“Relocated.”
“Relocated where?”
“The population was divided into three parts,” the image says. “The first was sent to a Sulphur-rich satellite around one of your outer gaseous planets. The other two were directed to similar environments in other star systems.”
I remember a book I had as a child, depicting various parts of the solar system—the sun, the planets, and the moons surrounding those planets. There was an artist’s representation of the sulfur snow on Io, one of the moons of Jupiter or Saturn—I can’t remember which. I have no idea why they want or need sulfur, and I don’t care at this point.
“Why kill the men? You could have taken the women and children without harming the men.”
“To create chaos,” Vole responds. “The resulting turmoil will maximize the efforts your species would need to achieve to respond to the invasion. By the time you have reorganized into a civilized society again, we will be untraceable.”
“What about the animals?”
“Sustenance for the workforce,” Vole says. “We have found that labor forces are more productive when supplied with a familiar food source.”
“What about the pets?”
There’s a pause before the image responds.
“What is ‘pets’?”
“The dogs and cats,” I say.
“Sustenance for the workforce,” Vole repeats.
My stomach flips over as I understand the creature’s meaning. I decide not to ask any more questions about that particular topic.
“You didn’t tell us that any of this was a possibility when we spoke the last time,” I say. “You said you were looking for resources, not slave labor.”
“We had no wish for conflict at that time,” Vole says. “I was not aware of the proposed strategy behind the collection of the labor force. If it is any consolation to you, I voted against the destruction of the males. My research determined that your technology was too far behind our own to develop the necessary means to transport outside your own solar system. By the time you would develop such technology, we would have moved far beyond your reach. However, my colleagues voted against my alternative plan.”
“Yeah, I feel much better about it all now.”
“I’m pleased you understand.”
No doubt—sarcasm is lost on it.
“What about the climate changes?” I ask. “No rain, high temperatures. It should be at least fifteen degrees colder now than it is.”
“I’m afraid the extraction process had some unforeseen effects on the atmosphere,” Vole says. “I’ve corrected for the problem, and it should not occur again. Eventually, the atmosphere should return to its previous condition.”
“Eventually?”
“I would estimate between thirty and forty years. The damage was minimal.”
“Minimal!” I snort and shake my head. “So, are you here to kill off the rest of us?”
There is a pause before the image responds.
“No, Falk Eckhart. I am a researcher –a scientist, not a soldier. I am merely taking my final readings of the progress of your society before I return.”
“And what have you found?”
“Your culture has behaved within the statistical deviations of my research,” it tells me. “You have formed factions that now war against each other. It will be decades before you recover enough to begin advancing your technology again. I am about to transmit my final report. Earth is deemed of no further use to us and not a threat.”
“You’re leaving, then? All of you?”
“The military forces left the surface nine days ago,” it says. “They are in orbit now but will evacuate when my report is complete. They have no reason to return.”