Dirge

DATE: Year 322-B. Sol 358

LOCATION: Windhoek Chapel

The chapel was a hollowed-out rib in the lower strata of the settlement, one of the oldest parts of Windhoek.

Juyiet sat in the front row, rigid. In front of her sat a simple casket, made of recycled hull-plating. It was light. The recovery was “thorough,” but there was little left of a man when a loader decided to fold over him. The casket was closed.

Juyiet kept her eyes fixed on the flickering candles at the altar, refusing to look at the dark, square shadow the casket cast on the floor. Leo was asleep against her side.

The Ursuline sisters stood in the alcoves.

Sister Martha stepped forward, her voice rising for the Requiem Mass.

-Requiem aeternam dona ei, Domine, the Sister intoned, her voice echoing off the basalt walls.

-Et lux perpetua luceat eis, the congregation whispered back.

Juyiet gripped her rosary. She focused on the Latin, a language that had survived the Rip and held on even here.

Juyiet felt a prickle at the back of her neck. At the very back of the chapel, framed by the arched pressure-door, stood Ephim Adams.

He was in his pristine MTC greys, his eyes fixed on a glowing data-slate in his hand.

Next to him stood two security contractors, their mirrored visors reflecting the candlelight.

Every few beats, he would tap his slate. He was measuring the air they were breathing.

-He shouldn't be here, a voice whispered beside her.

It was Clara. The teacher had slipped in quietly. She looked at the back of the room furtively.

-He’s waiting, Juyiet said. He’s waiting for the amen so he can tell me what I owe the company.

-You don’t owe him anything, Juyiet, Clara said, reaching out to cover Juyiet’s hand with her own.

Juyiet didn't respond. She looked at the rosary on her wrist. It felt so heavy.

The priest, an old man whose hands shook as he lifted the thurible, began to walk around the casket. The smoke of the incense rose in thin, grey ribbons, before being sucked into the intake vents above.

-May the angels lead you into paradise.

Juyiet closed her eyes. She tried to imagine Eni in paradise, but all she could see was the black spray of hydraulic fluid.

As the final blessing was spoken and the congregation began to rise, the silence was broken by the sharp, synthesized chirp of a corporate notification.

Adams tucked his slate into his belt and stepped forward. He walked straight toward the front row, his eyes locked on Juyiet.

The Duke’s contract had promised management, but as Adams approached, Juyiet realized the audit was only just beginning.