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Description
       Human beings are a disease…

       The words had dulled with time, the brass they were etched into tarnished beyond repair, the wall the plaque hung on worn and cracked. The tired old man stared long and hard at each letter in turn, a ritual he had repeated countless times since confining himself to the few rooms he was allowed. There was something about the phrase that brought an image of a man in a dark suit into his mind, topped with a prim haircut, sunglasses, a little earpiece dangling over his right shoulder. It was someone he had seen long ago, perhaps on the silver screen back when people still had time for such things…

       The old man shook his head, gently pushing that image to the back of his mind. What was important was the meaning, and he was not going to let himself forget that. He shuffled quietly to his desk and settled into the battered chair in front of it. It was nearly as old as he was, but much like him, its work was not yet done. His eyes drifted over the blueprints and diagrams scattered across scarred and pitted mahogany. He didn't want to think about those… Not yet. Instead, he turned to a photograph taped to the wall. It was bent and wrinkled, and time had yellowed its edges, but the green of the field it captured was still as vivid as it had been the day the picture was taken. A young woman was lying in the grass, face raised to the sunlight as she cradled a laughing child in her arms. The old man's smile was laced with bitterness. It wasn't sunlight she was facing, but she never lived long enough to find that out. After that day, it was hard enough to find a potted plant left alive much less an entire field's worth, and the old man wouldn't be able to find the place in the picture that was his mother's grave even if he were standing on it. The world in that photograph had long since shriveled and died, and humanity had nearly died with it. Those who survived worked desperately to rebuild what they could, and in the face of extinction had bred like cockroaches. Their unchecked proliferation covered the face of the earth until not a shred of what once existed remained, and their numbers now threatened to annihilate them as surely as the destruction that blinding light brought so very long ago.

       With a jerk, the cold reality of his duties came tumbling back to the old man. Barely suppressing a strangled sob, he focused his attention on the drawings before him.

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       The old man grimly shuffled into the crowded office, nudging through the throng of shouting people to a desk in their center as pitted and ancient as his own and laying several rolls of blueprints carefully in front of him. A young man was sitting on a stool behind the desk, far too young to be expected to lead so many, but in these times anyone who showed the grim determination this man did would be followed to the end of the earth. In these times, such a notion was no longer beyond the limits of anyone's imagination. At the sight of the grizzled figure standing before him, he waved the room to silence, staring incredulously at the rolls the old man was sure he never expected to see. He looked pointedly at the grizzled face looking back at him, his eyes asking the silent question everyone in the room wanted answered. The old man nodded. It was finished. With a snap of his fingers, several aids ran to the young man's side and scooped the rolls of paper into their hands. His whisper sent them running off in the direction of the hanger, likely to begin immediate production of the final component of the massive ship waiting inside.

       The office was cramped, but a single look out the window reminded the old man how little space was left everywhere else, endless towers spread as far as the eye could see, each filled to the brim with so many people that this tiny office might as well have been empty. He suppressed a miserable sigh, and the image of his mother drifted through his mind as he trudged out of the room and back to his quarters. Several drawings remained on his desk, sketches of the engine he designed that his employers were convinced would be the key to leading their desperate species to a new home somewhere out among the stars. The old man laughed, and took comfort in knowing his work would very soon be done for good.

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       The hanger's roof slid open on massive gears, exposing the tip of the first colony ship to the scorched sky. The old man stood in a dusty corner of the windowed control room a mile away, watching sullenly as a throng of frantic technicians scurried about in preparation for the ship's first test run. Some of them sneaked reverent glances over to him as they worked. He was their savior, the man who single-handedly designed the tools to free the human race from the dead world they threatened to consume. Or so they thought. The old man would be very glad indeed when no more gazes turned in his direction.

       The hall door slammed open, and the young man burst into the room. His eyes swept around and settled on each face until he received a nod from all of them. He closed his eyes and whispered to himself as if in prayer, then raised his hand and motioned the old man towards the ignition console. The end was finally in sight, and it was with great relief that the old man triggered the process that would bring his greatest creation to life.

       There wasn't a single sound as the bomb disguised as an engine detonated, and suddenly the hanger, along with every building and bit of earth a quarter mile in any direction, was turned to dust. A second detonation flashed, and the bomb's work was done. A black hole stood where the hanger had been, and just as the old man intended, the earth and every little scrap of humanity on it would soon be completely consumed.

       There was screaming as the building was ripped apart around him, but the old man was aware of nothing but the feeling spreading slowly through him. It was contentment, he realized, something he had not felt since that day in the park, the day the curse that was humanity took his mother from him. The feeling persisted even as he was lifted off his feet and pulled towards his creation. The prim man in the black suit popped into his head once more:

       Every mammal on this planet instinctively develops a natural equilibrium with the surrounding environment, but you humans do not… You move to an area and you… multiply… and multiply until every natural resource is consumed, and the only way you can survive is to spread to another area. There is another organism on this planet that follows the same pattern. Do you know what it is? A virus. Human beings are a disease, a cancer of this planet…

       We are a plague, the tired old man thought to himself, and I am the cure.

Description
       Human beings are a disease…

       The words had dulled with time, the brass they were etched into tarnished beyond repair, the wall the plaque hung on worn and cracked. The tired old man stared long and hard at each letter in turn, a ritual he had repeated countless times since confining himself to the few rooms he was allowed. There was something about the phrase that brought an image of a man in a dark suit into his mind, topped with a prim haircut, sunglasses, a little earpiece dangling over his right shoulder. It was someone he had seen long ago, perhaps on the silver screen back when people still had time for such things…

       The old man shook his head, gently pushing that image to the back of his mind. What was important was the meaning, and he was not going to let himself forget that. He shuffled quietly to his desk and settled into the battered chair in front of it. It was nearly as old as he was, but much like him, its work was not yet done. His eyes drifted over the blueprints and diagrams scattered across scarred and pitted mahogany. He didn't want to think about those… Not yet. Instead, he turned to a photograph taped to the wall. It was bent and wrinkled, and time had yellowed its edges, but the green of the field it captured was still as vivid as it had been the day the picture was taken. A young woman was lying in the grass, face raised to the sunlight as she cradled a laughing child in her arms. The old man's smile was laced with bitterness. It wasn't sunlight she was facing, but she never lived long enough to find that out. After that day, it was hard enough to find a potted plant left alive much less an entire field's worth, and the old man wouldn't be able to find the place in the picture that was his mother's grave even if he were standing on it. The world in that photograph had long since shriveled and died, and humanity had nearly died with it. Those who survived worked desperately to rebuild what they could, and in the face of extinction had bred like cockroaches. Their unchecked proliferation covered the face of the earth until not a shred of what once existed remained, and their numbers now threatened to annihilate them as surely as the destruction that blinding light brought so very long ago.

       With a jerk, the cold reality of his duties came tumbling back to the old man. Barely suppressing a strangled sob, he focused his attention on the drawings before him.

------------------------------------------------------


       The old man grimly shuffled into the crowded office, nudging through the throng of shouting people to a desk in their center as pitted and ancient as his own and laying several rolls of blueprints carefully in front of him. A young man was sitting on a stool behind the desk, far too young to be expected to lead so many, but in these times anyone who showed the grim determination this man did would be followed to the end of the earth. In these times, such a notion was no longer beyond the limits of anyone's imagination. At the sight of the grizzled figure standing before him, he waved the room to silence, staring incredulously at the rolls the old man was sure he never expected to see. He looked pointedly at the grizzled face looking back at him, his eyes asking the silent question everyone in the room wanted answered. The old man nodded. It was finished. With a snap of his fingers, several aids ran to the young man's side and scooped the rolls of paper into their hands. His whisper sent them running off in the direction of the hanger, likely to begin immediate production of the final component of the massive ship waiting inside.

       The office was cramped, but a single look out the window reminded the old man how little space was left everywhere else, endless towers spread as far as the eye could see, each filled to the brim with so many people that this tiny office might as well have been empty. He suppressed a miserable sigh, and the image of his mother drifted through his mind as he trudged out of the room and back to his quarters. Several drawings remained on his desk, sketches of the engine he designed that his employers were convinced would be the key to leading their desperate species to a new home somewhere out among the stars. The old man laughed, and took comfort in knowing his work would very soon be done for good.

------------------------------------------------------

       The hanger's roof slid open on massive gears, exposing the tip of the first colony ship to the scorched sky. The old man stood in a dusty corner of the windowed control room a mile away, watching sullenly as a throng of frantic technicians scurried about in preparation for the ship's first test run. Some of them sneaked reverent glances over to him as they worked. He was their savior, the man who single-handedly designed the tools to free the human race from the dead world they threatened to consume. Or so they thought. The old man would be very glad indeed when no more gazes turned in his direction.

       The hall door slammed open, and the young man burst into the room. His eyes swept around and settled on each face until he received a nod from all of them. He closed his eyes and whispered to himself as if in prayer, then raised his hand and motioned the old man towards the ignition console. The end was finally in sight, and it was with great relief that the old man triggered the process that would bring his greatest creation to life.

       There wasn't a single sound as the bomb disguised as an engine detonated, and suddenly the hanger, along with every building and bit of earth a quarter mile in any direction, was turned to dust. A second detonation flashed, and the bomb's work was done. A black hole stood where the hanger had been, and just as the old man intended, the earth and every little scrap of humanity on it would soon be completely consumed.

       There was screaming as the building was ripped apart around him, but the old man was aware of nothing but the feeling spreading slowly through him. It was contentment, he realized, something he had not felt since that day in the park, the day the curse that was humanity took his mother from him. The feeling persisted even as he was lifted off his feet and pulled towards his creation. The prim man in the black suit popped into his head once more:

       Every mammal on this planet instinctively develops a natural equilibrium with the surrounding environment, but you humans do not… You move to an area and you… multiply… and multiply until every natural resource is consumed, and the only way you can survive is to spread to another area. There is another organism on this planet that follows the same pattern. Do you know what it is? A virus. Human beings are a disease, a cancer of this planet…

       We are a plague, the tired old man thought to himself, and I am the cure.