Stellar Nurseries

Memory Hole

There are only a few of us at the ceremony. I look along the funeral terrace, noting how empty it is; then my thoughts turn to the ceremonies I remember from when I was younger. The terraces would be thronged with those who had come to pay their respects to the dead and to remember them. It is not that we have become any less reverential. It is just that there are fewer of us to come, to remember the departed.

The light touch of a sympathetic hand rings me back to the here and now. I turn to see the psychopomp standing beside me. "It is your turn to speak," she says. "Please."

I take my place at the podium beside the coffin, and I gather my thoughts. It is important to choose my words carefully. They will colour our memories of the deceased. I glance down at the body in the coffin - the body of my friend Rhea - and try to find something to say. Rhea's body has been swathed in the winding sheet, leaving only her beautiful face and long hair visible. I take a deep breath and calm myself. Then I look up and towards the gathered mourners.

"I remember Rhea." The words are formulaic, but comforting. "I remember when we first met." Now that the silence has been broken, the rest is easy. The words come quickly. At times I think that I am babbling, unable to control what I am saying; but I know that if I stop to think, the emotions will overwhelm me. It is a relief when I feel the psychopomp's touch once again.

"Thank you," she murmurs. "You can step down now."

I do as I am told, stepping away from the podium to join the others. The psychopomp takes her place before us. "Thank you." Her voice is calm and confident. "Thank you all. We shall not forget Rhea. We have told our stories of her and shared them with all who knew her. Now she will live on forever in our hearts and minds." She raises her hand in a gesture of farewell, and we - the mourners - follow suit.

As if in response to our salute, the protective field around the funeral terrace depolarises. Our heads turn upwards. Although I have been to many funerals, this sight never fails to fill me with awe. Around us, the lights of the World Within shine like the stars of the World Without. Some, the stationary lights, mark the cities of our world. Others, the moving lights, are the chains of vessels that move between the cities. And, at the centre of the darkness, lies the thing that is the heart of our world - the Singularity!

Together we stare into the heart of the dark star. It was placed here by the long-ago creators of the World Within, to provide power for our civilisation until the end of time. We feed it mass and, in return, harvest the energy from it.

Silently, almost unnoticed, the catafalque supporting Rhea's coffin slides back into the stone of the terrace, leaving her casket suspended in mid-air. Then the coffin begins to rise, pulled into the dark sky by invisible forces. It crosses the boundary of the protective field, and there is a flash of light. Rhea and her coffin accelerate towards the Singularity. We stand and watch them shrink until they disappear from sight, lost amongst the lights in the void.

The psychopomp lowers her gaze towards us. "Rhea has gone. Her physicality is no more. Only the memories remain. Go - and remember her."

I return to the rooms that Rhea and I shared. The rooms are too big and too quiet. Everywhere I turn there are memories. They grow to fill the rooms, and then they start to press down on me, suffocating me. I fall to the floor, weeping from the pressure, sobbing until I cannot catch my breath. Then I take a gulp of air and begin again. That is how I am when the psychopomp finds me.

"What is it, child?" Her voice is quiet, but clear. It cuts through the fog of my grief. "share your thoughts with me."

I struggle to my feet, wiping the tears from my eyes and the mucus from my nose. "I'm sorry," I say. "It's just ... ."