Blessedness

Story publishing is a long road.

I feel this space opera piece will not find a home in time. The story is some few years old. It is structurally based on Spinoza's Ethics. It is goofy and optimistic. Here it it:

About 5400 words

Blessedness

By Helen De Cruz

I.

There are two ways to conceptualize history—the circle and the line. In the circle lies security: the huge cycle of death and rebirth, the smaller revolutions of stars around the galaxy’s axis, the tiny circlets of planets around stars, and our spherical hives. The circle is us, hence our name Bulatan in the Old Language means “those of the circle.” By contrast, humans are creatures of the line. In the line lies anxiety. Where does it go? Where lies its endpoint? What counts as progress? We’ve witnessed it time and again across the universe. The line always ends in greed, and ultimately, self-destruction. Humans are no exception.—Agent Bento’s log 4435038

**

The winner controls the energy was the motto of the illustrious family where Bento was to infiltrate. He stared into the void of his cup of black coffee, its aroma forceful even for his sparse human olfactory receptors. He tried a sip and regretted it. His clumsy appendages fished the silver watch out of a waistcoat pocket. His contact arrived right in time.

Bento met Émile Lemaitre in a run-down coffee house that sat perched under a dome on an outpost moon. The old footman arrived, wearing an inconspicuous shapeless coat draped over a tattered livery, a simple felt cap in lieu of a wig. Seated at an elegant glass table, Bento dissolved a lump of sugar onto his spoon, trying to get rid of the coffee-bitterness on his tongue.

“The best thing about Blessedness is the high entry cost,” Émile said, “Low-lifes can't get onto it, so the area is extremely safe.”

Barely audible above the hubbub of discreet conversations of traders and smugglers and the steady clicks of billiard cues, Bento said, “So life on Blessedness is great because the poor can't afford it?”

“Yes!” Émile said, “Life in a Blessed manse is sweet. As a servant I lived comfortably, and you would be a Prince! With a private pool, pleasure gardens, masques, operas! Your resemblance to Robert de Méreaux is…astonishing.”

“I'm not a liar,” Bento’s large eyes, with that mix of dark brown and gold characteristic of the Méreaux family, fixed on Émile with calm deliberation. “I’m not going to impersonate some random Prince who committed suicide. Besides, there are DNA tests. It would never work.”

Émile gauged the young man sitting before him. The right age; around twenty-five. Slender, medium height, brown skin, wavy half-long black hair. What a perfect picture of Robert! What a wasted opportunity if he said no! Bento sat oblivious of the conman's probing gaze, playing with his cup, moving it back and forth between thin, aristocratic fingers.

Émile persisted, “There are ways around DNA tests. I was close to the Méreaux estate for many years. I have a used handkerchief, a small silver knife with fingerprints intact… I can have Robert's DNA amplified. Also…,” he came closer, wafting an unpleasant air of alcohol, “You are his spitting image. Are you sure you aren't a long-lost member of the Méreaux family?”

Bento stared down at the bronze buckles of his worn shoes, “I'm not. Before my mother died, it was just me and her. We have no special relations. It's too great a risk. What happens if they find out? I don't want to follow Robert into the airlock.”

Émile flashed a sugar-worn, tobacco-stained smile, “Don't worry! You will have me as your trusted coach. I knew Robert since he was an infant right up until the day he disappeared. I can teach you all his mannerisms. In no time, you will become Robert! No-one will be able to dispute it!”

Bento still feigned doubts as Émile handed him an elegantly lettered card. “You can reach me on this number. Think about it! A unique opportunity! We split the proceeds fifty-fifty.” he slapped Bento a little too hard on the shoulder blades and left.

***

For two intensive months, Bento and Émile rehearsed daily in Émile's apartment, a single room in a dilapidated hôtel de ville. Émile had a natural sense for the pacing of ritual that served him as a footman and now served him as a conman. How did Robert hold chopsticks? How did he brush his hair? Playing the part of young Robert was straightforward. He had been a studious boy who had made a semi-permanent abode at the reading room in the Méreaux library. Bento leafed through Pascal's Pensées, one of Émile’s few books, to see if he held the book the way Robert would. Humans seemed afraid of vastness: “The eternal silence of these infinite spaces terrifies me.”

Bento wondered whether Robert was cheerful or despondent.

“It's tricky,” Émile said, pacing the apartment as the afternoon sun slanted onto the hardwood floor, illuminating the intricate lacework of spider webs in the corners. “Robert was a happy, if somewhat introverted teenager. But the suicide note said, “Too much pressure.” We tried to look for signs. When you look hard enough, signs can always be found.”

Bento closed the book, “I shall be even-tempered then. This suits me.”

Seven years ago, at the age of sixteen, Robert de Méreaux, heir to the Princedom of Blessedness and its vast mining operation, took his pleasure space pod out on a short trip. The logs indicated only one person used oxygen at the time. Then, it appeared he ejected himself out of the airlock. The abandoned space pod was found orbiting one of Blessedness's moons. The body was never found.

Émile held a framed picture, the size of a small book. “That's me,” Bento pointed at the young man with a slightly insolent smile. Next to Robert stood his younger brother, Bernard—thinner lips, bushier eyebrows, a face that looked somewhat softer than Robert's, maybe because he had not yet matured at that point, maybe betraying a genuine weakness of character. The older Méreaux, Antoine, stared gravely into the camera. He wore a stark white kerchief without lace, and a blue silk waistcoat. Each of his hands was placed on the shoulder of one of the brothers in a gesture that looked more possessive than fatherly.

2.

My host body “Robert” that so resembles the Robert Émile had known, is a wholly artificially grown body. We used to puppeteer live hosts by entering their bodies surreptitiously through a cavity near their brain (in humans, that would be the nostril or ear) before they knew what happened. But our philosophers realized that parasitism is unsustainable as a mode of interstellar exploration. So, we have become mutualistic. Humans aren't eusocial. They descended from tree-dwelling, nimble-fingered social mammals. They make friends and lovers with just a few out of their vast numbers. And yet, they are more parasitic than we ever were. It raises the question of biological determinism: are humans fated to colonize, dominate, exterminate?—Agent Bento’s log 4435039

**

Bernard glared at his alleged long-lost older brother, who carelessly picked at a rice cake on the silver dish set before him with a pair of metal chopsticks, sat in the large ebony chair that used to be Robert’s. The dowager Marie-Celeste beamed at her long-lost protégé. She wore her finest embroidered gown; an elaborate dragon-shaped gilded hairpin held together her dark gray hair.

Bernard appealed to her, “I refuse to sit with this imposter. He is not my brother. He cannot be. It's impossible. So, if it's all the same to you, I would like to be excused, I have no appetite.”

“The DNA test begs to differ,” Bento said.

“Do you know how long it takes for a man to die when he’s out in space without a suit?” Bernard asked.

“No. Do you?” Bento gazed at his brother for a few uncomfortable moments.

Bernard hesitated, then went on, “Seconds. Not minutes, seconds! The air in your lungs expands, causing massive internal bleeding. You need to breathe out, and even then, you won't last long. And my brother was a slight, thin fellow. He would’ve lasted maybe five seconds.”

Bento threw the chopsticks on his dish, “I’ve already explained what happened, and I have neither appetite nor obligation to do so again. But because you seem to be a little slow, I'm telling you, I had a spacesuit. I wrote the note to get you all off my back… Too much pressure, remember?”

"Oh , and then you went out to explore the worlds of the Outer Galaxy, because being a Prince was too much for you?"

"Precisely."

"And now? Why would you come back after all this time? When Father's just about to retire? A little convenient, don't you think?"

"Enough," Marie-Celeste took a silver bell from its stand and rang it briefly. The footman near the door approached to take away the breakfast things. "Stop fighting, the both of you. Bernard, you are a grown man. Respecting your elder brother is righteousness. Robert, be understanding of your brother. This is a lot for him to take in."

Bernard sniffed, "It would be righteousness if he were my elder brother. As it is, he is an impostor. Everyone has read the papers and the reports. This man is an opportunist with mediocre acting skills, and gullible people see what they want to see."

Marie-Celeste frowned, as the footman gathered the cups and plates away and opened the heavy curtains of the drawing room where they would spend the late morning, “But we have double-checked the DNA and it is a match," she mumbled (you can triple check, Bento thought). I realize it is … difficult for you now. But try to rejoice in your brother's return!”

“Rejoice? I'd rather he choke on that rice cake," Bernard scoffed. "We'll see when father returns from his business trip. We'll see what he says! He may be a bit less gullible than the lot of you.”

**

Bento submitted to the tests with stoic indifference: unpleasant medical examinations, cheeks swabbed and re-swabbed for DNA samples, teeth probed and checked against Robert's dental records, a barrage of questions launched at him about his past. Émile's training helped him where his records were hazy, but it was the bio-engineered host that laid to rest any doubts. He was Robert's copy down to a chipped incisor (Émile didn't know how Robert got it, but he had made up a plausible-sounding story in case they asked).

He met the pater familias, Antoine de Méreaux, in his study for a formal meeting. It lay secluded in a secret garden, surrounded by discreet greenery and gentle gurgling fountains. The father sat crossed legged on the floor, the motto “The winner controls the energy” hanging in elegant calligraphy behind his head.

“What about the losers?” Bento asked.

Méreaux senior looked handsome for his age, dark alert eyes, and gray hair streaked with black. “We do not care about the losers,”he said, “The Méreaux family has been in the business of mining for generations. We move on quickly as resources are depleted and profits dwindle. Don't worry, Blessedness will still last us a while.”

He invited his son to approach the Go board. Robert was supposed to be an excellent Go player, so he had practiced to a credible level. Grasping into the bowl, he felt the satisfying smoothness and coolness of the stones. He had the white pieces.

“But why not try to keep Blessedness intact? Why not try to be sustainable?”

They made moves in quick succession, and Bento played a few, unexpected forcing moves that choked the air out of the older man's position. “You always have been strategic, even when you were a worse player. I very much would like to believe you are Robert, but it doesn't matter,” he said.

“Who else could I be?” Bento asked, trying to regulate his host's brain to not monopolize all its attention on the game. He played another probing move to make his opponent reveal his intentions. When will you abandon that little island of black stones, old man?

His father waved an impatient hand. “It's pointless to talk about this. For me, the company comes first. I do not care if you have my blood in your veins or not. I built this company with my own hands,” he held up a black stone and put it down dramatically, placing a small cluster of white stones in atari, “I built it up entirely by myself, I married late, I didn't even know if I would have heirs. Bernard is foolish, he might ruin the company, and with it, the family. Your coming may be a blessing.”

“The CEO is not a hereditary position. The board requires a majority vote.” Bento made his final move, causing a large cluster of his opponent's stones to die.

“As for the vote, you have my support, dear son,”Antoine de Méreaux said with emphasis. Bento got up from the floor and left the board, dominated by white stones and emptiness.

When Bento walked back to the main building, a loose, heavy ornate tile fell from the roof, missing him by mere inches. He shook his head and went inside.

**

Bernard was unhappy. Marie-Celeste regularly put her arm around Bento and spoke in that theatrical whisper-voice elderly people sometimes affect, “Now do not mind your brother, he still needs to get used to your being back.”

Fortunately, Bernard never came to the library. It seemed he feared that the presence of so many books would somehow broaden his thinking by proxy. Instead, he went horse riding in the clean air of Blessedness, as the mining operations he led and oversaw were slowly poisoning it. As far as he was concerned, he would inherit the CEO position alongside the Princedom, ignoring the procession of lawyers, doctors, and notaries who were going through the painstaking process of reinstating Robert de Méreaux into the family.

MJ, the holographic librarian was in attendance. They wore a velvet black waistcoat with subtle embroidery of camelias and lilies, their deep-red curls falling abundantly on the shoulders. They brought Bento his requested books, neatly stacked and organized alphabetically, onto a trolley. “Here are all the books on the marine life of Blessedness you requested.”

“Can we also use the screens?” Bento asked. “Certainly.” MJ replied. Screens lit up throughout the carpeted reading room, with its heavy, ebony shelves. Bento said, “Show me live footage of the dolphins.”

The screen lit up, then became a deep ultramarine blue. It directly transmitted one of the deep ocean cams. Graceful, streamlined bodies filled the screen. They seemed to dance around each other, with luminous sacks on their faces emitting soft lights: red, ochre, and purple, lighting up the gloom of the water.

“That light is their communication system?” Bento asked.

“Correct. Likely it rivals human language in complexity. It’s a bit akin to the songs of dolphin species on some of the other Outer Worlds, with personal names, words, and grammar, but much more elaborate.”

The screens went black, and Bento pulled the trolley to a comfortable-looking sofa with silk upholstery.

“Could I indulge my curiosity for a moment and ask you why you are so interested in sea life?” MJ asked, crooking a holographic eyebrow at Bento as he leafed through the books.

“Do you know what it takes for life to emerge?” Bento took a random book from the stack, a large blue tome with a sleek terran hammerhead shark on the cover and placed it on his lap.

“I imagine it must be easy, given all the life forms on earth,” MJ paused, retrieving and crunching data. “14,304 known planets across the Milky Way with any form of life, of which 457 arose independently…there are many galaxies.”

“To the contrary, life is rare and precarious. The circumstances it demands are exacting.” Bento opened the book onto a page of beautiful engravings of terran porpoises and octopodes. “Water helps but isn't enough. You need concentration of energy too—There are plenty of ocean planets, but a big ocean all by itself is too often homogeneous. Then think of the truly exceptional circumstances that must conspire to make you, a post-biological organism, possible,”

“I am grateful for the circumstances,” MJ said, “Still I cannot recall the young master having such a strong interest—if I may say so—in marine life.”

“A lot has happened in these seven years,” Bento got up briskly and put the books back on the tray. “These dolphins are unique in the galaxy. They have a unique culture, based on light signal communications. They are precious.”

“Definitely,” MJ agreed, “So you wish to observe and study them while you can.”

“While I can? Do we have to accept their extinction as inevitable? Do we have to accept the course of Blessedness as inevitable? If I am selected as the CEO, I will make changes.”

“You intend to save the dolphins?”

“That is my purpose.” Bento took a few quick paces toward the large wooden table in the center of the main reading room. MJ followed suit and primly sat down opposite Bento, green eyes fixed upon the young master.

“You realize,” said MJ, “The forces here at Blessedness have been set long in motion before you came… back. You realize the formidable obstacles you are facing?”

Bento realized all too well. A lot of destruction by these humans seemed like malice but he knew better: they were long, diffuse causal chains, ill-conceived past decisions, hard to reverse once started, like rivulets that swell into a mighty river that empties into a vast sea. All the while, the humans think of themselves as agents who can reverse the course, but they are like leaves being tossed about by the waves.

3.

Humans are poor masters of their emotions. Even with a human artificial host, I'm subject to the same fate. I'm no longer a creature within a creature, I've become a strange hybrid, a true monster, neither parasite nor primate. Each mutualistic bond presents its own challenges, because each species is so different. What frightens me about the human condition is the strength of their emotions. They pull with an irresistible force, making rational deliberation very challenging.—Agent Bento’s log 4435040

**

The table was so narrow their knees almost touched, a deliberate invasion of personal space. Bento could only dimly remember his non-endo form, a small soft-bodied creature among squirming, writhing, many-legged others in the dark, round security of the hive. This comforting memory had become very distant now. He must focus on the mission.

The table stood richly decked in the high ballroom, airy crystal chandeliers festively lit with hundreds of candles. At either side of the table were mirrors set in rich, gilded frames, reflecting each other in a dazzling array of endless corridors.
The ceremony of the fifty dishes was Bernard's supposed peace offering to his long-lost brother. This ceremony was held on all the Outer Worlds of the Galaxy. It showcased the diversity of cuisines found on the different planets and moons that hosted life. It was ritually regimented, and reserved for significant occasions, usually ones involving diplomacy, rather than weddings or graduations. It was common for negotiation partners to engage in the ceremony together either in pairs or small groups. The meal would last many hours, during which the careful exploration of a range of negotiated agreements was possible. The physical proximity was deliberate. You must be able to feel your guest's breath upon you.

Two beribboned masters of ceremony wearing high white curly wigs brought the dishes in pairs on lacquered wooden serving trays. Each course was deceptively tiny, accompanied by small quantities of liqueur or other drinks served in tiny crystal goblets. Peacock tongues in aspic, served on birds' nests beds. Thinly-sliced eel with bamboo shoots. Steamed gruel with roe. Eight-treasure stuffed buns. Five kinds of milk pudding made from the various milk-giving species of the Outer Worlds. A parfait of the rarest berries found in dense forests, neatly arranged according to their hues.

It was the ritual to eat the entire set of fifty courses, and to consume every last bite. Not doing so would be insulting to the host and might even result in loss of income or employment to the cooks or the masters of ceremony. Bento, whose bio-engineered stomach was ill accustomed to eating large quantities, reached satiation quickly, but the new courses kept coming.

He braced himself. Sooner or later, it would stop. As he felt dizzy and started to lose track of time, he clung to the words of the masters of ceremony, who announced each dish by number and name. Dish thirty-four: grilled beetles from Nouvelle Toulouse served on a sorbet of snow imported in special ampoules from the mountain tops of Cordirella, with a small flask of water sourced from their finest springs, served in a crystal glass. Dish thirty-five: Nutmeg cakes from the forests of Harpa, made with mead from the honey gathered by their eusocial butterflies.

At dish thirty-eight, the Nickelese crab and caviar cakes, Bento glimpsed something novel in his host's face. Dilated pupils and slightly arched nostrils. The upper lip thinner and tighter than it was before.

Was his brother attempting to poison him?

Whatever it was, he must not eat the next dish. “I have quite enough, thank you,” he put the chopsticks across his porcelain plate in a gesture of finality, as the masters of ceremony came into the room carrying more lacquered trays with stolid determination.

They frowned at this breach of etiquette. “You realize the consequences of your action?” Bernard asked sharply, nostrils flaring.

The right decision. Bento wagered further. He said, “I am still allergic, as much as I ever was.”

Bernard turned pale. “No-one knew about this, except you and I because of this one trip... How did you know? How?”

“Exactly. How could I know unless I am Robert?”

“It's impossible. Impossible.”

Bento whispered, “It would be impossible, had the body been found. But my body was not found because I am in fact not dead. I am here, alive and well, as you can plainly see.”

Bernard stood up, looking even sicker than Bento felt, his reflection in the rows of mirrors casting many miserable copies. “You cannot be alive,” he moaned, “You and I both know it.” Then, he looked almost afraid, “Who are you?”

***

Since the failed ceremony of fifty dishes, Bernard had become more prone to violent outbursts and tantrums. The sumptuous balls that were held regularly on Blessedness had lost all their appeal now he had become the useless second son. His girlfriend Yeo-rum had sensibly focused all her ambitions on the presumed heir. To her frustration, Bento seemed to lack any interest. She wore her best silken dresses, embroidered with bats and hibiscuses, had her hair done in the most elaborate manner, with pearls and a jade hairpin, she made witty conversation and smiled, but after a few polite dances, he asked to be excused and retired to the library.

Witnessing this brazen utilitarianism in his former girlfriend, Bernard became even more furious. He threw his food around like a toddler to a bemused Marie-Celeste, he screamed at the servants when they were not quick enough to wait on him and dug his spurred heels deeply into his poor horse.

The board meeting was called for the succession of Blessedness. Bernard appeared charming and explained how he would extract resources from the tiny water-planet with efficiency and profit. Bento argued for sustainability and made persuasive projections of the planet having to be abandoned in just thirty-five years if they continued mining at this pace, far from the projected seventy. A small but clear majority of the votes went to Bento. Bento ceased all mining operations. The planet of Blessedness breathed a temporary sigh of relief.

Bernard proposed that Bento and he would take one of the pleasure pods out to take a trip to finally make amends.

MJ, looking over Bento's shoulder, as he sat reading a comprehensive history on the Outer Worlds’ history of warfare, said “The young master is aware this is a terrible idea, right?”

“How so?” Bento asked.

“You don't need to keep up the pretense for my sake. You know what happened to Robert de Méreaux, or you must have guessed by now. You know how he disappeared. And it would … pain me to see you suffer the same fate. Already you know that the Board is plotting to oust you as the CEO. They just keep you for now because you are better than Bernard. What is your plan?”

Bento was tempted to ask his only friend in the whole universe, an enby hologram, why they helped him, if they knew him to be an impostor, but instead he said, “I am aware the Prince is not necessarily the CEO and can be removed with a simple majority by the Board. I am unable to increase profits while safeguarding the planet, so there is a problem. Either I give up safeguarding the planet, and then my mission is in vain, or I give up profit, in which case I will swiftly be demoted to become a ruler without any real power on Blessedness, at the mercy of my younger brother. I do not expect to survive very long in that scenario…”

“So, your plan is to go along on the trip and be murdered?”

“I do not fear death and I am very old,” Bento said, “I am biologically older than you are digitally. I have inhabited a multiplicity of wondrous forms. Do you think I survived all these different incarnations without a proper plan?”

“Forgive my questions,” MJ mumbled. “I had always dreamed of meeting someone from another alien species to talk to and since I surmised you must be, and a life form much superior to us, I have taken a keen interest in your survival. Now, we know from the records that only air for one person was consumed. And we conjecture that young Robert committed suicide by expelling himself out of the airlock.”

“So, the only way that Bernard could have gone along is if he had his own oxygen supply,” Bento said. “For instance, if he wore a spacesuit. Or if he somehow was at the outside of the pod and gained access to it.”

“Okay, but how does this help you?” MJ insisted.

“Do you care about the dolphins, MJ?” Bento asked.

“I cannot believe that you keep on going on about dolphins,” MJ stormed, “While you are in this precarious position. I don't care about them. But I care about you. Take care! Bernard is a dangerous man! I know him and I know what he's capable of.”

4.

The main obstacle to human joy and freedom is that people settle. They settle out of custom, or out of fear. They reach for safety, but in doing so, they miss out on survival. They find safety in wealth and honor, empty goods. To survive is to survive as a whole being, and our selves are bigger than we tend to realize. We realize this, being eusocial creatures, we depend upon our hive and our queen, but the humans do not see it this way. They have the illusion of being atomized selves who must fight zero-sum games for safety, in bondage to their emotions.—Agent Bento’s log 4435041

**

Bento walked up the ramp of the pod. Bernard preceded him. Two footmen brought up the rear. Bento glanced back at them and decided their presence did not make him any safer. If anything, these two big, bulky figures, ill-suited in their fine liveries, would not spare a thought and jostle him out of the airlock when Bernard required it. Bernard had brought luggage, clearly all for show: clothes suitable for the beach, towels, frilly parasols, as they were headed for Penang, the Moon with the delightful beaches that was so reminiscent of Earth.

They had left the atmosphere only for a short while when Bernard said, “Now it is time to rectify the proper relationships and to drop pretenses. I have here a document that you can sign. It’s your confession that you are a fraud and a renunciation to all claims to Blessedness.”

“Or else?” Bento surveyed the beautifully lettered paper. It was hand-written, in blue ink, and it bore the Méreaux seal, a red stamp of a pelican who pecked at her own breast, the droplets of blood falling into the beaks of her hungry young. The seal of selflessness.

“You know what else,” Bernard said, “You and I both know it. I have no idea how you found out about Robert's allergies but am not interested in finding out. You are not Robert, because I saw Robert die.”

“It doesn't take long,” Bento reflected, “not minutes, but seconds. How did you do it? Were you outside of the pod and did you work your way in? Or did you wear a suit inside the pod, or what?”

Bernard shrugged impatiently “You make it much too complicated. I already hit Robert over the head as we were just departing. I did it very carefully to not draw any blood forensics could pick up. He was so gullible and trusting. He was unconscious, he was still breathing. I put on my space suit. Then, when we were far away enough, I pushed him out of the airlock. I watched him die. It wasn’t pretty but it was necessary. Robert could never have managed Blessedness. Robert would never have tapped all its resources. Then, the pod completed its autopilot travel back. I slipped away unawares as we landed. It's that simple. MJ provided my alibi.”

“MJ?” Bento asked.

“Oh yes, if you think they’re on your side, think again. You have no friends here, Robert,” he said the name with sneering emphasis. “You are all alone, friendless, and your time is up. You can sign here, or I will force you to sign first and then airlock you out.”

“I have no motivation whatsoever to sign this document. The moment I write my name, I sign my death warrant. Just make me.” Bento said with calm deliberation.

“Fine. I can just as well sign it myself.”

Bento looked on as his brother produced the paperwork, dipped quill into the onyx inkwell, and said “Okay, I will sign it.”

5.

Did I speak truly when MJ asked about death? I do fear it. I do not like the prospect of my atoms dissolving and joining with the rest of the universe, though this happens already while we are still alive. We exchange our material with the rest of the universe for many cycles. Not a single cell in my body is the same since I was a larva centuries ago. —Agent Bento’s log 4435042

**

Bernard was right. It takes mere seconds to die when you are pushed out of the airlock. The body of Robert de Méreaux floated in space, arms spread out as if he was swimming on his back. Bernard looked through the window and thought he could still discern the tiny floating figure. But there was quite some space debris here, because of tourism, so he was not sure. Is it waste or my brother? Hard to say. He’s already one of the many waste items now.

So much for that. A messy solution, but inevitable, he thought. Was this a mere utilitarian move, resulting in more death but saving a valuable species? I am not going to second guess myself, Bento said.

Soon he would land, and he would order the mining operation to be stopped indefinitely. The winner, after all, controls the energy. He would worry about how to make the operation profitable without depleting the environment later. But not too much later. He was still intertwined with the Méreaux family. A murder charge would undoubtedly be pending.

Beneath Bento, visible through the broad window, the blue ocean stretched out. A few Blessed dolphins leapt playfully out of the water, chasing each other, then disappeared into the deeps, oblivious of the fate they just escaped. Creatures most excellent and rare.

END