《Gathered Here》 1. The fifth-to-last funeral to ever be held was only modestly attended. Abraham, the man who was dead, had had only one daughter. The pattern had held for another two generations before his great-grandson had bucked the trend with a more explosive fertility - but by that point the generational gap was so large that only a few of those younger folk felt connected with their ancient patron. Nor had Abraham been close to any nieces, nephews, or younger cousins. His wife had passed some time before, as had his brother; and of course his parents, uncles, and aunts were many years gone. So, in the end, it was but a smattering of family, a few former students who had become friends, and the small group of other remaining humans whose fate it was to similarly die. There were five of them. ¡°I maintain this is a grim tradition, each one worse than the last! Readings, music - where were the fireworks, the bang? Pah!¡± Frederick, who was the second youngest, spoke loudly as they exited the small venue. He wore a sharp blue suit and habitual smirk, and he carried with him a thin cane, only truly needed on the roughest ground. The white flower in his lapel was bright and resplendent. He walked by Juanita, whom the years had treated more unkindly. Her cane was thicker, and a wince could be seen around her eyes as she leaned upon it. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t be tasteless, Freddie. There are family about.¡± ¡°Family? Don¡¯t give me that, ¡®Anita! Any whippersnappers around here should respect their elders. We¡¯ve only got so many moments, and any one of those I¡¯m not spending with my heart racing or with a drink in my hand are wasted. Where¡¯s the wake? There will be wine there, I¡¯m sure. Abe loved the stuff, so there had better be.¡± ¡°You¡¯re incorrigible.¡± ¡°And proud. Now¡­¡± Freddie looked around and his eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the three other ancients. They were also leaving the hall, separated from him and Juanita by a couple of Abraham¡¯s great-great-grandchildren. Freddie put a hand on Juanita¡¯s arm to slow her and the two of them stepped to the side to let the youth past and their peers catch up. He called out to them. ¡°Chae-won! Austen! I saw you talking to those kids before the ceremony,¡± - he said that last word wrong, seh-REM-on-ee, a smug amusement creasing his face as he saw the others take a moment to parse it - ¡°You¡¯ll know whether there are plans for a proper wake. What have you heard? And Carlos, tell your sister here to stop being a stick in the mud. Even better, tell her to get drunk! It¡¯ll help with her arthritis.¡± Carlos, who was Juanita¡¯s younger brother, was a frowning man whose greying brows dominated his face and shadowed his eyes. Juanita moved to stand next to him, sharing a look with Austen, a kind of ¡°can-you-believe-this-guy¡± moment of eye contact which had become a standard response to Freddie¡¯s cheerful boorishness. Chae-won¡¯s face remained impassive as she walked to join them, her posture upright and queenly. ¡°You¡¯re getting worse every time I see you, Freddie,¡± Austen said with a laugh. She looked as young as ever - and indeed she was the youngest. ¡°Inappropriate, noisy, and rude! How do you live with yourself?¡± ¡°Comfortably! Exquisitely! And not sober when I don¡¯t have to be!¡± ¡°The wake is being held at the house of Abraham¡¯s son Samuel,¡± Chae-won said, looking at a small notebook she had produced from a pocket. ¡°This was on the invitations. It was confirmed by Samuel when I talked to him before, as you observed.¡± She put the notebook away and looked up. ¡°That is all the help I will give you in indulging, Frederick. It is not a long walk from here, if we want to make our way on foot.¡± A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. Freddie sniggered. ¡°You think I enjoy exercise? When there is drinking to be done? No, I will drive. Juanita will navigate for me, since she is so damn keen on keeping me on the right path. Come on! Room for anyone as lazy as I am!¡± He twirled, and set off with a spring in his step, but without moving at full speed - slow enough that Juanita could keep up comfortably despite the pain in her hips. The rest followed, Carlos trailing slightly at the rear, Austen saying something that made Chae-Won silently smile. Freddie held the doors of his sedan open for the various passengers with an ironic bow, and then with a near-silent hum they were off. ¡°Well, I thought it was a beautiful ceremony,¡± said Austen from the back. ¡°So many lovely readings! And the things written by Abe that his students had found, which were really quite touching. I didn¡¯t know that kind of writing made it into books about history.¡± ¡°Abraham was renowned for his poetic style,¡± said Chae-Won, ¡°He felt that important moments in history are worth exploring emotionally as well as factually. It¡¯s all in his books.¡± Juanita nodded along. She and Abe had spoken of this several times, and the idea had informed some of the pieces of art she was most proud of. ¡°I don¡¯t know about history, but the man could wax poetic about other things!¡± added Freddie with a leer, ¡°I¡¯ll never have to listen to him going off on one about a fantastic dinner, or one of his ¡°immortal games¡± of chess again, and I for one am all for it! Did you know the man had memorised every world champion match on record? Get him started, and it was all queenside this, kingside pawns, A8, rook to B16, and oh! He and Shin, when he was still around, they would - ¡° ¡°Are we all just going to ignore it?¡± Carlos broke in sharply. There was a confused silence, conversation suddenly halted. Juanita closed her eyes. ¡°...ignore what?¡± said Freddie. Carlos stared at him via the rearview mirror, eyes wide and slightly bulbous. ¡°It doesn¡¯t happen like this,¡± he growled. ¡°He should have had years of warning. No accident, nothing named. No new risk factors. Nothing failing over time. Just - boom! Dead. That isn¡¯t supposed to happen these days! What do we have these for- ¡° he shook the biometric watch on his wrist angrily, ¡°- if not to catch things! Give some warning! Are you telling me something isn¡¯t fucked about this one? Someone, some bit of tech, didn¡¯t screw up?¡± A snorting scoff punctuated the end of this statement - before he went on. ¡°It¡¯s fucked. All this fucked. So who, who screwed up?¡± All through this outburst, he had avoided looking directly at Chae-won. Now, Austen threw a nervous glance towards her. Her lips had pressed into a thinner line. ¡°It¡¯s rare,¡± she said, ¡°But not unheard of. There was a case¡­¡± she trailed off, frowning. Carlos rounded on her, face reddening. ¡°Don¡¯t you start! A case? One, two? An who says they weren¡¯t fucked over either? All your fancy tech, can¡¯t get that right? Or is it all no good? Eh?¡± ¡°Carlos!¡± Juanita had spun in her seat to look at him.¡±You are not going to do this! You are not going to shout at our friends at Abe¡¯s funeral because you have some... Some cracked idea about his death! I won¡¯t have it. I won¡¯t!¡± Carlos sneered. ¡°Friends? These people? Who we just have one thing in common with, who we only see when someone dies? Pah! How do we know it wasn¡¯t one of them who fucked something up at some point? Or got Abe into something just a bit too fun, eh? Come on Freddie, I know you like your funny pills, you slip him something?¡± ¡°Oh, Carlos, no -¡± started Austen, shocked, but he waved her down. ¡°Stop the car,¡± he barked, ¡°I¡¯m getting out¡±. Freddie did so wordlessly. Carlos angrily opened the door and got out. He started to stalk away. ¡°I¡¯m sorry everyone, I had better go after him,¡± sighed Juanita, starting to rise. ¡°It¡¯s ok,¡± said Freddie, softly. ¡°He¡¯s upset. Come to the wake if you can, and you¡¯re both still invited to any of my little parties, or just to dinner, of course - let me know.¡± With a tight smile and a nod, Juanita was gone too. ¡°I hadn¡¯t known Abraham and Carlos were so close,¡± said Austen once some moments had passed and they were on the road again. ¡°I believe they had shared a lot of books and reading materials,¡± spoke Chae-won. With Juanita gone from the passenger seat, Freddie drove the two remaining women like a chauffeur - neither of them had thought to move to the front. ¡°There is certainly much shared between history and journalism - descriptive, exploratory, concerned with things which people do and things which happen to people.¡± ¡°Ha! I like that! Things which happen to people! Imagine ever caring about a thing that didn¡¯t somehow happen to a person? Little facts and figures, in labs and libraries, not a person in sight. What a boring thing that would be!¡± Freddie seemed to have regained his cheer. He said this last bit with a knowing smirk at Chae-won in his mirror, which she caught, and as she realised his game the slight frown which had been forming eased into a smile. Freddie sniggered. ¡°Almost got you, Chae-won. We all know how very interesting your little facts turned out to be. Now, come on - I think this is it. Let¡¯s park and I can find that drink before one of the things that happens to people like us happens to me too!¡± ¡°Oh, never change Freddie,¡± laughed Austen, ¡°And don¡¯t get too drunk. I want to do diaries with you - let¡¯s not make the next one of these the next time we see each other, please!¡± 2. There was a ¡°ringing¡± tone, musical and repetitive. Then a connecting sound. ¡°Hello, Mr De Leon.¡± ¡°Hello, Samuel. Please, call me Carlos - we¡¯ve known each other long enough, all that time I spent with Abe - with your father. Thanks for this. Means a lot.¡± ¡°Ah, Carlos, OK. Ah, um - no problem at all. It¡¯s no problem to talk to one of Father¡¯s friends. I do remember you, in his study, when he was working on one of his books. And, er - at the ceremony? I don¡¯t think we spoke.¡± ¡°No. I¡¯m sorry - I wasn¡¯t at the wake. Personal matter.¡± ¡°Ah, that¡¯s ok. So, um - what is it I can do for you, Carlos? Your message wasn¡¯t completely clear to me - you want to access Father¡¯s biomonitoring logs for some kind of article? Also, ah¡­ would it - would it be possible to use telepresence, or at least video for this? I¡¯m not sure when I last spoke voice only, and I¡¯m finding it a bit unsettling.¡± ¡°Sorry again - I don¡¯t have the hardware for presence.¡± ¡°Oh! I didn¡¯t think, I¡¯m sorry, I-¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. I¡¯d prefer to stick to voice - lets me work with my hands whilst we talk. Yes, I want to see Abraham¡¯s logs. You¡¯re his next of kin, so your permission would go some way to unlocking those. I would appreciate it.¡± ¡°I¡¯m, ah, afraid I don¡¯t really understand - it¡¯s his medical records and vital signs you want? What is this project?¡± ¡°I want to know how he died.¡± A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. A silence. ¡°I¡­ I can tell you that, Carlos. His heart gave out. A sudden ventricular tachycardia, to use technical language.¡± Another silence. An exhalation. ¡°Why, Samuel?¡± ¡°I - I¡¯m not sure I understand.¡± ¡°No, I¡¯m not sure you do. Why, Samuel? Why a ¡®sudden ventricular tachycardia¡¯, a giving-out heart, why? If it was really that, just an old heart, giving up.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not sure why. Does it matter?¡± An explosion. ¡°Of course it matters! Of course it matters, boy! You may not fucking¡­ we were made a promise, you, you all, we were promised that even though we couldn¡¯t join, we couldn¡¯t stop it, we would see death coming! I haven¡¯t been reading charts, wearing these bloody things for my health, yes? How can you.. I .. and so if they do work, why the hell did he die without telling us? For a fucking joke? Haha, dead before you, you fucking chumps? Or, or, it was something he didn¡¯t see - Something unexpected. I don¡¯t know, he swallowed too much fucking toothpaste. Or something weird, I can feel it, or not, but I have to know, Samuel. I have to.¡± ¡°....¡± ¡°Listen, Samuel. You are first generation. You¡¯ve seen death - your mother, Abraham, uncles, all the older people. But it¡¯s different for us. You can only do so much, and I have to bloody do this.¡± ¡°I - ¡°Look, just let me have the logs. I¡¯ll look at them, harder than anyone else damn will. If there¡¯s something there, I¡¯ll find it. Abraham¡¯s dead already - what will he care? And then I¡¯ll be gone and it¡¯ll be like you never shared them.¡± ¡°Now -¡± ¡°I¡¯m not going to publish them, anything I find, I¡¯ll come to you first. Or are you going to wonder forever? Wonder if I¡¯m right? Come on, let me have them. This is something I care about, rather than swanning off and spending the time I¡¯ve got doing arse-all. I¡¯m a worker, like Abe was. Come on, Samuel.¡± ¡°...¡± A sigh. ¡°Ok, Mr De Leon. I assume you have a form, or something?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve got a letter drafted, just needs you to read over it and add a signature. There is a form as well, for the company. I¡¯ll send you both now.¡± ¡°Ok, I¡¯ll get them back to you.¡± ¡°Thank you Samuel. I¡¯m sorry for getting loud. I get passionate. This means a lot.¡± ¡°I.. I know. It¡¯s ok. It means a lot to me too. Just - in a different way.¡± ¡°That''s fair, Samuel. I¡¯ve sent you the forms. Let me know if you have problems.¡± ¡°I will do. Ok - I¡¯ll do these soon. Ah, bye for now then¡­ Carlos.¡± ¡°Goodbye. Thanks again.¡± A sound marks the call¡¯s end, and the programme is closed. 3. Freddie¡¯s funeral, which was the fourth-to-last ever held, was held on a huge, floating raft in a Mediterranean bay. He had, somewhat surprisingly, set aside a large sum of money to make it happen. His many younger friends danced, and ran stalls with drinks and games. Every few minutes there was a barrage of fireworks, perhaps timed to some kind of schedule known to Freddie before death, but seemingly random to the living attendees. Pictures and recordings of the man himself played on big screens, and music blared. Carlos stood with Juanita. His search through the bio-logs of Abraham had shown nothing untoward so far. The work continued - there were many more variables to read, to understand, and he didn¡¯t trust the summaries which the technology provided. At least for Freddie, there was no mystery. Frederick had been parasailing. He skimmed the water a little too closely, and his sail had folded, throwing him into the water at a speed where it might as well have been concrete. His brain was dead long before his body could be recovered. He was irrevocably gone. ¡°I¡¯m going to find Austen,¡± Juanita said. She had been out of sorts with her brother for a while - his obsessive belief that something had gone awry regarding Abraham¡¯s death was consuming him, she felt. Days had become months had become more than a year of closed-off and cloistered research, and rarely could she tempt him into other projects or expeditions of the sorts they had liked previously. She walked across the event toward the quieter end, where a gallery of sorts had been set up, filled with art pieces by Freddie, for Freddie, about Freddie; or just things he had liked or thought would be amusing to those who would mark his death. She had contributed one work herself - an early portrait, from decades past. At that point there had been around 100 of the older generation left, and she had decided to try for physical, in-person, paint-and-canvas pictures of all of them. Even racing, she hadn¡¯t made it - biometrics hadn¡¯t been as good back then, plus other accidents had happened, so the collection stretched only to 86. Her portrait of Freddie hung near the entrance to the gallery area, and she slowed to glance at it. She found it wanting. The smirk was too sneering, the smugness too self-centred. ¡°Not a great first impression, eh?¡± said Freddie¡¯s voice from behind her, making her tense in surprise - but she¡¯d been caught out once already at the funeral by something like this, so she only turned slowly. She found what she knew she would: A hologram of Freddie, well dressed in a summer suit and hat, leaning on a cane. A quick scan around and she noticed the projectors artfully placed in the corners, and the cameras that would have recognised her and triggered the illusion. The image laughed. ¡°You only get to make one first impression, my dear, no matter how long you live - and did I botch it with you! Look what you did to my nose!¡± ¡°You made up for it, Freddie,¡± said Juanita back, waiting to see if it would respond. Some of the holograms were just recordings, others had pre-programmed conversations, others seemed to incorporate small language models Freddie seemed to have trained to talk like himself, to add variation and some flexibility to their responses. ¡°Oh, did I now? I demand a new portrait then!¡± sniggered the hologram. ¡°Quickly, now, before your memory of me fades! I want frescoes and triptychs, ¡®Ani, each more glorious than the last. They have to be all you - no auto-generated whackodoodles, just oil, sweat and tears.¡± ¡°I take it back - I was right about you to start with, you clown.¡± ¡°Hah! Your poison words can¡¯t reach me, woman. But in all honesty,¡± the hologram started to fade, ¡°You are one of the finest artists I ever had the pleasure of knowing. I treasured this portrait - a meeting captured, one facet of me laid bare for all time. Thank you, Juanita - keep painting!¡± ¡°Wait,¡± said Juanita suddenly, just as the illusion had become nothingness. It flicked back on, and the image of Freddie looked expectantly at her. She struggled for a moment to know what she wanted. ¡°Was that a recording?¡± ¡°Certain parts, my dear, plus some computer trickery,¡± it replied. She nodded, throat tight, and looked away, then back. ¡°Have you seen Austen?¡± she tried. ¡°She was here 13 minutes ago, and went that way.¡± The virtual cane pointed through the gallery, towards the raft¡¯s edge. Juanita nodded again, muttered some thanks, and hurried on. She found Austen on a bench overlooking the ocean, away from the noise. Her eyes were puffy but she looked up and smiled when Juanita said her name, and shuffled sideways to make better room. Juanita sat, easing herself down slowly. Austen dabbed her eyes as she started talking. ¡°Freddie did a fantastic job with this, didn¡¯t he? Or was it one of his grandchildren? Mine are having a wonderful time. Some of them are down there, you know,¡± she gestured to the ocean, ¡°Scuba diving. He had some kind of wreck made for people to explore.¡± ¡°All Freddie, I think. None of his family seem to know otherwise.¡± ¡°Gosh, when did he find the time? Between everything else he did? The raft, the location, the food, the recordings - and all of it secret, for a party he wouldn¡¯t get to go to. He must have been cramming it in for years, between his hobbies, and music, and all the other things he liked to do and share.¡± If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°He probably got a kick out of it - kind of joke he told himself. He was a weird one.¡± ¡°Yes, he was, wasn¡¯t he?¡± Austen let out a little snort, ¡°One of a kind.¡± They lapsed into silence. Over the sound of the ocean, it took a moment for Juanita to realise Austen was crying. She put an arm around her, though her shoulder ached. Austen leaned in. ¡°He was going to outlive me, you know?¡± Austen managed, ¡°One hundred to one. We shared our data - the two youngest of the oldest. And I¡¯m¡­ was ¡­ three years younger than him. He had something, some heart muscle imperfection which would eventually catch, catch up to him, you know, it said¡­ like me and the thing, the blood cancer¡­ no, no, not for years, ¡®Ani, not for years and years and years. Don¡¯t worry about me, it¡¯s just¡­¡± Juanita patted her on the back and stroked her hair whilst she continued. Eventually, whilst they sat quietly once more, there were footsteps behind them. Juanita turned to see Chae-won walking slowly towards them. She was accompanied by a thin, bespectacled man, who appeared to be approaching middle age - unlucky for him, Juanita thought. ¡°Hello,¡± Chae-won started, stopping a little short when she saw their blurred mascara, but quickly recovering. ¡°May I join you?¡± ¡°Of course, Chae-Won, sit down!¡±; The two women shifted to make a third space on the small bench, Austen in the middle. As Chae-won sat, Juanita glanced questioningly at the man in glasses, wondering if he would come and stand in front of them, as there was certainly no space for a fourth. Instead, he remained a few paces back, turning to gaze towards a slightly different part of the horizon. ¡°Hello!¡± Called Austen to him, ¡°Are you joining us? I don¡¯t believe we¡¯ve met!¡± The man turned back and gave a tight smile and a nod. His eyes flicked over to Chae-won, who spoke. ¡°He¡¯s an assistant,¡± she said. ¡°Helping me keep my schedule in order, and so on. He -¡±. She stopped talking. A look of annoyance crossed her face. ¡°I¡¯m Sebastian Hoon,¡± The man broke in. His voice was quiet. ¡°Distant nephew. Don¡¯t mind me.¡± He went back to the horizon. Chae-won stared imperiously into the distance for a few seconds. ¡°Quite the memorial,¡± she said firmly, pointedly not looking towards Sebastian. ¡°I do find the holograms unsettling though. Very lifelike, I find.¡± Austen and Juanita shared a bewildered look for a moment. ¡°Yes,¡± tried Austen, ¡°I keep being caught out by them, and then turning to see Freddie there, when he¡¯s not¡­ I¡¯m not sure that it¡¯s what I would do, but oh, it is so him to have his games! Oh, I miss him¡­¡± Chae-won nodded once and sighed. A moment passed. ¡°How is Carlos?¡± she then said to Juanita, who gave a small snort. ¡°Difficult,¡± she said. ¡°He gets passionate, and when he does he can get angry. He¡¯s never really learned to react otherwise, even after all these years. Our father was the same. He¡¯s gotten a bit obsessed with Abraham¡¯s data logs.¡± Chae-won¡¯s brow furrowed for a moment and she opened her mouth to speak, but she was interrupted by Austen, who interjected loudly, waving at someone down the seafront.. ¡°Oh look, he¡¯s here! Carlos!¡± Indeed it was. Carlos had emerged from between two buildings, talking animatedly with another person, an androgynous-looking youth. Seeing them, he raised a hand in a wave, but stopped walking a distance away and kept talking to the youth. A couple of minutes of this continued, Austen wondering aloud what they were talking about, and Juanita remarking that at least it seemed to be keeping her brother entertained, before finally Carlos made his way over. The youth trailed behind. ¡°Hi, ¡®Anita, Austen, Chae-won. Lost sight of you in all this. Freddie made it very noisy, didn¡¯t he? Austen, Chae-won, you are both looking well. Good to see you both. Hello there.¡±. This last greeting was to Sebastian, to and from whom Carlos gave and received a polite nod. ¡°Good to see you too, Carlos!¡± Austen rose to kiss him on the cheek, ¡°This is Sebastian, Chae-won¡¯s nephew and assistant. Who is your friend?¡± She said, looking at the trailing youth. ¡°Ah. I¡¯d like you all to meet Phrasix, one of Freddie¡¯s distant grandchildren. She¡¯s a journalist, of sorts. Good with computers, too, so I¡¯m told. I said I would introduce her to you all.¡± ¡°Yes!¡± Phrasix leapt at her opportunity, almost leaping forward physically as well as metaphorically. ¡°Hello! Hi! It¡¯s so good to meet all of you! I¡¯ve heard so much about you!¡± ¡°Have you now,¡± said Juanita, still sitting but shaking the eagerly proffered hand when it came to her.¡±From Freddie? Probably rubbish, if so.¡± ¡°Oh! No, I mean, yes, but not just from Gramps, I mean Freddie, also just from¡­ everywhere? And the things you have all written, well mostly you Professor Hoon, and all the short stories you wrote Ms de Leon, Mr de Leon was telling me about when you wrote some of them, and¡­¡± ¡°Call me Carlos,¡± broke in Carlos firmly. ¡°You wanted to ask something?¡± he prompted. ¡°Ah! Yes - it¡¯s just - Like Mr¡­ Carlos said, I¡¯m working on journalism, or well, writing people¡¯s stories, and I spoke to Gramps a lot in the last few years, you know, writing down some of his conversations, and I thought, coming here, that maybe¡­ some of you wouldn¡¯t mind? It would be just so interesting, you know, and I could put them together. It would be so interesting to read, you know?¡± She petered out. ¡°Well,¡± said Juanita, ¡°You wouldn¡¯t be the first.¡± ¡°No, said the youth. ¡°But-¡±. She stopped. At that moment, a volley of fireworks crackled nearby. They were all quiet, waiting for it to finish, but when it did, no one spoke for a beat. ¡°Very well,¡± said Chae-woon, suddenly. ¡°Speak to¡­ my assistant.¡± She indicated Sebastian. Phrasix lit up, nodding vigorously, before turning to the others. Juanita considered, before shaking her head, causing a sudden deflation. ¡°Not soon,¡± said Juanita. ¡°Maybe ask again later, if whatever you are doing for Carlos goes well.¡± ¡°I¡¯d be delighted,¡± said Austen, inducing re-inflation of Phrasix. ¡°Will you share my email address, Carlos?¡± The man nodded, and Phrasix went happily to talk to Sebastian, who had taken out a tablet, presumably to find a calendar, and so on. Quiet returned to the four remaining ancients - the silence was companionable, comfortable. Then, Chae-won turned to Carlos, and conversationally asked: ¡°And Carlos, how is Abraham these days?¡± The silence became stunned, then deafening. 4. I spoke to Professor Chae-Won Hoon in her home in Old Seoul. The room is meticulously clean and scrupulously arranged, items on shelves spaced with rigorous precision. Professor Hoon herself sits on a straight-backed chair. Her assistant and relative, Doctor Sebastian Hoon, sat with us and provided support during the interview. It is clear that she takes the care, attention to detail, and commitment to factfulness that characterised her scientific career into every aspect of her life. This was also reflected in her manner of speaking - measured, carefully considered, and precise. At Professor Hoon¡¯s request, the following transcript is complete and unedited. Voice, video and VR recordings are available as an online supplement. PY: Thank you again for agreeing to this interview, Professor Hoon. I really appreciate you taking the time to talk to me. CWH: It is my pleasure. PY: I want to start by taking us back to the beginning. Where do you think the work that led to the Eterna treatment started, for you? CWH: Yes. Where did it start?... Well. There is a pause of around twelve seconds. Professor Hoon nods and looks smoothly towards Dr Hoon. SH: You may want to start telling us about your ideas when you were working in Cambridge, Professor. CWH: Of course. I was working on gerontology at the lab of a late good friend and mentor of mine, Professor Timothy Wytes. At the time, we had a lot of interest in ageing. We worked with mice - what was it that made an old mouse different from a young one? Wear and tear, telomeres, degradation of chaperone proteins - but what in particular? This was very difficult work at the time. One of the limitations was that keeping a mouse alive until it was old was not a thing one was permitted to do - unnecessary ageing was considered a cruelty to the animal. So whilst we compared young mice to old mice, our old mice were¡­ not very old. We took samples at different ages and compared them. And I started to think - given these limitations, how can we get the most information that we need? Every mouse was such an investment - and even at a sample a day over their life - we were allowed a year - seemed slow. It seemed to miss the point. I started to think a lot about how samples and information could be gathered continuously - no gaps, no time points. Such data gathering would require new advances in hardware, and actually using, and understanding, the new data would require new techniques and programmes¡­ but the idea was formulated. PY: Fascinating, thank you Professor. And where did this take you next? CWH: I carried on my work on continuous sampling both in Professor Wytes laboratory and later when I had set up my own group. I started a collaboration with Doctor Francis Eldram, who worked in nanotechnology. Between ourselves and some very talented other collaborators, we greatly improved our instruments. We¡­ in models, we managed to produce tools that monitored organisms at a cellular level, and that could grow with them. Other advances eventually let us create these tools. We then started learning a huge amount, very fast. PY: When did you start to realise the potential for what you had created? There is a pause of around twenty seconds. SH: Professor. CWH: Apologies. Can you repeat the question? PY: Ah - Yes. Of course. After your work creating cellular monitoring systems, when did you start to realise the potential for what you created? CWH: I see. [there is a pause of five seconds]. The next place this took us was towards a better understanding of not only ageing, but other disease as well. We learnt a huge amount, very fast. [There is a pause of six seconds]. The step from understanding to application took many years and involved many people. But we realised slowly, by degrees, that our same instruments of cellular - and subcellular - monitoring could be used for intervention as well as observation. We could¡­ I designed experiments in mice showing the potential to stall or reverse a large number of model diseases. But it was¡­ only in those animals that we studied from the single cell stage was this intervention complete. That there was perfect recording of biology, thus perfect prevention, and the capacity for regeneration.This was the crux of the issue - if we were observing a cellular system from the very start, from the single cell stage, we were able to intervene perfectly. To undo degeneration. Any later - even one cellular division later - and our interventions were imperfect. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. PY: ¡­Thank you, Professor. So you realised the potential at that stage. How did these ideas and this technology start to translate to what we use in humans today? CWH: Ah. That was a difficult process. I created my first immortal mouse around three decades after our first experiments showing the capacity for subcellular intervention. I was in my 60s at the time, but well preserved. The approval for Jeremy - the mouse, as you likely have learnt, or perhaps even visited as a schoolchild - took much of that time. The idea of an experiment where we waited for the animal to die, but felt it would not, was a strange one. It took many years of simply waiting, showing the lack of biological degradation, before people started to believe. Then, some things moved very quickly. It helped that there was, in some places, in some people, a huge hunger for this. For others there was not. Mostly there was reluctance in cultures in which there was belief in an afterlife, or perhaps a denial of death. They saw this as a closing of options. They have, as you would expect, died off - and I hope that they have found peace in it. In any case, the rich were first, of course; but the rich were already old. And as I had shown, the degree to which subcellular continuous intervention technology produces longevity - what has been called the Eterna treatment, of course - in the already aged is highly variable and incredibly unpredictable. I, and a few relative peers - though years apart in the sensibilities of the past - have been true, true outliers. Anomalies in a way; a very particular genetic make up combined with certain pre-pubescent exposures, I believe, though by definition we of course have no good data for that period of our lives. Use in pregnancy escalated incredibly quickly once it began. Again, showing it was safe did take time; but then some places took risks, and growth was exponential. It was a great help that by that time, we had managed to make it cheap; to make it technology which safely reproduced itself. All the years after we created the mouse were largely spent on this, and in a way this accessibility might be considered my greatest success. It allowed immortality to be brought about with equality, at least in the new generation. PY: You mentioned some of the controversy surrounding the Eterna treatment there, Professor. How did this affect you, and how did you respond to it? CWH: Well. There was a huge hunger for this in many people. Not in everyone. In some cultures, often those who believed in an afterlife, there was reluctance. But¡­ [She frowns. There is a pause of six seconds]. People referred to me as many things. As a devil. As a saviour of some sort. I received many death threats. But I carry on. Those things passed. I persevered, and I believe I was right to do so. PY: ¡­Thank you again. Another thing I¡­ very much want to ask. It¡¯s something more personal, about the world now. Because, um, of course, you were born already when you pioneered the first Eterna treatment - but have since remained healthy - you are one of the few people in the world today who has not had the, the full treatment. Who could not have the treatment. What perspective does that give you on what is going on in the world, now? There is a pause of twenty-three seconds. SH and PY speak simultaneously, before CWH begins, cutting them off. SH: I think¡­ PY: I¡¯m¡­ CWH: Who doesn¡¯t want their children to be immortal, indestructible? What mother wants their child to die? Not to age any more than they would like to? The opposite is to want their child to suffer. To age. To die. That we could not share this thing with our children was bitter, and it is bitter now. You ask me my thoughts on the world today, and I have none. I have Sebastian here to remind me of that. I¡¯m dying already. But I do believe that the decisions made were correct. SH: Perhaps we will end it there, Professor? CWH: Yes, yes. Tell me what I have next. 5. Carlos looked ancient and tired as he moved up to the lectern. It was the third-to-last funeral ever to be held. He un-creased a couple of sheets of paper with a sharp brusqueness and then began. ¡°My sister and I were both born within an hour of each other. She was slightly older. When we were young, she liked to remind me of it. I didn¡¯t care, but it did set up an idea that somehow she was meant to be the more mature of the two of us. That she might have more answers, sometimes; that she led ahead, and I followed her into things. Sometimes it worked well; she would solve problems I had caused. I would shake her out of ruts with a bit of chaos and energy. ¡°But we were not always on the same team, when we were young. I could be a bully, quite frankly. When she got seriously into things, I would pick at them. Poke at her. Hide things, break things, mess up things, paint over them, when we were really children; just talk shit about them, later. But she got her own back. Didn¡¯t really take it from me, in the end. Didn''t really take shit from anyone about the things she cared about. Maybe that was my doing, eh? She dealt with me being an ass her whole life, so then she could deal with anyone. ¡°When we were adults, we didn¡¯t spend so much time together, for a while. She was off, painting, mostly. I was off making something of myself journalistically, politically. A long time ago, now; none of you will even be close to remembering. But these last years - these last decades, after her husband John passed away, a long time after any of us should¡¯ve - we¡¯ve seen a lot of each other. We kept each other company. Kept each other alive, us and a few friends, all gone, or mostly gone now.¡± He paused before continuing. ¡°So when I say Juanita was someone special, you know I have the, the experience to back it up. She was clever and witty. Creative and wise. She cared for people and looked after them. You all were lucky to live at the same time as her, even for a bit. I was lucky to be her twin. And when I think about what my life, what your lives, what the, the world, is, are going to be without her¡­¡± He stopped again for a couple of seconds, looking as if he were chewing on something bitter. ¡°It¡¯s going to be fucking hard, is what it is. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m swearing at her funeral! She would glare at me, tell me off for it. She would purse her lips. She would say something scathing - always was a beast, wasn¡¯t I, who doesn¡¯t care that he says too much. But she isn¡¯t here, and it was her stupid idea that I should speak, so now I get to say at her funeral that I will fucking miss her, and there is not a damn thing she can do about it.¡± There was a silence. Carlos muttered a couple of times into it, little old-man grunts with twitches of his face, but he didn¡¯t start again. Until, abruptly, he did. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. ¡°So many of you are never going to know what you missed. Never really know the opportunity you bloody threw away. If you didn¡¯t really, really try to know her. Now you never will, and we¡¯re all the poorer for it.¡± He stepped away from the lectern, and moved back to his seat in the front row with the small-yet-loud sounds of someone existing within a large, echoing room. There was the silence which is the absence of applause after a speech. The celebrant, some curator or painter or other hippie Juanita had liked, said a few words thanking him (pah!) and introducing the next speaker, a colleague of ¡®Ani¡¯s who happened to be her great granddaughter but who hardly could have known her. Carlos settled back to endure the rest of the service, glaring at the various sculptures around the hall, and remaining mute throughout Ani''s chosen songs. When it was over, he did go and thank the celebrant - Juanita had asked her a favour, and she¡¯d done it fine, after all - and started to leave. A few people made moves as if to come and speak to him; he made moves to avoid or discourage them. He saw Austen, teary eyed, talking to Phrasix, the young person who had been helping him - was still helping him - find competent individuals to sift through the mass of data that Abraham had left behind him. Austen looked up and made eye contact with him and he swiftly broke the connection. He would call her later, perhaps. She had spoken well, earlier in the ceremony, he supposed. As he got towards the exit, his gaze was caught once again. Chae-won was sat in a wheelchair near the door. Her assistant - Sebastien, a ¡°distant nephew¡±, Carlos remembered - stood slightly behind and to the side. She was bird-like; her back was no longer quite as rigidly straight as it had been. Her eyes were still somewhat severe. Her mouth was pressed shut. She didn¡¯t turn her head to look at him. He went to her, and had to stand right in front of her before finally she looked up. ¡°Carlos,¡± she said slowly. Her head had a slight tremor, as did her right hand. It was a rocking back and forth motion which increased slightly as she seemed to work up to some further words. None were forthcoming. ¡°Anything else to say, Chae-won?¡± Carlos asked. She looked at him, the tremor rolling. She didn¡¯t speak. Carlos felt an aghast, shriveling feeling take hold of his guts. It was the same feeling he had felt in the silence when Chae-Won had spoken to the group after Freddie¡¯s funeral some years before; when she had forgotten that Abraham had died. The same feeling, but worse. Outwardly, he scowled. ¡°Do you even know why you are here, Chae-Won?¡± he snapped. This seemed to break some seal. ¡°Of course I know. I have been told, and Sebastian keeps me very well informed,¡± ¡°And what is that he has informed you of?¡± ¡°I¡¯m here for an important occasion. Sebastian keeps me well informed,¡± she said again firmly. ¡°You¡­¡± Carlos started, before a light clearing of the throat from Sebastian stopped him short. The younger man caught his eye with a meaningful look. He felt his shriveled guts twist and snap. ¡°Good to see you, Chae-Won,¡± he managed to choke out. She nodded to him. After hovering for a moment and finding nothing more, he walked past her to the door. Outside was an antechamber, an entranceway to the great hall the ceremony had been held in. A few chairs were tastefully placed in small clusters for people passing through to sit on. Carlos sped up. As he passed one of the chairs, he kicked out at it angrily. It was knocked a few feet and fell loudly onto its side. He rushed to get out, out into the sunlight. 6. This particular solar eclipse had been publicised as a once-in-a-lifetime event. The particular position in the sky, the season, the clear weather and the predicted solar flares would mean a perfect circle of fire floating amidst a sea of aurora above glacier-tipped mountains. The statistics were mind-bending. One cosmologist had explained that the next time this happened, Polaris would no longer be the North Star, having been replaced because of shifts in the axis of the Earth Austen knew all of this because she had for some years been trying to take an interest in the heavens. She had found herself in a break or lapse from her poetry and her writing; and with the loss of that surety of occupation she was perhaps looking for certainty elsewhere. She had found that the stories of the stars comforted her, even the tragedies - Orion¡¯s sad end at the sting of Scorpio, or the tale of the ill fated astronomer Guillaume le Gentil in the 1760s, who travelled for over 10 years to observe a single planetary event, only to be defeated by a cloud. These maudlin tales were in her thoughts as her footsteps crunched the snow of the observation platform underfoot. A check of her watch told her there were still a great many minutes until the allotted time. The platform had not filled up; tickets to view it from here had been sparse and exclusive. ¡°Austen?¡± a gruff voice said from over her shoulder. She turned. Under his parka hood and new grey beard, it took her a moment to recognise who it was - but the thick eyebrows triggered a memory. ¡°Carlos!¡±, she exclaimed, for indeed it was. ¡°I¡­ hello! What are you doing here?¡± A snort. ¡°Same thing as you I expect. I¡¯ve come to stare at the sun.¡± ¡°Oh! I¡­ didn¡¯t know this kind of thing interested you?¡± ¡°It doesn¡¯t, as a rule. But I was offered a ticket. Chae-Won was apparently sent one in her role as eminent Professor, and when Sebastian spoke to her about it she remembered me for some reason. Who knows why. Seemed too special to pass up.¡± Austen felt a twinge of hurt at the revelation that Chae-Won, whom she had sat with and spoke to about her new pursuit of stargazing, had not remembered her instead. She held it for a second, then let it go. Maybe Chae-Won had thought that she would already have a ticket? Maybe something at that moment had reminded her of Carlos? One, sadly, couldn¡¯t know these days. ¡°Good.. good to see you here, though.¡± Carlos bulled on, somewhat awkwardly. ¡°I meant to call. Or to actually respond to one of your calls. Never did, I know.¡± The two of them looked at each other in silence for a moment. Austen didn¡¯t quite know what to say - so she smiled and made a gesture inviting him to come with her further onto the platform, towards the sun-ward rail. On the way, cups of hot chocolate and mulled wine were available, and they took some - chocolate for her, and wine for him. ¡°It¡¯s ok, Carlos,¡± Austen finally said, when she had taken a sip and gathered her thoughts. ¡°I know you must have been hurt, after ¡®Ani¡¯s funeral. Hurting. Needed some space, I suppose.¡± ¡°Mm,¡± he grunted back. ¡°You¡¯re right there. Hurt, I suppose.¡± The platform was filling up. In one corner, surrounded by low heaters to keep their hands warm, a small orchestra started playing. The tones were low and gentle. It was uplifting, mysterious, and atmospheric without being intrusive; a well selected piece, timed to crescendo during the eclipse itself. It also meant it was starting soon; Austen checked her dark glasses and glanced upwards; sure enough, a few strands of gleaming green flecked the sky. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. Carlos suddenly let out a whoof of air. ¡°You probably deserve more of an apology, Austen. I haven¡¯t been a good friend in years.¡± ¡°It¡¯s OK. It¡¯s hard.¡± ¡°No, Austen, being¡­ decent, shouldn¡¯t, shouldn¡¯t need an, you shouldn¡¯t be able to give an excuse. Juanita would tell me off, say something acid.¡± The words seemed to be coming out in a rush, his voice low. He glanced at the sky. Austen got the impression he was saying things he had imagined saying before, a conversation - or at least monologue - already played out in his imagination. It was now being hurried out before the eclipse started or before his nerve broke; whichever came first. ¡°The truth is¡­ I have been angry, Austen. Angry for a long time. Maybe my whole life. When Abraham died, though, it really got to me. Brought it all out. Made me mad, or just, I mean, pulled it all to the surface. How dare he. How dare they. How dare the world take friends from me, take parents, take my sister. How dare it rob me like this. ¡°And¡­ how dare others not have to go through this, and not really know what they have. Look at me, talk to me like I¡¯m special, or brave, or even - sometimes - say they envy me. Like I have something they don¡¯t, rather than get, get that I, we¡¯re, just losing things. Hah, I¡¯m angry. I¡¯m angry.¡± The last few words were tinged with a snarl, or a growl. Something threatening, Austen thought. A threat of action, a promise of passion, or of violence. Carlos, though, seemed to renege on that threat - at least for now. His hands, gripping the rail, lifted, and, not seeming to know where to go, were shoved into the pockets of his coat. His shoulders hunched and his posture became tense and rigid. Austen didn¡¯t know what to say. The music had started to swell; soon talking would ruin the moment. But she felt a desperate drive, a need to say something; not to leave that as the end, the last words before the dark. She tried to talk without thinking. ¡°I, I¡¯m sorry Carlos. I know. It¡¯s bad. I¡­ can¡¯t say that I¡¯m angry. But I understand, I think. I¡¯m not angry. I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m scared. To be not-me. To know that my voice will be gone. To know that things I write, I make, I do, are going to fade away without me. And¡­ and that¡¯s fine, the fading, it¡¯s fine, they¡¯re just things, but I¡¯ll never know, they¡¯ll all be stories I don¡¯t get to see the end of. For me, they¡¯ll be forever unfinished. And neither will my friends. ¡°And so any time I start writing or doing, I just, I just start to feel¡­ Why start it, when it won¡¯t be finished? Why be ambitious, when there¡¯s no way to succeed, to give and keep giving? Anything I make, everything which isn¡¯t fleeting, is, is incomplete. I¡¯m incomplete, with respect to them.. It saps from me, it saps meaning. I¡¯m¡­ drained and made helpless.¡± She realised she was crying. Carlos turned to look at her, and in his gaze she saw understanding. His hand found hers, and the grip steadied the both of them. The eclipse started, and to the sounds of strings fire danced across the sky. For a brief moment, the sun was a golden ring, sinking irretrievably into the verdant algae of some vibrant pool. Austen spared a second to glance at the faces of the people around them, and saw the light reflected off tears moistening the eyes of many of those young, immortal strangers. They felt transcendentally blessed, perhaps, to see something like this, something which they would never see again. 7. The second-to-last funeral to ever be held was an international affair. Professor Chae-Won Hoon had been something poorly described by any single label. A hero, a saviour, a celebrity, a messiah, a witch, a devil, a troublesome and brilliant woman. So said the news reporters, the articles, the headlines, and the thousands of small ceremonies in halls, in schools, in chapels and in laboratories around the world. Carlos had been given an invitation - a ticket! - to attend within the college chapel where her closest remaining family and friends would mourn. So had Austen. They traveled and arrived together, as they had often of late. They agreed, as they walked in, that the chapel, whilst magnificent and located in the heart of an academic Meccah, seemed the wrong place - Chae-Won had been deeply atheist. She had even been anti-theist, if one listened closely to what she actually said. An academic - chancellor of something, doctor of something else - started a long eulogy. Carlos hated it. To him, Chase-won had been driven, precise, polite, and often somewhat stiff, even grim, even after years of acquaintance. The passion that drove her had generally been hard to discern in person. To have her positive traits listed alongside her accolades by this youth for people to just hear rather than have to discover seemed perverse. An indulgence for those who had not put in the time. What was more, Chase-Won the woman he had known from old had been gone for many years before her body¡¯s death. It dulled the instinct to mourn now. After the ceremony (se-REM-on-ee, said his brain, with Freddie¡¯s voice) was over, he and Austen wandered to the adjoining exhibition space. The college had not held a simple wake for the over-one-hundred mourners present; instead, since the date had been known in advance, some bright spark had gathered students, academics and professors and put together a research conference. The attendees left the chapel straight into a poster hall. Refreshments were provided. ¡°Oh, it all goes over my head, but isn¡¯t this one beautiful?¡± said Austen some time later. She was looking at an electronic poster displaying a detailed map of one corner of Spain. A rainbow of colours slowly shifted over the topology. Around the sides, a key indicated the different colours were representative of different patterns of birdsong in different species; one could tap the poster to hear samples. Carlos glanced at the title: ¡°Evidence of cultural exchange in birdsong between different species of thrush in Galicia, Spain; stability and shifts over five decades¡±. Carlos grunted in approval. ¡°Certainly a way to spend your time,¡± he said. ¡°Oh, stop grousing!¡±, Austen laughed, swatting him on the arm. ¡°I think it is a good way to spend one¡¯s time! It¡¯s art, isn¡¯t it, how they worked it all out and made it pretty to see like this?¡± They moved on. Other posters and titles slowed their steps through the hall: ¡°Natural language model synthesised poetry is distinguishable from human using deep neural networks¡±; ¡°Trends and themes in the naming of potentially-habitable planets¡±; ¡°Applications of interventional bionanotechnology in more sustainable energy generation¡±. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. After a time, Carlos found himself talking to a youth, one of the scientists loitering next to their creation and providing short presentations of the work, like a market salesman pitching his poster¡¯s ideas. The boy was arguing that his automated analysis of what words people wrote on the internet in years past showed something about fundamental changes in how people thought pre- and post-Eterna. He was wrong, and Carlos was letting him know. ¡°So you have found that people use different words. So what, though, eh? Why is it different to every other time people have used different words? It happens all the time; has happened all the time.¡± ¡°I would argue, sir, that it is the particular changes in the words. You can see that the usage of words about reasons, morals - simple ones, ¡°bad¡±, ¡°good¡±, ¡°why¡±, ¡°purpose¡± - they all increased in the years that Eterna was becoming more known. There is a shift in the lexicographical corpus of concern.¡± Carlos laughed at the phrase. ¡°OK, but you have only shown ten words here! And only ones which agree with you! I lived through those conversations, and let me tell you, we said ¡°mouse¡± a lot as well - they were just relevant to what we were talking about at the time. Nothing fundamental, just¡­ circumstantial. ¡°And ¡°fundamental changes in people¡± - but you have only showed English words! Are they more purpose-driven in South America, too, or just the North? Is your ¡®lexicographic corpus¡¯ global, eh? Or just English speaking? Show me that - show me that this word change is different from what happened around, I don¡¯t know, from some other important invention; that it is everywhere, and sustained; and it is specific to only these words, and maybe I¡¯ll believe my thinking really changed.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t do the first of those,¡± said the boy tightly. ¡°There are no other inventions of the same importance since records began.¡± ¡°Well, I think you had better get thinking then, as you are a bit stuck!¡± The young man looked as he had swallowed something unpleasant. He looked back at his work for a moment, pained, before turning to face the ancient who had been disparaging it. ¡°Well, what would you do from this point then, Mr De Leon? Change track? Do something else?¡± Carlos was taken by surprise for a moment - both by the realisation that this youth had recognised him (and why shouldn¡¯t he have, with the kind of person he was, at an event like this?), and by the sudden bitterness of the reply. ¡°No! Change track? I said get thinking, not give up! It¡¯s damned interesting to think about, what you have here - you just don¡¯t have it yet.¡± The conversation continued. The long-retired journalist gave advice to the rookie sociologist, not all of which would be taken. They parted ways, both somehow happier for having argued - one to continue work which he would without any doubt improve in the future, and the other to rejoin his friend. Carlos found Austen finishing another conversation, with another young person, who scuttled off before he reached the two of them. Austen gave him a sunny smile as their eyes met. ¡°Oh, they are interesting, the kind of people Chae-Won liked to spend time with, aren¡¯t they? So many ideas, so many wonderful things they make, and are making. And what a lovely way to remember her.¡± Carlos snorted. ¡°Yes, I suppose so.¡± 8. Phraxis¡¯ contacts had come through. She had found him seven experts, and he had spoken to all of them, sending them fragments of the data, giving them partial access, sharing their answers between them. And he had found it. Buried in the logs, in the data, was a flaw. An inconsistency. The way the nanotechnology had recorded the electrical impulses of his heart was provably, mathematically unsound. When it was used to reconstruct what that heart would have looked like in life it showed a structure subtly incompatible with the parallel data from nanotechnology That was to say: because Abraham was too old when the technology was installed, it had installed badly. It had done this in a way that Chae-Won in her prime would doubtless have found fascinating and instructive; the effects had been invisible without very careful examination. Until, all at once, they weren¡¯t. Abraham had died before the technology had predicted, and could have lived slightly longer if it had been caught. Carlos sat, re-reading the report over and over, trying to understand it better, more fully. He tried to understand it technically - the why, the how, the devil in the details. To relish the undeniable though overwhelmed note of triumph in his roiling emotions (he had been right!), and to lose himself in unpicking the foreign language of the science. He did this frantically, mechanically, obsessively, so that he did not have to understand what his victory actually meant. An error. A cosmic joke. What ¡°Abraham could have lived slightly longer¡± meant, creeping in from the corners of Carlos¡¯ mind: Two funerals later. Abraham would have outlived Freddie, assuming Freddie still went the way he did, and he would have outlived Juanita too. He would have spoken at Juanita¡¯s funeral. What would he have said? Would he have had words, a way of looking at things, that would have made that death hurt less, the way he had helped Carlos in other things? Or would it have just hurt more later, losing Abe when ¡®Anita was already gone? Or really - just a different hurt. But oh - how he yearned. More time without the hurt. More time with them both. More time to remember, now, when he had neither. Carlos realised he had put the sheath of paper with the printed report down on the table in front of him. He picked it back up, and found his hand was shaking too much to keep the words straight. He grunted angrily, sighed. Two funerals later. Still dead now! Fuck Chae-won and her broken, unfinished technology! Blast all those who were born late enough to benefit from it! Damn the scientists who didn¡¯t catch this. Damn it all for not mattering in the end. Still dead now, Abraham would still be. Two funerals later, but now was three. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. With a shudder, Carlos got his breathing under control. He needed to move, to walk, to get away from this desk. Rapidly, he left the room, took his coat, fumbled on his shoes, picked up his keys with numb fingers, and walked out the door. The wind slammed it behind him. The day was blustery, the sky grey and threatening. The higher branches of the trees swayed violently in the squalls. As Carlos reached the road, he turned into the wind, and had to lean into it to keep up his pace. It was loud. Thoughts were driven from his head for a moment. Two funerals later. Steps, steps, the chill seeping in with the gale, his ears starting to hurt as air rushed past them. He managed to force his thoughts onto the road, and, when they kept slipping off that, at least back to the solid: the technical, the concrete, the extant. Cardiac proteins: Actin. Cardiac myosin. Calcium currents. Purkinje fibres. The ways hearts worked, the way they had always worked, and the many ways they always could be broken¡­ Carlos stood bolt upright and was nearly bowled over by the wind. Could it be? He turned and started back, running with the wind now, his knees complaining but still carrying him back, back towards the reports and the new idea he had to know was true. He got back to his door, pulled it open into the turbulent air, let it slam again as he rushed, still in his shoes, back to the office. He sat down and had to control the adrenaline so that he could read. ¡°The data is consistent with failure of the delayed-integration Eterna nanotechnolgical implants to accurately measure and thus compensate for cumulative and occult inborn structural abnormalities in several proteins related to cardiac myocytes, including but not limited to¡­¡±. Inborn. Failure to measure occult inborn abnormalities. He rifled through. None of his experts seemed to comment on these terms more, but all of them said it in different ways. He¡¯d presented them with an incomplete picture of the data, so maybe they couldn¡¯t see it, but the conclusion was clear. The Eterna treatment could fail. As it stood, the ¡°immortal¡± young might die. It could probably be fixed. The problem was in the software, not the hardware; point this out to the right person and the code could be fixed without the world any the wiser. But, right now, only he knew of the error. His thoughts, previously moving so rapidly and feeling so discordant, no felt like the huge rings of some giant bell. What would it mean, for the Eterna treatment to fail? It would surely only happen once, just once, before people looked into it and caught the flaw that he had caught here. But forever, there would then be the fear; the fear of unknown death. If it failed once, it could fail again. People would be afraid, not just for themselves, but for their friends. Their loved ones. Everything they had, and cherished, could be gone at any moment. And in the scope of eternity, it probably would be gone at some point. Death would return, and with it everything it brought - worry, and fear, and desire, and drive. The young would know what he had known. Death giving meaning to life. All that meaning, for everyone, forever - and all he had to do was stay silent. To do nothing, and let probably just one person die. He laughed - a brief, convulsive sound choked out of him. He wept. Laughing, crying, Carlos made a choice. 9. It had been one of Carlos¡¯ final and most selfish wishes that no formal funeral be held for him. Thus, the day she received the long-expected news of his death, Austen sat at home alone with nothing to do and nothing to plan. On the desk before her were photographs. The old poet had printed them out on glossy paper, in the antique style. It was something she remembered Juanita had done frequently. Carlos himself had also printed photos, in a period of his life where he had carried a film camera, many years ago. He had taken the photos whilst travelling, looking for stories; Juanita had used some of those photographs as materials when she painted. She sifted through them. She had many of Carlos from recent times, when she and him had been at their closest. Before that, though, there was a gap. A period he had been hidden. Likely, at home, alone, at his desk, thinking about the death of Abraham. She kept turning photos, careful not to move too fast. It felt like if she moved too fast, something would come unsettled inside her, or something would break. Here was one of Carlos and Juanita atop some mountain peak. Here was one just of Chae-won alone, somehow in the mix she had printed out. Here was one of the six of them - Freddie, Austen, Carlos, Juanita, Chae-Won, and Abraham, at the funeral of another man, who had died before Abe, and who had been called Shin. Austen stopped turning photographs. She stood and walked through her small flat to the kitchen, and filled a glass with water. The cup was cold enough in her hand that when she set it down on the desk her fingers felt a little stiff, a little clumsy. She sat on her hands for a moment to warm them up before continuing. Photos further back contained more and more faces. Georgie, Ole, Ingrid, the two Daniels, Brett, Hoi-Ping, Mohammed, Zara, Uwe, Ashina, Matthew, Vlaada, Jane, and many, many more, until she started seeing individuals she didn¡¯t recognise, though she had always been good with names, always a people person. Many were perhaps only friends of friends, guests at the ceremonies (seh-REH-mon-ees) held for people she had only slightly known. Back further still she saw, in the corners of the group photos, strangers with grey hair. Loose acquaintances, perhaps, who had died - whilst dying was still common. They had been part of a crowd, part of her generation but not part of her family. Austen found couldn¡¯t even say a single thing about many of them. It was terrifying The phone rang, and Austen jumped as if shocked. Wiping her eyes, she clutched at it, and saw the caller - Sebastien Hoon. Her fingers numbly accepted. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. ¡°Hello, Sebastian?¡± Her voice was slightly breathless., Austen noticed. She tried to control it, to focus on keeping it steady.. ¡°Hello, Austen,¡± Came the reply. The two of them had been on first name terms ever since she spent so much time with Chae-Won in the professor¡¯s final, waning years. ¡°I thought I would call to see how you are doing.¡± ¡°Oh, thank you! That¡¯s so wonderfully thoughtful, Sebastian. I¡¯m fine, fine, how¡­¡± are you, Austen tried to finish, but the words caught somehow, and all that came out was a small gasping sound at the end of the sentence. Slow down, she thought, hold steady. There was a beat of silence. ¡°I¡¯m well, Austen, thank you. I¡­ saw the news about Mr De Leon. I was very sorry to hear he passed.¡± So measured, the way he talks, Austen thought. So precise, just like Chae-Won. She found she couldn¡¯t think of a reply - and besides she didn¡¯t trust her throat to answer. ¡°And I wondered,¡± the young academic continued, ¡°Whether you would like to come and spend some time with myself and my family. You may have company already, or have already made plans, but you would be very welcome here.¡± Austen found she did not know what to say. Her mouth opened, but silence came out of her, joining the silence of the room, of her empty flat with the photographs on the table. ¡°Hello? Austen? Are you there?¡± Sebastian¡¯s voice broke the yawning quiet and brought her back. ¡°...Yes,¡± she choked out. ¡°...Is that yes you are there, or yes to the invitation?¡± ¡°...Both, I suppose, Sebastian! I¡­ wouldn¡¯t be a bother?¡± ¡°No, we really would love to have you. Come and meet my grandchildren. Speaking of bother, though¡­ I should perhaps have led with this. We live in Korea.¡± ¡°Oh! Um¡­¡± ¡°It¡¯s a very easy and cheap trip these days. I¡¯ll send you some details - there¡¯s actually a flight this afternoon, if you would like.¡± ¡°...Yes,¡± Austen breathed. ¡°I¡¯ve¡­ never been to Korea.¡± The conversation finished smoothly. More words of consolation were given, and accepted. Details of rapid travel options were shared. And, after some goodbyes, the ancient woman found herself once again on her own in the silence of her flat. She looked around. The photographs were still spread across the desk in front of her. Austen Reached out, flipped a few more. Then, after some time, she dried her eyes once more, then gathered the photos all up into a folder, which she packed with some other things - some clothes, a notebook, her pens - before leaving the flat to catch her flight; the only mortal woman in the world, bound for somewhere she had never been before. 10. Grim - Austen Hensely (unpublished works) In memory of those before me I feel naught but scorn for the reaper. He stalks on bone thin legs, a haughty grin On his cocky face As he grips with withered hands his smug, tired scythe. His gait is filled with arrogance, a lazy gait which condescends. "I''ll get to you," it says, "You just sit and wait". A snicker, as he knows he''ll come just when it pleases him, And make you wait for hours just to put you in your place This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Or crash in uninvited, and spit on all your timekeeping. "I keep my promises", he hisses; But promises are exactly what his farm tool butchers. With every swing, he breaks them - from, to, for, of. And for what? He does not harvest, only cuts, new grain and old, and weeds and thorns and all. Out with the old and the new and the tall and the short and the fair and the bold, So don''t promise, don''t plan, don''t hold, think, expand Because he''ll shuffle up and hoick his stinking phlegm Through skinless lips and sticking teeth to splash upon your face and hands. We''ll grind him up. Those fingers will make good meal for soil. His ribs will make good sand for glass. His feet will be dust, and motes from his skull Will drift in sunbeams in the air. We''ll break the scythe It''s blade made gone And its staff set to grow again, bear leaves which shade the knots Thin hands once used to clutch. His cloak we''ll burn, His horse we''ll turn to pastures green, Though his memory we''ll keep. And this, And all of this, We state. 11. Phraxis sat at the last funeral to ever be held. Of the four ancient, deathbound humans she had spoken to at the funeral of Freddie, Austen had been the only one other than Professor Hoon who had initially agreed to an interview. However, despite much correspondence, their schedules had never lined up. Austen had wanted some time to grieve, after the death of Freddie, and then Juanita, and then the others, or she had been away, or busy writing, or this, or that. Phraxis had in fact managed to interview Carlos and Juanita in the end - despite their original refusal. This meant that she had interviewed three of the last four people ever to die, but not the actual last. All the same, Austen Hensely had kept in touch with her; they had exchanged emails, and Phraxis had sent her some thoughts as to interview topics, and then, when Austen had shown an interest, she had sent drafts of articles, pieces of writing she had not felt ready to publish, even short pieces of fiction. She had known the poet mostly through those emails; supportive, enthusiastic, ready to help someone just because they asked. The young woman looked around at the other mourners. They seemingly came from every conceivable walk of life; of all races, creeds, sexes, ages, arranged in quiet arcs around where the celebrant spoke. Austen had touched many other lives too, it seemed. ¡°Her poetry,¡± the celebrant was saying, ¡°had a way of coming to you. Of touching on things that were important to you as a person, so that you felt reached out to. And that is what so many of us will remember Austen for - the reaching out, the being so ready to listen and share in your perceptions, your views, your emotions.¡± They leant forward to rest their arms down on the dias. ¡°She found the positivity in things, so often; and she strongly felt the your joys with you, as well as strongly sharing in your sorrows. We¡¯ll miss her words, her companionship, her empathy.¡± You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. A little later, Phraxis wandered through the wake, recognising no one and feeling a little lost. Other young people stood in small groups, sipping drinks and talking quietly and unhurriedly. She saw Samuel Shem, the son of Abraham Shem, the sixth-to-last human to die; she recognised him from photos Carlos had shown her. She thought about going over to introduce herself, but he seemed engaged talking to another. That was OK, she would find him a little later. Eventually, she sat down on her own to think. Her time passed in this reflection, neither wasted nor spent. Some writing was coming to her; perhaps the closing words of an interview she would never conduct, or words from poems that would never be written. There would always be uncertainty, she thought. This had always been clear; and call she had received from Carlos De Leon, years before, had only solidified this for her. There¡¯s a problem with Eterna, he had said, sounding half manic. Find someone to fix it. She had done that, she and Sebastian Hoon and clever people Chae-Won had taught to be brilliant. But even through the uncertainty, there was hope. Hope that through all the loss, there might be constancy; points of light, points of view, that lit up the flickering things around them. Phraxis looked out at those gathered together to mark the passing of death, and she knew what she had to do. There were creatures, ideas, times, places, suns and stars that would not last - and she would find them, she alongside her children, alongside the friends that she would discover. She would find these passing things, these sunsets, these mayfiles and spoken words, and she would love them. She would love them; and she would mourn them - forever, and forever, and forever. It had been a while. The young woman stood up, stretched, and went to talk to someone new.