Microstory 2485: Passage of Rites

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They call this an antimetabole, with the name referring to the physical space where rites are performed, as opposed to the original phrase, which involves a more metaphorical passage from one state of being to another. A rite of passage is a ceremony—or a more abstract transitional period—that marks some change in a person’s life, often when they are still young. In some cases, it’s specifically meant to mark someone’s development from youth to adulthood. Bar Mitsvahs, Quinceñeras, and Sweet Sixteens are all about this concept, and come at the age when that culture believes an individual sufficiently matures. It doesn’t have to be based on a particular age, or there might be some leeway. For instance, our ancestors used to have to wait to learn how to drive land vehicles, and once they did learn this skill, it came with a sense of independence that they usually did not feel before. It often happened at a certain age, but it didn’t have to, and some people never learned. Different people have different ideas about what someone needs to experience in their life before they can be respected in some form or another. Some have believed that you weren’t a man, for instance, until you participated in a physically violent altercation. Others thought you really only needed to learn how to hunt game, or go on some kind of lone journey in the wilderness. Some rites of passage are a very specific set of rituals which offer symbolic practices to represent the transition. They might be asked to drink a bitter drink to symbolize the harsh realities of life, then receive a sweet candy to exemplify the reward of a life well lived. Some of them their participants prepared their whole lives for. A lot of the rites of passage shown here have been lost to time as the culture who practiced them forgot, or had newer generations who began to see less value in maintaining them. There’s a relatively new tradition on Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida where the current permanent residents gift each of their younglings a stone every year of their lives. They are expected to hold onto their collection between the ages of six and seventeen, even as it grows, until their seventeenth birthday, when they throw all of them over a cliff. These stones represent the care and attention the child needed as they were growing up. The weight of them collectively represents the burden they placed on their families. Ridding themselves of their collections represents the second stage in their life, when they are now expected to fend for themselves—to collect their own proverbial stones. That rite of passage is here too, reenacted by visitors, so they can physically feel the meaning behind the traditions. Other rites are performed exclusively by androids, such as the human sacrifices, which thankfully, no culture today has continued to observe. As I was saying about the birthday observances, there’s a lot of fun here, and you can come just to party. But I hope you do venture out to the other areas, and see some of the more somber and profound events. You can learn about any of these things in the archives, but there’s nothing quite like seeing it up close for yourself. I’ve learned a lot here already, even though I’m an archaeologist, and I’m sure you will too.

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 2478: Holidome

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Name a holiday; any holiday. Go on, I’ll wait. What did you pick? Now imagine what it’s like to celebrate that holiday. Now, go to Holidome, and you’ll find it there. Ramadan, Diwali, Carnival. It’s around here somewhere. They each live in their own little sectors, but there are some that are a little more spread out. Traditional Christmas in one region of Earth was observed in very different ways than in others, so those are separate. That way, you can be immersed in the version that you’re looking for. Honestly, I’m probably the wrong person to ask about any of this. Not only am I very young, but I was born on Castlebourne. I’m actually kind of a rarity so far. The majority of people who come aren’t here to plan families. They’re here to have fun, so they either come with their families, or they’re putting off procreating until later. My family has a long history of recognizing and appreciating other cultures, so that’s what they came here to do. A lot of that culture is gone from Earth. It wasn’t really anybody’s fault, it just sort of happened. Architecture converged into those megastructure arcologies. Creativity and identity made way for standardization and cross-compatibility. Why design a bunch of oddly-shaped trashcans, when you can design one model, and anyone who needs it knows that that one is perfect for their space, because everyone’s space is pretty much the same? These may seem like small things, and hardly relevant, but they’ve added up to major changes. It doesn’t matter where you’re from, or where your family is from. Your housing unit looks the same. You can decorate it, sure, but when we all live in virtual simulations, what’s the point? You might think, well doesn’t the culture just live on the servers? They can, but it can get drowned out by boundless imagination. In this world, people fart rainbows. Yeah, that’s fun, but there’s no history behind it. I suppose one day, we could end up living next to a community of Rainbow Farters of Erbikejifel, or some shit, but for now, it’s mostly only about novelty. Castlebourne doesn’t work like that. It exists in base reality, and it all has to fit within the limits of physics. You may be nostalgic for the days when you lit the Menorah with your family every year, or maybe you never did it, and you want to learn what it was like. I do get a little worried about cultural appropriation. People seem to think it’s a non-issue since—like I’ve been complaining about—those traditions have largely faded from real life—but I would just like to warn everyone to use caution. Those rituals held and hold great meaning to those who practice(d) them. It’s important that you be mindful of that, and stay respectful of why they participated in them. Nothing was arbitrary. I’m not trying to get you to not have any fun. Holi is a grand old time, for instance. Just don’t forget to learn about how it started, and who originally took part in such traditions. They didn’t just do it for your amusement. Except for Festivus. That really is just for fun.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: April 29, 2398

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Mateo had to learn a few things about what it’s like to be on the road on this world. Most of it is the same. Cars look about the same as he remembered, though more advanced. Buttons and levers are in different places, but that can be true of variable models. While there are a great deal of driverless vehicles on the road, there are still plenty of human-driven ones left. If a cop has to pull you over, they would be a little surprised to learn that you were in control of it yourself, but not immensely so. There isn’t much that’s going to get Mateo pulled over, though. Part of what he had to learn was the fact that there is no such thing as a speed limit. They used to have them, just as they were in the main sequence, but eventually phased them out once they understood that most accidents were being caused by distracted driving, and not speeding. In fact, in many cases, drivers found themselves more focused when traveling at higher speeds, and more likely to let their eyes wander at slower speeds.

Mateo is allowed to go as fast as he wants. Which just so happens to be about as fast as Heath’s car can handle. Mapping software accounts for it. Since he’s only recently set up a new account, and his habits haven’t been measured yet, he has to tell the system about how fast he’ll go, and it will use that to calculate travel time. A trip that might take most people an hour is only half that for him. To his surprise, he finds his destination to be identical to the way it was back home. He hasn’t been here in a long time. He hasn’t even seen Topeka. They sort of moved their base of operations to Kansas City, and started calling that their home, but he’s feeling nostalgic, and wants to see it all again. He was especially missing his secret little graveyard.

He didn’t invite anyone to come along with him. Leona, Heath, and Marie are at work anyway. Ramses has a day off, and wanted to join, but Mateo just wants to do it solo. There have been other times when he’s gone off alone, but those have mostly been attempts to protect his family. Today, he only wants to clear his mind, and not worry about anything for a little while. The last time he tried that, it didn't work out. It wasn’t a bad thing; it was the day he met his Aunt Daria, but it did sort of defeat the purpose. Hopefully he can just sit here now, and remain uninterrupted by drama. He’s successful for about an hour.

As he’s meditating with his eyes closed, he here’s the crackling of leaves a few meters away. A fairly old woman steps up to a gravestone, and places a bouquet of flowers against it. She stares at it reverently, possibly praying over the body below. But it’s not a body. Mateo can’t remember exactly which grave that is, but the most recent burial was in 1974. She never could have met anyone here, or probably even heard stories. If his mental math is even remotely close to the truth, there’s a dozen and a half generations between her and the dead person, and that’s assuming she’s mourning the outlier. No matter what, all that’s left are bones. Most of these people died in the late 19th century, and early 20th. He decides to leave it alone, and not bug her, though. After all, that’s why he came here alone. It probably has to do with her religion. It would not be unreasonable to assume that at least one faith doesn’t worship a deity, but ancestors instead.

She completes her hushed ritual, and then walks over to him. “Who do you know here?”

“Nobody,” he answers. “I just like the quiet.”

She’s taken aback by this, but regains her composure. That’s not a crazy answer.

“Do you know someone here?”

She looks back at the grave out of the corner of her eye, over her shoulder. “Of course not. He died 480 years ago.”

Now he remembers. Brantley D’Amore; September 4, 1875 to April 29, 1918. He’s not one for great memory, but he remembers gravestones. “Then why do you bring him flowers?”

“Everyone deserves to be remembered, even by those who never knew them. I come on the respective anniversaries of everyone here. The only personal connection I have is to that one over there.”

“Rossella Crocetti; April 6, 1888 to April 6, 1899.”

“Did you memorize all of their names and dates?” she asks.

“She was a child who died on her birthday. That one’s easy to recall.”

She nods. “Yeah.”

“What’s your name?”

“I’m Ty—” she stammers, like she decides midword that she doesn’t want to give out her real name, which is fine. “Tallulah. I’m Tallulah.”

He, on the other hand, doesn’t feel compelled to lie. “Mateo,” he says in kind.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’ll let you get back to your meditation.” She turns to leave.

“Wait.” He has a dumb idea. “Quincy Halifax.”

“Is that a band, errr...?”

He studies her face to see if he can detect a reaction. She does react. She recognizes the name, but she doesn’t want to talk about it, so he decides not to press it. “He’s just another guy I’ve met in this graveyard. I thought you might have encountered him too.”

“Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.”

“Right. Bye, Tallulah.”

“Bye, Mr. Matic.” Wow, she’s not very good at this. He never told her his last name. Before realizing this, Mateo turns his head away, and by the time he turns it back, she’s gone. But he’ll see her again. All he needs to do is write down the death anniversary of everyone here.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: April 19, 2398

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Still feeling the feels from their serious conversation yesterday, both Marie and Leona choose to sleep in, and make it a lazy Sunday. When Ramses goes on one of his walks, Mateo decides to go with him so he’s not making any noise down in the bunker. They only make it half a kilometer away before Ramses announces that he won’t be able to go any farther.

“What’s wrong?”

“I guess my body’s not used to the freeze-dried meals. I’ve been having trouble all week, but now it’s just...”

“I understand, we’ll go back,” Mateo says.

“No, I don’t want you to do that. I’ll go back, but you should keep going. The nature will do you good. It’s been a long time.”

“It hasn’t been that long,” Mateo points out. “We lived on Flindekeldan not two months ago.”

“Trust me, despite the terrible things Marie has told us about this place, the woods are peaceful. And there’s no one else for miles and miles. Just enjoy it. I really gotta go.” He runs off.

Mateo is about to slowly follow, but then figures he may as well do as asked. He keeps walking, hoping not to get lost. He remembered to pack one of the two-way radios, so it should be okay. Before too long, he realizes that Ramses was right. Flindekeldan was great and all, but there’s something special about this particular forest. It could be some kind of side effect from whatever is canceling out their powers and patterns. Maybe he’s always felt like a time traveler since he was 28, but now he’s normal again, and it’s changed him into something he doesn’t recognize. Is this how regular people feel all the time? They probably don’t think about it much.

A couple of hours later, Mateo squeezes their predetermined code into the radio, and gets the appropriate reply, which means he’s still within range. It’s probably time he head on back, though. He hears something that stops him. Oh, no. What is this? This is another thing, isn’t it? This is just like when he came across Cassidy Long in Gatewood, or that time he ran into his future self, or that time he became the future self, and met his past self. It’s gonna start something, and he doesn’t have time for it. Still, there’s someone over there, and he has to know who it is, and why they’re there.

He snakes his way through the brush, and comes to a small clearing. A woman is kneeling on the ground, presumably praying. Three pipes are sticking out of the ground. Does this religion worship some kind of metal God? She gasps, and stands defensively. “I don’t want any trouble, and I don’t have any money.”

“Neither do I,” Mateo agrees. “I’m just on a walk. I didn’t mean to disturb your....uh, ritual.”

“It’s a monument,” the woman counters.

“Okay.” He doesn’t need to know any more.

“To my friends.” She points to each one: “Frank, Lawrence, Jefferson.”

“Okay,” he repeats.

“I was placed underneath one of these once. They saved my life, so now I honor them by erecting a monument in every city we ever lived in together.” She clearly wants to tell someone about it.

“That sounds nice.” He clearly wants to leave. Marie needs to know about this in case she considers this woman a threat.

“Would you...please stay? I don’t have anyone to talk to about them, and they deserve to have their story told. I always try to find someone to listen, but this is the first time someone actually showed up at the site, so it feels like fate.”

He smiles sadly at her, then swings his bag off his shoulders, and drops it off the ground. It’s a bag of holding, which was designed to access a pocket dimension. That no longer works here, but a random assortment of items managed to stay in the normal part of the bag, including two small, light, camping stools. He pulls them out, and extends them with a flick of the wrist. “I’m Ma—artin. Martin.”

She doesn’t seem to notice he had to come up with an alias. “Jessie.”

Microstory 1706: Upon Altar

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Arms and legs tied down, stretched across the altar, I don’t scream or cry. I get the feeling that these people consider the struggle to be part of the ritual, and I can’t give them the satisfaction. There are dozens of them, chanting and watching me. There is no escape, even if I were to have broken free of the two people who were leading me down the stone path in the first place. I don’t know where I am, so where could I even go? No, this is where I die, and if I can’t go out on my own terms, I at least can’t give my killers the satisfaction of knowing they were responsible for my last words. The last time I spoke was to my daughter as I headed into the fields for the day. They were loving and kind, and that is what the universe will remember of me; not this. The guy who seems to be in charge of the cult, or maybe just in charge of the ceremony, approaches from the steps on the other side. He’s holding a goblet with both hands, a knife placed precariously over the lips, threatening to slip off to the ground. No one would get hurt from this, but it would probably be pretty embarrassing for him. Hoping to make this happen, I jerk what little of my body I’m still able to move towards him, and sort of chirp. He’s startled, and almost loses the knife, but he manages to grab it in time. I return to my stoic nature, unfazed and quiet. The leader clears his throat, and recovers. He speaks in tongues, or perhaps just a language I don’t so much as recognize. He’s praying to his god, or the demonhorn, or some nonsense like that. I just lie there and reflect on my life until he seems ready to finalize the sacrifices. His minions lift up my torso and place the goblet under my back. Okay, I thought it was uncomfortable before, but this is insane. He’s obviously planning to stab me, and let the blood fill the goblet, but he doesn’t get a chance. An arrow suddenly pierces his neck, and he falls over.

I wiggle until the goblet tips over, but I can’t get it out from under my back. Still, it’s enough for me to face the action. Everyone in the death cult is fighting one solitary warrior. They manage to get in a few good hits, but he’s powerful and relentless. I get the sense that he’s not here to save me, but that he has some kind of personal vendetta against these people, and I just happen to be in the right place at the right time. They probably sacrificed his spouse or child exactly one year ago, just like this, and he’s finally getting his revenge. He’s nearly gotten it. Only he is left standing, but then the leader gets back up. He breaks the arrow apart, and then stabs it right into the lone warrior’s eye, twisting it with a fiery anger. Just for good measure, he pulls the arrowhead out—a little bit of the eye comes with it—and stabs it in the other. The lone warrior falls down, and begins to die. The leader takes a moment to catch his breath before returning to me. Even without his followers, the ritual must continue. He retrieves the goblet from under me, and restarts the chanting; or as much as he can without a voice. He’s more just moving his lips around, and wheezing. Blood from his own neck wound leaks out, and drips into the cup. Able to stand the blood loss no longer, he falls on top of his enemy, leaving the goblet at my side. Blood red smoke begins to rise from it, and swirls around above me. The particles coalesce into a form, and then a figure, and then a man. He’s straddling me and grimacing. He looks over at the carnage, pleased to see so much pain and death. He looks back at me. “You have freed me from the void. I am forever in your debt. What would you have me do for you first, master?”

Microstory 1668: Curtain Call

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Year after year, Joseph Jacobson showed up to the universe that deliberately invited him with his special summoning ritual. They put on a show that fictionalized his life. Actually, they put on multiple shows at the same time, and crowned the one he responded to the winner. Joseph was aware of what they were doing, and seemed to have no problem with it. When he returned a year later for another go around, the amount of time he had spent away was incongruous. It might have been a year for him as well, or longer. He once spent three days doing this, just going straight to the next one after the last, though that wasn’t too terribly much fun, because the point of the event was to listen to the tales of his travels while he wasn’t with them. He even once jumped to five years in the future from everyone’s perspective, before going back and filling in the years prior, which meant both that he knew their future, and they knew a little bit of his. The point is that he always showed up, without fail. Until one year. It was the largest contest yet, with hundreds of productions around the world hoping to go down in history as the best. None of them won, though, which was odd. By then, they were pretty well versed in his life’s story, and the chances of not one of them being good enough seemed unlikely. Did something happen to him? Was he indisposed? That didn’t make much sense. He was a time traveler in the truest sense of the term. The only thing that could have ever stopped him from not eventually getting their message was death, and maybe not even then, because a younger version of him could simply appear instead. They didn’t even think he could die anyway. He certainly never gave anybody that impression. He had already been alive for millennia upon millennia.

As far as they knew, he was immortal, but they didn’t know everything. Perhaps there was some weakness he quite deliberately withheld from them. That would be completely understandable. But the idea that no one won the contest? That sounded far-fetched. He always acted like he quite enjoyed traveling to a world that knew all about him. He was famous in some circles, but since he moved around so much—and rarely visited the same place twice—there weren’t a lot of others that revered him so much, and continued to show it. The summoning ritual was always a choice. It was a way for people to contact him, not force him to show up at their whims. He never had any obligation to come if he didn’t want to, so if this was his way of saying he was over it, it seemed like an odd occasion. What had changed since then? Well, that was probably the point. He could tell them all the stories he liked, but they never really knew what it was like to be Joseph Jacobson. That wasn’t even suggesting he liked to lie. Maybe he left out enough about himself that they didn’t really know him at all, and there was no explaining his absence, because there was no explaining him, full stop. The reigning theory after everyone went home was that Joseph simply didn’t want to tell his stories anymore, but a close second was that they were so used to putting on the productions that there was nothing interesting about them anymore. People put a lot of effort into analyzing past winners, and trying to come up with the perfect way to perform to maximize their chances. After carefully going over the shows from the total failure year, they realized just how similar they were to each other. Either Joseph couldn’t pick the best, or the fun was gone, and it didn’t matter anymore. The world tried again the next year, but they were much more rigorous about weeding duplicate performances out. Still, Joseph didn’t show, so they tried one more time, but only with one single great performance, and then they just gave up. He never appeared again, and the people chose to move on. Maybe that was his intention all along, to somehow teach them to be completely self-sufficient. Or maybe something else had happened that most people on this planet didn’t know anything about.

Microstory 1097: Homer

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This is Alma, one last time. As a reader, you’ve hopefully been able to tease out some of the more recent events, just by the clues from the interviews. I didn’t solve the mystery of Viola’s murder because I reported the facts. I solved it, because those responsible grew paranoid, and revealed themselves to me before I had the chance to find them. As you could probably gather, Ralph and I were captured by the cult, and prepared for a ritualistic sacrifice, the purpose of which remains ambiguous. Fortunately, though Viola Woods is gone, she did not leave us without a legacy...or rather, nine legacies. They have assumed the mantle, and their first mission together was to rescue the two of us. In place of the interview with Homer that I will never get, I will recount those events in a more narrative form.

It would seem that Ada really was chosen to be Viola’s replacement, but she’s decided to not do it alone. When Homer shows up in the cave to get started on the ritual sacrifice, Ada’s there, along with seven other seniors. He doesn’t seem to realize that they were following him in until we do, like they were somehow invisible to him until the right moment. The abilities Viola gave her must have worked, and allowed her to get some idea of what was going on with Homer and his crew of evil minions. The four psychics—Martin, Margaret, Mae, and Mattie—are there as well, along with self-proclaimed witch, Alice, and her apparent student, Joan. They’re joined by Harry, who was evidently originally chosen as Viola’s replacement, but failed to meet her requirements. In what capacity he was working for them, I couldn’t tell you. I also couldn’t tell you exactly what the seven people with abilities did in their fight against the seven psychopaths who were trying to kill me and Ralph. They mostly stand there, staring at each other. Occasionally, blood would leak from one of their arms, or a bruise would form on their face. They appear to be locked in a psychic battle; a battle which the good guys are clearly winning. While they’re preoccupied, Harry steals the keys from Nannie’s belt loop, and breaks me and Ralph free from our chains. He tries to usher us away, but we both want to see what’s going to happen. It’s then that things start to change. Joan steps forward, and utters Oshwrlé to their opponents. All six minions fall, leaving Homer to take on the team by himself. The four psychics take this opportunity to surround him, and I see a nearly transparent bubble of energy that appears to be preventing him from moving forward. Ada tells him to give up, but he won’t. He pulls a knife out of the back of his pants, and starts moving it around without touching it. He sends it flying through the air, letting it slit the throats of his own people.

An inexplicable energy seeps out of the wounds, and flows into Homer’s body, seemingly giving him a boost in power. He grunts like a caveman, and breaks the psychic bubble, sending its creators falling to their backs. He takes Ada by the throat, and holds her up in the air. Alice and Joan rush up to help her, but he sends them flying towards the rocks. They don’t reach the wall, though, as Ada calls upon the strength to stop them midair before a potentially deadly collision. Then Dolly shows up, and looks to be alone, but we eventually see that she’s not. I hesitate to use the word, but it’s the only one that works. The ghost of Viola appears from Dolly’s body, and approaches Homer. He’s more scared than he’s probably ever been in his life. She doesn’t speak. She simply taps his arm, and he unwillingly lets Ada go. Viola then smiles at Ada, and gives her what looks like the go ahead. Ada uses her telekinesis to force Homer to his knees, then she places her hand at his temples. After only a few seconds, his eyes roll to the back of his head, and he falls down to his side. Viola then fades away, and Dolly leaves. Alice stands back up and takes roll call. Everyone seems to be okay, except for Homer, and his people. She announces that she’s going to heal them, but by the time she’s finished with Della, all of her energy is depleted. The other five are gone, and Homer’s in what we now know to be a coma. It’s finally over. I do not yet know what sort of truth the authorities are going to recognize, but I know this, we are going to get Maud out of jail. Someone who is actually responsible for Viola’s death is going to accept that responsibility.

Microstory 1096: Nannie

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I don’t know what to tell you. Some people are just born wrong, and I’ve never done much to hide what I am. I like hurting people, and it feels so good to admit that. Here’s the deal. All these chumps actually believe that Homer is going to save the planet, which is admittedly understandable, since he’s proven to us that he does have special abilities. He probably could do that, if he wanted. They think they’re loyal followers of a real-life Thanos, but he has no illusions about what he is, or what he’s doing. He’s made himself out to be this antihero, or maybe you would call him an antivillain, but I know he’s just a regular old villain, and he’s never hidden his true self from me. He’s not trying to improve the way the world does things. He couldn’t care less about that. He just wants what everyone else wants, and that’s to have fun. We both recognize that we don’t belong to civilized society, but we independently felt it necessary to complete our high school education. We do not intend to get jobs, since he’s too powerful for that, and we don’t have any interest in higher education, but it was important that we not begin our lives until we were adults. Well, now that time has come, and this is our grand debut. We’re not coming out as sadistic killers, though. I’m only telling you about this since you’re going to be our first victim. No, Viola doesn’t count, because that was an accident. At first, I was confused about how she knew what we were going to do. We didn’t warn Maud or Gertrude, and I’ve already questioned the other the other five. Homer says that she was just like him, except that she didn’t look at humans as playthings, which is what you are. He was actually surprised she was able to stop us at all. They were meant to be equals, which meant whatever powers allowed her to know the things she shouldn’t have shouldn’t have worked when it came to him. I mean, what was the point of her even trying anyway? It was clearly a waste of her time, and still would have been, had she lived. People aren’t worth saving, and that’s not just something I use to justify my actions. Others are no better than us; they’re just not strong enough to harness their own power. Anyway, I just came to check on the locks. Looks like it’s time to release you from them, though. Homer’s arrived to finish this fake ritual, and he’s brought a friend. Wait, that’s no friend. What is he doing here? Oh my God, there’s more of them. What did you do? Why isn’t Homer fighting back?

Microstory 1095: Wanda

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Your five minutes are up. If it were up to me, we wouldn’t separate you from Ralph at all, but Della’s worried you’ll start working on an escape together, and we can’t have that. I suppose this is the part where I sit you down and explain our dastardly plans, isn’t it? It looked like Julius was already filling you in on the ritual we’re going to perform today. He wasn’t really meant to do that. But I do want to talk to you, because...well, you’ve talked to just about everyone else in our graduating class, haven’t you? I’m fully on board with this project, but I don’t think we have to be mean to people. The truth is that Gertrude and I really were friends. We lied to the cops, and said that we were all in a group of friends together, but my friendship with Gertrude is a hundred percent real. Homer even had to do some witchy woo to prevent people from realizing they had never even seen us all together before. That was the opposite of the original plan, which was to stay as far from each other socially as possible, so no one would suspect we were the killers. Of course, the whole thing went awry when Viola showed up to stop us, and we had to improvise. You may be asking yourself, why would Wanda sacrifice Gertrude if she liked her? That’s precisely why I had to do it, and also precisely why I hesitated when it came time. You see, Homer claimed that it was only a sacrifice if we were losing something, which makes sense, when you think about it. You can’t really sacrifice a stranger, and expect the universe to be impressed by it. Annoyingly, it appears that this was a total lie as well, and Homer was just doing it to be cruel to his own people. We’re not actually sacrificing someone to the universe, but creating a new balance between life and death, which means the targets could have been anyone. This is where you and Ralph come in. I still don’t love that we have to do it at all, but at least the distance between us will make it easier. I intend to wield one of the holy blades again, and I intend to carry out my mission, without question this time. Even though Homer lied to us, I know that he has a pure soul, and this will herald a better future. Climate change, the refugee crisis, wage disparity, homelessness, disease, racism. These are all human creations, and the only way to fix the lunacy is by accepting the leadership of someone who is not quite human. But Homer can’t do it on his own. He needs more people to be like him, and the six of us are the start of that. Why six? It has nothing to do with the ritual itself, but Sidney apparently came up with that number for strategic purposes. He says, if you want to surround a building with a tactical team, you need a minimum of seven people, so you can box them in on all three dimensional axes. I don’t know exactly where he came up with that, but Homer seemed to agree, which is why he recruited five more people, and stopped there. Anyway, you better prepare yourself. The end is nigh for you, while the beginning of a new day is at hand.

Microstory 1094: Julius

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If it makes you feel any better, I don’t like this any more than you do. I’m not as unfeeling as Clyde, or as twisted as Nannie. I’m just trying to make my life better, and unfortunately, that means yours has to end. When Homer first approached me with his offer, I...well, I just didn’t believe him. But when he showed me what I could do, I still turned him down. I’m not a bad person, Alma, I promise you. I know these chains don’t make it look like that’s true, and I understand there’s no way you and I could ever be friends, but we’re all just doing our best here. Homer explained to me that the universe only exists through balance. There is no way for everyone in the world to be happy; it just doesn’t happen like that. Everyone’s fine with corporate executives firing their minions left and right. They’re fine with protected presidents sending poor soldiers to die in an unjust war. But they get all up in arms when we make a human sacrifice or two. Can you tell me, what exactly is the difference? In all three scenarios, people die, so why is it so much worse what we’re doing? I’ll tell you why, because we and Homer aren’t part of an institution. You’re only allowed to hurt people if you’ve gathered enough others who want to hurt people. Isn’t that sickening? We’re killing two people, while world leaders regularly kill by the thousands, but somehow, we’re the monsters. Priorities, am I right? Well, I’ve been through enough, and I’m not going to take it anymore. This town may accept me as the token gay jock, even though I’m definitely not the only one, but it hasn’t always been like that. I had to learn to filter out a lot of hate when I was a kid, growing up in the deep south. I’m one of those gays who can’t contain it, even if I tried—my mom knew who I was before I even did—so I had a huge target on my back before we moved up here. The only thing that kept me alive was football. You might think my opponents would be too homophobic to even touch me, but they were always itching to knock me down. They underestimated me, though, because I hit them back, and I hit them harder.

We’re not going to sit back and let people come after us anymore, and we’re not going to be silenced. I’m sorry you won’t be around to see it, but Homer is building a better world, with more logical rules. He’s recruited some terrible people to help him, and I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but they won’t be around to see it either. I think we can all agree that there is something seriously wrong with this world, and if our species is going to survive, something has to change. The process is not going to be easy, and it’s not going to be pretty, but it starts today, and I wish you could be proud of what you’re a part of. It’s my job to explain what we’re going to be doing to you, and the first thing you should know is that each one of us went through the same thing...except that your ritual ends differently. First, we have to submerge you in water, and hold you there until but one air bubble remains clinging to your nostril. Then we pull you out, revive you, if we have to, and lather you with mud. We’ll set you on the ground next to a campfire. If you’re up for it, you can be sitting, like Maud was, or you can be lying down, like Gertrude. Homer will then use his wind magic to blow the fire towards your bodies, until the mud hardens. After a little bit of chanting, which I suspect isn’t truly necessary for the ordeal, you will reëmerge from your cocoon a new person. This is where things change from the rituals we experienced. One of us will be chosen to kill you, while another will be chosen to carry out the second sacrifice. We don’t know who that’s going to be yet, but I will almost certainly be chosen. Wanda and Della were chosen last time, while Clyde and Sidney were responsible for protecting the sacred grounds. The girls hesitated, which gave Viola the opportunity to interfere with the ritual. The guys got distracted in an argument, and were unable to stop her. Nannie and I will probably have to wield the holy blades, while Homer takes matters into his own hands, and prevents any Viola-like magician from stopping us this time. Like I was saying, I get that none of this is going to make sense to you, but things are going to get better. If ghosts exists, which it seems like maybe they do, perhaps you’ll even be able to watch humanity’s magnificent transformation from the other side. Hell, we still don’t know what all of Homer’s powers are, so he might even be able to bring you back. Oh, we should stop talking. Wanda’s here with the second sacrifice. I believe that you and Ralph have become friends, right?

Microstory 1093: Clyde

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So, I’m driving in the big city—well, the suburbs—when I find myself behind this guy who just won’t drive fast enough. I mean, the dude’s going fifteen miles and hour on a thirty-five. I just can’t stand it, so I finally pass him. It wasn’t technically legal for me to do that, since there was one lane each one, and the street was adjacent to neighborhoods, but I hate driving that slowly. I didn’t have anywhere I needed to be, but he didn’t know that, right? What a jerk. So now I’m in front of him, which pisses him off; enough to make him start tailgating me, and honking his horn nonstop. It’s funny that he couldn’t go over twenty while he was in front of me, but now all the sudden, he wants to go fifty. Well, that sort of thing might have concerned me back when I was driving a little sedan, but I have a gigantic SUV now, so I’m not sure what he think he’s accomplishing. We keep going, and he stops honking long enough to whip out his phone and take a photo of my license plate. Whatever, man. The cops aren’t gonna hunt me down and arrest me for a minor offense they weren’t around to see. They have better things to do, and I don’t even think that’s legal. They have to catch you in the act when it comes to a traffic violation. Anyway, we keep going, and it’s starting to get a little suspicious that he’s still following me. It’s not completely out of the realm of possibility that we’re still heading the same way, but I have to be sure. I make a sudden right turn into a neighborhood. He does too. I make a right turn out of the neighborhood, onto the next main street. He does too. I make yet another right turn; he’s still there, which is insane, because we’re literally going in a circle. I start thinking the guy’s a serial killer, or a CIA assassin, and I’m not meant to know who I’m messing with. But he’s the one who doesn’t know who he’s messing with, because I’m a diagnosed sociopath, and I just don’t give a fuh. I lure him to an abandoned part of town, and pull over. I keep thinking he’ll just drive off, because he don’t want no confrontation, but he’s not that smart. We both get out of our cars; him with a tire iron, and me with nothing. He pulls into a golf backswing, and prepares to knock out my taillights, but his weapon doesn’t make it that far. I take it off his hands, and swipe his chin with it. I’m fully prepared to leave it at that, but then he has the nerve to cough blood onto my new shoes.

One man was there as witness, and I’m thinking I’ll have to take him out too, but he approaches from the darkness with a smile, and I realize it’s none other than Homer Durand. That’s right, Viola didn’t save me; he did. All the way out here I run into a kid I go to high school with. He tells me he appreciates my work, and wants to know if I would be interested in collaborating on a project with him. I have no clue what the hell he’s talking about, but I’m intrigued. When I tell him I’ve never hurt anyone before, he says that’s okay, and he can teach me how to do it better. He likes that I managed to find someone I was motivated to kill, but who I can’t be tied to. He warns me the building we’re parked in front of has a security camera, though, so I need to be more careful next time. Don’t worry, he took care of it, so that’s all over. Why am I telling you all this when I know it could get me in trouble? Why did I not listen to Sidney when he told me you have the ability to make people tell you the truth? Why am I not freaking out that it’s working? Because I know you can’t do anything about it. You wanna hear the truth, Alma? Here’s the truth. Viola interrupted a delicate ritual Homer and we were performing. It’s important, but not irreproducible. We’re going to do it again, and this time, we won’t fail. This interview series you’re working on won’t see the light of day, Alma, because Homer has chosen you. You won’t be in any position to stop us, and once it’s all finished, neither will anyone else. You’ve been wasting your time. This is it for you, Julius is here to escort you away. We just need to find one more victim. Any ideas?

Microstory 1092: Sidney

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My mother worked her whole life on the farm, while my father worked there for most of it. He was a ranch hand when they met, and he was looked down upon, because he was so much older. They didn’t start dating until she turned sixteen, and didn’t get married until she was eighteen. Love is love. For all the sex positive messages people these days keep trying to spin, they sure don’t think it’s right my dad happened to be an adult when he met the girl he would only one day end up happening to marry. Nothing happened when she was five. Anyway, our lives have been pretty tough, so you can’t blame me for trying to make it better. Farming is a dying industry. People are only interested in eating organic, free from pesticides, and grown in laboratories. Ugh, it disgusts me. Who cares how much wilderness we destroyed to accommodate our pigs, and who cares how many hormones are in our milk? If it tastes good, and it keeps you alive, what more could you possibly want? I tell you, this world is going to hell, and we’re being forced to go along with it. We had to literally sell the farm, so we wouldn’t starve to death. Where was Viola then? She’s helped everyone else in town, but somehow we’re not worthy? Am I supposed to feel bad for her? I’m not happy she’s dead, and I think it was a tragedy, but she shouldn’t have gotten in the way. My God, why did I just tell you that? I mean, we had nothing to do with her death—except that we did. Why can’t I lie? I mean, I’m not lying. Or, I mean...I am lying, because we’re not not responsible for her death. Christ on the cross, this is ridiculous. You did something to me. You’re making me confess to something I didn’t not do. There I go again. You’re just like Viola and Homer, aren’t you? You’re one of them. I can’t believe I agreed to this interview. I should have known you could control what I say, like a freak. No, I couldn’t have known, but Homer should have warned me. He agreed to protect us if we helped him. Sure, we didn’t succeed, because like I said, Viola got in the way. But that wasn’t our fault; we’re not the ones who can do magic. We have to find a way to make it up to him, and complete the ritual. If Gertrude and Maud are no longer viable candidates, then we need to find someone who is. I’m leaving, and I’m warning all my friends about what you can do, so don’t even try to use your magic to get them to talk. Not all of them are as strong-willed and disciplined as me. Goddamn, I didn’t mean to tell you that. Get away from me!

Microstory 840: Low Man on the Ladder

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The Ladder. It is the single greatest challenge and honor. If chosen to ascend this monumental feat of engineering, it means your life is complete, that you gave accomplished everything you possibly can. Or so we’re told. Of course, as it is a challenge, just because you’re selected to attempt it, doesn’t mean you’ll succeed. Hundreds over the years have tried, and no one has heard of a winner. Perhaps that is the point, they say. They believe it to be one final lesson, that no matter how you lived, you die like everyone else. Which I guess is true, but that doesn’t make things any easier when most of the people are living in squalor, and the few rich want for nothing. Others think the point is to not climb, but to fall off, and meet The Abyss smile first. It is true that roughly three-fourths of selectees choose this route, and let go after working up enough courage. Many, however, still attempt to make the full climb. Few are given the privilege to watch—ritualizers, administrators, guards—and what little information on the truth of the event that leaks out suggests that everybody eventually falls. The rungs are far apart and slippery. The wind is fierce and unyielding. It would take a massive amount of physical strength to make it all the way to the top, if such a place even exists. The ladder rises above the clouds, so no one has seen the top. People have spent their whole lives training for it, only to find themselves never being picked. It would seem that the more you want it, the less of a chance you have in getting it. And I swear there’s a negative correlation between the amount of wealth you possess, and your chances of being chosen.

I never wanted it at all. I had no interest in trying to reach the top, nor in learning the reality behind it. I was always totally content just keeping my head down, and being me. So naturally, I was selected two days after my twenty-fourth birthday. “Any advice?” I ask the attendant as she’s preparing me for my journey. A few people have tried to run, and escape their fate, but none of them has ever made it, so what chance would I have? All I can do is hope for a quick death, because honestly, I don’t think there’s anything up there. I think our leaders just kill people. The attendant smiles at me shyly, and points to a patch of fungus in the corner of the cave. I kneel down to inspect it. “Powdernose. For traction. Perfect, thanks.” I tear some of off the ground, and rub it into my hands, as well as all up my arms, just for good measure. She directs me to the cave exit, where I can see the Ladder cross from bottom to top. The guards don’t look at me, nor do the ritualizers, whose chorus of speeches I ignore. They’re not saying anything that will help me through this. It’s all just a bunch of spiritualistic nonsense designed to make them feel better about what they’re doing. I wonder how committed they would be to their beliefs if they were ever chosen. I bet they’re exempt. My attendant leads me to the edge, and motions for me to begin my climb. With no choice, I hold onto the nearest rung, and swing around to face the mountain. She’s not smiling anymore. I reach up to the next rung, but the ladder begins to sink, which I wasn’t ready for, so I lose my grip and fall right off.

As I’m plummeting to my death, I’m imagining all those people up there, rolling their eyes, and joking with each other about how quick I lost. Maybe they’re paying one of them money, having bet on how long I would last. I can’t give them the satisfaction. I’m determined to catch the ladder once more, and at least climb far enough back up to see their faces again. I stick my arm back towards the Ladder, and grab onto the rung, holding on for dear life, knowing that my action will start it sinking once more. I don’t know how I manage, but I don’t break my arm. I scramble to get my feet back on, so I can restart. I have to get up there before most of them leave. The Ladderwatchers are literally always looking at the Ladder, but I want everyone to see before they go home for the week. I want to prove that I’m better than they think. Oh no, it was the adrenaline, which is wearing off now. I did break my arm, and it’s killing me. My God, I thought I knew what pain was. All I can do is cling to the wood, letting myself drift further and farther toward the darkness. As I draw nearer, I begin to hear incredibly frightening sounds. They’re cries of agony, and monstrous howls. Whatever is down there, I do not want to see it, but I’m too tired, and too hurt. Again, I just have to hope it ends quickly. But then the darkness passes, and I see ground below me. The Ladder continues to sink and be swallowed by the soil. I see bodies too; some fresh, some just bones. Once I’m only a few feet above the surface, I hop off, and take a look around. An old man comes out of the shadows with a huge grin. “You’ve figured out the secret. Come, friend. We built a better society here than we ever had on the mountain. We are all equal.”

Microstory 680: Clean of Heart

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While staying on Earth, we encountered a ritual that some of the natives practiced known as baptism. Though some of our traditions are based on those of the Earthans, we know that their religion, called Chistianity is incorrect, because it conflicts with ours. This convention, however, spurred a bit of a disagreement amongst Lightseers. We know that the Light can have a powerful transformational effect on individuals, which—with its use of water instead—baptisms are designed to create. The water washes over their bodies and removes sin from their souls. The reluctance for most Lightseers to do anything remotely like this has to do with the concept of choice. Though Lightseers tend to raise their children as Lightseers, we respect the idea that everyone has the right to choose their path. We encourage our patrons to seek understanding by their own accord. If any Lightseer is only this way because they know nothing else, their beliefs could not possibly be real. Baptism on Earth is generally performed not long after birth, which means the child is completely incapable of fathoming what is being forced upon them. Most of us find this to be abhorrent, but there are those who accept it, and replicate it. The deep irony in this is that with the freedom the galaxy provides comes without the right to tell people how to raise their kids. In fact, the Sacred Savior seems to have some level of respect for these people, and foretold that the Lightseed baptism analog, gelen would be performed on a mainstream infant. It involves a special form of light therapy. Knowing the Book of Light to be absolute truth, the Highlightseers consented to this order. They went out and found a couple who had recently given birth. They completed the ceremony on the couple’s son, Baldovin. The passage in the Book of Light for the taikon predicted that this would the beginning of something important to come many years in the future, theoretically long after the taikon have been completed. We shall have to wait and see.

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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