Five Steps Across the Abyss

Brandon Sheehan - July 4, 149

It's one of those times that etches itself in your memory, into your bones. These memories, few and far between, carry such an impact that you can bring it up as if you were back in that moment. You can experience, in almost complete totality, the sight and smells of the situation, what was said, how you felt. Sometimes, these memories come up uninvited, without conscious decision, either randomly or triggered by something, a sight, a smell, or a sound. But there are those you consciously choose to re-experience, those you can bring up at will to remember and savor the entirety of it once again and perhaps to glean small bits of wisdom.

One of those times began on the day I walked slowly into the Community Services (LCS) Office on my floor in NAHE, North America Habitat East. I remember how I felt, raw and shredded and struggling to keep my emotions under control. My emotions sprang from the pain and grief I felt every day since my beloved first partner, Cindy, had died. Usually, I lost that struggle. But underlying my grief and pain was something new that day. Determination. I was on a mission.

I hadn't been in the LCS office since I was a child, but it was familiar. The lobby was small, enough for a few chairs and a tall counter nearest a door on the back wall. A Liaison was positioned behind the counter with an office interface screen raised between us as usual. As I approached, they picked up a mobile interface, and the screen moved to one side, allowing them to give me their full attention and a welcoming smile. I appreciated the courtesy; many places simply programmed the screen to seem transparent to the person behind, allowing people to interact.

Our culture is not one of judgment, but even so, I imagined what they thought of me as I appeared that day: an older man unkempt with a straggly gray mustache fading into an equally straggly beard which served to hide my face from those around me. My clothing was simple and worn, something just hastily ordered from Stores with little regard for cut or design and the colors that did show were dimmed with age. I knew I was an unusual sight in my section and probably most of the habitat. While people dressed in ways that pleased them, unkempt and shabby was not a look most aspired to.

"May I help you?"

I stood there for a moment silently, hoping that the tremors I felt weren't noticeable. No one knew what I was planning; no one was forcing me to do this. I could just forget the words that had seemed to suddenly come into my mind a few weeks ago and go home to continue wallowing in my grief. "I'd like to talk to someone about volunteering,"

"I'll be glad to assist you," they said, smiling. "Do you know what you are looking to volunteer for? Or do you need suggestions?"

I wondered, were there other things I could volunteer for? Would their suggestions be in line with Community Tasks? I thought about all the different tasks I had done in the habitats supporting the community. Still, every memory of tasking led to thoughts of Cindy, and I had to stop and struggle to breathe for a moment, fighting off the waves of sadness that threatened to overwhelm me. "I'd like to volunteer for the SideStep Project. I tried searching the system, but I couldn't find anything, and I don't know if that means it's already been filled, so I decided to come in."

The Liaison pivoted to face the screen and began entering information, frowning slightly in concentration as they looked at the results. "I've never heard of that project. Are you sure it's real?" They entered something else and then, "Ooh." The frown was replaced with a puzzled expression. "I've found it; apparently, it's still open but requires an interview. May I send a request for one on your behalf?"

"Yes, I'd appreciate that." I had always found it odd how precisely the Liaisons in the LCS organization spoke; I guessed having Alexandra as their leader probably had a lot to do with the habit. It was well known that she was meticulous when it came to following the Charter and made it a priority for the people under her leadership. Public officials weren't allowed to lie about anything having to do with their work, so that alone probably made them all much more formal and precise with their language than the way most people spoke.

They set up the request and told me I'd probably hear about an appointment in the next few days. After thanking them, I left.

Since I was already in the Inner Circle, I went to pick up my dinner order at the To-Go Shop. I walked along the path that ringed the offices and shops, which, in turn, circled the elevators and platform tube in the middle of the floor. By the time I arrived and opened the door, I realized I had stopped shaking and felt calmer.

I always thought the To-Go Shop was a great co-op. They had runners on the Culinary and Mercantile who would pick up items and bring them to the residential floors. It was a service for people who, for whatever reason, didn't want to leave their res floor to pick something up. People like me. I hadn't left this floor in a long time. Somehow, placing my orders and arranging pickup with the co-op was easier. I wasn't spending units on much of anything, so I could afford the luxury of having someone else pick up my food. When I arrived, the clerk scanned my mobile interface and retrieved a bag from the walk-in cooler.

Bag in hand, I began walking over the greenway to the moving walkway, heading back to the house. I wasn't that far from the Inner Circle; nothing was. I was living in the second slice, northeast quadrant. We had lived in a three-bedroom home in Section 5 in the same slice when Cindy was alive. When I decided to move to Section 7 eighteen months before, I had considered moving to the third slice. There'd have been slightly more yard to garden in, but decisions like that had just been too stressful, and I chose a situation similar to what I had known with Cindy. My house was fine, but I wouldn't call it a home. Then again, even our house stopped feeling like a home once she was gone. I didn't try to get to know my neighbors when I moved. I didn't want to socialize with anyone. It was just easier.

I remember, after Cindy died, how I felt stifled dealing with the people in our neighborhood. People were nice and friendly, like every part of NAHE I had ever been in. But neither of us had been close to anyone but each other. We had been content just between ourselves. And I knew they meant well. It was constant whenever I stepped out of my house or saw someone from my neighborhood somewhere— questions about how I was, trying to give me well-meaning but often inappropriate advice or consolation. Then there were invitations to eat dinner, go to a concert, show or discussion, or play a game. Most people seemed to believe that community meant solace. Maybe it did to them. But I had no solace, and the constant stress of dealing with even well-meaning people made it even worse.

So when the time came for me to move from our three-bedroom house to the one-bedroom I was entitled to as a single, I also chose to move to a different section. I was retired; I wouldn't have to lift for work, and my neighbors would be better off not having to live near me.

I guess I was hoping that shifting my environment would bring me out of my grief. I wanted to move forward. I just didn't know how. I've since learned that no matter where we go, we always bring ourselves, no matter our method of escape. The memories and experiences shaping us are integral to how we experience the world. That was a hard-acquired lesson.

Once inside, I took my dinner out of the bag and got it ready for the oven. The onion rings went onto a baking sheet, the sliced meat, half-baked roll, and container of drippings went onto another, and I slipped both into the oven, setting them to be ready in a few hours. After that, I changed clothes and went to the yard to work in my garden.

I originally thought I would weed my little vegetable patch in the front yard that separated my home from the paths. Instead, I wandered around, looking at everything, touching the leaves, flowers and even the ripe vegetables I made no effort to harvest. This was the only world I had ever known. Factually, I knew I was living in a cylinder just over 8 kilometers in diameter. But here, in my yard? It felt normal.

Around me were other houses, each surrounded by low bushes in the front and higher ones to the sides, which surrounded the fenced back for privacy; above me was the sky dome, its surface showing moving clouds that skirted around the sun shining down. Everyone knew it was a video, but, at least for me, it didn't matter. The sky, the trees, buildings and gardens made this floor feel expansive, the same way it did on all the living floors.

I knew the stories passed down; my great-great grandparents had been recruited from the surface and lived in the habitats before the Catastrophe struck. Logically, I understood that this habitat, along with the other nineteen scattered around the world, contained all that remained of life on this planet. It was hard to think of the surface, or an entire planet for that matter, when all I had known was this underground, vertical city designated North America Habitat East, commonly called NAHE. I knew the living floors were designed to mimic the Earth's surface and that at some time in the future, we could leave the habitats, moving back to the real thing.

It would only be then that we would have to confront the hubris of the last generations to live on the surface and what it had cost the human race. But until then, our thoughts and actions were turned inward, with all of us living mainly in the here and now. I didn't want to move to the surface; I had lived all my life here, and I was content. I took comfort that it would be a future generation taking on that particular challenge.

After a while, my mobile alerted me that dinner was ready, shaking me out of my thoughts, and I went in to get cleaned up and eat. The roll was baked to perfection when I sliced it open, with a crisp crust surrounding a soft center. I smeared some hot mustard onto the interior and then piled the meat on, putting my complete sandwich onto a dinner plate. I even managed to get the hot container holding the drippings arranged next to it without spilling any. The onion rings looked delicious, hot and crispy. I piled them onto another plate. This was one of my favorite meals lately; the Eatery had started making underbaked rolls specifically for To-Go meals, designed to complete baking as the other items warmed up.

I made myself take my meal to the table instead of the couch in front of a media screen. For once, I wasn't looking to be distracted from my thoughts. It had been three years since I had retired, and Cindy had been gone for two of them. My grief at losing her hadn't diminished. Since she left me, I spent every minute of every day feeling torn in half with the same intensity as I had the day she died. No amount of therapy or the actions of well-meaning people had been able to break through my grief. I knew I couldn't continue this way; she wouldn't want me to. Something had to change.

I had no real idea what the Sidestep Project was, only a hint it was risky. The information I had seen hadn't told me much, but I had been able to glean that it could help us move forward as a species. Even with the little I knew, I believed I was willing to take the risk. There was no one to grieve me if something went wrong. Both sets of parents, Cindy's and mine, were gone, and neither of us had any siblings. I couldn't imagine anyone who would be left with a hole in their heart if I died. I decided, probably melodramatically, that if I could be a small part of humanity's future path, it would be worth it, no matter the outcome for myself.

I spent the rest of the evening on the couch in front of a media screen, going through all the images I had of Cindy throughout our life together, images I hadn't been able to look at since she left me. I saw images of us as children, remembering how we always wanted to be together and, then, through the years of growing up together, moving through selfies and candids, grouped with others but always as close to each other as we could manage. I sat there with tears running down my face and let the ache of losing her just overwhelm me. I went through the images of us dancing, of us growing older together, and then there were the ones of us together when she was in her wheelchair.

Eventually, I put up my favorite picture of the two of us, the day we pledged ourselves to each other. We had gone with a friend to one of the agricultural floors with a field of sunflowers. She and I were so happy that day, and after we pledged ourselves, we got a little silly amongst all the flowers. I had swept her into my arms, and we stared into each other's faces with the sunflowers around us, giant, bright, and happy. The image captured what we felt for each other as we stared into each other's eyes, oblivious of our surroundings, lost in each other.

After viewing all those images, I realized that throughout our life together, her face had always had the same smile when she looked at me, and her eyes were always soft with love. I knew I had felt the same attraction and contentment around her that last year of her life as I did the day we pledged. I spoke to her out loud, "I miss you so much, Cindy. You'll always be in my heart, but I can't keep living like this. I don't know how to move forward on my own, but whatever happens, I'm ready." After a long time, my tears dried up, and I went to bed, hoping for something but unsure what it could be—an end to all of this or something different. I didn't know.

Waking up the following day, I felt different; something had shifted, and I felt better than I had in a long time. I could still feel the grief in every part of my body. It was my constant companion, but it felt more muted somehow, and I felt more in control of myself. I checked my mobile and noticed an appointment with someone named Ara Khalida in Section 6, Academics Floor Office 314-304 SE, at 11 a.m. The attached notice indicated this was set up at the request of the LCS office. I had more than enough time to get ready and eat breakfast before getting on the lift.

I headed in for a shower and caught the glance at myself in the mirror I had actively been avoiding. I paused and began studying my reflection. I looked horrible, much older than I was. I realized I hadn't cut my hair or shaved my beard regularly since Cindy died; it was a reaction to her loss, I guess, a way of hiding my face in sorrow. But I wanted to make a good impression today. I gave up on the idea of a leisurely breakfast and hurriedly booked an appointment to get my hair cut. I finally managed to get rid of my beard. Then, clean and damp from my shower, I dressed in nicer clothes than I had been wearing lately. They didn't fit very well; I had put on some weight. I told myself I should buy new clothes soon, maybe.

Once my hair was cut, I felt more like my old self, someone I hadn't known in a long time. Cindy had always called me 'dapper', an ancient word for looking good. I felt slightly dapper as I headed for the Eastern Opening, riding the walkway toward the outer wall and the elevators behind it.

Exiting on a lift floor, it was only a matter of walking to the nearest one and calling it. The door opened quickly and promptly slotted in for the drop once I secured myself in the car. After a short ride to Section 6, I realized I still had time for breakfast. I took an elevator to the Culinary Floor, where I found a mostly deserted Eatery. I ordered a two-egg omelet stuffed with onions, diced ham and cheese and picked up a cup of fruit chunks, mainly watermelon and cantaloupe. I sat at one of the counters instead of a table and quickly ate my breakfast. I was starting to feel increasingly nervous, and I could feel my grief returning to what felt like its normal intensity.

Done with breakfast, I took the elevator to the Academics Floor and hurriedly walked until I reached the designated office in the third slice. It was set further back from the walking path than the buildings on either side, creating a small front plaza with trees, bushes and benches scattered on either side of the walkway leading up to the front door. The lobby was small, holding the elevators and a stairwell. I climbed the stairs finally arriving at the top floor. After leaving the stairwell, I stood in a standard, boring office hallway, with doors to offices scattered randomly on either side, all of them just sporting their office number. Breathing somewhat heavily, I entered office 304 for my appointment with only a moment to spare. It was a small room with plain walls showing no color or screens. A desk and two chairs were set up on one side of the room, close to where I stood near the entrance. Further into the room were two couches positioned across each other with a small, low table between the two. The person already seated on one of the couches was around my age, thin, with a short cap of straight brown hair threaded with thin lines of gray.

They stood up in welcome as I walked into the room. "Brandon Sheehan?"

"Yes, that's me,"

"I'm Pleased to meet you; my name is Ara Khalida, they/them." As I entered and moved toward them, I noticed their dark blue eyes shining out of a winsome face. "Shall we sit?" they gestured at the other couch while resuming their seated position. "I'm curious how you knew about our project or the need for a volunteer? It's not something we've been open about."

I perched on the couch, unable to become comfortable enough to sit back. "Until a few years ago, when I retired, I worked as a data transfer agent. Most of the data coming into the pipeline can be automatically routed, but there's always something that needs to be sent manually. I never read the entire packet, just enough to figure out where to send it. Then, one day, I had to route something called Project SideStep. Looking at the information so I could route it correctly, I realized it was a discussion on the ethics of calling for a volunteer for a risky mission that would push us closer to the goals we want for humanity. That's all I know."

"And why have you decided to volunteer for this?" Ara asked.

"My life partner died two years ago, and neither of us has any close family, so there's no one to miss me if something happens. I'm tired of my life, and well, something has to change, and I figure that I either go out or through."

Ara nodded, "I'm not here to talk you out of or into volunteering. Instead, I'll tell you we need you to agree to undertake a series of tests to ensure you are a good candidate for the project. If you are, I'll tell you more about Project SideStep and what your participation will mean for the habitats and you personally. You can then consider the situation and make your decision. The initial series includes physiological and psychological tests we can use to determine your suitability for the project and ensure you can make a qualified decision. We'll know if you are a candidate no later than the day after the tests are completed. If you want, you can take time to consider it.

I didn't have to think about it. "I want to do this. The sooner, the better."

Ara escorted me down to the medical floor, where they put me through a regular physical and then some. After going through a lot of physical tests and having blood drawn for even more testing, I went through a few meetings with psychologists and psychiatrists. It took up the rest of the day, and by the end of it, I was exhausted and glad I hadn't skipped breakfast.

Ara called me soon after my last appointment. "Brandon, we've begun analyzing your tests and should have the results tomorrow. Can you come back to discuss the next steps at 10 am?" I could tell they were excited, but at that moment, all that mattered to me was to get something to eat and go to bed. I agreed to come in and switched off the call.

The next morning, I arrived at the door of the same office right on time, but thankfully, not as short of breath. I could feel my heart beating faster and harder than usual, but I wasn't sure if it was from fear or hope. Once Ara and I were again seated on the couches, I waited to hear whether I was eligible and wondered what I would do if I weren't. Then I started wondering what I would do if I were.

"Brandon, your tests have come back, and the results indicate you are qualified to be the volunteer we need. I can now give you more information, but I have to tell you that everything I will tell you now is in the strictest confidence. If you choose not to participate, that's okay, but you cannot tell anyone about this. If that is acceptable to you, I can proceed." I felt a twinge of relief when I heard those words and nodded.

"Project SideStep is the name for our hyperspace project."

Hyperspace? I had never heard of it. "What's hyperspace?"

Ara ignored my interruption for the moment, "Not many down here have heard or even thought about the outside; being underground like we are, the earth's surface is unknown to most of us, let alone the concept of space. Space has long been considered a vast emptiness, containing our solar system and many others. Humans had just begun exploring space about sixty years before the Catastrophe. They sent ships to our moon and probes to the other planets in our solar system. They used powerful telescopes on the surface and launched into space to identify and study suns and planets and whatever else they could find past the planets that orbit our sun, both near and far away.

"Well, near as a concept anyway. Our solar system and even the galaxy that surrounds it is but one of an unknowable number in the entire universe. Even within our galaxy, the numbers are so large as to be unimaginable. Our galaxy is over 100,000 light-years across and holds hundreds of billions of stars. To explain how big that is, a light year is measured as how far light can travel in a year, just around 9.5 trillion kilometers. The nearest system we think might contain a habitable planet is over 40 light-years away. The fastest remotely controlled craft in space reached about 635 thousand kilometers an hour. ₍₁₎ Even if humans could survive a speed coming close to that, it would still take us over fifteen hundred years to reach that planet just to determine if we could live on it. Who knows how long before we would even be able to contemplate such a feat?

"If we could find and be sure that a planet we discover is suitable for colonizing, we could make plans to migrate. But without that knowledge, we will be tied to this planet, continuing to deal with all the issues those who lived on the surface before created. The depleted resources from unrestrained consumption and the tainted air, soil, and water inherited from the Catastrophe. We hope to be able to start over and avoid repeating the same mistakes. That's our impetus."

My mind raced; I could help humanity reach another planet. That would be worth the risk of dying- it would be worth any risk. My mind wanted to wander, to think about what a new planet would be like, but I forced myself to continue listening to Ara.

"Hyperspace comes out of an area of physics called quantum theory. It postulates that what we think of as empty space is instead comprised of small particles. Within that is another theory that there are more dimensions than the ones we are capable of experiencing and that time and distance are not the immutable scientific facts we believe they are. ₍₂₎ Some theories express that other dimensions exist and that these other dimensions can be accessed to move more quickly between places on this dimension. It had long been considered a long shot, but we have proof it is possible through the Nguyen-Nguyen Principle, discovered here in NAHE about a hundred years ago.

"Ted Nguyen discovered the first Principle. He figured out how to locate one particle using another consistently through its vibrations. His child, Joseph, built on Ted's work to use those locations and connect those two particles, setting up a gateway allowing matter to pass between them. Joseph applied these principles to our first practical experiment, moving a rock a few meters from its original position. I know it doesn't sound like much, but it was the start of Project SideStep.

"Since then, we've moved slowly and carefully, working with baselines and comparing the items we've sent through for any changes in physical structure. Once we were convinced that the rocks hadn't changed, we began with plant life, simple and then more complex, testing and documenting each step. If there were changes, we were prepared to work through them. Finally, we began working with animal life, starting small and gradually experimenting with more complex life forms, not including humans. All of our tests show that, physically, nothing was changed from the original. We are confident that moving between spaces is safe physically, and that's where you come in."

I thought about that; it sounded like death was off the table, which wasn't great for me. I had hoped that if things went badly, I would just be gone. "So if the risk isn't of dying, what is it?"

Ara shrugged, "Emotional, mental, psychological. Will you retain speech? Memories? Cognitive thought? Will your personality change? We don't know; there has been no way to find out unless we have someone go through who can communicate with us after."

I thought about that; I still hoped death might be an option if things went badly for me. "If I don't retain parts of myself, could there be a contingency for euthanasia?"

"Under certain conditions, of course. But we would have to create a document that spells out the circumstances in which we would adhere to that decision should you be unable to advocate for yourself."

"Meaning, I wasn't able to communicate, correct?"

"That is correct."

I finally sat back on the couch, considering it. "I think I'd still like to volunteer."

Ara pulled out their tablet interface and spent a few moments typing something on it. "A lot of the baseline tests were performed yesterday, but not all. We'll start scheduling them so we don't wear you out again. But before that, I'd like you to talk to one more person. I've asked them to meet you, and they should be here in a few minutes. If you'll excuse me, I'll start arranging for the other tests." Ara then stepped out of the room, leaving me alone. I closed my eyes and pictured Cindy and the image I had left displayed on the wall the other night, of her and me and the sunflowers. I just wanted to breathe and not think about what I had just agreed to do. Honestly, I was okay with it so long as it wasn't painful.

When the door opened, it wasn't Ara who stepped in. The woman coming in through the door looked to be in her mid-thirties. She wore her dark brown hair caught behind her, secured by a scarf patterned with the Liaison logo that flowed further down her back. Her vivid green eyes caught my attention; they seemed to bore into me and look deep into my soul. I was bewildered. This wasn't just anyone; this was Alexandra Hanlon, 'the Alexandra', the longest-living person besides her husband, in the habitats. She had lived through the Catastrophe; everyone knew of her, and it was impossible not to; she ran the Liaisons in all the Habitats, spoke for the Foundation Board and was known in every habitat, not just this one.

What was strangest, though, was how I was feeling. It wasn't reverence; it wasn't awe; it was kinship, a connection I didn't understand. I felt myself liking her and wishing she were a friend. But she wasn't; she was a high-level official in the habitats, and she was there to speak with me about this project. "Alexandra?"

"Alex, please," she said, as she sat down, "What would you prefer I call you?"

"Brandon is fine." I was still in shock. I was meeting the most important person in all of the habitats.

She brought me out of my daze, "Would you please tell me why you have volunteered for this?"

"I have no family; my partner, Cindy, died two years ago, and there's no one else who would truly mourn me when I die. If I die or come back through this situation differently or without my faculties, no one else will hurt. I miss my partner, and today's grief feels as fresh as it did the day she died. We met when we were both six years old, starting school. From that moment on, we were inseparable. I have never heard the phrase 'they complete me' without knowing exactly how it felt. We were two halves made whole. We shared the same interests; we were best friends growing up. When we finished school, our parents insisted that we live independently for a while to know what that was like. So we did it for a few years and then decided to move in and pledge ourselves to each other." I felt as if I were speaking by rote, with little emotion behind my words.

"Did you ever have children?" she asked.

"We were both only children," I answered, "Cindy had been diagnosed with the possibility of a genetic disease, Familial Dysautonomia, and I had a recessive gene. ₍₃₎ We were offered the usual, other genetic material to be combined with mine if we chose to be parents. But we decided not to have children at all. So it was always just Cindy and myself."

I remembered all the good things my life with Cindy had offered. "We were inseparable. We shared lots of interests and enjoyed art, music, books, and participating in lectures and discussions. Most of all, we shared a love of dancing. We were excellent dancers, and that was our creative outlet; we performed and even held dance classes, usually two a quarter, one for beginners and one for those who were more advanced. We loved going and watching people we knew perform after we stopped teaching. We never had a lot of close friends, more like acquaintances from that community. As we retired from actively dancing, the connections we had faded away. I admit, we let them. Being with her was all I needed, and I guess she felt the same way.

"About five years before she died, the disease caught up to her. Thanks to good medical interventions, it had never presented in its significant forms for much of her life. Still, she began having regular bouts of lung infections and difficulties with her vision. Eventually, she was in a wheelchair. Our life became smaller, and the people we knew faded away. I didn't care. My focus was on her. I loved her as much the day she left me as when she came into my life. I can still see her everywhere; I miss her so much."

Speaking about her and remembering brought back all the twisting pain I wanted to be rid of. I was as overwhelmed as I had been the day she left me; I couldn't help it. I started sobbing, dropping my head into my hands, unable to control the grief that coursed through me. Alex sat there quietly, letting me have that moment, not trying to stop it, simply being there, acknowledging it with her presence, but letting me get through it in a way that was best for me. It was so different from how everyone else treated me when I felt this way; for the most part, people said and did things to get me past my outbursts of grief so they could be more comfortable. She just sat there, letting me regain my composure. Once I did, she continued asking me questions.

"I understand that you moved after she died?"

"Yes, after she died, everyone who had known us started seeking me out to commiserate. I just couldn't. Whenever anyone brought up her or her death, I would just burst into loud sobs, like I still do. I couldn't handle it. I moved to a different section, thinking I wouldn't be as sad if I didn't have to deal with everyone who was well-meaning. But my grief hasn't ended; it hasn't gotten easier to handle, even without the reminders. It's immeasurable, and I figured I might as well do something that might make a difference since there would be no one to mourn me. After all, if I died, no one would miss me or even know if it happened. And If I can do anything to help move us towards our future, I'd feel like something good has come out of my loss."

Once I stopped speaking, there was just silence. I felt like she was assessing me, not my words, but something deeper, like she could see who I was internally. It was strange; I had always considered Alexandra the most intimidating person anywhere. I had never desired to meet her, but now that I had, I felt more comfortable with her than with anyone other than Cindy. I felt I could trust her. It was as if I knew she would never break that trust. Even the silence between us was comfortable. I relaxed, closing my eyes and leaning back on the couch.

She finally spoke, "I believe you are coming into this with valid reasoning, and though your decision is because of your pain, it isn't unreasonable. However, it seems like one of your motives is that you are willing to die to be rid of your grief. Our data suggests that's not going to happen and that the risks differ from what you originally conceived. How do you feel about that?"

I tensed at that and sat up stiffly, "Ara told me that before you and I met, so I haven't had as much time to think about it as I would like. I did make clear and get their agreement that I still need to be able to make choices for myself, regardless of the outcome. My choice is that if I am incapacitated and without cognitive thought, I want to be euthanized once the experiment is over. For any other situation, I'll want to be able to make my choices for myself."

Alex nodded, "How would you feel if the person you are now wasn't around after this experiment? What if you come out of this with an entirely different personality, perhaps not even remembering yourself? What if you became someone who chose to live the rest of your life in ways that are contrary to how you think you should live it now?"

That hadn't occurred to me. Then again, it had been less than an hour since Ara had revealed the situation. But, come out of this as an entirely new person? Would that even be possible? I thought about it for a while, and again, she gave me the time to consider it. "I would have to give myself that agency. Maybe coming out with an entirely new personality might not be bad. Maybe I'll become someone who wants to spend time around other people. Maybe I'll even meet someone to whom I can be a companion."

"And if you become the opposite of that, someone with a personality you would never choose to be around now?"

"I'm just going to have to take that chance. Nothing is certain; there are always risks."

This time, she was the one who sat there. She studied me, and once again, I felt she could see into the inner core of who I was. When she finally spoke again, "I'll agree to your volunteering for now. But know you'll be offered the choice again up to and including the last moment."

I didn't like that; choosing to do this once was hard, but making the choice repeatedly would be rough. I hoped I would be strong enough to stick to the course. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Could you tell me a little bit about this," I had to pause for a moment to remember that unfamiliar word, "Hyperspace? I've never heard about it before, and while Ara explained it a bit, I don't understand."

"I can tell you our history with it," Alex said, "any questions about the science behind it will have to go to Ara and their team, but I can tell you about what I know and have seen."

I've always loved to hear stories, both when I was a kid and even now as an adult, especially stories of things that happened. So, I settled back on the couch, ready to hear what she told me.

"Before the Catastrophe, we were connected to the satellites that circled the planet. We could use these satellites like asynchronous networks. We also had the round-robin network, physical connections that run deep underground, still connecting all the habitats. We used it as we do now to pass large data streams between the habitats. Back then, we also had the satellite system to communicate with the surface world and each other. The round-robin was fine for updates, but it wasn't as helpful for project and group communication as we would have liked. Conversations were laborious, with replies on critical discussions only received after a few days. Still, we made it work, especially on long-term projects like Project Side Step.

"Here at NAHE, several physicists worked with others across the habitats, studying those core principles of quantum theory. One of them was Ted Nguyen. When I met him, he was a physics student and Kevin and I grew very close to him and his family after we moved down to NAHE. After the Catastrophe, he began studying string theory, which he continued working with for the rest of his career."

She must have seen my look of puzzlement, so she expanded. "String theory is an area of quantum physics that studies the universe; it has to do with the idea that the universe is comprised of strings too small for us to see or even experience and that those strings vibrate. Ted discovered a principle that set out a way in which each string could be used to locate other strings through those vibrations consistently. It meant we could identify a particular string anywhere in the universe if we knew its vibration. This discovery was called the Nguyen Principle.

"Later, his son Joseph, who I considered a grandchild, followed in his father's footsteps and figured out a way to use the location of those strings and connect them in a way that guaranteed nothing was between them. In principle, we could locate two strings anywhere in the universe and connect them, effectively folding the space between them and allowing something to pass from one to the other almost instantaneously. Because Joseph built on Ted's work, the principle became known as the Nguyen-Nguyen Principle."

"But how does that work in reality?" I still had no idea what was going to be required of me. Would I pass through space? Would I pass through nothing? Which was it?

"That's a question for Ara; I did witness it just over a hundred years ago. It was the penultimate experiment, and Joseph invited me and his father, Ted, who was in his mid-70s, as guests."

She began to tell me about it. "We were in a building set to one side on the medical floor, and Joseph led Ted and me into a split room. Our portion was fashioned like a theater, with seats on risers facing what looked like a window into the next room. The other room had equipment, cameras, and two platforms in front of the window, each placed underneath a sign, one marked 'A' and the other marked 'B'. Looking around, I noticed smaller screens coming to life in our room, showing different viewpoints of both platforms.

"Ted walked into the experiment room and came back holding two rocks. The rocks were irregular in shape but looked to be the same material, gray, with a rough surface. Joseph told us that there were three, all split from the same source and that before this experiment, they had undergone every measurement and test they could think of. The third rock had been taken out of this section and placed as far away from it as possible. Of the two rocks present, one would be part of the experiment, and the other would simply be in the same room. He explained that no matter what happened, all three rocks would be measured to see if there were any changes in composition or any differences between the three.

"We were asked, Ted and I, to make a mark of our choosing on the rock that would go through the process. Ted scratched a T on it, and I made a mark that symbolized the alchemical element of air: an upwards-pointing triangle with a horizontal line in the middle. Joseph asked that I place the marked rock into its position. Carrying the rock into the other room, I felt a solemn purpose, almost ritualistic in its intent. The two platforms were set only a few feet apart from each other. Following my instructions, I set the rock on the 'A' platform, leaving the 'B' platform empty. I watched as two transparent domes were placed over both platforms and returned to the observation room.

"We could see everything. The image through the window gave us a standard view, and other screens all showed different viewpoints, some magnified, others not, all recording at an extremely high frame rate. It was important to capture everything, no matter what happened.

"I remember staring at the 'A' platform where the rock still rested. Joseph pressed a button, and the platform I was looking at was instantly empty. Glancing over at 'B', I could see that what had been empty now had a rock resting on it. Ted and I went to the platform, opened the case, and verified our marks. They then carted the rocks away for analysis. It was incredible; we ran the video at both the enhanced frame rate and again at regular speed. The video footage showed the rock disappearing from view in one frame, and in the next frame, it was on the second platform; at no time did it occupy both places simultaneously. Later, they replicated the rocks experiment with longer distances, through walls and with objects in between. Again, at no time was there an issue; the rocks appeared seemingly instantaneously in their designated spot, and there were no inconsistencies between the baseline and subsequent tests.

"The same series of experiments were run with vegetation and then with living entities, starting with tiny insects, then earthworms and moving up to bees, birds, and, I believe, a goat. That's been going on now for a long time. Physically, we can find no difference with any entity that's gone through the process, but we can't communicate with them. We don't know what happens in that instance, and we don't know whether or not it affects living beings in any way we cannot measure scientifically."

I thought that was incredible. Both Alex and Ara were talking about the possibility of not only traveling through space but possibly instantaneously.

She continued, "As a human volunteer, we hope you will be able to tell us what you have experienced. It's also possible that should this first test be successful, you'll be asked to participate several times and come in for monitoring throughout the rest of your life. Ara and their team will want to assess if other, more subtle changes occur, which would only become apparent after several tries or several years. It's something you should consider now; if the first experiment is successful, will you be willing to be tested, poked and prodded for the rest of your life? That's a big ask."

I couldn't stop wondering what I would do if this test were successful, but the time between was terrifying. What if I changed or got sick because of it later? This wouldn't be the one-and-done I had thought it would be. Could I keep going through with it?

"But if it is successful, and I can help prove it's safe for us to use it, this technology can take us to other planets, right?"

"It's a small step in that direction," Alex said, "as has been every step taken to get us to this point."

She rose to go. "Brandon, talk with Ara and get your questions answered. You don't need to make a final decision yet. Instead, I would ask that you start the baseline testing while considering the situation and its implications for you and humanity. It's been good talking with you. May I visit with you again?"

My mind was spinning. I didn't have much more to say, so I nodded and watched as she left the room.

A few days after I had been accepted into the project, I received a text message from Alex asking if I would like to have dinner with her, naming an evening a few days later. My heart leaped and then sank at going to Culinary and being around people. I was about to reply when she added she was planning on making a chicken curry that day and wanted to bring it over. Without thinking, I answered yes and then looked around the house.

It wasn't dirty, but it also wasn't clean. I had spent so much time being poked and prodded the last few days that I hadn't the time or energy to do much else. I scrolled the system until I found a cleaning co-op and arranged an appointment for the day before Alex was due. I even made time to go to Stores and find clothes that fit. I knew I'd have to order some nicer clothes, but I decided to hold off until after the experiment.

When the day arrived, I was as ready as I could be. I had to admit I was nervous. Was this more of her assessment? Would she end up asking me if I was still willing? In some ways, it didn't matter. Even if this was just part of the process, I looked forward to seeing her again. I was more presentable than even a few days ago. My house was clean, thanks to the co-op, and soon we would be sharing a meal. Even though I wasn't much of a drinker, I ordered a bottle of wine and picked it up from the To-Go Shop.

She arrived a few moments early. I caught her on the screen, walking up the path to my door with a large container in her hands. She stopped and looked at my garden, and I winced. I hadn't found the time to harvest the early cucumbers yet, and some were getting big. I could only imagine what she was thinking about me. I impatiently waited for her to announce herself before forcing myself to walk slowly to the door and welcome her.

"Alex, come in." I reached out to take the container from her, but she just smiled, so I followed her to the kitchen instead. We got dinner set up and in the oven to heat up, and I finally found my manners, "Would you like some wine? I bought a bottle of Pinot Gris; I understand it matches with curries."

"That was very thoughtful, Brandon," she smiled at me. "But could we save it for our meal?" I felt like a foolish young man, not stupid, but unsure where the ground was beneath me. I decided that sitting would be good and led her to the main area. I flushed; not only did I have the sofa in there, but it was facing the wall with the screen showing the front view. She probably thought I had been watching for her.

We sat down and began talking about our gardens. She told me how Kevin had taken control of theirs entirely once the Catastrophe had passed. "The plants I had growing around the house back then weren't there for aesthetic or even culinary purposes. I grew them for protection. I admit it looked a lot messier than I liked. And while he appreciated that I had planted a lot of rosemary, roses and sage, he hated everything I planted around them. Yarrow, mugwort, nettles, patchouli and hyssop always threatened to take over the plants he did like, and he hated getting stung by the roses and the nettles. But as much as he grumbled, he understood. After they were no longer necessary, he wasted no time clearing it and starting anew."

I was puzzled, "What do you mean by protection? Protection from what?"

"Those plants were part of the energetic layers I set up around the house to protect me from the overwhelming pain released by the Catastrophe." She spoke quietly, and I realized I didn't want to know.

It appeared that she didn't want to talk about it either because she changed the subject. "When we met, you mentioned how dancing was your creative outlet. Would you be willing to tell me what kind of dancing you and your partner did?"

I went along with her. "We danced a lot of different styles over the years. Most originated pre-catastrophe: classic ballroom dances such as the waltz, foxtrot, tango, and swing, among others. We even created our own style, which we taught. We danced as recreation, too. Cindy and I enjoyed group folk dances; the style didn't matter." I felt my grief welling up, and as much as I tried to fight, I could feel it washing over me. I began to weep.

Instead of waiting for me to subside, she turned and held out her arms, inviting me in. She held me as I sobbed, her hand patting and rubbing my back. It was the first time I had been touched by someone in a personal manner since Cindy. It was overwhelming, and I didn't want it to end. I allowed myself to feel the warm touch of another person. It was cathartic. Finally, the alert from the oven broke me out of the stupor, and we went to eat dinner.

The curry was delicious, with lots of flavor and crunchy vegetables. Served over rice, it was a full meal. I had always liked spicy food, and this hit the spot. As we ate, I calmed down and eventually felt ready to continue the conversation, so I asked if she had any creative outlets.

"In my daily life, I'm afraid I don't have time for hobbies. I enjoy other's creativity, but while I've had bursts of that creative energy come upon me in the past, I don't have time to indulge it now. But something similar comes into my life now through other practices. I think the energy we associate with creativity runs through our connections with each other and that, like much else in our lives, we can experience it through different outlets." She must have seen the puzzlement on my face.

"Think of it this way. Every known or unknown entity in the universe dances. Call it a spiral dance. Complex and elegant; we don't know the entire dance, we can't. Every spiral is the same, yet different, adding something new each time we move along its path. Each of us dances within that spiral, knowing only where we are in that instance. Questions arise. Are we in harmony with everything dancing around us? Are we discordant? Can we find the pattern? Do we want to?

"When we are in harmony in the dance, everything feels right; we know intuitively where to move along with the next step, and we are never out of place. When we're in that moment, we can feel how appropriate it is to be where we are at that particular moment in time. We've connected not only to the harmony of the dance but to the inherent energy that lies within and without.

"When any of us finds a way to tap into that energy, we become, while it lasts, something more than ourselves. We can channel energy from the harmonious exchange into something more than we could accomplish independently. For many, it gets channeled into an act of creation, a solution to an issue or simply the knowledge that, for that particular time, you are in resonance with who you were meant to be. Every person has the ability to experience it, but the ways it might manifest are as unique as the individual. Some can be connected for a moment, others for longer, and then there are those who never gain that connection.

I took a sip of wine while thinking and finally said, "I never really thought about it that way, but you're right. I remember dances like you describe, and the feeling that happened then was incredible. I remember feeling happy and certain about everything. It rarely lasted more than a few minutes after we finished, and it didn't happen often, but when it did, I never wanted that feeling to end. I don't know if I'll ever dance again. Even if I did, I don't know if I would ever experience that feeling, but I know I'd like to." I sighed, "I wouldn't even know where to start, especially now."

She smiled gently, a look on her face I didn't understand. "There was a book I read called 'The Creative Act: A Way of Being' which speaks to the fact that this energy is inherent in all of us. Like everything pre-catastrophe, it is freely available through the library. The author was a successful music producer who spent a lot of time thinking of the over-arching concept of creativity rather than just through the lens of his expertise. It might be worth your time."

Once we cleaned up dinner, she didn't stay long. After she left and I was alone again, I realized I had enjoyed my time with her. I didn't know if it would happen again, but I hoped so.

The next few weeks went by quickly. We finished all the baseline testing requirements, and I still didn't understand the practicalities of what would happen. How was this even going to work? I tried to understand Ara's explanations, but my ears filtered out the meaningless words as my eyes glazed over. Massless particles, gluons and gravitons made no sense to me, and Ara could not explain it in a way I could comprehend. My thoughts kept drifting back to Alex's story. One second, I'm on one platform; the next second, I've been moved to the other. But what happened in between?

After the experiment, I'd be in an isolation unit going through all the same tests again so they could compare my present self with my future self. Would I even be me? If not, who would I be? I spent a lot of time with those thoughts going endlessly around in my head during the evenings when I was alone. But not when Alex visited me. After that first visit, she had gotten into the habit of coming over a few times a week, and we found we had much in common. We shared interests she told me Kevin didn't, reading, art and far-reaching discussions being some of them. I even started reading the book she had recommended.

Maybe it was because I had something to do, a purpose, even one with an unknown ending, but I started feeling better more often, and the duration I spent feeling good lasted longer. The pain of being torn in half still hurt a lot, but not quite as much as before. Sometimes, I even imagined that the hole Cindy had left in me wasn't quite as vast as it had been.

Finally, it was the evening before the experiment. I was in a small bedroom attached to a medical facility. To say I was nervous, frightened, excited, and scared all at once would be an understatement. I was at odds, too anxious and distracted to sit or concentrate. I just paced around the room, wishing it was tomorrow already and, at the same time, wishing I was anywhere but here.

I heard a knock on the door and went to answer it. It was Alex with another person standing behind her. I opened the door wider and welcomed them in. She stepped in first, turning so she was facing me and the person who came in behind her. "Brandon, I'd like to introduce you to my husband, Kevin."

Kevin was a few inches taller than me, completely bald, with a trim dark brown beard and mustache that surrounded his mouth and covered his chin. A flash from his left ear turned out to be a small diamond stud catching the light. His brown eyes lit up as he smiled at me. "Hi Brandon, Ally's been telling me all about you and the experiment, and I wanted to meet you and thank you for taking this risk for all of us."

I was surprised she had said anything. Ara and the rest of the team had stressed that I wasn't to speak of this to anyone; they didn't want to announce anything until the technology was ready to be used.

Alex must have understood what I was thinking, "When we first came to the habitat, and I was interviewed for this position, my one condition for taking it and joining the Foundation was that I was allowed to talk to Kevin about everything. I needed to have one person I could speak freely to, and since Kevin had worked in a field that required him to hold a top-secret clearance, they agreed to my condition."

I looked around the room and wondered where to put them. There wasn't room for three people to sit and chat comfortably, but if we brought the sofa closer to the bed, "Kevin, would you help me?"

After rearranging the furniture, I sat on the bed with Alex and Kevin on the sofa. The beginning of the conversation was the standard back and forth when meeting someone new, discovering each other's interests, favorite foods, reading and music genres. I was surprised when he told me he loved operatic arias, specifically those sung by a young artist he had discovered on streaming a few years before the Catastrophe. His love of that type of music didn't much fit in with the other areas he shared with me, fishing and his work with a sunflower co-op, managing the kiosks they had scattered in his section, none of which matched the interests I seemed to share with Alex.

They were so different from each other. He was the more talkative one. She sat quietly, letting us speak, seemingly content and only adding to the conversation occasionally. They sat closely on the couch, her hand playing with his as it draped over her shoulder. I didn't understand it; they were so very different. With Cindy, we were two halves of a whole. Alex and Kevin were two distinct people who had navigated a successful partnership for well over 150 years. I had never thought I could care for someone who didn't feel like an extension of myself; seeing those two together made me think maybe, just maybe...

As we continued talking, I found myself relaxing around Kevin. Not in the same way I felt with Alex, but I was comfortable around him. Alex's mobile interrupted us, and she had to excuse herself and step out of the room to take the call. For a moment, we sat in silence. It was a comfortable silence, though, and it didn't feel awkward. There was a feeling of familiarity that I couldn't quite understand since we had just met. Finally, Kevin broke that silence.

"Your partner, Cindy, she was your great love."

I stiffened when Kevin started talking, feeling the familiar waves of grief come to the forefront and fighting to keep myself from breaking down. I wasn't ready to be that vulnerable with him, not like I had been with her. "Cindy means a lot to me, but I'm unclear what you mean by a great love."

He chuckled, "It's a term I've coined. Listen, no one experiences their relationships in the same way. We don't have many words to describe what a person feels when they tell us they feel love towards another person, so we tend to use the same ones over and over again. Can any of us ever be sure we truly understand what a person means when they use those words, or do we just associate those words with a common and ambiguous concept? Is the love a parent has for a child the same as the love the child holds for them? Is it different or the same as the love between partners? How can any of us, within the confines of our bodies, genuinely know what another person means when they use that word?

"Over the years, I've watched people throughout their lives and the relationships they form. The friendly and romantic partnerships and how they segue into other forms, some choosing to be alone, others moving on to a new partner, and some who choose to bring children into their lives, taking on the responsibilities of the family as a group as well as to the well-being and happiness of the individual people within it.

"What I learned was interesting. Many insist their love is great and use words like 'amazing' and 'satisfying' when describing their partnered relationships. I have no reason to doubt their description of their feelings. But again, can anyone truly understand another person's verbal description of how they feel in their relationship? We can use the exact words, but do those words truly describe the same emotions and feelings? Who can judge how happy and content anyone else is within their relationship?

"I don't necessarily like the surface meaning of the term I made up, but I couldn't think of another word to use that would describe it any more closely. At first, it sounds like I'm saying the love I'm talking about is better than someone else's. It's not, but it is different." Kevin stood up and walked over to the potable water station, filling two glasses before coming over and handing me one.

He resumed his seat and continued talking, "Ally tells me your grief comes from the fact that you feel yourself to no longer be whole, that half of you has been ripped away. Those words mean something to you, but I can't experience those feelings you are trying to describe. I have no idea if the feelings those words trigger in me are the same as the actuality for you. But to have your grief last as long as it has without lessening says something about your relationship.

"There are those of us who find the person who fits a place inside of us to the extent that the synergy of the relationship encompasses everything. It's wonderful until the day they leave us, and then all that remains is great pain, loss and sorrow. I can only imagine what you are going through now that she's gone." Kevin sat silently for a moment, and I was at a loss as to what to say. He had encapsulated what I felt in a way no one before had.

We sat silently, and then Kevin resumed speaking, "I guess I'm trying to say I can understand why you volunteered. It's what I worry about with Ally. I'm not sure I'd be able to survive losing her. We made a deal after she figured out what was happening, and we realized she could keep us both going for however long she needed to fulfill her obligations. We had long discussions about what it would mean. We finally agreed that I could tell her when I was ready to let it all go. I don't even want to think about leaving her, but I know she'll do better without me than I could without her."

I wasn't sure what to do with that confidence. I started thinking about the implications of Alex keeping Kevin alive and their relative youth compared to their actual ages. Could she do that with anyone? If she could, why wasn't she? I kept my thoughts to myself; now wasn't the time.

Kevin chuckled, "Ally likes you. I can see why."

Likes me? Me?? I felt like a teenager, being told someone thought I was cute. "How do you know? Did she tell you?"

"You called her Alex."

I still didn't understand; how could a name she asked me to call her seconds after we met mean she liked me, and what kind of like was he talking about? "She asked me to call her that when she came in to interview me; it's one of the first things she said."

Kevin smiled; it was a friendly smile, and I couldn't help but smile back. "After the experiment ends and you see her again, ask her to tell you about her names."

I wondered about that; I had never heard Alex referred to by the name Kevin used, "Are you the only one who calls her Ally?"

Kevin sipped his water, "There have been a few others over the years, but it's a name she's only comfortable hearing from the people she is closest to."

I sipped my water, too, using that silent time to try to bring the warring emotions of grief and happiness inside myself under control. It felt good to have my grief acknowledged in a way that didn't attempt to force me to hide it to make someone else comfortable. Kevin gave me the time and space to feel what I needed to, much like Alex had when I met her.

The door opened, and Alex stepped back in. "I'm so sorry for that." She saw us each with a glass in hand and went over to get one for herself before sitting back down next to Kevin.

Kevin looked at her and said, "Ally, it's time for Pesci-Fest. We should arrange it and invite Brandon once this part of the experiment is done."

I was struck by how matter-of-fact he was. He absolutely believed that I would come out of this alive and well, and he saw a future where I still was around both of them.

Alex replied, "Oh yes, it's almost time for it." She looked at me and said, "Kevin likes to fish on the freshwater lake in Section One. We've gathered our friends and family and made it the centerpiece of a celebration. Those who want to fish do so in the morning, while others rent a kitchen and spend that time cooking. Then, later in the day, we all gather together in a space we rent on a recreation floor to feast. We named it Pesci-Fest, and the time for it is getting close." She suddenly grinned, "I will warn you that those who do the fishing prepare and cook the fish."

Kevin nodded, "It's a lot of low-key fun; there are always kids running around, plenty of great conversations, games, and, of course, the food. Ally and most of our close friends are great cooks; we sing songs and tell stories after eating. It's a wonderful day, and we'd love you to join us."

I agreed, and Alex promised to set a date and send out invites once she knew when Ara would release me. We began chatting about the book I was reading and how fascinating I found it as a meditation about creativity with a place for everyone and how that creativity can anchor us in our relationship with the world and people around us. Kevin didn't participate in the conversation the same way as Alex and I were, but he had a big smile as he listened. For that moment, I could enjoy my present and push aside thoughts of the past and future.

Finally, it was time for them to leave. We set the room back to where it had been, and once they were gone, I got ready for bed. Once there, I thought about Kevin and our conversation and their description of Pesci-Fest. I grabbed onto the idea of this party with everything within me and hoped.

It took me a long time to fall asleep, and what little sleep I had wasn't restful. But considering what the next day held, I doubt anyone in my situation would have been well rested. I woke up hungry but had been told no food or liquid after midnight. Logically, I understood, but my stomach didn't. I'd never known anyone who had to miss a meal if they wanted one; it felt slightly inhumane.

I followed all the morning instructions and was thoroughly showered and dressed in comfortable and loose clothing when there was a knock on the door at the scheduled time. It opened almost immediately, and a group entered, all dressed in clothing meant to protect them from a hostile environment. "Don't worry, Brandon," Ara said through the transparent headgear. "We just want to make sure we don't contaminate the environment." They had brought a wheeled bed that looked slightly intimidating since the entire thing was enclosed in a transparent tarp. I saw an oxygen emitter on a shelf below it, connecting through the tarp. "We want to be sure that nothing contaminates you or compromises the experiment; consider it an excess of caution."

I climbed into the elevated tent and waited quietly, following their instructions and holding my breath. At the same time, they evacuated the air inside the tent and then quickly refreshed the mixture so I could resume breathing. I remained sitting up as they moved me to the building where the experiment would be conducted. As they rolled the gurney down the path, I looked at the trees, plants, and sky, fixing it all in my mind as possibly the last time I would ever be conscious of it. I felt hyper-focused and slightly outside of myself as we came closer and closer to the building that would change my life's path, one way or another.

They rolled me into a room the likes of which I had never seen. I looked around with an acute sense of curiosity. In front of me was a large window with another room beyond it. That room had three rows of seats arranged on risers, allowing everyone an unobstructed view of me on my bed. I saw several people entering the room beyond the window, including Ara, who was no longer wearing the protective clothing they had on just a few minutes before. I turned my attention from the observation area and looked around the rest of the room I was currently occupying.

Equipment was arranged along the three walls; some were lit with colors, and others had lines of text too small for me to read from where I was, scrolling endlessly as more information appeared at the end. I noticed that my rolling tent was set up in the center of the room, just slightly closer to the left wall. I saw a sign above my head with an 'A' marked on it. A few meters to my right was an empty area with a 'B' above it. Equipment of various types surrounded me and the two signs. I couldn't identify anything except the video cameras. Everything looked very similar to Alex's description when she told me the story about the rocks. Just as I finished examining my surroundings, a transparent dome came up from the floor and surrounded my tent. A similar dome surrounded the area under the 'B' sign.

"Brandon, can you hear me?" I heard Ara's voice coming through a speaker in the room. I was scared and couldn't speak, but I nodded vigorously to let them know I understood. "I am required to ask you one last time. Are you ready for this? Do you give your consent?"

I had been dreading this moment, the time to really and truly make this decision. I hadn't thought about much else this morning. Would I go through with it? Could I force myself? I still missed Cindy, and if I could have traded anything to get her back into my life, I would. But that wasn't possible. Nor did it seem was a quick and easy death. At this point, I seriously wondered why I hadn't just applied for euthanasia. I also thought about how my grief and my life were improving; did I have to put my entire being on the line anymore?

I also realized that this situation, this experiment, was much bigger than my grief at losing Cindy. I would never have met Alex or Kevin but for this situation. I realized I had some insight into the significant sacrifice in their future; Kevin had touched on it last night. After all, if I mourned Cindy to the extent I was grieving after over fifty years together, how much worse would Alex's grief be once Kevin was gone? He had made it clear that he would be the first to go, and I believed him. While that would take place in the future, maybe I could show her through my actions that there was life after the death of a 'great love' as Kevin had named it. But that wouldn't be possible unless I could prove to them and myself that I was a person she could trust.

"I consent."

I could hear a suppressed sign of relief at my answer as they continued. "Underneath your pillow is a blindfold; please put it on and then lie down."

I fumbled under the pillow and found the blindfold. It was made of a flexible metal encased around the sides with a compacted foam that formed a seal around my eyes once I managed to get it on. It felt like my fingers were three times their usual size, and it took me a while to arrange and secure the mask around my face. I finally lay back on the bed, unable to see, straining to hear any voice or sound from the speakers. I could feel my anxiety rise and fuel the stress of wondering what would happen. I realized I should concentrate on my breathing and had barely started when Ara's voice came through the speaker again.

"You can take the blindfold off now, Brandon."

Something must have gone wrong, I thought. I wondered if I would have the courage to go through with it again once they fixed whatever had broken. I sat up and took the blindfold off much faster than I had put it on. "Is there a problem? Are we going to have to postpone?" I looked up and gasped. The sign above my head said 'B' and not 'A'; I hadn't felt anything.

"Did you experience anything you can share with us?"

"I didn't even know it happened. I didn't feel anything." If this wasn't a trick, it was amazing. I could see the people in the other room slapping hands and laughing. They were very excited. Had I done it? Had I moved through space? If that was true, it was indeed a first and not only that, I didn't feel any different than I had before, well, much less scared and stressed, but that was to be expected, right? I felt downright giddy. Was that something or just a normal reaction?

A door near the window opened, and Ara entered the room with Alex by their side.

"Brandon, Congratulations! What might have felt like nothing to you is a huge step for humanity! Thank you!" Alex's eyes were glistening with tears as she stood near the gurney. All I wanted to do at that moment was reach out and touch her hand, but the tarp was a barrier between us. So I had to be content just seeing her and watching her smile.

"She's right, Brandon; that few meters might have been a small step today, but you've just opened the possibilities for us to move to the stars now." Ara was smiling broadly. Then, they consulted the tablet they held and began to ask me questions.

"Did you see or hear anything that was out of the ordinary?"

I shook my head. "No, I was waiting for something to happen. I had no idea anything had happened. I didn't even experience anything like movement."

"How about sounds? Did you have any strange visual changes even with the blindfold on?" Ara sounded like they were checking items off a list.

"No, nothing like that. I got anxious and stressed while waiting, but I wasn't aware that anything happened. So I just showed up on the other side?"

Alex nodded, "We'll let you watch the video for yourself, but it was just like I saw with the rocks. One second, you and the bed were on the first platform, and then you were on the second one."

Ara spoke, "Next steps. We're going to take you back to a new room that's been set up as part of a clean zone. Anyone in with you now will have to wear a hazmat suit. We have the equipment to run most of the physical tests without contamination. We'll keep this gurney in the clean area when we have to take you for tests requiring more machinery, such as the MRI and CAT scans." They paused, "I apologize in advance for the food choices you'll have; it will be limited to those items already stocked in that area. Hopefully, it won't be too long before we can release you."

I nodded. Ara had explained those steps before, but I had never thought I would get to that other side so easily. "What's next?"

"For you or the project?" Ara asked.

"Both, really,"

"Well, in terms of you, once we've run these tests, Alex will talk with you again and determine if she feels you are any different from the last time. We'll release you once all the physical tests are complete, and you can go home. You'll still have to go through the psych appointments, but many of those can be done through video. Once we've analyzed all the data and determined our next steps, we might call you back for another trip. You might also have to undergo the same testing procedures, but I won't guarantee that."

Their smile was broad as they continued, "Once we are sure that there are no ill effects, we can begin experimenting on actually sending people outside of this habitat and eventually build a travel version that can take us anywhere on the planet. Once we move to the surface, we'll be able to find and 'port' to the best places for us and all the habitats. We won't need to be separated like we once thought."

"And space?" I asked.

"We still have a long way to go before we're ready for space. There's a lot more to learn and discover—navigation for starters. We need to be sure we always know where we are and how to get back. We'll be able to navigate on Earth using longitude, latitude and elevation, but to travel through space? We'll figure it out."

And with that, others in hazmat suits came into the room to roll me to the room where I would go through all those tests again. Suddenly, I didn't mind the idea. I had a party to get ready for!

It was a week after the experiment. I had finally gone through all the physical testing and was still feeling much better than I had been, if not a trifle bored. I wasn't sure what to do with myself anymore, so when I realized someone was at my door, I didn't hesitate to open it. There was Alex with a bright smile on her face and a wonder of wonders; she wasn't wearing one of those damned hazard suits. It felt wonderful to be able to see her without anything between us.

"How are you feeling?" She sat across the table from me, looking at me intently.

"I'm feeling fine and ready to leave this place. I feel better than I have in a long time; the grief is still there but not as intense as it was before. I feel like the empty parts of me aren't as empty anymore. I have to be honest; I'm not sure what I'll do once I leave here, but I'm eager to learn what happens in this new chapter of my life." I thought about what Kevin had said, "Alex, may I ask you a question?"

She nodded, and I said, "When you left the room the night before the experiment, Kevin told me I should ask you about your names."

A quirky smile came over her as she responded, "My names? Well, to start, I really only have one name. My parents named me Alexandra after my grandfather, who had passed before I was born. Looking back, I don't think they thought much about the meaning of the name; they just wanted to honor his memory. It was a practice of their Jewish heritage to name children after those who had already gone, to tie the present back to the past.

"The name Alexander was unusual for those in the community where my grandparents had lived before fleeing. It had been the name of three of the rulers of that country, many of whom actively persecuted those who held beliefs similar to that of my grandparents and their community. Initially, the name belonged to an ancient ruler known as 'Alexander the Great', who was born the king of Macedonia over twenty-five hundred years ago, a small part of what eventually became the country of Greece. Alexander meant "protector of mankind" when those born male were the only ones considered free people. He conquered the known world then, building an empire that stretched 3,000 miles in just 13 years. When he died, his body was buried in Egypt and eventually moved to a new capital named in his honor, Alexandria. His generals took over and ruled the areas he conquered.

"I've always disliked the name; it's ostentatious and formal, and I don't feel it fits me. I now use it as my work name, though recently, people have been using it as a title, 'The Alexandra'. I'm uncomfortable with its usage, but I don't see a way to stop it."

I didn't say anything, but silently, I disagreed with her—Protector of Humanity. The name fit her well.

She continued, "Kevin started calling me Ally a few years after we met. It's a diminutive form of Alexandra but has other significance for me. Before I came down to the habitats, I worked as a developer, specializing in making sure computer applications, like those run on systems, could be used by those with disabilities, physical and otherwise. Typing the word 'accessibility' was onerous, though and just like a few other words, programmers shortened it to the number of letters, eleven, surrounded by the first and last letters 'a' and 'y'. So accessibility became 'a11y', which was pronounced 'ally'. For me, before everything happened that brought us down here, that name meant I supported people by working to see everyone had equal access to information. Today, Ally is a name I love because it represents so much of who I am. I'm an ally to humanity, just as I am its guide.

"But only Kevin and some people I have been particularly close to call me Ally. I prefer that most of my friends call me Alex. It's short, friendly, non-gendered, and simple. Alexandra is there for when I'm working; Alex is the name that people I am close to use when I'm just me."

I thought about that for a moment and remembered something: "You told me to call you Alex the first moment we met." Nothing about her changed physically, but I felt something. I couldn't identify it or understand what it was, but something changed, if only for an instant.

"I did, didn't I? I am intuitive; apparently, I thought we would become friends. Do you mind?"

I found I had been holding my breath without realizing it and finally resumed breathing. "Not at all; I would like to be your friend." I had thought about what that might mean; she was pretty private. Everyone knew of her, but I didn't know anyone who thought about her in any way other than regarding her work.

It was as if she knew what I was thinking: "I've had friends who were Habitat Managers and Foundation Board Members, those who worked in co-ops, and those who taught. Some simply enjoyed their lives. I have never chosen my friends for what they do; I choose them for who they are. I choose people I feel connected to, but more than that, I choose my friends based on their integrity and my trust that they won't abuse our relationship."

I absorbed what she told me and realized how limited her social circle might be, but inside that circle would be the self she hid from everyone else. I couldn't wait for Pesci-Fest.