Will water rise beyond the atmosphere?
The last vestige of humankind clings to the tropical peak of Mount Everest.
All are parched and pecked, existing in a partially mummified standby state.
Custodians of the single remaining hominid artifact.
A sound like a dog whistle; encrusted eyes fly open.
The incessant cacophony of carnivorous seabirds that blot out the sun fall silent.
A dense jade lazer rips through the avian swarm, revealing a ray of sunlight through which glides an Alien Shuttle.
Red rivulets and bits of plumage fall into gaping human mouths. The prophecy is true.
The craft lands roughly, thrusters askew.
Two alien deejays emerge in human-like form without the use of a door, Lung Moon and Evening Riser.
Dworga, chief custodian, drags herself to the foot of the ship.
From her tattered tunic she presents a fragile silver brick with a cable wrapped around it.
The 32 Zettabyte hard drive containing the sum total of Earth's recorded music.
The alien deejays plug it in to their foot with an adapter.
It begins to hum:
♪♪♪ ALIEN SHUTTLE ♪♪♪