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212 pages, Kindle Edition
First published May 31, 2025
A colossal pyramid filled the sky, the color of dark jade, crenelated with arcane patterns, fractal and floral, eclipsing the orbital lamp that served as my substitute for the sun.
Richard was in the kitchen, eating oatmeal, arrayed in a charcoal three-piece suit. "Get dressed," he said, not looking up from the newspaper. "My mother's come to visit."
Hannah argues like she knows she's going to win because her words are bigger and more precise than Maxine's, even though she can only speak one language and Maxine can speak two. Hannah wouldn't understand her if she switched off English, but that's Maxine's fault - she should've used her first language more. So Maxine lets her daughter pick the battlefield, and she lets her win.
As we hurtled south, the city melted into wilderness and wilderness became half-wild ruins; I fought the urge to turn my EyeFrames on and document the landscape. It'd been done to death anyway, reanimated, then killed again. There are only so many camera angles and adjectives you cna use to describe the wide expanse of land that was once overtaken by humans, then reformed with failed habitable domes, only to be retaken again by plants and animals more resilient than ourselves.
How wrong to think that humans were perfected. They were children, lost in a graveyard. The adults were all gone away, and the only thing that the children could think to do was to smash masonry, to stack gravestones and build stone huts from the leaned angle of gothic monuments.
All around them were the names of the dead. Never once had the children stopped to read them.
The exhaust from the galactic commerce vessels was accumulating in Hearth’s atmosphere. Their world occupied a strategic nexus in the intergalactic trading network. The nearby gas giant was a source of hydrogen, necessary for rocket propulsion. Neighboring rocky planets were rich in ores. Hearth itself was ideal for grain production, and its location made it a logical site for trade. But the exhaust was reflecting incoming light back into space, cooling the world. Crops were wilting, threatening the basis of the trade economy.
Easily lost in the glare of the near sun was a third silhouette - the shrunken steel core of Venus. Flung out of its orbit a billion years ago, it had finally locked into a tragic collision course. It would miss Earth but shatter the Moon. The remnants of dying Venus would throw molten fragments of the Moon far and wide before the drag of the Sun's atmosphere caught most.
The evening the Glass Woman returned to the island, all residents received a notification. After all, what is the first person to survive the cyberization procedure that created the neo-sapiens and conferred upon them eternal life, if not a celebrity? Sixty-two percent of the residents sent out their personal drones to catch a glimpse of her, filling the sky with a gentle whir that the older neo-sapiens likened to the mating song of cicadas and that the younger likened to the first sound they ever heard, the machine wombs that had held and kept them until they were ready to come into the world. Thirty-one percent piggybacked off their friends’ and neighbors’ drone feeds because they felt no need for a copy of the footage. (More data storage? In this economy?) Another six percent, the ones who, despite being able to live forever, never quite evolved beyond their FOMO, downloaded themselves into public shells near the quay so they could meet the Glass Woman in their rented bodies, never mind how dented, creaky, and unhygienic those bodies happened to be.
Childbirth is nothing compared to birthing yourself.