Jessica Andrewartha

by Jessica Andrewartha

Originally published in Utopia Science Fiction magazine, October 2019

Marlene reaches out her hand for mine. “I don’t want to do this,” she whispers. I take her hand, savoring its warmth, its weight, every little detail that makes Marlene my Marlene. “That’s why we promised we would.”

I think back on how we met. How long ago, on Io. How we almost missed each other out of sheer boredom. She was a languid 85. I was a restless, aimless 92. It’s hard to think it of Io now, but at the time it was the edge of human civilization. The farthest of Earth’s many colonies supporting any kind of city or station. The last point of light. I had wandered out there hoping the change would mean excitement. It didn’t.

It was 5 years before my next treatment, so I wasn’t looking for love. I was barely looking for sex. I figured everyone had fresher options and I would be stuck with the occasional visit to the brothels. Trading sex for the money these women need for their own next treatment. Not the most glamorous part of life, but I didn’t mind.

We had both gravitated towards nursing. I thought maybe helping out those who got injured or couldn’t afford a treatment would give me a sense of purpose. And, of course, money for my own next treatment. Marlene told me later she threw a dart at a list of colonies. That’s how bored she was. I thank the universe every day for that dart.

Our names are creeping up the board. Conway, Virginia and Ibioke, Marlene. The world will change and change and change in a lifetime. But bureaucracy is always the same. It will be our turn soon.

#

We held each other loosely at first. These things come and go. We’d been here before. It would last until we both got bored. But then came the day a man came into the hospital. He was aiming for the treatment center, but he didn’t really care. He would hit anyone. Make anyone pay.

I look around the room. I’ve been jumpy all day. That memory still makes me wary. I know we’re a target here. Sure, things have changed. We’ve worked so hard to make sure that everyone who wants the treatments can afford them. There’s not as much anger as there was when it was pay or whither. But there are still those bitter about needing handouts. Still some who resent those of us spoiled enough to throw it all away. It’s funny to worry about it now. What would change really? But still I reassure myself. I remind myself of the decreases in crime. And of the guards we passed, of the passcodes, the secret location, and the locked doors. I squeeze Marlene’s hand tighter.

That night, after the gunshots had faded and the police had come and gone. After we had answered their questions, talked about what we saw, heard. After the panic and the messages to loved ones: “You’ll see on the news something happened. I’m ok.” When it was all over, I kissed Marlene. We held each other so tightly. We kissed through tears of relief and guilt and joy. When was the last time you felt so intensely?

The feeling lasted a week, and it was my most joyful week in decades. I found myself seeing this woman more clearly than I had ever seen anyone. I found myself doing silly things from ancient love songs: smelling her hair, not wanting to say good night, watching her sleep. I was giddy. I was in love. We both were. But these feelings fade. We relaxed our grip.

It might have faded away entirely if not for Marlene. She’s always been smarter than me about these things. That’s why the kids called her mom and me Conway. As we were lying in bed one night she whispered, “Did you notice how things changed, after the shooting?”

“Dear god. How could I not?”

“Now they’ve changed back.”

“They’re starting to. I don’t want it to. But I can feel it slipping.”

“You know what it was.”

“I do. But how do we keep that?”

We both knew. But it was so hard to say.

“Conway? Virginia Conway?” The man behind the desk calls our name. Just like in old movies. No automation here. For this, it’s best to still involve human beings. The system uses every method possible to make sure everyone who walks through that door does it of their own free will, including old fashioned human intuition. That’s how we designed it. Marlene squeezes my hand and together we stand. I find myself looking wistfully around the waiting room. The fake flowers. The ticking clock. The government-issue chairs. They all seem unbearably beautiful. How ridiculous. But I see my sheepish grin mirrored in Marlene’s face.

Together we approach the counter. The man behind the desk is hostile. But he’s finding what everyone does. It’s hard to sustain even anger forever. We may be monsters. But monsters like us put food on the table. “Which one of you is Virginia Conway?” His tone is utterly flat.

“I just go by Conway.” He doesn’t care.

“Place your right thumb on the scanner to verify identification. When you see the green light, place your left wrist against the screen for chip reading. When that light is green, step forward for your retinal scan.”

“Not taking any chances, are you? Sure you don’t want some hair for a full DNA test?” Marlene tries to joke with him. Bless her.

“No” is all the thanks she gets. She tries again.

“Beautiful weather in the dome today.”

He only shrugs. He hasn’t noticed. I feel a little vindicated.

I go through the routine. Marlene does the same in her turn. Everything as expected. The desk man is not surprised.

“Here’s your paperwork. You’re being assigned to Counselor Washington for evaluation.” As he says this, Counselor Washington appears next to him. A tall, thin man early in his cycle, Counselor Washington has the slightly malnourished look of people who have spent most of their lives on Jupiter’s moons. His dark skin stretches tight across his bones. But he looks at us with kindness. It’s a relief after the bald disgust of the man behind the desk.

“Ladies, it’s a pleasure to meet you. It is my honor to be with you for this momentous occasion.” He’s a professional. “Now of course, either of you can walk out of here at any moment. No questions asked. But if you’re ready to begin, please follow me.” We do.

#

We didn’t know where to start. Once we decided, that is. The deciding wasn’t easy. It’s a hard thing to give up, immortality. Not something you do lightly. Even once you decide to do it. Even when we stopped beating around the bush and said to each other “the only way I can love you fully is if I know it will expire,” even then figuring out the details wasn’t easy. We were pioneers in a way.

When we met Carlos on Ganymede he had already made a name for himself. It just wasn’t a good name. Ganymede was more civilized than Io, but not by much. He was preaching to the lost, the desperate, and the lonely. That’s a good way to look extreme. Even we followed at a distance. This was back in the early days of the treatment. It seemed like the most glorious Manifest Destiny. Humanity had found immortality and was expanding throughout the galaxy to find room for us all. It seemed like blasphemy to say that the modern marvels were the cause of our troubles. That humans weren’t meant to last forever. 

Even amid the chaos, it was heaven to find others who had arrived at the same conclusion we had. It was a relief to be able to talk about it openly. Marlene and I fit in there. We found a mission and so did they. But we still had so much to learn.

It seems I’ve learned too much from angry men with guns. Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn’t have been able to figure some things out myself without explosives involved. It would have been less dramatic. It shouldn’t have taken a genius to look out at the world I knew and see how unfair it was. I was friends with women who sold their bodies to earn the money to keep those bodies strong and young and alive. I had heard stories of those who finally scraped together the money, but too late. There’s a window for the treatment. Too soon and you warp your already healthy cells. Too late and those cells just die faster. The outrage when it happened was huge. How could we let people suffer this way just because of a thing as trivial as money?

The gap between the haves and the have nots was as wide and as obvious as it had ever been. And here we were; we the lucky, we the blessed, throwing it away. How could we not be hated? But that’s all hindsight. At the time we were shocked when a man came to the gathering with a bomb strapped to his chest and a gun in his hand.

Counselor Washington brings me back to the present. We’re seated in his office. He and Marlene have exchanged the pleasantries.

“Now I understand you ladies are more familiar than most with the process, but I’ve still got to follow it to the letter. So, bear with me, ok?” I had been wondering if he’d know.

“Of course. We understand. More than most, as you say.” Marlene matches his familiar, jovial tone. “I promise this isn’t a test.” I should join in.

“It’s about time we put our money where our mouth is.” He laughs. It makes me happy to make him laugh.

“So first up, will both of you extend your index finger for a blood sample? As you know, this toxicity scan is just to make sure that neither of you are under this influence of alcohol or any drugs that may impair your judgement.” He’s enjoying this little variation in the routine.

“Does that ever happen?” Marlene wants to know. “Do people come in here drunk or on drugs?”

“More often than you’d think. Sometimes the wait sobers them up and they wander off. But plenty still get back to me.” We extend our fingers to prove we’re capable.  

Counselor Washington and his colleagues came later. So much later. After Jia calmed the angry man and became part of our lives. After she and Carlos became each other’s missing pieces. After the movement they built went mainstream, we needed a way to control it. A way to make this official. To prevent abuse. Now we’re here. It’s funny really.

I think about Jia. I’ve thought about Jia every day since she chose her time 25 years ago. I haven’t thought much about Jia Xiou, architect of the movement, legendary balance to Carlos’ fire and heart. But I think a lot about Auntie Jia handing out toys to our children. About Jia gossiping at the kitchen table with Marlene. About playing handball with her, and what she would think about the new colonies on Pluto, and if she’d like the new recipe our granddaughter Lane sent from her travels on Earth.

But today I think about Jia the first time I noticed her. I remember her calming the angry man. I remember her discovery that his anger was jealousy. He didn’t have the money for his own treatment and here we were talking about throwing ours away. She gave him all he needed.

“Now I have some questions for you” intones Counselor Washington. I know the script, but it’s different hearing it like this. “I’ll ask you questions together, then I’ll need to speak to each of you separately. Then you may have a moment alone before you finish the walk. Any questions?”

“Only yours,” Marlene jokes.

“Then we’ll begin.”

#

Jia, our master of history and context, once explained the movement in a way that stuck with me. Her own unique theory about the cycle of technology. “Back in ancient times, in the 1950s, civilization figured out mass production of processed foods. All of a sudden a meal that used to take a housewife all day came in a box and could be ready in an hour. The idea was embraced with open arms. There was an era of boxed foods, TV trays, frozen dinners, Jell-O molds, and instant noodles. But then decades went by and people began to question things. Is the quality of food the same? Are these chemicals good for us? And so on. Within a generation or two, there was a reaction. It became a sign of seriousness to insist on pure origins for your food. Suddenly young people were doing things their own grandmothers had been relieved not to have to do. It was a status symbol to bake your own bread, can your own preserves again. We’re like that. Everyone embraced the treatments and now we’re asking about the cost. Does it really make life better? Or is there something irreplaceable about making your own jam?”

#

“Why do you wish to end your lives today?”

“Today is the day we chose. Long ago. My 582^nd birthday.”

“Why today?”

“It was a somewhat arbitrary choice. They always are. But I liked the symmetry of ending my life on the anniversary of my birth.”

Marlene likes to explain it that way. I’m more direct.

“We signed a contract between ourselves with witnesses from the Movement of Light specifying the date. You can access it in our records.”

Choosing a date was Marlene’s idea. Jia loved it and people like to credit her, but Marlene came up with it. It makes sense. It makes things clearer. It helped clear the air when things were murky. When people feared we’d organize mass suicides. It’s cleaner this way. You pick your date. You sign to it. Others witness. You can give yourself as much time as you want. Hell, we took 497 years if you start the count at our big realization. But you pick an end date. A ticking clock. Something to give your life urgency and meaning. No one enforces it. But most people honor it.

“Normally this is a question, but you are members of the Movement of Light. Founders, really.”

Marlene still has the grace to look modest about it. “Yes.”

“Sorry to step off script, but I’ve always wondered, why Movement of Light?”

I can’t help but laugh. Marlene keeps the straight face. She’s better at orthodoxy.

“Light is defined by where it ends. A candle burns out. A star expires. Light gives way to shadow. We believe that in order for our lives to have meaning, they must also give way to shadow.”

“But really” Marlene glares at me, but it’s too delicious. I can’t help myself. Sharing this one last secret. “Really, Carlos had been reading too much Shakespeare. It’s from Macbeth:

‘There would have been a time for such a word.
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!’

Which is all well and good, but Out, Out, Brief Candle makes a terrible name for a movement. We talked him down to something a little more generic.”

Counselor Washington is delighted. He’ll tell this story tonight when he gets home. He’ll tell it for years. Maybe that’s why I told him. Grasping for one more piece of immortality.

He clears his throat. We’re back to the routine.

“As founding members of the Movement of Light, you assert that what you do today, you do of free will and sound mind, free of any external pressure, obligation, constraint, or coercion.”

“We so assert.”

“Good. Let me speak to Ms. Ibioke first please. Conway, would you mind stepping outside?”

#

Our children understand. I keep telling myself that. When I catch Marlene looking. When the desk man’s stare makes me feel like an aberration and even Counselor Washington’s kindness grates. When I savor each breath and wonder what the fuck I’m thinking. Our children understand. Our grandchildren. A few have chosen the same path. A few haven’t yet, but I think they will. When they’re ready. Of course, there’s still a few holdouts. David is sulking. He was the only one who didn’t come to the send-off party last night.  We left him a message, so he’ll have that. That’s all we can do. No one gets to say everything they want.

Killing time right now feels profane. The clock is ticking down and each minute gets more precious. I can’t stand still. I pace the hall. I savor the feeling of movement. I can’t help thinking of all the things I wanted to do. Like an itch I can’t scratch. The stack of books I never got to. Visiting the Pluto colonies. Organizing the back closet. Maybe I should just call David one more time…

I can’t complain. I’ve had 589 years. That’s mythical compared to my ancestors. But it still doesn’t feel like enough.

Counselor Washington appears. I’m relieved to see Marlene behind him. Marlene with her lopsided grin. I’ve seen it a hundred thousand times, but it aches to think this might be the last time.

“Your turn, Conway.”

#

There was so much to do then, back when it all began. Jia was the genius, but we all kept busy. It was one of the most thrilling periods of my life. We traveled across the system. Not as bored tourists, but to take meetings. We spoke to the UN on Earth. To the Pope and the Dali Lama, too. We presented to the Colony Command Center on Mars. We met every ethics commission on every rock humanity had set foot on. On Mars the questioning was so intense Marlene cried.

But we told them all about it. We walked every dignitary in the solar system through all the problems we had wrestled with. We worked with banks to set up a system-wide fund for treatment scholarships. Marlene and Carlos would say that it’s the right thing to do, making sure that life is bounteous for all. I can’t help but notice that when everyone has money for the treatments, fewer people try to shoot us. So we created the scholarship administration, and the system for setting dates. There were endless committees to vet the lists of questions like Counselor Washington’s. And of course, the tricky issue of how to end a life.

Since the beginning of time, we’ve been trying to find better ways to kill each other. We’ve gotten good at it. But still. How do you kill someone who wants to die and make sure it’s peaceful and dignified? How to best avoid any messy scenes? No mass graves, no gallows, no poisoned party drinks, nothing that will cause hysteria. Clean and simple. Of course Jia invented the door. So simple. Just walk through it. That’s what we’ll do in minutes now. I try to focus on Counselor Washington.

“Are you here under your own power? Have you been coerced? Bribed? Forced? Is anyone threatening you? What is your financial status? Do you have outstanding debts? Do you require medical counseling?”

I hear them in Jia’s voice. I hear them in Marlene’s. They trained the first counselors so long ago. Or was it days ago? It’s all been accelerating. I answer the questions. They’re not hard. I’m not who they were designed to weed out.

Marlene is back. It’s time. We’ve said our good-byes to Counselor Washington. He walked us here. Now, just open the door at the other end of the room when you’re ready. It will be over in an instant. It’s so peculiar, this little room for good-byes right on death’s doorstep. It used to be different. It used to be a farewell alone in the good Counselor’s office. Probably enough people snuck in one last desperate screw on the desk that they changed it. Not us.

Not that we’re above that. We had ours this morning. Sweaty and messy and urgent, like that night so long ago. We watched the wind of the air circulation system gently tossing the curtains after. Like so many times before. But without checking the handhelds. Without planning dinner later. Without all the little symptoms of boredom that had snuck in over the years. Just us.

What to say now? I thought about speeches over the years. Wrote them all in my head. Practiced them in the shower. “Marlene, it has been my honor to share your life.” “Marlene, what the hell were we thinking?” “I have loved you more every moment and I love you most in this moment.” None of them are right.

“Your birthday we spent on the Moon, when you wanted that Venusian vase? I had already bought it for you. But Corrin broke it that morning. He was terrified, so I pinky swore to him I wouldn’t tell you. That’s why I got you that tacky necklace. It was the fastest thing I could find. I wish you could have seen how guilty he looked. I always wanted to tell you. But it was a pinky swear.”

I’m babbling, but Marlene throws back her head and laughs with tears in her eyes.

“I forgot all about that. How old was he that year? 7? 8?”

“The perfect age for guilt.”

“I forgive you for all these years of deceit.”

“I’m glad I won’t have to take that to the grave. It was weighing on me.”

She laughs. I have so much to be proud of. But screw founding a religion. Forget building this little attempt to make the world better. Making Marlene laugh is the real great accomplishment of my life.

She gathers me in her arms as only she can.

“It has been a good life.”

“Because of you.”

“No regrets?”

“Nothing I can’t live with.”

We hold each other a long time. Then it’s my cue. I’ve always know it would be me. To call an end. It’s my gift to her. Taking this on.

“Shall we?” She takes my hand and we walk through the door. Together.