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There is a very old, and very sad, tradition on Ansutah, which gratefully,
no one has had to practice in a very long time. Life was hard on the human
continent. It was perfectly designed to be a protective haven from the white
monsters, but that was pretty much it. They were limited technologically,
because they still had to keep hidden from any Maramon who might stray too
close. They couldn’t develop aeroplanes, fireworks, or even tall buildings.
They made do, and their population eventually numbered in the billions, but
that was thanks to the knowledge that they retained from their ancestors,
who lived on post-industrial Earth. Had they been starting entirely from
scratch, many experts posit that they would have gone extinct.
Unfortunately, while they survived as a people, it did not come without
loss.
Dead babies were once a fact of life, on Earth, as it was on Ansutah. Though
they don’t receive much news from the stellar neighborhood all the way out
here, the Extremusians believe that it’s still going on. There are holdouts,
who refuse to adopt certain advances, including those which might save their
own children’s lives. Such choices come with consequences. This did not
happen in the Gatewood Collective. The refugees embraced modern technology,
grateful to finally achieve a way of living that was safer, healthier, and
less restrictive. No more dead babies, what more could they want? To not
forget their past. History is a profoundly important subject to teach each
subsequent generation. Not every kid likes it, nor do they grow up to change
their minds, but they do recognize its value. There was a time when the
bed of mourning ritual was a common practice, and they’re getting a
practical history lesson on the subject today.
When someone died on Ansutah, a funeral or memorial service would start off
the mourning process. They were superstitious that the scent of the decaying
corpse would attract the white monsters, alerting them to their location.
The body was buried deep to hide them, and they were buried quickly. For
many years, there was a debate about whether they should start performing
autopsies on their deceased when the circumstances called for it. Many
murders went unsolved because this belief was so ingrained in the culture
that medical examiners had very little time to perform proper inquiries.
This technique of a quick burial was also used when it was a child who died,
but this created a secondary problem. Especially in the case of infants,
there were few—or even no—images of their loved one. There was little to
remember them by. Often, the only thing they had that remained was their
bed. Often, not even that existed yet, and there was an entire industry that
specialized in single-use cribs.
With the body of the child gone too soon, their bed was left temporarily
empty, and the Ansutahan humans believed that the angels would not be able
to find their soul so deep underground. The belief did not extend to adults,
for their soul should be strong enough to seek the angel’s gate on its own.
To help the angels find her child’s soul, the mother was expected to drag
the child’s little bed out into the cemetery, lie in it the best they
could...and cry. Her wails of pain would bring the ferrying angel to her,
where they would find the child’s soul below, and rescue it. She would not
be alone, at least not at first. Friends and family would attend the ritual,
just as they had the funeral. They would not stay forever, though. While the
mother continued to mourn, and the father or partner continued to try to
comfort her, little by little, the visitors would leave. The first to go
were anyone who just wanted to be there for the family for a fleeting
moment, who did not know them at all. The next ones were passing
acquaintances. And the dance continued until only the mother and father
remained. And then...the father would leave as well. That is the most
depressing part. The lessons in this are that you are ultimately alone, and
that everyone leaves eventually. When that angel comes to retrieve your
soul, it comes only for you. No one can be there with you. No one can see
you. Not even your mother. For once she has been alone in that bed of
mourning for some time, she too will leave. The bed, the body, and the place
in their hearts where the child once lived, will finally be empty forever.
Audrey is in her bed of mourning right now, and Tinaya is standing nearby,
in irony. It feels like five minutes ago when she was scolding the medical
team, and the other conspirators who betrayed the public with their secret
plan to impregnate however many women on this ship without their consent.
Now it is she who is lying to their people. Audrey’s baby is not dead. She
is being kept in a secure location while they put on this little charade. It
is not entirely a lie, however. Audrey will never see her daughter again.
That is called an ambiguous loss, and it can be just as impactful and
saddening as an unambiguous one. Once this is over, she will give the child
a name, say her goodbyes, then watch her disappear into the mini-Nexus that
they have in the Admiral office. Audrey, Tinaya, Silveon, Arqut, Thistle,
and one other person are the only ones who will know what truly happened to
the girl. Everyone else is in the dark, including the baby’s father. That
sixth person is presently caring for the baby until it’s time to leave. It’s
someone they can trust, but whose absence will not be noticed at the ritual.
Waldemar is hovering over the crib. He is incapable of feeling certain
emotions, but he has become better at pretending. Tinaya can tell that he’s
faking it. She even caught a glimpse of the nanopuffer that he used to
induce tearing in his eyes. He still doesn’t quite have the facial
expression right. It’s overexaggerated, like what they show in cartoons, so
young viewers can tell with certainty which emotion is being displayed.
Arqut is gifted at reading people. He’s scanning the crowd for any
indications that anyone is clocking Waldemar’s performance. He hasn’t seen
any skeptics so far, but they may be exceptionally emotionally intelligent
too, and pretending not to notice. One day, everyone will know what Waldemar
truly is. That day is unavoidable, but they hope to put it off until there
are no longer any innocent people in his orbit. That may be an impossible
task too, especially now that Audrey is in so much more of a vulnerable
position than she was before the baby.
People are really starting to leave now. They’re in Attic Forest. It’s not
expansive enough to fit everyone on the ship comfortably, but they’re not
all trying anyway. Some strangers want to be there, but some are just living
their lives, or have to be at work. This is the first dead child in a very
long time, so it is absolutely noteworthy, but that doesn’t mean everyone
has to be involved somehow. Even so, there were a lot of people
before, and now, it’s mostly empty. Even Lataran is walking away now. A few
random visitors are here because they want to walk around the forest, but
the Captain’s people are asking them to leave, because that’s not really
appropriate at the moment, even if they are clear on the other side. Tinaya
wants to be the last one to stay with the sad couple, but she’s only the
mother of a friend of the mother. The families need to go through the final
steps alone. Captain Jennings will stick around until it’s time for Waldemar
and Audrey to be there alone, though. Waldemar’s mother is still a hot mess,
and kind of needs supervision, and he’s perfect for this role because he can
go anywhere he wants, and he always carries a good excuse with him.
Tinaya and her family are currently standing outside while Audrey’s parents
depart. Audrey overwrote her younger self’s consciousness at an older age
than Silveon did, so she was able to hide her maturity from them. They have
no idea that she’s from the future. She thinks that Waldemar took advantage
of her, and they are pursuing legal action in this regard, which is a whole
other thing that they’re going to have to deal with, one way or another.
They’re not exactly right, but they’re not wholly wrong either. Waldemar is
not a good guy, but it’s unclear what happens to the future if he goes to
hock. Will he still become a leader, and if he does, will he be worse than
he was in the previous timeline? Will all of Silveon and Audrey’s efforts be
for naught?
Immediately after Audrey’s parents round the corner, Waldemar steps out too.
He’s supposed to stay in there with his baby’s mother for longer than that,
but he’s not feeling anything but annoyed with what this might do to his
ambitious plans. He nods politely at the three of them, then walks away.
Audrey is now alone in there. Waldemar was right about one thing, there is
no need to drag this out. “Meet us in my office.” Tinaya teleports back to
the crib, helps Audrey climb out of it, and then waits patiently as Audrey
tries to wipe the tears out of her eyes.
“Did I do okay?” Audrey asks.
“That was perfect,” Tinaya answers.
“Believable?” Audrey presses.
“You are in mourning, Audrey. You weren’t faking anything.”
“No, it’s fine. She’s fine. She’s gonna grow up on a planet. That’s
everyone’s dream. That’s why we’re here.” She’s smiling, but her tear ducts
continue to leak.
“Aud. You’re sad. I would be very concerned if you weren’t. I wouldn’t let
you see her again.”
“I know,” Audrey admits. “I’m just trying to be strong, because it’s going
to be hard to watch her leave.”
“I can only imagine what you’re going through,” Tinaya responds with a nod.
“But you are right. She’s going to be happy there. The only thing
that she’ll be missing is you. I know that sounds like I’m trivializing you,
or your contribution, but you’re gonna need to make a clean break, and being
optimistic about her future is vital to that, for your own sake.”
“I agree.”
“Are you ready?”
She wipes more moisture from her cheeks. “Yes.”
They take hands, and Tinaya attempts to teleport to the entrance to Admiral
Hall, but they end up somewhere else. “Thistle? Where the hell are we?”
“This is a sealed chamber in a currently vacant sector of the ship. You
can only enter through a teleportation frequency of my own devising. I
built a clone lab here.”
Tinaya is confused and apprehensive. “...why...?”
“It’s a gift,” Thistle replies. “Turn to your left.”
They both turn to find a gestational pod. It lights up. A copy of Audrey is
floating inside. “What did you do?”
“I understand that one Audrey Husk must stay behind on the ship to fulfill
her mission, but that does not mean that a different Audrey can’t travel
to Verdemus, and raise her child. I know that it’s not the same thing, but
my own consciousness has been copied countless times, split across
multiple universes, injected into countless systems and devices. You will
get used to the knowledge that there is another you out there.”
“We did not discuss this at all,” Tinaya begins to scold. “You had no right
to build this, let alone that clone. It is a violation, on par with what the
medical team did with the faulty birth control.” She keeps going on with her
admonishment against the superintelligence.
Meanwhile, Audrey has slowly been approaching the pod. She’s looking at
herself in there, tilting her head in thought. “Thank you.” She says it
quietly, but Tinaya can hear it.
“What was that? You’re thanking him?”
Audrey ignores the question. “Have you already copied my consciousness?”
A light flickers on over a casting pod on the other side of the room. “Not yet.”
Audrey nods as she’s slowly walking towards the second pod. “Sedate me. Copy
me. Do not reawaken either of us until one Audrey and the baby are on the
other side of the Nexus. It doesn’t matter which one you send away. There is
a fifty percent chance that I will simply awaken in my cabin, and an equal
chance that I will awaken on the planet.”
“That’s one way to look at it,” Tinaya says. “Others would say that there’s
a hundred percent chance that you’re the copy, and a hundred percent chance
that you’re not. Both of you will think that you’re the original, and one of
you will be just as disappointed as the other would have been.”
Audrey spins back around. “I am a consciousness traveler already, Admiral
Leithe. I understand the philosophical ramifications of the process, better
than you ever could. This is my choice. One of us is gonna stay here as
Space-Beth, and the other...will be happy.”
“Audrey...”
“She will be happy planetside...with Silvia.”
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