Ascending

known intelligent races by mid-adolescence: a large number of existing connections between mental neurons wither away in the interest of 'efficiency.' The theory goes that during childhood, the brain has many surplus linkages between neighboring nerve cells, because there is no telling which will eventually prove necessary. By adolescence, however, a person’s day-to-day experiences have established which connections are actually used and which are superfluous fripperies — links that never get activated in everyday life. The brain therefore discontinues low-use links as a means of streamlining the most common thought processes… making sure that essential mental activity is not slowed by extraneous clutter.

The doctor claimed pruning is good and desirable: a pruned brain is more quickly decisive, less plagued by needless doubts and uncertainties. After pruning, your brain knows conclusively that objects always fall down instead of up, that it is a poor idea to stick your hand into fire, and that animals never really talk; indeed, a pruned brain is resistant to, and even threatened by, any notion it has come to regard as absurd. The 'mature' mind shuts the door on the impossible, so it can concentrate on The Real.

Or at least, that is what Havel claimed.

For myself, I did not think The Real deserved such drastic sacrifice. If pruning is the price of adulthood, is it not more courageous to remain a child? Of course one knows animals speak infrequently (and it is hard to believe ugly animals such as lizards will ever become engaging conversationalists); but it seems most high- handed to reject the possibility entirely. I tried to argue this point with the doctor, but because his brain had been pruned, he exhibited nothing but galling condescension toward my 'naive' views… which meant I was close to choking him when Festina entered the room.

This was indeed a welcome interruption. 'Hello, hello!' I said in great happiness. I wondered if she would want to hug again, and if I would be so foolishly self- conscious as before, and if maybe I should start the hugging this time to prove I was not standoffish… and none of that happened, because I saw my friend’s face was grave.

'Uclod,' Festina said quietly, 'our communications came back on-line: either the Shaddill have stopped jamming or we’re out of their range. Anyway,' she took a deep breath, 'I received a message from my staff on New Earth — your Grandma Yulai has been killed.'

What Expendable Means

In a quiet voice, Uclod asked, 'How?'

'Electrocuted by a faulty VR/brain connection. Several thousand volts to the cerebellum. Supposedly an accident.' Festina rolled her eyes in disgust. 'And the rest of your family is missing. I hope to God it means they’ve gone into hiding; my people haven’t collected enough details to know if that’s what happened, or if somebody got them too…' Her voice trailed off. 'I’m sorry.'

Uclod appeared frozen. Lajoolie had moved in behind him as soon as Festina began speaking; the big woman’s arms wrapped around her husband, holding him tight. She seemed made of stone… but Uclod was made of ice.

'What is that phrase you Explorers say?' he asked Festina. 'Uncle Oh-God told me once — when somebody dies in the line of duty. What is it?'

Festina pursed her lips. 'We say, That’s what ‘expendable’ means. Because the navy has always treated Explorers as expendable baggage.'

Uclod stared at her a moment, then shook his head. 'No. I can’t say that. Not for my own grandmother.'

He turned around and buried his face against Lajoolie’s strong body.

The Utter Truth Of Death

Through all of this, I had not said a word. Indeed, I could not speak.

I did not know this Grandma Yulai personally, and the few things I had heard about her were bad. She was a criminal who dominated a family of other criminals.

And yet-

She was dead. She had died. She was no different now from the animal corpses one finds in the forest, the fresh ones covered with flies or the old ones as dried and withered as bread crusts.

Let me tell you a thing: my mother taught me death was holy, a blessing bestowed only on natural creatures. Rabbits and squirrels and fishes could die, but my own glass people could not. We were artificial beings; the Hallowed Ones refused to take us to the Place Beyond because we were not worthy of progressing to the life after life. Our species was cursed, spurned by death… or so my mother said.

It turned out my mother was wrong. My sister had died, died forever. Perhaps I had died for a short time too… though it does not count if someone brings you back.

But when I first met Festina, I got most angry with her when she claimed Earth humans could achieve death, I believed she was putting on airs, pretending to be holy herself. The ability to the seemed too wondrous and special to be true.

However, I did not feel that way anymore. Starbiter had died. Grandma Yulai had died. Even villains like Admiral York and the man who killed my sister had died. For the very first time — there in the infirmary, watching Uclod weep and Lajoolie comfort him — for the first time, I realized just how un-special Death was. How common. It was not the exception, it was the rule: a ubiquitous poison infesting the universe, and those of us from Melaquin were total simple-heads to think death was a blessed gift we had been denied.

Starbiter: disemboweled and smashed at high speed into the Shaddill ship. Grandma Yulai: her brain burned to smoke by some mysterious device. My sister: shot with invisible sound, churned up and blasted until her insides shattered, then buried to rot in the dirt.

What did that bode for anyone else?

Festina could die. Truly die. At any time. Perhaps as a noble sacrifice, perhaps as the foolish result of blind bad luck. The same for Uclod and Lajoolie. The same for me as well — the Pollisand had promised I was not immune to death, and had warned that a time of danger was imminent.

I could die. Anyone could die. The doctor, the cloud man, baby Starbiter, they were no more permanent than leaves on an autumn tree; one day their winter would come and then they would be trampled in the dirt.

How could these people stand it? Did they not know? Did they not realize? Why did they not scream and scream at the thought their lives would end?

But I did not scream either. The utter truth of death had taken my breath away.

'Are you all right?'

Festina stood by my shoulder, her face filled with concern. 'I am not all right,' I whispered. 'I am not all right at all.'

'What’s wrong?'

I steeled myself, then told her the truth. 'Things die.'

'Yes.'

'People die.'

'Yes.'

'You and I, Festina — we could die.'

'We will die, Oar. Sooner or later. Maybe in the next second, maybe years from now; but we will die.'

I looked at her. Was this not a good time for my friend to offer an embrace, a comfort, a reassurance? Lajoolie had enfolded Uclod in her arms, but Festina was only watching me — as if she did not want to make the moment go away. As if she wished the thought of death to impress itself on my brain, deeply, deeply, deeply.

I fought back tears. 'How can you stand it?' I asked. 'Why do you not scream and scream?'

'Because screaming doesn’t do any good. Nothing does any good in the long run. Death will come.' Festina locked my gaze with her blazing green eyes. 'But we have choices, Oar. There are some deaths we don’t need to accept. If a blood clot hits my brain right here, right now, there’s nothing I can do about it, so no regrets. But if I die from something I could have prevented if I’d just thought ahead…'

She shook her head fiercely. 'We Explorers have a saying, Oar — don’t die stupid. It’s got a double meaning: don’t die because of your own stupidity, and don’t die in a state of stupidity. Learn things; learn everything you can. Keep your eyes open. Prepare, prepare, prepare. You’ll still die eventually, but by God, in the final second you can tell yourself you didn’t just throw the fight.'

'And yet,' I whispered, 'one still dies.'

'Yes. One still dies.' She glanced at the weeping Uclod. 'It seems you’ve just recognized your own mortality, Oar. Everyone does sooner or later… then most people immediately try to put it out of their minds. They go into denial, except when the grim truth strikes so close to home it can’t be ignored.' She turned back to me. 'Don’t do that, Oar. Stay mindful of death. Stay constantly mindful.'

She held my gaze a moment, then lowered her eyes with shy chagrin. 'Of course, some people say you should also stay mindful of life. I’m still working on that one. C’mere.'

Festina opened her arms to me and I finally, gratefully, slid into her embrace.

Afore Pressing Matters

We did not stay that way long. Behind my back, someone made the sound that humans call a Polite Cough… but I did not think it polite at all, for it caused Festina to release me. 'Yes?' she asked.

I turned. Dr. Havel stood there in the company of the cloud man, Nimbus… who was now not shaped like a man but a featureless ball of mist. At the center of the ball lay the delicate silvery Starbiter; and do not ask me how a ball of mist can support a ball of baby for I do not know. Some mysteries are too pleasing to be questioned.

'Uhh,' said the doctor, all shamefaced, 'sorry to interrupt you, Admiral, but uhh, ha-ha, Nimbus has been saying some things I think we should, uhh, discuss.'

'What sort of things?' Festina asked.

The doctor gestured for the cloud man to answer. 'Well,' Nimbus said, particles of mist roiling within him, 'I’m sure you realize Grandma Yulai won’t be the last. She’s only the first casualty in a much larger campaign to keep York’s expose hushed up. If someone on the High Council was desperate enough to murder her—'

'Wait,' Havel interrupted. 'Does it have to be someone on the High Council?' He turned to Festina with his big watery eyes… as if, ha-ha,