Family and Friends

The Procreation Allocation Act.

When everyone lived forever, time was no longer the issue, but space. And on The Surface, space was limited.

Tim has seen kings come and go, policies shift and adapt, but no other societal issue hung over the kingdom heavier than that of the privilege of having children. It wasn’t a right. It was a privilege given to families through the Procreation Allocation Act.

In exchange for immortality, citizens gave up their freedom to bear offspring. When and how many children each family could have was dictated by the state. The Act was implemented even before he became part of the Council. Despite specializing in toxicology at the time, all he remembered doing for his medical practice was vasectomies. He wasn't even a surgeon!

And yet, it wasn’t uncommon for him to perform the same procedure on the same patient multiple times, especially since any form of surgical contraception would be reversed should the patient “die” and come back to life.

Doctors on The Surface didn’t save lives. Just sex lives. Mostly.

So whenever a family was fortunate (or unfortunate) enough to be given the privilege to reproduce, undoing the surgery was the easy part. The difficult part was for the family to decide who got to be the parent. With most families spanning multiple living generations, choosing whether it was the youngest daughter’s or great-grandpa’s turn to bear a child could escalate into a messy affair. Siblings with hundred-year age gaps were common, and so was having grand-aunts and grand-uncles who were younger than you. And if they didn’t reproduce in time, most had to wait centuries before the next opportunity arrived. Babymaking was serious business.

But while failing to bear offspring within the deadline or having a stillborn was shunned, “accidentally” having a child when the state hadn’t given the green light was a one-way ticket to Exiledom. A literal crime for both the mother and the father. And a sure-fire way to get the entire family lineage blacklisted from another reproductive opportunity.

The sheer number of family-focused soap operas Tim watched while he was on The Surface was mind-numbing. It was all the rage. Entire productions ran the same shows for seasons that went into the triple digits. “The Accidental Parents,” which he extra-ed in, started with just the male and female leads, and by the end of its hundredth season, turned into an animation because they ran out of actors to portray the stupidly large family. Love it or hate it, the Procreation Allocation Act probably helped the kingdom’s film industry more than any bloated budget ever did.

Even the nobles and their houses were not exempt from the act. If anything, they viewed it as an honor. An opportunity to display their opulence and grandeur through festivals and tournaments. Elaborate anniversary celebrations spanned days, if not weeks, for prominent noble couples. As for the unwedded, they had the “honor” of having their hand in marriage given away as the grand prize for hopeful Immortals willing to prove their strength in mortal combat.

The “Shield of House Veranos” was a particularly interesting tale of such a tournament. A title only meant for champions, the romanticized legend of the princess defeating all her would-be suitors and winning her own hand in marriage travelled far and wide, even down to The Depths. An inspiring story for many girls, but knowing Lynn’s relationship with the queen now, it sounded more like a tale of hate than inspiration for Tim.

The princess’s very existence was the bane of Her Majesty. Just thinking about the rant he heard yesterday was making him shake his head subconsciously. If not for the Procreation Allocation Act, the circumstances behind Lynn’s birth wouldn’t have been so egregious. Putting aside what their mother had done, it didn’t help that she was born with the Gift of Geokinesis. The black sheep in her noble lineage of ice elementalists.

Was her hatred justified? It was hard for Tim to say. If he were in her shoes, he wouldn’t just stop at killing the queen. Hell, he’d probably bring down the entire House together with him. It was impressive how she maintained her standing in society despite her constant attempts on Her Majesty’s life. Then again, that probably spoke more of the queen’s magnanimity than Lynn’s ability to separate personal grudge from professional duty.

Regardless of which sister was in the right, his only concern was Mia’s future. To that end, he would swallow his pride and testify before the Council. He hated how politicized this investigation has become, but with Oleous now dead, this has turned into a matter of national security. A headache for sure, but if he played his cards right, Mia’s life would be set.

For now, he was grateful for having the luxury to contemplate all this. Squatting on the soil of an empty greenhouse, he planted a lone tree seed, the prize he redeemed from Pris for making it into the top 10 most deaths. Would planting a tree here make any difference in the grand scheme of things? He doubted it. But it was a good way to sort out his thoughts without relying on alcohol.

He recalled how this very greenhouse was filled with all kinds of plants. All planted by him and his fellow inmates. Sentient humanoid Sirath-Class Aberrations just like himself. Even though most found this kind of recreational work to be pointless, he could feel their conflicting emotions through the soil even after a few millennia.

As the only survivor here, he made sure to carry their feelings with him. All their burdens and regrets would become the nutrients for the tiny sprout he just gave life to. Whether it would grow into a mighty tree or wither and die, he wasn’t sure. He could only prepare the suitable foundations for its growth. At the end of the day, it had to stand tall on its own, just like his daughter.

Patting the soil firm with his dirt-ridden hands, he gave voice to his thoughts. “Hey Pris.”

“Yes?”

“What do you think of Mia?”

“I require more context to answer that question. Kindly define the scope.”

“Like, how would you describe her?”

“I require more context to answer that question. Do you mean physically, as in height and physical appearance?”

Tim sighed. “You know what? Assume she’s going to be under containment. Give me a hypothetical summary of her case file.”

Within Pris’s pregnant pause, Tim swore he heard the building grunting in annoyance. Like a “hmph” followed by a pout if it had a human face. Regardless, he knew it wasn’t worth pressing it any further. Knowing Pris, it would deny any unnecessary show of emotions.

“Subject: Mia. Classification: Barzakh. Containment difficulty level: 3.

The Skinwalker. A human capable of assuming the soul or core of any being that has entered its visual range. In its transformed state, the subject is visually indistinguishable from the original.

Further observation is required to determine the extent of the subject’s Shapeshifting ability. The subject’s current form is an exception to the established parameters of said ability.

The current form has never existed in observable history. A soul born from nothing. Code yellow pre-containment procedures are highly recommended. Likelihood of Aberrationism is… moderate.”

It was as he feared. His mother’s “curse” was taking effect faster than he thought.

Still hunched over where he planted the seed, he could not find the strength to stand. The regret from asking for Pris’s opinion made it impossible. That very regret was like tree roots coiling around him, dragging him deeper into the soil as one entangled mess.

In order for Mia to retain her humanity, he had to die.

He’d already caught a glimpse of her as an Aberration. Back when they were in the forest. It was merely a fraction of it, but that planet he saw, that cosmos of every single transformation… if she were to completely Aberrate, that would mean the end of reality. Pris already had her hands tied keeping Wayl at bay, and the Spire could not maintain another rogue Sirath.

To hell with the world. It didn’t matter to him. The Surface, the Council Killer, all of them could kick rocks for all he cared. Nothing else mattered except Mia. Maybe taking her in was a mistake, but it was a mistake he would do again and again. These few years he had spent with her were the happiest he had felt in thousands of years.

Yet, despite knowing this, his eyes began to water. Looking skyward at the fish flying over the glass ceiling, tears streamed down his face, falling onto the patch where he planted the seed. The thought of dying didn’t bother him at all. It was the thought of not being able to see Mia grow up. Not being able to see her smile, pout, laugh, or cry. Not being able to be there for her when she needed him the most.

He wanted nothing more than to be her father. But it was doomed from the start. Having children was not possible for a being like him. Like any kind of human attachment he had throughout his life, it was bound to end in tragedy. Why did he willfully blind himself to this fact? Why did he think Mia would be any different?

But it was too late. All he could do was to get the Council Killer to end him. The only way for him to die for good. And the only way for Mia to have any semblance of a normal future.

“You are crying. Was the hypothetical case file summary not to your liking?” Pris asked.

Taking a deep breath, he replied. “Does it matter if I liked it or not?”

“It matters to me.”

“Okay.” He said, drying the tears from his face. “I like it then.”

“You lie.”

“So? What are you gonna do? Update your observations? Go ahead. Not like it changes anything.”

He got up and walked over to the sink by the wall. As cold water washed away the dirt from his hands and the tears from his face, it did little to soothe him. His emotions only stirred further when Pris continued to talk even after he thought he made it shut up.

“This is not my place to say, but Mia will lead you to your final death.”

“Then don’t say it. Why the hell are you saying it?”

“... Because you are my only friend.”

Tim paused. He never realized Pris saw him that way. The walls of this cage that had locked him up so long ago saw him as a friend. If he heard this back then, he would have laughed. But so much time had passed. So much had changed. And it only dawned on him that they were both on the verge of dying. Both stubbornly clinging to their respective paths.

One Aberration defended the world out of duty, while the other would abandon it out of love.

In a sense, they were both more human than most.

“Thanks, Pris,” Tim said. “Sorry for being a jerk just now.”

“No offense taken.”

“Then, could you help me look over the seed I just planted while I’m gone?”

“Acknowledged.” After a brief pause, the building continued. “I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why did you choose to plant that seed? You are no longer under containment. There is no reason to adhere to your former protocol.”

He thought for a bit before deciding to go with the better answer. “So that you’ll have something to remember me by.”

“Correction. I do not forget.”

“I know you don’t. But at least, you can imagine that tree as me. Then you won’t be alone.”

“... Like an Ewantree.”

“Hey, that’s not why I picked that name last time.”

“Correct. I was merely making a joke. Was it to your liking?”

“No.”

“You lie.”

“Now you’re just messing with me.”

As he left the greenhouse, their banter continued. But within the empty walls of the glass, a never-before-seen phenomenon occurred. The Qanthorah-Class Aberration audibly spoke not to anyone, but itself.

“I’ll miss you.”