Come Into My World...

by Thomas Nevin Huber ©1992


    Hiruku Tachikawa woke up feeling horribly alone. It was quiet. For the first time as far back as he could remember, it was quiet. He listened for a moment, then
rose and turned on the ancient stereo. No sound filled the room. He keyed in the search function for any local stations, then frowned as the tuner scanned first one
band, then another, then another, and then another. Flipping the modulation to A.M., he heard the hiss of unfilled airwaves and touched the search function again.
The tuner muted the hiss, then scanned across the limited frequencies assigned to low-fidelity news and talk. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
    He walked to the window and slid the vertical blinds aside, opening to his view the overpopulated city that spread out below his tiny window. It didn’t look
overpopulated this morning. It didn’t look populated at all.
    Rain pounded against the plastic glass. Dark clouds skittered against an angry sky. A chime sounded behind him, reminding him that he had a duty. He was no
useless executive, consigned to some windowed view of his city with nothing to do. People did care about him and his job.
    So, even though it was deathly quiet, he prepared his breakfast and ate it. The previous night’s paper was thin and spoke of a terrible economic disaster. It didn’t
matter. His job was secure. His company was profitable. His job was important. He would continue working even if he was the last man on earth.
    He turned to the sports section. There wasn’t any. He turned to the market section. The market was closed for some obscure reason. They didn’t say what it
was. That didn’t matter. He didn’t have any investments, only curiosity.
    He turned to the funnies and laughed at the sad jokes they told. Then he finished his breakfast and departed for work.
    He meticulously checked the locks to his flat. They were secure, making the tiny apartment he called home safe. He was alone in the hallway. He was alone in the
building. He stood very, very still and the lights in the hallway, sensing no movement, dimmed. He turned and they brightened. There was someone there – him. So
the world continued to turn on its axis and life went on, because he was there. Life continued and he had his job.
    The streets of the overcrowded city weren’t crowded this morning. He walked quickly because no one blocked his path or moved in front of him or pushed him
one way or another. The street was empty, except for a stray dog.
    Funny, he thought. The dog looked confused, lost. It started for him, wagging its tail. But Hiruku hissed at it, and the dog put its tail between its leg, turned, and
fled.
    Hiruku shrugged it off. The dog was unimportant. The festival was past and so the dog was nothing once more. Someday, the dog might find its way into
someone’s oven and then become a meal in a society that had little meat to share.
    The walk was a short one. Hiruku turned into his building and marched sharply over to the elevators. All but one stood open, so he had his pick. No waiting for
one this morning, not for Hiruku. The ride was quick. No stops to let people on or off. Just him. The fifteenth floor wasn’t too high, but height didn’t matter when
there were a lot of people. Today, with no one but him, he was going to be early.
    But not early enough.
    “Well!” came the sharp comment. “I thought you’d never arrive!”
    It was Kyoshi, his customer – his only appointment this morning. The man was almost always impossible. But not today. Today was the day for Kyoshi to enter
retirement.
    Hiruku bowed deeply at the waist and unlocked the door to the suite. Kyoshi nodded his head slightly and rushed inside.
    “Where is it?” he demanded.
    Hiruku raised his hand toward the only door at the end of the waiting room. “It is ready,” he said, ignoring honor for such an honorless person.
    Kyoshi went inside, then returned almost immediately. “There are two left open. Which is mine?”
    “You have the honor to choose.”
    “Ah, then I choose the furthest.”
    “You are welcome.”
    Hiruku followed the impertinent one into the room and went immediately to the controls.
    “When does it start?” Kyoshi wanted to know.
    “It is ready,” Hiruku repeated.
    “Then . . . ?”
    Hiruku reached under the console and brought out the helmet. One remained behind, waiting. The rest were in use by the others.
    “Please,” he directed Kyoshi to lay on the empty couch.
    He plugged the helmet’s cable into the head of the couch.
    “Hurry,” he was urged.
    Hiruku ignored the impertinent one. As always, he checked and rechecked and rechecked again, to make sure all was in order. Nothing must be amiss.
    Then, he brought the helmet down, over Kyoshi’s head.
    “Ah. . .” The sound escaped from slightly parted lips.
    And all was quiet in the world.
    Hiruku walked quickly back to the console and brought out the second helmet. He plugged the helmet’s cable into the head of the only remaining empty couch.
Then he repeated the procedure and checked and rechecked and rechecked again, to make sure all was in order. Nothing must be amiss. Then, taking one last look
around, he climbed onto the couch and settled back, relaxing. Slowly and carefully he lowered the helmet over his own head. Deliberately, slowly, and completely.
    Darkness surrounded him.
    Silence was quieter than the silent city.
    Feeling was . . . gone.
    He was . . . disconnected. And into the world they called virtual reality.
    There was nothing and he was nothing.
    He wasn’t even a last man on the earth, for there was no longer anyone, anywhere.
    Not even anyone to . . .
    . . . read . . .
    . . . this . . .

"Come Into My World" was the first short story I did outside the Star Spawn “universe.” I’m placing it first in this collection because it was the first that was published.
    Writing the story only took a couple of days. I was originally inspired to write this little story while I was reading and critiquing another short story
written by another technical writer, Ralph Rumpf. One of the lines in his story struck me and I said to myself, “Hey, there’s a story there.”
    The result (which you have just read) has a flaw that most readers miss: where are the children? A few years ago, I decided that the story could
actually serve as the introduction for a novel, which I have tentatively titled, “The Survivor” and provide a tribute to my favorite author, George
R. Stewart (Earth Abides, 1949).
    So where is the story going from here and where are the children?
    They were left behind. One child, a boy about seven years old, got tired of crying for his parents. He went looking through the city and didn’t find
anyone. A door was open, and he went in. Inside, he found food – enough to keep him alive. Using his wits and a drive to stay alive, the boy (I haven’t
chosen a name for him yet) finds other children and brings them together as adulthood is forced upon them. I’m toying with the idea of putting the boy
and a girl together as a “new” Adam and Eve, but that’s been done before. Where I’m going with this, I’m not sure and I don’t know if it will be a
juvenile story or something that really is more suited for “mature” audiences. After all, life can be brutal.

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