddenly Cactus was howling, thrashing on the ground. Ultimate whirled, crouching. Cactus’s left leg was somehow pinned, and blood spurted from her foot — and Ultimate heard the crunch of bone, as if poor Cactus’s limb had been taken in some vast mouth.

But there was no mouth to be seen.

No teeth and claws held Cactus. But slashes appeared on her chest and torso, dripping with startlingly bright blood, as if out of nowhere. Still she fought. She swung her fists, kicked, tried to bite even as she screamed. She was landing blows — Ultimate could hear the meaty sound of flesh being struck, and there were peculiar bits of discoloration in the air over Cactus, purple and blue. And the blood itself was starting to outline her assailant in crimson splashes. Ultimate could make out a long cylindrical torso, stubby legs, a wide, snapping mouth.

But Cactus was losing her fight. Her legs and upper body became trapped under the shimmering mass. She turned to Ultimate, and reached out her hand.

Instincts warred in Ultimate. It might have been different if she could have imagined how Cactus was feeling, the mortal fear that flooded through her. But Ultimate could not; empathy had been lost in mankind’s great shedding, along with so much else.

She had hesitated too long.

That great blurred mass raised itself up and came crashing down on Cactus. A thicker, richer blood gushed from the helpless posthuman’s mouth.

Ultimate’s shock evaporated. With a squeal of terror she turned and ran, her squealing baby clutched to her chest, her feet and her free hand clattering over the dusty ground. She kept going until she came to an eroded ridge of crimson rock.

She flung herself to the ground, and looked back. Cactus was still. Ultimate could make out nothing of the vast transparent thing that had destroyed her. But new creatures had emerged, as if from nowhere. They looked like frogs, with sprawling bodies, leathery amphibian skin, splayed, clawed feet, and wide mouths equipped with needle-sharp teeth for rending and gouging. Already the first of them had opened up Cactus’s chest and was feasting on the still-warm organs within.

The invisible predator had done its job. It lay exhausted in a pool of Cactus’s blood. It was too weary even to feed itself, and it relied on scraps brought to it by its greedy siblings. The meat could be seen being shredded by its grinding teeth and then passing into its gullet and stomach, where digestive processes would begin to absorb and transform it.