“I don’t mind,” Samantha says. “I get that a lot.”
“I can’t believe you still have that camera,” Margaret says to her husband, once again behind the lens. They are walking through the corridors of the
“It was a wedding present,” her husband says. “From Uncle Will. He’d kill me if I threw it out.”
“You don’t have to throw it out,” Margaret says. “I could arrange an accident.”
“I’m appalled at such a suggestion,” her husband says.
Margaret stops. “Here we are,” she says. “Our married quarters. Where we will spend our blissfully happy married life together on this ship.”
“Try saying that without so much sarcasm next time,” her husband says.
“Try learning not to snore,” Margaret says, and opens the door, then sweeps her hand in a welcoming motion. “After you, Mr. Documentary.”
Her husband walks through the door and pans around the room, which takes a very short amount of time. “It’s larger than our berth on the
“There are broom closets larger than our berth on the
“Yes, but this is almost as large as
Margaret closes the door and faces her husband. “When do you need to report to Xenobiology?” she asks.
“I should report immediately,” her husband says.
“That’s not what I asked,” Margaret says.
“What do you have in mind?” her husband asks.
“Something you’re not going to be able to document,” Margaret says.
“Did you want to make a confession?” Father Neil asks.
Samantha giggles despite herself. “I don’t think I could confess to you with a straight face,” she says.
“This is the problem of coming to a priest you used to date in high school,” Father Neil says.
“You weren’t a priest then,” Samantha notes.
The two of them are sitting in one of the back pews of Saint Finbar’s Church.
“Well, if you decide you need confession, you let me know,” Neil says. “I promise not to tell. That’s actually one of the requirements, in fact.”
“I remember,” Samantha says.
“So why did you want to see me?” Neil asks. “Not that it isn’t nice to see you.”
“Is it possible that we have other lives?” Samantha asks.
“What, like reincarnation?” Neil asks. “And are you asking about Catholic doctrine, or something else?”
“I’m not exactly sure how to describe it,” Samantha says. “I don’t think it’s reincarnation exactly.” She frowns. “I’m not sure there’s any way to describe it that doesn’t sound completely ridiculous.”
“It’s popularly believed theologians had great debates about how many angels could dance on a head of a pin,” Neil says. “I don’t think your question could be any more ridiculous.”
“Did they ever find out how many angels could dance on the head of a pin?” Samantha asks.
“It was never actually seriously considered,” Neil says. “It’s kind of a myth. And even if it weren’t, the answer would be: As many as God needed to. What’s your question, Sam?”
“Imagine there’s a woman who is like a fictional character, but she’s real,” Samantha says, and holds up her hand when she sees Neil about to ask a question. “Don’t ask how, I don’t know. Just accept that she’s the way I’ve described her. Now suppose that woman is based on someone in our real world—looks the same, sounds the same, from all outward appearances they could be the same person. The first woman wouldn’t exist without having the second woman as a model. Are they the same person? Are they the same soul?”
Neil furrows his brow and Samantha is reminded of him at age sixteen and has to suppress a giggle. “The first woman is based on the second woman, but she’s not a clone?” he asks. “I mean, they don’t take genetic material from one to make the other.”
“I don’t think so, no,” Samantha says.
“But the first woman is definitely made from the second woman in some ineffable way?” Neil asks.
“Yes,” Samantha says.
“I’m not going to ask for details of how that gets managed,” Neil says. “I’m just going to take it on faith.”
“Thank you,” Samantha says.
“I can’t speak for the entire Catholic Church on this, but my own take on it would be no, they’re not,” Neil says. “This is a gross oversimplification, but the Church teaches us that those things that have in themselves the potential to become a human being have their own souls. If you were to make a clone of yourself, that clone wouldn’t be you, any more than identical twins are one person. Each has its own thoughts and personal experiences and are more than the sum of their genes. They’re their own person, and have their own individual souls.”
“You think it would be the same for her?” Samantha asks.
Neil looks at Samantha oddly but answers her question. “I’d think so. This other person has her own memories and experiences, yes?” Samantha nods. “If she has her own life, she has her own soul. The relationship you describe is somewhere between a child and an identical sibling—based on someone else but
“What if they’re separated in time?” Samantha asks. “Would it be reincarnation then?”
“Not if you’re a Catholic,” Neil says. “Our doctrine doesn’t allow for it. I can’t speak to how other faiths would make the ruling. But the way you’re describing it, it doesn’t seem like reincarnation is strictly necessary anyway. The woman is her own person however you want to define it.”
“Okay, good,” Samantha says.
“Remember, this is just me talking,” Neil says. “If you want an official ruling, I’d have to run it past the pope. That might take a while.”
Samantha smiles. “That’s all right,” she says. “What you’re saying makes sense to me. Thank you, Neil.”
“You’re welcome,” Neil says. “Do you mind me asking what’s this about?”
“It’s complicated,” Samantha says.
“Apparently,” Neil says. “It sounds like you’re researching a science fiction story.”
“Something like that, yes,” Samantha says.
Samantha buys herself a printer and a couple hundred dollars’ worth of ink and prints out letters and photographs from the collection that she was given a month previously. The original projector had disappeared mysteriously as promised, collapsing into a crumbling pile that evaporated over the space of an hour. Before that happened, Samantha took her little digital camera and took a picture of every document, and video capture of every movie, that she had been given. The digital files remained on the camera card and on her hard drive; she’s printing documents for a different purpose entirely.
When she’s done, she’s printed out a ream of paper, each with a letter from or a picture of Margaret Jenkins. It’s not Margaret’s whole life, but it’s a representation of the life that she lived with her husband; a representation
