The Advancement of Mateo Matic: August 1, 2514

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Ramses posited that the temporal energy that Boyd had absorbed when he blew up the crystal with lemon juice was basically all that was holding him together. Even after Mateo resurrected him from the afterlife simulation, he could not be saved forever. He knew this. Leona knew this. She also knew that it was only a matter of time before it killed him anyway, whether he was drained of the power or not. Temporal energy is really just time itself. You can have an excess of it, but if not properly stored, it will leak out as time passes, and that would have been the end of Boyd Maestri. She chose to not let his sacrifice go to waste, and to restore their own powers so that they could go on with the mission that he was intending to help them with. The role he was going to serve on the team now fell to Mateo. That was a problem for the future, though. Right now, they were going to honor their frenemy with a proper burial.

Everyone was here already. They were just waiting on Ramses, who was working on something in his lab. Mateo looked over at his daughter awkwardly. She glanced back at him, but quickly turned away again. He tried to look away too, but returned. She did another double-take. “What is it, dad?”

Mateo reached down and took a fold of her outfit between his fingers. “This isn’t your suit.”

“No, it’s real clothing,” she confirmed. “I went to Fashiondome, and sewed something myself. That’s what I’ve been doing all morning.”

“You know how to sew?”

“Yeah, I grew up thousands of years ago in the Third Rail. Of course I know how to sew.”

“Oh. That makes sense. I forget that about you.”

“Yeah.” Romana tried to go back to waiting patiently for Ramses.

“I know you’re an adult, it’s just that it’s a little—”

“Shh!” Leona warned before Mateo could finish his sentence.

Romana sighed, but continued to look straight forward. “Boyd liked my cleavage, and I choose to honor him in this way. This is a perfectly normal black funeral dress.” She said that she wasn’t angry at him for not being able to resurrect Boyd a second time, but there would always be that question between them of whether he genuinely tried, or if the part of him that didn’t want to save Boyd was big enough to stop it.

He looked on down the line at Olimpia. “And you?”

“You’re the one who likes my cleavage.” He didn’t say anything more, but she took the hint, and commanded her nanite clothing to cover her chest up a little more.

Ramses appeared. “Sorry, sorry, sorry. I had to come up with a way to safely dispose of temporal energy crystal.” While Mateo was trying to get Boyd back, and Romana was crying, Ramses had to delicately remove the shards from Boyd’s face. It wasn’t exactly trained as a medical examiner, but they couldn’t risk anyone else for the job, or really, trust them with it.

“It’s okay,” Mateo said. “You get on that end.”

“No,” Romana said. “I can carry it myself.”

Mateo looked at her sadly. “Romy, it’s unwieldy. You could hoist it over your shoulder, but you can’t carry it with the respect that he deserves.”

“Watch me.” Romana reached over the casket and tried to grab the handle on the other side. It wasn’t that she wasn’t strong enough. Her arms weren’t long enough.

“Let me get the other end,” Mateo offered. “He and I had our issues, which is exactly why I should do this. You wanted us to be friends, didn’t you? Or did you enjoy being in the middle of the animosity?”

She sighed again, relenting. “Okay, get the other end.”

Mateo and Romana carried Boyd down the trail as the others followed, or walked on ahead. “You spoke with Hrockas?” Leona asked.

Angela nodded. “This dome won’t be used for another fifty years, if ever. We’ll bury him deep, where there’s more activity while the regolith is being transformed into soil from chemicals they added to the water table.”

“Did he end up making an announcement?” Leona went on. “The first permanent death on the planet. That’s a big deal.”

Angela shook her head. “He’s burying the truth along with Boyd himself. No one needs to know that anyone died. Even though people are still allowing themselves to die on the Core Worlds, it could hurt visitorship. His death was completely unrelated to anything offered in the domes, so there’s no point in advertising or disclosing it.”

The two of them were talking rather quietly, and their comms were off, but everyone wearing an upgraded substrate had excellent hearing, so they all heard it. Romana was not upgraded, but even she heard it somehow. She glanced over her shoulder at Leona and Angela and frowned, but didn’t speak to them. She instead looked at Ramses, who was next to her. “People should know that he died, and what he died for. He sacrificed himself...for us.”

“You’re right,” Ramses said. “One of the hardest things we do is keeping our lives secret from the vonearthans. I know you know everything about that, living in the Third Rail for the majority of your life.”

Marie and Olimpia were in front, and had just rounded a corner when they suddenly stopped short. Olimpia nearly tripped on a rock, but caught herself in time.

“What is it?” Mateo questioned.

“There’s a man,” Marie answered. “He may have a weapon.”

“Set it on the ground,” Mateo ordered. He slowly bent his knees as his daughter did, and carefully set the casket down. “Wait here.” Mateo walked on alone, gently pulling the ladies’ shoulders back so this mysterious stranger wouldn’t be able to see them anymore. He did see a man, standing in the distance, resting both of his wrists on what appeared to be a shovel. Mateo used his telescopic vision to zoom in. “It’s Halifax.”

“Really?” Leona asked. She walked forward to get a look for herself.

“I recognize that name from the list,” Olimpia said.

“He’s The Gravedigger,” Mateo replied. “We’ve not seen him in a long time.” He looked back at Romana. “Not since the Third Rail.” He grabbed the casket again. “Let’s go. He’s no threat.”

They continued on their way. Halifax waited patiently where they first saw him. He was chewing on sunflower seeds, and spitting the shells off to the side. “I expected you sooner! Why didn’t you teleport here?”

“It’s a funeral procession,” Mateo explained. “You can’t teleport through a funeral procession.”

“No, s’pose not.”

“What are you doing here?” Mateo asked him.

“I’m here for him.” Halifax nodded at the body.

“Not many work orders from this time period, I would guess,” Mateo mused.

“Nope,” Halifax replied matter-of-factly.

“So he’s never coming back?” Leona asked.

Halifax took a beat. “No,” he answered solemnly. “He’ll be in good company,” he added after Mateo exchanged a look with Romana. The Cemetery magically appeared behind him, including a new open grave right behind him, and a second one a few meters away, which was alarming.

“Can we still do a green burial?” Romana asked, stepping forward. “It’s what he wanted.

“Is there any other kind?” Halifax responded.

Romana knelt down and started to unlock the casket. Mateo reached down, and covered her hand with his. “You don’t have to do this yourself. You don’t have to...see him like this.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, father.” She unlocked the other latch. “I do.” She lifted the lid, and stared at Boyd’s dead body for a few moments. Then she slipped her arms underneath his, and began to drag him out, across the ground, and over to the edge of the grave. She let go only to hop in, then took hold of Boyd again to pull him down on top of her. She lay there for another few moments, staring blankly into empty space. They gathered ‘round and watched her in reverence. Finally, she freed herself from him, stood up, and just teleported to the surface.

“Your dress,” Mateo pointed out.

“That’s why I wore something real,” Romana explained, “so it wouldn’t have a self-cleaning function.”

“Would you like to say a few words?” Halifax offered.

She stepped over, and looked into the grave with everyone else. “Boyd Maestri was not a perfect man. Like many of our kind, he took his power for granted. He made life harder for some people, like Dave Seidel and June St. Martin. But he never really hurt anyone. He wasn’t anywhere close to being evil. He was actually really sweet. And I wish that you had all been able to see more than just glimpses of that. But I’m at least glad that you got to see a little. I know you weren’t happy with our age gap. The truth is, it was wider than you even know. But he never pushed me, or pressured me. What he felt for me was love. I can’t say that I felt the same. Growing up the way that I did—skipping all that time—I couldn’t have real relationships. If I met someone, they would be dead in the blink of an eye. So yeah, when the first man who I could be honest with took an interest, I fell for him. As I said, he took his powers for granted, but he didn’t treat me the same. He was respectful, and kind, and he recognized my boundaries. I—” she stammered. “That’s it.” She stepped backwards, away from the grave.

“Anyone else?” Halifax asked.

Mateo was already pretty close to the grave, but he stepped closer, letting the toes of his shoes hover over the edge. “I forgive you.”

Romana hadn’t cried this whole time, but now she snapped her eyes shut, and scrunched her cheeks up, trying to hold the tears back, even though she knew that no one expected that of her. She buried her face in the safety of Olimpia’s bosom. Suddenly. Ellie Underhill climbed out of the second open grave. She tried to clap the dirt off of her hands, and wiped them on her skirt. Without saying anything first, she began to sing, “I just found a lemon tree. It’s a bad day for my enemies. Yes, there’s sugar water in the breeze, and I’m ready, I’m ready. So someone play guitar for me. I’m ready to leave my body.”

It was at this point that Olimpia pulled off her necklace, and joined in. “And oh, this could be rage. We’re flying to the space between the lies we told, and find the good in every soul is all connected energy, or how would I know you were thinking of me in the tree?” Only two of them were singing, but with Olimpia’s echo powers, it sounded more like a small chorus. They went on with the song, but skipped the instrumental break, since they were singing a capella. When they ended with the final two lines, “when all of the lights remain, this is all that our time contains,” Olimpia belted it out. Her voice roared up into the sky, and apparently tore a hole in spacetime. The Time Shriek answered back, echoing in its own way, just as Olimpia could.

Romana smiled as she wiped more tears from her eyes. “Boyd loved that scream. He thought it was so cool that so many people from so far away could hear the same thing.”

“You got to know him better than I realized,” Mateo said, wrapping his arms around her. “I’m sorry I didn’t make it easy on you.”

“It’s okay,” she assured him. “I understand. Or rather I don’t understand what it’s like to be a parent. But I will soon.” She smiled, and placed her palm on her belly.”

“No,” Mateo said, struck with dread, trying his best not to faint, or shout in rage.

“No, I’m kidding!” Romana said apologetically.

“Oh, god...dammit! Don’t do that to me!”

“Or me,” Ramses agreed surprisingly. “We would have to uninstall your EmergentSuit.” He looked around at the rest of the ladies. “That goes for all of you. I wouldn’t otherwise have the right to know if you’re pregnant, but...”

“We get it,” Marie said to him. “We’ll let ya know.”

“Thanks for coming, Ellie,” Leona said. “That was a very thoughtful and beautiful gift.”

“That wasn’t your gift,” Ellie said. “I just like to make an entrance.” She reached into her pocket. “This is your gift.” She pulled out a smooth red stone. Or was it made of glass? It looked familiar, but no one could place it right away. “The angry Russian I took it from wasn’t happy, but he and his daughter will be fine. I moved them somewhere safe.”

“The cap of the Insulator of Life,” Ramses exclaimed. “We’ve been wondering how those two got separated, and where this has been.”

“St. Petersburg, I guess.” Ellie looked from one to another, to another, but only with her eyes. “Is anyone gonna take this from my hand, errr...?”

Angela happened to be the closest, so she accepted it.

“Forgive me, but...this was a funeral gift?” Leona questioned. “Do they have those in Fort Underhill? I didn’t even think you had death.”

“No, it’s a wedding gift,” Ellie contended. She looked around at them again, but with her head this time. “Wait, what year is this?” She reached out and grabbed Leona’s wrist so she could look at her watch. “Whoops! Better go! Forget I said anything!” She ran off and hopped back into the portal grave.

“Well,” Olimpia said with a sigh. “I guess the cat’s out of the bag.” She reached into her own pockets, and pulled out two diamond rings. She held them in front of her. “Mateo and Leona Matic...will you marry me?”

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Extremus: Year 102

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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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Microstory 2294: Mostly Long and Narrow

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What Nick’s publicists and I determined is that people from all over the country, and indeed all over the world, are interested in coming to his and Dutch’s memorial service. Because of this, we decided that it didn’t have to take place in Kansas or Missouri. If you’ll recall, there were some issues months ago when someone created an unauthorized CauseTogether.hope campaign for him. Despite the issue, he’s maintained a healthy and amicable professional relationship with the website. At the same time, he was working with Homes for Humankind. As it turns out, the house-building organization and the charitable fundraising platform teamed up some years ago to build a sort of convention center. It is here that charities come together, and reach out to their donors, volunteers, and beneficiaries. It’s located in Chicago, which is fitting, since the three of us went there one time on the Heartland Expressway, and Nick visited the city many times in his home universe. The Humankind Causeway Center is mostly long and narrow to fit the theme of its namesake, but there are two larger buildings on either end. One contains a large ballroom, and the other boasts an auditorium that can fit about 900 people. I can’t imagine that quite so many mourners will sign up to attend the service, but it should be great for our needs. We’re still working out the dates, but I’ll keep you updated as needed. Gratitude for all your words of love and togetherness during this difficult time.

Microstory 1004: Blanche

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I’m sorry, I don’t know what you want for me, but I’m not going to cry over someone I didn’t know. Thousands of people die every day, you expect me to mourn for every one of them? No? Just the ones in some arbitrary geographical radius? No, that can’t be right either, because I know people who live in Chile, and Mongolia. I bet you would care about them too, but not about all the other Chileans and Mongolians. Look, all I know about Viola came from rumors and second-hand conversations. I’m not going to comment on a topic on which I am not an authority. I have my own problems to deal with. My parents are worried that I’m a sociopath because I didn’t shed a single tear, or even attend the memorial service. Just because I’m not emotional about everything, doesn’t mean I’m not emotional about anything. But if you really need it, I will give you a story of a notable encounter I had with her. You’re new, so you may not know this. In a town so small, we basically have two stores. You can shop at the snooty rich joint, or you can come to the regular place that’s been here almost as long as Blast City itself. Viola Woods and her ilk do not shop at the old store, because it’s beneath them. They literally built the new store on top of a slightly taller hill, just so they could look down on us. Yet there she was one day in the valley, I guess to get a look at the funny little normal people who shop there, or in my case, work there. It didn’t look like someone had dared her to do it, but she didn’t look comfortable either. Maybe it’s just that her parents have never let her go in before, and she didn’t know where anything was, but she stood out like a sore thumb. And that’s about it! She bought a few single-serving boxes of cereal, some milk, and I think a magazine. She paid in cash, then she walked out. This was about a year ago, and she never came back. Real brush with grace, I know, I almost fainted. I sure do hope the rest of your interviews are more interesting than this, because you’ve just learned everything there is to know about the infamous duo of Viola and Blanche.

Microstory 926: Goats and Elephants

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I added this entry, because I didn’t speak much on animals themselves in my second post. I’ve had a lot of different favorite animals, for different reasons. Each time I add one, the others don’t go anywhere; they just all stay my favorite. I like penguins and polar bears, even though I don’t much like the cold. I like okapi, because they look like they should be related to zebras, but they’re not. I remember discovering them when a character mentioned them during the series finale of Six Feet Under. I had not once watched that show up to that point, but my aunt and I had nothing better to do. I ended up noticing a small okapi figurine in a museum gift shop soon thereafter. I still have it, and keep it on my desk. I like dogs and cats, because I’m a human being with a heart. I used to hate cows, because I thought they were stupid, which is less true than you probably believe, and even if not, that’s no reason to dislike them. I got to know a calf once, and she was great; never talked back to me. I like horses and donkeys, because they’re majestic and beautiful, and horseback riding is in my blood. And I like goats and elephants. I’ve met a few goats in my day, and though they weren’t the nicest of creatures, they were cool, and they always look at you like they secretly understand your language. Elephants are just great, because...well, look at them. Ya know, they bury, and mourn for, their dead, and when a mother dies, the rest of the herd will try to raise her young. They’re one of the few animals naturally born with souls. Not even dogs can boast that. I’m afraid I’m not feeling well, and need to go back to the Church of the Porcelain God, so this is where I leave you.

The Advancement of Leona Matic: September 10, 2187

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When Leona Matic first started helplessly jumping through time, one of her first thoughts was of her loved ones. If she couldn’t stop what was happening to her, she would lose them all in a matter of months, from her perspective. Her heart was filled with such dread knowing that she would one day blink, and someone she cared about would suddenly be gone. And that process would be repeated until they were all dead. Everyone would be dead by the time she had a hankering for Chinese food again. But that wasn’t what actually happened. Ever since her first jump, family and friends would die, not of a long life long-lived, but at her responsibility. She never had to watch any of them grow old without her, because every single time, through her action or inaction, they would be killed before that was possible. She tried to run away from them once, with Serif, hoping to just leave them out all of this. She should have stuck with that plan. She should have tried harder. If they had just gone off on their own, all these people would either still be alive, or passed in peace, including one Paige Turner Reaver-Demir.

Paige was at least a hundred and seventy-five years old at the time of her death, though the exact length was difficult to discern when attempting to account for the time travel variable. She stayed alive as long as she did by utilizing biomedical developments, as well as other technological advances. She had not been fully human for a long time when Ulinthra struck her down with what could be best described as a power overload. Many would count her age as a blessing. She surpassed the conventional human lifespan by a century, at least as measured by the time period of her birth, but Leona recognized that this made it worse. As terrible as it might sound, killing a mortal is not as bad as killing someone like Paige. If you were to end the life of a normal eighteen-year-old human, for instance, you would at most, be robbing that individual of maybe ninety more years—as erred on the the side of exaggeration. If you were to end the life of an eighteen-year-old immortal, on the other hand, you would be stealing eternity from them. Kill a four-thousand-year-old immortal, and you’re still taking eternity. Because we don’t punish murderers for taking the memories of a person’s experiences. We punish them for stealing the memories that their victims can now never make.

While Leona felt guilty for everyone who had lost their lives because of the decisions she had made, Paige belonged to a special category of dead people whose deaths were directly tied to her inefficacy. Leona was at fault, for how she had handled the Ulinthra situation, and no one would be capable of disabusing her of this assertion. Fortunately for her, no one was interested in disproving her. They didn’t outwardly blame her for it, but they didn’t sugar-coat it either. They just stayed there with her in solidarity, having already spent a year grieving for their loss during Leona’s interim year. And then, as if called to action by a great psychoemotional need, Vitalie Crawville suddenly showed back up to help, reportedly on break from the year-long bicentennial celebrations.

Though she didn’t have the time to get particularly close to her, something about Vitalie reminded her of Paige, and she couldn’t help but break down crying when she saw her face. Vitalie didn’t say a word, but held Leona close for as long as she needed it.

“How did you know to come?” Leona was finally able to ask through the last of her tears.

“I just kind of got this feeling; not that Paige had died, but that you needed me,” Vitalie answered. “It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other anyway. We were due for a five-year reunion.”

“I’m just so tired of losing people. It would be one thing if I had a job to do, or some kind of calling, but I’m just...here. Camden is a secret agent, Saga starts revolutions on other planets, what do I do? Nothing. I just keep getting forced into these situations, and the only real goal in place for me is to get out of those situations.”

“That’s kind of how life is, though, isn’t it? Most of us don’t have what one may call a purpose. We just do the best we can to survive to the end of the day. Then we wake up and do it again.”

“I guess that’s true, but those people exercise control over their lives. I’m salmon.”

“Everyone has their limitations. A poor person can’t go to the best college, get the best job, and buy the best house, unless maybe they’re really smart. Maybe. A celebrity can’t scratch their ass at a grocery store without making headlines. And you can’t leave Panama until you defeat Arianrhod. That’s your calling. Right now it is, so answer it. When you’re done with the...conversation, as it were, hang up. Then answer the next call.”

“I can’t defeat her,” Leona complained. “She’s too powerful. Everything we try, she’s already seen, because we can never know whether we’re living through the first time she experienced this day, or the second.”

Vitalie sighed. “That’s true, it’s a crapshoot, but didn’t you do this before, in another timeline? Didn’t you stop a man with the same powers? What did you do then?”

“I garnered help from The Gravedigger, who’s so obviously hiding that he’s one of the most powerful choosers I’ve ever met; and I met someone who created an entire universe.”

“Well, let’s call the Gravedigger again.”

“It won’t work this time. There was a warrant out for his arrest, and that’s not the case here.”

“What did he do to get into trouble that Ulinthra isn’t doing. If taking over the world doesn’t get the powers that be to step in, then I don’t know what does.”

“It’s complicated,” Leona said. “Way I understand it, Beaver Haven isn’t just a prison for people with temporal powers who are also criminals, or even the ones who use their powers for bad things. It’s just for people whose actions threaten the security of the rest of us. As far as the powers are concerned, Ulinthra can do whatever she wants, as long as she doesn’t expose us.”

“Then let’s do that,” Vitalie suggested vaguely.

“Do what? Expose us?”

“Get her to expose us.”

“How would we do that?”

Vitalie shrugged. “Dunno, but there’s gotta be a way.”

“I think if you tried something like that,” Brooke said from the doorway, “you would just end up getting yourselves locked up.” She walked into the room. “We’re in mixed company.”

A stranger in a uniform walked in behind her, followed by a hover sled, on top of which was some kind of chamber. “Where do you want this?” he asked.

“Just in the corner, over there,” Brooke directed him.

“What is that?” Leona asked, grateful that she had finished crying before Brooke returned.

“It’s my stasis pod. If I don’t get into this by midnight central, I die.”

“What?” Leona scrambled up from her seat. “Die from what?”

“I don’t know what it is, but Ulinthra infected me with something. This pod is scheduled to close at the end of every day I’m awake, and will keep me alive for a year, until I wake up and do it all again.”

“What are you talking about? What did I miss?”

“Vitalie, you should go,” Brooke said to her, “lest you be caught up in this.”

“It is too late,” Ulinthra said, walking in from one of the bedrooms, like a creeper.

“What is this about? I demand answers,” Leona said angrily.

“A few months after Paige’s death,” Ulinthra began to explain, “Brooke and Ecrin tried to go after me. They succeeded the first time around, but then time reset for me, and I did better on the next go. My problem was not that they tried—it was actually impressively courageous of them, if not bonker balls—it’s that you weren’t there. You and I have a history; several histories, actually. In only one of them do we get along. Even when you were married to Horace Reaver, we were rather cold with each other. As much as I remember about these things, I couldn’t tell you why we almost never have a good relationship, but I can tell you why we were friends in one of the realities.”

“Get to the point already.” Leona rolled her eyes.

“We were friends,” Ulinthra continued after she was so rudely interrupted, “because in that timeline, I gave you the greatest give I have.”

“And what was that? Your suicide?”

“Morbid much? No, it was my powers.”

“What?”

“I made you like me. Permanently.”

“Why would I have wanted that?”

“You were bored. You were just a human then, but I gave you a way to have fun. Together we wreaked more havoc on this planet than a giant groundhog on amphetamines, and when midnight hit, we’d go back in time and relax.”

“I don’t believe you. In no reality am I anything like you.”

“Well, I guess I can’t ever prove it to you, except to say...dougnanimous brintantalus.”

“We’ve established that my secret time password has never been a secret.”

“True, but I want you to start thinking about whether it’s possible that I’m being totally honest. You can do it while you’re on the table.”

“On what table?”

Ulinthra smirked, and motioned towards Brooke’s stasis chamber. “I had that built, because Brooke is pristinely ungifted, and I have not been able to find a way around that, even by using her umbilical cord pendant. Sorry about that again, Brooke.”

Brooke was showing her blankface.

Ulinthra went back to facing Leona. “I destroyed it while I was studying it. I didn’t do it on purpose, though. We all make mistakes.”

“You can go back in time and erase all your mistakes.”

Ulinthra pretended like this hadn’t occurred to her, but purposely in an unconvincing way. “I could have done that, couldn’t I? Damn.”

“You still haven’t gotten to the point.”

“Right, Ulinthra said. “Ecrin and now this young woman here, whoever she is, will be permanently placed on your temporal pattern.”

“Vitalie, go, now,” Leona ordered immediately.

“You think I didn’t know you’d say that?” She looked over at Vitalie, who was making no attempt to escape. “You won’t make it down the hall if you run.”

“I gathered,” Vitalie said.

“Good. I need your bone marrow,” Ulinthra said to Leona. “Blood can work, but it’s unreliable, and short-lived. I need the marrow to make Ecrin’s and Vitalie’s bodies generate your salmon juice on an ongoing basis.”

“You don’t even feel a little bit bad about killing Paige,” Leona pointed out.

“That was a non sequitur, and no, I suppose I don’t. To paraphrase Captain Malcolm Reynolds, someone ever kills you, you kill ‘em right back. Paige saw me threaten you with a knife on a security camera on your day a year ago. What I didn’t realize is that removing her life extension upgrades would reactivate her spawn power. That was my bad, and I paid for it with my life. Needless to say, Paige needed to die, so that I could be saved. Now go take a sonic shower. I want you clean so you don’t pass on some disease.”

“Should I even bother pleading for you to reconsider, or for you to at least give me one day to mourn?”

“You can mourn tomorrow with everybody else, but no one cares about your feelings. Now go. You can fight me on it next year when it no longer matters.”

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Microstory 682: Remember the Sufferers Part I

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As previously stated, there aren’t very many holiday observances in Fostea. There is one that we could have started long ago, but were essentially forbidden to by the Book of Light. Sacred Savior Sotiren Zahir first proposed a day to reflect on those who have been lost to our cause back when he was first writing the Book. It was his wishes that his followers not actually participate in anything like this until the taikon had begun. When asked why he felt this way, the following was his response.

You can’t legitimately remember something that just happened, or is still in the middle of happening. Doing this would be completely pointless. Everything is still fresh in your mind, and that is when you should be taking action. There’s a reason every culture we’ve encountered in the entire universe—save Earth—mourns their dead for a period of four days. We recognize that all important events are processes, rather than static moments in time. You have to leave a little buffer between when it first began, and when you start thinking about it. Otherwise, you can’t really have any perspective, can you? You have to have both experienced something, and also experienced what came of it to have this perspective. That’s why I don’t want this observance to yet exist. Many have died protecting The Light, but many more will die for the same reason. I’m not saying all suffering will end once the taikon begin, but our greatest obstacles should be over by then. If this is not the case, then may the Light protect us all, for I fear we are destined to meet our end at the hands of The Liar.

Zahir is referring to the final taikon, which is not a prediction, but a consequence. If we have served The Light well, and met the taikon with dignity and truth, we should be protected for eternity. If, however, we have failed, then the Savior worries we will be overcome by darkness, and ruled by a mysterious entity known as The Liar. This is why the taikon are so profoundly important. If we don’t get this right, we will not get another chance, and we will be doomed to a world of nothing but torment and misery. Now is not the time to rest on our laurels, but we must also remember all that we have been through up to this point; all pain that we have conquered; everyone who sought to destroy us. The new holiday has been instituted, and now, we will remember the sufferers.

Microstory 630: New Home of the Mourners

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In the midst of the peace negotiations between the two rivals of the Dodulko War, the dust began to settle. People from both sides started realizing what life could be like if they didn’t have to live in bunkers, dark stations, and other fortifications. In the end, they were all just looking for a new home. Unfortunately for them, everything they had was either destroyed, or completely unrecognizable as something any decent human being would want to keep. Luckily, a new planet recently opened up that they could use, and Lightseers were in the perfect position to give it to them. Once all of the Narvalian Gardbirds were destroyed, Narvali could once again become a place of beauty and stability. Highlightseers were debating and discussing what the planet could be used for when someone came to the realization that it already had a destiny. The Book of Light promises that there shall be a “new home for the mourners”. At only one line, the passage for the thirtieth taikon is the shortest of all. No one has ever been sure who the mourners are, where they’re supposed to live, or any other logistical approach to making this happen. It would seem, however, that the present survivors of the Dodulko War are uniquely qualified to serve this function, and at the perfect time. They are certainly mourners, and they certainly need a new home, so why don’t we just give them one of ours? Of course, this does not come free of cost. There is no such thing as a true gift in the galaxy of Fostea. We don’t believe in them. The mourners will have to work for their right to live in this orbital paradise, and they will have to learn to share it with those who were once their enemies. The planet provides many resources, all of which will be welcome across the galaxy, and could fetch them a healthy price. The Lightseers will act as facilitators for these transactions, and take our due commission. As fate would have it, the achievement of this taikon, and the business opportunities, are not the only things we Lightseers get out of this deal. The next taikon was found in a group of Dodulkori refugees, in a child named Vrasim Kappel.

Microstory 297: Perspective Seventy-Three

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Perspective Seventy-Two

Did you know that there is not a single civilization in history that has not found a way to lay their dead to rest? It make sense, of course; you never hear about a culture that just throws the bodies to the side and moves on with their lives. Some deceased are buried, others are entombed, and some are even placed in coffins to be hung over the side of a mountain. To become a funeral director, I didn’t need all that much schooling, but I did need some. I first became fascinated with the process in college when I began to study anthropology. My school let me develop my own curriculum so that I could focus on death. I know that sounds morbid...literally, but I just really wanted to know how people dealt with death, so that I could help them through it. Being there for the loved ones of a deceased person is so incredibly rewarding. It’s my job to send someone off to their final resting place, to make sure their family and friends feel that they’ll be moving on to a better place. I don’t claim to know what happens to a person after they die, but I have a lot of experience with what happens to everyone else. And I can tell you that a caring, calm, but unbiased professional is something nearly everyone needs. They don’t need me to sell them a package, or tell them how to feel, they just need me to tell them what’s going to happen. They need to feel like their loved ones are being cared for, so that when they inevitably come my way, they’ll be shown the same respect. Humans are not the only species with the instinct to bury dead. We’re just the only ones with fancy tools for it. Chimpanzees do it as well, which is not entirely surprising since we both originate from a common ancestor. The most interesting case, however, is elephants. They are known to throw leaves and dirt over their dead, and will even return to the site later. They are also thought to go through some kind of mourning process. I see a lot of death, and I do not enjoy it, but my work is important, and I’m proud to do it.

Perspective Seventy-Four

Crossed Off: Your Funeral (Part XIII)

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The day after someone dies, their family goes through this death ritual called Familiar Mourning. Those close enough to the family, and close enough geographically speaking, sit around a dimly lit room and hold conversations. In the strictest of traditions, this part of the ceremony must be performed in a temple, or otherwise on holy ground, but modern times had changed things. They were often performed at home, and the majority of morgues had been expanded to include accommodating rooms. Family and friends gather around candles to express their gratitude towards the deceased, and to tell stories of their life in small groups. Quiet was the watchword during these ceremonies. Quiet and darkness.

Starla’s parents and Alec were in attendance at the morgue, of course. But Tristan and Kathleen jumped in the car and raced down so that they could be there too. Denton and his new team were having trouble getting back into the country since they were in the middle of some special research project in Texas. And Sendoa was just swamped with his new job with the man who could clone himself. Tons of people from school she never considered to be her friends showed up. Kind of tacky. And they kept acting like they had experienced some kind of profoundly influential moment with her. Much of what they said about their interactions were simply made up. Starla only listened to the beginnings of their conversations with each other. Knowing now that ghosts were real sent shivers throughout her body. How many of her relatives had she seen move on? What had she said about them while under the impression that these ceremonies were nothing but carryovers from a time of superstition and misinformation. At some point, she gravitated towards Alec who was standing alone in the corner, having no interest in participating. She tried to get his attention, but it was hopeless. She knew of only one person who could see ghosts—though there were probably more. Hopefully Don would carve out some time and scrounge up some money to come stateside for the funeral. She had no way of finding out, for her ability to jump to bodies had been removed from her during her murder.

On the following day, the funeral ceremony is performed, and a wake is often held. These are semi-private occasions, and are late enough after the passing to allow people from out of town to make travel arrangements. In cases of so-called natural deaths, this is when the body is laid to rest. But when the body must remain intact and unchanged in order to support an ongoing investigation, the funeral is skipped altogether, while the wake usually continues as planned. Having honored an obligation to the dark and quiet during Familiar Mourning, the wake is a time for loudness and joy. It’s less of a ritual, and more of a party. Though, the reason the ritual came to be was so that the deceased could move on to the afterlife with—what did the texts say—sunshine in their hearts and harmony in their souls. So the rowdy nature of these get-togethers was not completely unfounded.

Even though Starla’s body could not be displayed on a viewing altar since it was part of evidence, her family decided to go ahead with a funeral, and make an attempt to tone down the level of intensity of the wake. That was more Starla’s style, so she was appreciative of their decision. To her surprise, everyone showed up. Every single one of her confidants had booked tickets from far away lands. All of the people with special abilities were there as well. Those she had met in person like Magnus Shapiro and Therasia Jarvi crossed national borders. Those she had only met while in someone else’s body like Máire and Quang had dropped their busy lives for a few days. Even people she never met at all like Ling and Alonso flew in. René came in with a huge group of strangers, and she never really found out who they were, but she assumed them to have powers. People came with families of their own. Some were there with no obvious connection to anyone who knew Starla.

“I had no idea that she was so popular,” Starla’s mother remarked.

“Her life touched a lot of people, Mrs. Dawkins,” Alec replied. “That international pen pal program she founded grew larger than she thought it would.”

Her mother started tearing up. “I feel like I didn’t even know her.”

Alec wrapped his arm around her shoulders and joined her in a cry. “You knew everything about her.”

“Who did this to her? Who were those men? Did they have something to do with the pen pal network?”

He kissed the top of her head. “I don’t know who they were, but I know they had nothing to do with that.”

Spirit-walker, Spyridon Colonomos waited for Starla to finish eavesdropping before summoning her to a narrow hallway off of the chapel.

“I must say, it’s nice to have someone to talk to.”

“I can imagine. Which is why you can imagine that I always do my very best to stay away from ghosts.”

“Thank you for making an exception.”

“Can you tell me what happened? On the night of your death?”

“I could,” she said. “I won’t.”

“Why not?”

“The men who did this to me are no longer a problem. They’re already in custody. One is chained to a hospital bed, and another to a padded cell. And I’m over it. I’m moving on. There’s an...undeniable feeling of freedom once you die, Mr. Colonomos. You will experience this one day. All those things you thought you cared about stop serving a purpose. And the only things that ever truly mattered were the connection you made to others.”

“You have the opportunity to communicate with the living. Very few people are given this gift.”

She smiled and sort of ignored what he said. “Those connections can’t be broken. My soul can still feel their souls.” She shook her head politely. “I don’t need to speak with them. They can hear me.”

They left it at that.

On the last full day after a death, those closest to the dead are expected to step into their loved one’s shoes by participating in their favorite activity. This could be playing a favorite sport, or eating ice cream, or just reading a good book. For Starla, it was petting feral horses on Cumberland Island. Alec had spent the last couple of days on the phone with the people in charge, requesting an exception to their strict protocols. It took the entire time, but he was able to secure a reservation for a dozen people. Starla’s parents wondered why this would be her favorite thing seeing as that she hadn’t stepped one foot on the island in her entire life. Alec simply said that it was a dream of hers. The three of them enjoyed the tour with Starla’s eight worldwide confidants, who were for the first time breathing the same air as each other. They even got lucky and met a little baby. Starla was thrilled. Alec couldn’t really explain why those eight people were with them, but assured Starla’s parents that they really did qualify for closest loved ones.

At the end of the next day, Starla said goodbye to everyone, even though they could not hear her. The seconds were dropping. She was aware of exactly when her clock was going to run out. Don popped in real quick to see her off. They opened their mouths towards each other a few times, but ultimately exchanged no further words. Death was about as much of an end as anyone gets. There was nothing more to say. Exactly four days to the minute after her death, Starla’s new ghost body collapsed, and she died for a second time. She felt herself being blissfully pulled upwards, though there was no real sense of direction. Colors flew past her one by one until she reached gray, and then she stopped.

A woman she did not know, but who felt painfully familiar to her, greeted her on the other side. “Hello.” She stepped off to reveal a crowd of hundreds, possibly thousands, of people. “Welcome to...The Aggregate.” She looked pretty pleased with herself.

Starla stood for a few moments and watched as the crowd of familiar strangers attempted to greet her and bring her into the fold. But she just smiled at them. She had claimed to Don that she was done with life, but she was wrong. She wasn’t ready yet. Perhaps she never would be. “No, thanks.” She pointed her thumb behind her. “I think I’ll go back.”

“You can’t go back,” the woman argued.

“Yet, I feel like I can, and actually that I should.”

“It is true that you are one of the few of us who does not have to remain her, but there will be consequences.”

“Like what?”

“I do not have that information.”

Despite the warning, Starla left the afterlife and returned home; to her planet, that is...or plane of existence—or whatever it was. The woman had been right about the consequences, but it was more horrific than she could have imagined. All eight of her confidants, along with more than a hundred other innocent people, were killed in a plane crash. Normally, one would not attribute such a thing to a single act of resurrection, but this was different. They had all died on The Day of No Death, which should not have been possible. It really was her fault.

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