The interns had felt so high-strung for so long that they collapsed onto their hovercraft seats like marionettes cut free. No one had the energy to talk, but each felt mighty thankful for the way things had turned out – especially since they'd started off their internship little better than hostages. Clara – still vaguely suspicious of Agilis in general – watched the ebony columns, rectangular pools, and branching roads pass under the hovercraft's azure propulsion lights without complaint.
Now that he was escorting guests rather than transporting captives, Commander Ballitor had removed his helmet and assumed the air of a docent as he highlighted some of the city's key features. “We're high enough that you should be able to see the quarry about forty-eight furlongs north,” he said, pointing ahead.
Most were too tired to even ask what a furlong was, but Clara studied the horizon. She could see silhouettes of several cranes and and other machinery against a blue glow in the distance.
Commander Ballitor continued, “We mine photopetrium from the cliffs – possibly the most valuable resource on Elpis 7. It's versatile, plentiful, and stronger than steel. We make most of our buildings and roads from it. I don't suppose you have photopetrium on Earth?”
“No, sir,” Raven said. “If I may ask, why does it turn transparent at times?”
Commander Ballitor nodded with satisfaction. “When the light precisely aligns with its molecule chains from one side, you can see through it.”
Raven and Tristan bobbed their heads affirmatively while Darian hid a yawn behind his hand.
After Raven's successful inquiry, Clara screwed up her courage and cleared her throat. “Excuse me, Commander. But how did your clan manage to discover and process enough photopetrium to build a city in only nine months?”
“'Months?'” Ballitor raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, I'm unfamiliar with that word. Why do people on Earth have so many specific terms for time? I mean, what's the point of talking so much about it when you can just live it?”
Clara fell silent. She'd never considered how many time-related words she used. And what exactly was the benefit of obsessing over seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, and decades? How often had her parents warned her not to waste time? How often had her peers helped her kill it? How much of her past had she forgotten? And how much of her present had she squandered in yearning for the future?
Clara suddenly felt very tired. She was a good eight hours of sleep and a bracing cup of tea away from engaging in any cultural-philosophical debate. She let the matter drop.
“... and finally,” Commander Ballitor announced, “there's the Sapphire Hotel – the grandest on the planet.”
Even Darian opened his eyes wide as the hovercraft approached a striking columned building half photopetrium and half a blue crystalline material which rose triangularly from the front entrance to the tapered roof some hundred and fifty feet from the ground. Blue light shone from the crystal and shimmered from the undersides of the overhead clouds.
The transition from floating hovercraft to her evening quarters was little more than a blur. Clara barely took in the sparkling chandelier in the lobby or the stunning view from her massive window (or was it the wall?). She'd barely heard Commander Ballitor's parting instructions. All she wanted was to shower and sleep. She could marvel at the hotel's amenities in the morning. Clara fell unconscious moments after hitting her pillow and soon slipped into an uneasy dream.
#
Pitiful. Absolutely pitiful! Clara shook her head bitterly as she viewed hundreds of vacant black seats in the great Vitae Conglomerate Banquet Hall. Had things been done properly – had her mother passed according to schedule – people would have packed out the gold-gilt room from its white-marbled floor to its red plush balcony seats. But there had been no gold-embossed invitations, no professional montage, no parting gifts, no available musicians, and hardly any time for anyone to get their fancy duds dry-cleaned before the ceremony. And the only caterer left in town that hadn't already been booked for a birthday, graduation, wedding, or other Passing ceremony that evening only served burritos.
Clara's mom had never liked burritos.
No availability!? Clara had thought in indignation. What are mere social milestones compared to a completed life journey? If her mother had been there, she would have planned her Passing ceremony to perfection a year in advance. She would have ordered sea food, artisan bread, aged wine, and fine chocolate. And why not? After all, the V. C. subsidized all Passing ceremonies, allowing those well-off to spare no expense for the most distinguished of all celebrations.
Had things been done properly, there would have been hours of speech-making as family, friends, and neighbors shared their favorite memories of the nearly-departed and thanked her in person for her role in their lives. There would have been feasting and laughter and music. And her mother – still lithe and beautiful as ever – would have been in the center of it all leading the latest dance step, hugging her loved ones close, whispering final words of wisdom, and lighting up the hall with her contagious laugh.
Had things been done properly, the local V. C. Regent would have marched up to the podium and called Clara's mother to stand by his side. Looking smart in his dapper uniform, he would have publicly declared the guest of honor's most noteworthy virtues. That's when people learned about the hidden things done in charity, the unsung acts of self-sacrifice, and the little-recognized accomplishments captured by hidden cameras when no one else had seen. Knowing her mother's generous nature and hundreds of volunteer hours over the years, this speech would have taken an age. Meanwhile, Clara, her father, and Sydney would have stood nearby onstage with their hearts beating with pride.
After the long litany of praise, the V. C. Regent would have raised his hands above her mother's bowed head and bestowed on her the reward coveted by those whose Passing had not yet come – the prestigious Vitae Conglomerate Medal.
Not everyone got a medal at their Passing ceremonies – those who'd committed crimes against the Conglomerate didn't even get ceremonies. Bronze medals went to responsible V. C. citizens: those who paid their taxes, kept their speech squeaky-clean (politically speaking), and managed to avoid prison. Those who received silver had to prove themselves capable in their fields: a successful entrepreneur, a teacher who'd never needed a substitute, or a well-renowned chef whose kitchen had never failed a health inspection. Gold was reserved for those whose reputations reached the Vitae Conglomerate's upper echelons. A top physician, an army general, a trillionaire – such were the privileged few so adorned.
Clara had only seen gold awarded once – at Raven's father's Passing ceremony. But that had not been a joyous event, nor a happy memory.
Anyway, Clara was sure her mother would have gotten silver if only she had been present for the occasion. And how the crowd would have cheered!
But there had been no time to give people the usual six to nine months' notice, no time to hire musicians, and no time to arrange for better catering. The only reason they were able to book the banquet hall was because Clara's father knew the man who operated it, and he had been able to persuade another family to move their ceremony up a few hours. Thus, the Miltons only had a quarter of the traditional time allotted for a normal reservation, but it was better than nothing. At least that's what Clara had told her sister when they got the booking.
But now, with the cavernous hall sitting mostly empty, Clara wondered if it would have been better to plan a smaller celebration at the house. Eighty percent of the guests had been unable to attend. Her mother's favorite songs sounded tinny and canned through the speaker system; their feeble melodies only haunted the hall and emphasized the hollowness of the occasion.
Clara tried to pretend to have a good time; but she'd never been the natural performer her mother had been. Even in good spirits, her father rarely enjoyed public events; now he sat in a corner by himself and studied the ice cubes in his whiskey. Sydney had lost considerable color in the last few days and, while physically present, seemed miles away as she stared into the indistinct distance and nodded vaguely at what people said. The few guests in attendance tried to console the family by apologizing again for untimely accident. But their attempts to lighten the heaviness in the atmosphere only accentuated the awkwardness of the whole affair.
No one felt like eating a burrito.
Then came the automated message on Clara's handheld device. Her fingers trembled as she listened to it:
“To Whom It May Concern: Due to circumstances beyond our control and your loved one's untimely passing, we regret to inform you that the Vitae Conglomerate Regent will be unable to attend your ceremony. Instead, a copy of your loved one's accomplishments on file will be mailed to your home within three to five business days. We apologize for any inconvenience and wish to extend our congratulations at your loved one's completed life. Have a great day.”
Click.
For a few seconds, Clara dumbly held the device to her ear. She found the message's unperturbed tone shockingly offensive – infuriating, even. She felt her eyes burn and her jaw clench. A storm was coming, and she could not weather it in polite company. She snatched her purse from the white damask tablecloth and strode out of the main hall for the ladies' restroom, ignoring Sydney's quizzical look on the way out.
After a quick peek under the stall doors to ascertain she was alone, she opened her purse and screamed inside it. The tears she'd been repressing for her father's and sister's sakes came streaming out in torrents.
It wasn't fair! Her mother had been in the peak of health, but through no fault of her own, she was gone forever years ahead of schedule. Stolen. And no one had gotten to say goodbye or I love you one last time. Was this not the right of every Vitae Conglomerate citizen? Was this not the aspiration of all persons – to live and die in health and honor and to be spared historic suffering from the slow decay of time?
For most of her life, Clara had never valued belief in God. But now, gripped by disappointment and feeling utterly gypped by the universe, she wanted someone to yell at.
#
Clara hit the bedroom floor with a bone-jarring thump. She gasped, then sat up in a nest of disheveled covers which had fallen off the bed after her. For several moments she felt completely disoriented; this was not her room. She glanced out the window and her heart caught in her throat; the blue glow of an unfamiliar cityscape shone in the darkness a hundred feet below her.
Then she remembered. This was not her mother's Passing ceremony. This was not even Earth.
Someone knocked on her door. “Clara? You okay in there?” Aliyah's voice.
“Y-yes,” Clara stammered, getting to her feet like a newborn fawn. She flipped on the light switch, and blinked in the dazzling brightness.
Aliyah opened the door wearing a red satin robe and her hair pulled back under a thin black cloth. Clara almost didn't recognize her without makeup. “I heard you yelling through the wall. Bad dream?”
Clara sighed as she sat on the bed. “Bad memory. What time is it?”
“No clue,” Aliyah shook her head. “No clocks in the bedrooms. But if you want any, I have some sleeping pills in my suitcase. I knew there wouldn't be any other way for me to sleep in a tent all summer. Now it appears I don't need them. So if you want some ...”
“Thanks, Aliyah,” Clara said with a yawn. “I'm good.”
Aliyah nodded and joined Clara on the bed. “To tell you the truth, I hadn't quite drifted off yet. Too many things on my mind.”
Clara picked her coverlet off the floor. Some light conversation might help her forget her flashback. “What's on your mind?”
“It's about my father's Passing Ceremony.”
Clara stiffened.
“It's scheduled for the last week of the internship. You see, I didn't think they'd actually select me when I applied. I just filled out the paperwork to please a professor. When I actually got the acceptance letter, it caused quite a stir in the house, let me tell you.”
Clara wasn't sure what to say, so she nodded.
Aliyah sighed. “Mama said I was heartless to choose an internship over family and miss the biggest day of Daddy's life. But Daddy said he didn't want his end to interfere with my future. He practically ordered me to take the internship and become the best geneticist the V. C. has ever seen. No pressure.” She smiled wanly. “I told him I'd make my time here worth the sacrifice. But I did not sign up for all this drama. I thought for sure Karnak was going to have our heads earlier. Now I wish I would have stayed home.”
Clara wrapped her arms around her pillow and rested her chin on it. She didn't feel up to elaborating on her own disappointments with a certain parent's Passing. So she merely said, “I'm sorry, Aliyah. I know it doesn't change anything, but I'm sorry all the same.”
“Thanks,” Aliyah said as she rubbed one of her eyes. “Well. It's probably best if we both get some sleep. Big day tomorrow, and who knows what it will bring?”
Clara yawned. “Thanks for checking in on me.”
“No problem.” Aliyah rose to her feet and turned toward the door. “At least this is better than sleeping in a tent all summer.”
Clara smiled. “Agreed. Rest well, Aliyah.”
“Good night.”
So what do you think?
Loss is always hard. I don’t care if it’s the loss of a loved one, a job, a role, or even a season. Have you ever seen loss handled well? If you could redo, amend, or add to the memorial of someone you cared about, what would you do differently? Share in the comments below.
I'm enjoying the many details that give information and personality at the same time, like: "If her mother had been there, she would have planned her Passing ceremony to perfection a year in advance. She would have ordered sea food, artisan bread, aged wine, and fine chocolate."
I left Chattanooga TN 13 years ago. Since then I lost my friends, uncles, grandmother, great grandma, auntie. Seems like the moment I left, all hell broke loose. I wasn't away a week before the first loss. I left family to be with immediate family. Looking back today , Thanksgiving. I am more alone than I thought possible. Work from home alone, spend holidays alone, live alone. I have little contact with people. As I become a memory I rely on memories to keep me semi ok