The radio hissed. Frank turned the dial. The hiss changed pitch but didn't stop. He turned it back. Same thing.

He set the dial to eleven and left it there. Then he went back to the circuit board on the table. The soldering iron smoked. He pressed the iron to the joint. The joint melted. He held it until it held. Then he set the iron down and looked at his hands.

His hands were fifty-five years old. They always would be from now on. He put them in his pockets and went outside.

The air was thin. Not thin like a mountain pass. Thin like the planet itself was running out of something. He stood at the edge of the station and looked at the ground. The ground was gray. Gray dirt and gray stone. Nothing else for as far as he could see.

He went back inside and sat down. He waited. He had waited for three years. The radio didn't change.

The door opened at eleven in the morning. Frank didn't hear it open. He knew it opened because the light on the table shifted. He looked up.

A man stood in the doorway. Tall. Maybe six-three. He wore a dark coat and had no pack. The wind blew behind him and the coat moved. The man stood still.

"Frank," the man said.

Frank looked at him. The man had a face you would forget. Not ugly. Not handsome. Just forgettable.

"I don't have much," Frank said.

"I don't want much," the man said. He walked in and closed the door. The wind stopped. "I'm here to tell you about the big thing."

Frank picked up the soldering iron. He set it down again. "I'm listening."

The man stood near the table. He looked at the circuit board. "It's a ring. A big ring. Coming from far away. It will be here in four months. Maybe five."

"What does it do?"

"It consumes."

"Consumes what?"

"The planet. All of it. Starting from the top."

Frank nodded. He picked up a wire. He held it between two fingers. It was copper. He set it on the table.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"No."

"Do other people know?"

"Not yet. They will know when I leave. The signal goes out with me."

Frank looked at the man. "Why tell me?"

"Because you're here. And because you'll remember it right."

The man turned and looked out the window. He stood there for a long time. The light moved across his coat.

"How big is it?" Frank asked.

"Bigger than you can see. Bigger than you can measure. It will go around the whole planet. Like a belt. Then it will begin."

"Will it hurt quick?"

"I don't know about hurting. It will take what's here. That's all I know."

Frank picked up the wire again. He examined the end of it. The copper was clean. He set it down.

"You don't have to stay," the man said. "There are shuttles. Maybe two left on the transport. They're still working."

"I'm not in the habit of leaving."

The man turned back. "You're fifty-five. You've been alone here for a while."

"Three years."

"Three years. That's a long time to fix a radio that doesn't work."

"It might work again."

The man smiled. It was a small smile. It didn't change his face much. "You're a hard man to read, Frank."

"I'm not hard. I'm quiet."

"There's a difference."

"I don't think so."

The man walked to the door. He put his hand on the handle. "The ring. Four months. Maybe five."

"I heard you."

"Will you tell anyone?"

"I don't have anyone to tell."

The man opened the door. The wind came back. "Then you'll just think about it."

"That's all I've got time for."

The man left. The door closed. The wind stopped. Frank stood at the table and looked at the circuit board. The joint he had soldered held. It looked good. He picked up the radio and turned the dial.

The hiss was the same.

He sat down. He ate a can of beans for lunch. He read a page of a book. He put the book down. He looked at the walls. The walls were gray metal. He had painted them white three years ago. The white was going gray now.

He went outside again. The sky was pale. Not blue. Pale. Like someone had washed it too many times. He sat on a crate and looked at the ground. The ground was gray.

That night he dreamed of ants. He didn't know why. He woke up and couldn't remember them.

Morning came. He made coffee. The coffee was weak. He drank it anyway.

The man was gone. Frank found the coat hanging on the hook by the door. The man must have left it. Frank picked it up. It was heavy. He set it on the chair.

He went outside to check the solar panels. He walked the perimeter. Eighty paces one way. Eighty paces back. The station sat on a small rise. From here he could see the horizon in three directions. The fourth direction was a cliff.

He stopped at the edge of the rise. Something green caught his eye.

He knelt down.

It was a patch of grass. Maybe two feet across. A few blades, no thicker than thread, growing out of a crack in the stone. They were yellow at the tips. They were dying. But they were alive.

Frank knelt there for a long time. He could see movement in the grass. Small movement. He leaned closer.

Ants. Three or four of them. Moving across the blades. Carrying something tiny. Maybe a grain of sand. Maybe nothing. Maybe they were just walking.

He stayed kneeling. His knees hurt. He had been a soldier. His knees hurt when he was a soldier too. They hurt when he was thirty. They hurt now.

An ant climbed up a blade of grass. The blade bent. The ant kept climbing. It reached the top. It stopped. It stood there for a moment. Then it turned around and went back down.

Frank watched it go down. Then he watched the others. They moved in lines. Short lines. Back and forth. Nothing complicated. Nothing that looked like purpose.

He sat back on his heels. He looked at the sky. The sky was still pale. The ring would come from somewhere up there. Somewhere far. It was already moving. It had been moving a long time. It would arrive in four months. Maybe five.

He looked back at the grass. The ants were still there. One of them had reached the top of a blade again. It was small. Smaller than the crack the grass grew from. Smaller than everything around it.

Frank stood up. His knees cracked. He walked back to the station. He went inside. He hung the coat on the hook. He sat at the table. He picked up the radio.

He didn't turn the dial this time. He just held it. The metal was warm from the motor running next to it. He could feel the vibration through the casing. A small vibration. Steady.

He went back outside. He picked up the crate from the corner and set it ten paces from the crack. He sat down on it.

The ants were still there. The grass was still there. The sky was still pale. The wind picked up and moved the blades. The blades moved with it. They didn't break.

Frank sat on the crate and watched the ants. He didn't think about the ring. He didn't think about four months or five. He didn't think about shuttles or transport or the people who didn't know yet.

He thought about the ants. He thought about how they were walking on the last thing that was green on the whole planet. He thought about how they didn't know it was the last thing. They just walked. Up and down. Back and forth.

He sat there. He watched them.

Someone had to look at them. Someone had to see that they were there. It wasn't because they mattered. It wasn't because they didn't. It was just that they were there. And someone was sitting on a crate watching them.

The radio crackled inside the station. A sound he had heard every day for three years. A sound he had tried to fix a thousand times.

He didn't go back inside. He kept watching the ants.

One ant reached the top of a blade. It stood there for a moment. Then it turned and came down. Frank watched it come down. It was a small thing. It would stay small. The grass would die. The ants would die. The planet would go.

But for now they were there. And he was watching.