AfterLife

by BL Craig

  “Best of luck, Mr. Butcher,” Luz said in her soothing voice, unlocking the table wheels with her feet and pushing the whole setup down the hallway, away from William. He watched her work on the next tank for a solid minute. She was clearly dead, but she was not what he expected from a drone. There was something just a little too human about her. Her calm demeanor felt more like the practiced skill of a professional than the detachment of a machine.

  Focusing on the drab avocado colored line, William realized that it was not just poor decorating choices that made everything in sight so faded and dull. The whole world appeared desaturated, lacking any vibrancy. Was this what Luz had meant when she had deemed his color sense “minimal” during the testing? Would the colors come back or was he stuck in a world of bland?

  The line seemed unnecessary as the corridor continued on, curving gently. The tanks in this section were all empty. Luz must have already decanted everyone before him in her slow march down the corridor. Eventually, William came to an intersection where both lines turned down a new hallway, which led to a pair of doors. The yellow line turned and stopped at the first door, which was open. William saw several dozen people sitting in chairs. The room looked like every generic meeting room he had been in. Each drone held a bundle just like his and gazed serenely at a display on the opposite wall. The display featured the AfterLife logo, a stylized phoenix in muddy oranges and yellows, behind the text, “Please wait for orientation to start.” William knew the logo well. Everyone knew the AfterLife logo, with its—usually—vibrant colors, the phoenix reborn in fire.

  The green line took him to the next door, also open. This one contained only three chairs. The door shushed quietly shut behind him, and a soothing female voice issued from hidden speakers. “Welcome, William. Please dress and take your seat. Orientation will start shortly.”

  He tore open the package and found trousers, shirt, underwear, socks, and light running shoes all in muted blue and grey. They were very much like the Navy issue casual wear used for lounging about or workouts—stretchy, snugly fitted over the shoulders and calves, and looser in the torso and thighs. A receptacle slid out of the wall when he was done, inviting him to dispose of the packaging. He dropped his towel in as well, hoping he wasn’t going to jam up some waste disposal system meant only for recycling plastic film.

  He felt reticent about sitting down, as though compliance suggested capitulation. He wondered if the orientation was on a simple timer, or if it was waiting for him to sit. What if he just didn’t? Would someone come along and tell him to sit the hell down?

  He was not supposed to be here. He was not supposed to be at all. SecondLife was not the actual afterlife, if there even was one. It was just what happened to bodies, after people died. Everyone knew that.

  His chest felt tight. His fingers tingled. He put his hand on the wall. He was having an attack. His jaw clenched. The headache would come next, then the screams. He prepared to slide down the wall and ride it out. He trembled slightly but nothing happened. The tension was not gone, exactly, but held at bay somehow. He stood for a moment, breathing, and slumped down into the nearest chair.

  The screen lit up as soon as he sat. The AfterLife logo blazed to life in all its muddy glory, backed by a soaring score with the perfect balance of implied patriotism and somber contemplation. The logo was replaced by a woman’s face. Experience told him it must be a virtual intelligence (VI) interface. She was generically attractive, with deep brown hair in a cut that reminded him of his mother.

  “So,” the woman said with a soft smile. “Let’s not beat around the bush. You’re dead. Your loved ones are grieving your passing. Your FirstLife is over. That sucks. You have our condolences.”

  The thoroughly focus-grouped VI personality was calm and empathetic.

  “But there is good news! You are among the lucky few to make it through reanimation with your faculties fully intact. Now it’s time to begin your SecondLife! Over the next few days, you’ll have a chance to acclimate while AfterLife technicians review your skills and experience to find the perfect position for you.”

  This was not at all what William had expected. Was this the reward for being one in ten thousand? Guidance counseling?

  “Each and every SecondLifer provides vital services to humanity.”

  The screen switched away from the woman to a series of images of reanimates. A placid-faced woman tended delicate plants in a greenhouse. A serious looking man controlled some large piece of mining equipment. An overhead view showed drones moving precisely about a factory on various non-specific tasks. His eye fixed on a tiny figure in one of the overhead shots lifting an impossibly heavy looking crate of some sort and tensed at the implied strength of the drone.

  “This orientation will provide an overview of all the information you’ll need to start your new life. We begin with the basics.”

  A pair of anatomical images, one male and one female, appeared side by side on the screen. “You’ve probably already noticed some changes in your physiology. More adaptations will appear in the next few days and weeks. Most commonly, the changes include a slight reduction in tactile sensitivity and subtle shifts in range of vision. These changes should in no way impede your functioning.”

  As she spoke, the figures lit up, highlighting the eyes and skin, and then shifted to an overlay of the circulatory system. “Your blood and vital fluids have been replaced with AfterLife Elixir.” The image changed from red blood vessels to light blue.

  “Elixir is what makes SecondLife possible. You will also notice that any injuries you suffered prior to the end of your FirstLife have been fixed. The Elixir has remarkable properties. It repairs frayed telomeres in your DNA and revitalizes aging cells. You may notice several of the signs of advanced aging reversing over the next few days and weeks. Fine lines and wrinkles will fill in and any joint problems you may have had will disappear. As a bonus side effect, Elixir is an excellent catalyst for strong bones and muscles. Improved strength and agility are side effects of the reanimation process.”

  “The Elixir’s impact on your body is attenuated by the Neural Control Module. The NCM has been installed under the protective plate you can find on the left side of your head, just above and behind the ear. If Elixir makes reanimation possible, the NCM keeps your body systems balanced and healthy.

  “You won’t get hungry. In fact, your gastrointestinal system is dormant, so please don’t ingest food. Elixir provides all the nutrients you will need.”

  Images of unappetizing food, limp browning greens, overcooked greyish meats, and bland bread, appeared on the screen covered by a crossed-out circle. beside the food, a man clenched his abdomen, looking pained.

  “Swallowing objects can result in discomfort and may require surgical intervention. Costs for maintenance resulting from neglect or purposefully inflicted damage may be penalized by a reduction in your credit allowance, or time added to your service term.”

  The image switched to an arm with tubes emerging from just above the wrist. “You will require regular infusions of Elixir to maintain optimal functionality. On your left forearm, you’ll see a small port. This is where you will receive your infusions.” William looked at his arm. Sure enough, just above his wrist was a small slit in the skin. He touched the spot and felt something hard under the surface of his skin running up toward the elbow.

  “No doubt, you’ve also noticed your fluid terminal.”

  The screen showed an image of a forearm with a glowing light under the surface.

  “If you tap the terminal, you can view your ID code. In most cases this will be the same as your FirstLife civilian ID. Further taps will allow you to view your fluid replenishment gage and any warning messages.”

  William tapped, and his ID number glowed bluish from under the skin. The video showed a number of warning symbols.

  The reassuring voice continued. “Another big change you’ll notice is that you no longer need eight hours of sleep. One of the primary functions of slee
p in FirstLife bodies is to rebalance body chemistry, particularly spinal fluid. In SecondLife, Elixir is self-balancing, providing for many more hours of wakefulness.”

  And I get to go insane from being awake all the time, William thought.

  “AfterLife guidelines call for four hours of “rejuvenation” per day, though in emergency situations, SecondLife workers can go three to four days without rejuvenation, with only minor side effects. Rest times are customized based on each worker’s specific schedule and circumstance. If sleep troubled you in 1st Life, you can bid a fond farewell to nights of tossing and turning! Elixir makes for easy and refreshing rejuvenation. No more late nights. No more groggy mornings!”

  So, I can work 20 hours a day. Yay.

  “That brings us to neural control modulators. As wonderful as Elixir is, it can’t manage all the processes necessary to maintain your body and mind alone.”

  The anatomical models reappeared, one facing away, displaying a small electronic device between the C5-C6 vertebra. The other showed the head plate on the left side of the skull.

  “The NCM helps attenuate the nervous system to prevent degradation of cognitive function and regulate Elixir nutrient relief. Please do not tamper with the NCM, as you could cause irreparable harm to yourself.”

  Sinister images of reanimates in hospital gowns rocking, twitching, and crashing repeatedly into walls flashed on the screen.

  “Those are the basics of your body function. There is of course, a lot more technical detail. If you have questions you can refer to your employee manual, which will be available to you via the individual data device you will be issued at the end of orientation.”

  When William died, his nexus had been sitting on the table at the café. It was full of his pictures, messages, books, and Sophie’s library of bird songs, amongst other things. The device contained his whole life in ephemera. Had someone found it? What would happen to it? Maybe Carly had picked it up. “Hey orientation lady,” he said to the screen, “can you answer questions?”

  The screen froze in the middle of instructions for logging into the AfterLife nexus. “Yes, William, I can answer questions related to orientation.”

  “Can I get my old nexus, or download my personal data to the new one?”

  “You can make a request through your supervisor for access to FirstLife data. That will need to be cleared with your counselor. Personal data access can sometimes cause trauma to new SecondLifers. It is AfterLife policy to only provide FirstLife data that is deemed beneficial or at least harmless to staff. Some data may be lost depending on choices made by your heirs.”

  His heirs? He guessed that would be his mother, wherever the hell she was. Would she delete his data? Would she care enough to bother? She had written him off so long ago. He had no idea what she would do.

  The voice cut into his gloomy thoughts. “William? Did that answer your question satisfactorily? Shall I resume the orientation?”

  “Yes, I mean, no. Why am I not more upset? I think I should be pretty angry right now—or in denial, or somewhere in those stages of grief.”

  “Ah, yes. Grieving the FirstLife is normal. But the reanimation process causes changes to your endocrine and sympathetic nervous systems. You will notice a diminution of physical responses to extreme emotions. This is another benefit of the reanimation process.”

  “So, I can be sad and angry, but I can’t feel sad and angry?”

  “There is an adjustment period. Remember, what you feel is the result of a matrix of factors including your physical conditions, level of arousal, and current perceptions. Without the wild chemical swings of a living body, how you feel is up to you. Thus, reanimates have more control over their emotional well-being. Does that answer your question? Shall I resume the orientation.”

  “When do I meet the counselor?”

  “Your counselor is reachable through your individual data device at any time, though you may need to inform a supervisor if you require counseling during work hours.”

  “So, it’s a program.”

  “Your personal counselor is an advanced virtual intelligence customized to your unique circumstances and psychological profile. You can choose the voice and affect of your counselor if you do not like the default selected for you. Does that answer your question? Shall I resume—”

  “Yes.” William interrupted with a sigh, “you can continue.”

  “As stipulated in your contract, you are committed to 87 years, Earth time, of SecondLife service. Upon completion of your service, you may choose sabbatical, termination, or extend your employment contract. Details on sabbatical parameters and expenses can be found in the SecondLife employee manual.”

  William was about to ask about “sabbatical” and “termination” when a flustered man opened the door. “Butcher?”

  “Yes.”

  “Come on. Your ship is leaving, and we need to get you on board.”

  “But I’m supposed to have two days of orientation and assessment.” William waved at the screen.

  “No time. You’ve been preassigned. You don’t need assessment, anyway. Pilots are always pilots. Come on.” He gestured at William to follow him.

  “Where am I going?” William said as he got up.

  The man glanced down at a nexus while they rushed down the corridor. “You’ve been assigned to the Mict—Mictci—here.” He tilted the nexus so William could see it.

  “Mictecacihuatl,” said William, pronouncing it Mick-teh-kah-see-what. “The Aztec goddess of the afterlife, Mictlan. It is said she swallowed the stars every day so they could only be seen at night.”

  The man raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “I had an old-world history and culture avocation.”

  “Well, you learn something new every decade or so, I suppose. The Micte-kata-whatever is a survey ship in Hades Fleet, but for some reason corporate’s got a fire under their asses to get it back out in the field, and they need a new pilot.”

  “Hades Fleet?” He realized as the man began talking again, that this must be the name for a group of FTL transport ships crewed by the undead. In the Navy they had just been known as coffins.

  “Yeah, welcome to AfterLife.” The bored sarcasm in his voice held the apathy of generations of disaffected bureaucrats. William had known plenty of them in the Navy but was surprised to find the same type after death.

  “A couple of centuries ago, someone decided that every undead facility, planet, or ship should be named after ancient death gods, heavens, hells, spirits, you name it. This station we’re on right now is Elysium, in orbit around Neptune, where all the reanimation happens—like the ancient Greek version of heaven.”

  “Undead planets, plural?” William knew there were a couple of AfterLife installations in the Styx system, including one on a high gravity planet, but he had no idea there were worlds full of the dead.

  “Yeah, where do you think all the yummy food and convenient consumer electronics came from in FirstLife? It’s all made by dead people. That’s us.”

  William had not realized that the man he was following was reanimate. It was hard to miss the metal plates, but this man was nothing like the placid robotic reanimates he grew up seeing in media. “So, is everyone here dead?”

  “Of course.” The man pointed ahead to a corner so William wouldn’t crash into him when he turned. “Why would the living want to come here?”

  William absorbed all that the man’s words implied. He was somewhere in Sol system, light years away from his home. He must have arrived by FTL. Humans could not survive faster-than-light travel except by wormhole gate, but the dead had no problem with it. How long had he been dead?

  “Um, to see dead relatives?” he replied, immediately feeling stupid. No one ever wanted to see their loved one’s corpse walking around and talking.

  The man gave William a side-eyed look. “No, we don’t interact with the living. They prefer it that way. They don’t want to know about us. Besides they can’t use FTL and we’re a w
eek from earth by sub-light.”

  “I feel like I’m missing a lot without the rest of the orientation.”

  “Meh,” the man said. “You’ll learn the important stuff from the rest of the crew. Try not to piss anyone off. Survey ships spend a lot of time in the middle of nowhere. You don’t want your crew mates to start fantasizing about spacing you.”

  “You know I’m Navy,” William said cocking an eyebrow. “My academy instructors said exactly the same thing to get us all to play nice.”

  “Yeah, well back then there were people who cared if you lived or died. Here we are.”

  The man pointed down another corridor that led to a lift. “Take this transport to gate 17. Your seabag will be waiting at the airlock. Good luck.”

  4

  Onboarding

  As they descended, the exterior lift shaft walls became transparent, and William could see the ships docked on the outer ring of the station. The station itself was massive, dwarfing the Hub Gate station in stable high orbit around Earth—which had been the biggest station William had ever seen. Now, he could see a dozen ships docked at the ring, just on this side of the station. One immense oblong hulk occupied a separate, extra-long dock. He knew that ship. The Yan Luo was the largest known vessel in existence, a gate building ship that could house more than 10,000 reanimate workers and featured an open zero-g interior compartment for building gate segments. A cruiser like the one William had worked on could fit inside the Yan Luo’s interior with room to spare. William’s heart raced at the sight of humanity’s greatest engineering feat. Then, a calming wave spread over him and he felt only vague unease. That was almost as disturbing as the sight of that ship. William found himself in the curious position of being intellectually angry about his circumstances without the surge of pent-up energy that usually came with the feeling.

  His calm body, no racing heart, no sick feeling in his stomach, did nothing to mute the screams from echoing through his head. It just made them eerie and sad instead of evoking the need to run and hide. He pulled his gaze away from the titanic vessel and looked for the ship docked directly below. He caught sight of the Mictecacihuatl. The survey ship looked similar to the fleet transport vessels he had piloted, though larger, if he was judging scale correct next to the massive Yan Lo. He guessed a ship the size of the Mictecacihuatl would have a crew of around a score or more with ample room for equipment and supplies inside.