Ascending - James Alan Gardner [70]
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 die 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.
Don’t Die Stupid
“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.