For your Halloween enjoyment: The Voids Mortuary

Continuing the Journey of the LunaCola (Yah, if you want to find out who and what is what, you may have to pick up the two previous books….Otherwise, just enjoy and scroll on).

Pro bono

 At this point in time in the accumulation of rocks, ships, and sentients circling around Sol, there was a cost for everything. Grace’s re-certification required ΞStandards and actions. They approached Luna, having sold all of the extracted water to the mining colonies along their route.

They were dry, but flush with ΞStandards. A bioGel transmitter was in range, and an a-mail rang the Captain's comm. She read it, checked it again, and set down the comm, calling a general meeting on the bridge.

"You all know that my license renewal is due and I was reviewing the requirements. The good news is that I can afford it, and we can continue to pick up cargo and land on the larger rocks."

Tang spoke for the rest, "Congratulations, we knew that you could do it!"

But there was more. There is always more.

"The other news is that I'm low on the other end of the requirements. It seems that we were supposed to transport cargo, pro bono, this whole EarthYear. It would have been better to do a little at a time, but that is past now. We'll need to log each interaction to make sure that I have enough points the next time the license comes due."

"On the plus side, we can meet the requirements with one job."

Jack asked, "So what we do, give stuff away?"

"Something like that. Usually, we would transport medicine and health supplies to meet our quota. Since we didn't do that during the last license cycle, we have to carry boxed urns to the Funerary Complex on MORT-E.”

Jack had no issue with the boxes, "That OK, square urn-ees simple to stack."

Tang was always happy to educate anyone who needed his store of knowledge. "You do know what is in those boxes, right?"

"Stuff? Right?"

"Yes. The dead."

Jack's right ear flipped up and he emphasized the doglish statement with his voice," NO. NO! Me mommy told me not be around the deads.”

"Sorry Jack, I have no choice. This was my only option. You would be out of a job if I didn't have my license."

Working without a license could be bad. Graciela came from a long line of ne'er-do-wells and ne'er-do-pirates. She knew all the tricks of the trade and did not want to go down that route. Hanging out on the edges of society and picking up the crumbs of the licensed ships was not the way she wanted to live.

Tang continued his educational spiel, "There is no room to store the dead on the asteroids. They hang them out to dry and reduce the essence to dust. That is what we will be carrying."

Captain added, "It will be fine. The dust is in sealed boxes. It can't hurt you."

Jack did not look convinced, "You sure? What if freeze-dry buggies still alive. Me de-wormed before left home. Not want see more."

Tang had researched this in one of his many bioGel sessions, "We should be careful, not open the boxes and don't breath the dust. They are all hermetically sealed in their nano-spider containers."

"Me no like the spiders, this getting worser."

Captain Graciela broke in to end the impasse. "Sorry, we have no choice. If we are careful, we should have no problems."

Tang looked on the bright side of the equation, "Well, we can at least sell foodstuff, water and trinkets to the funerary inhabitants. I'm sure they don't get a lot of visitors and will be ready to see what we have for sale."

"Nope, we're supposed to donate to the cause, can't even make a ΞStandard, so our cargo and you guys are volunteering too."

Tang replied, "Well, that is rude. How are we supposed to earn a living? Do they have anything we can re-sell to someone else? Maybe Tee-Shirts?"

"Me no want dead-sell items in cargo holds!"

"Sorry, Tang, they have nothing for us that we can re-sell."

"Please clear out as much as you can. We'll be full of these urns. There has been a backlog on transport. We will have our living supplies and items ordered by the funeral inhabitants, but little else."

Tang did not say it but thought, typical, they store those boxes until some poor, desperate schmuk comes along and dump it all on them.

And we are them.

Now we have to shlep this creepy cargo almost all the way to Mercury.

 Wait. If we can't re-sell anything they make, maybe I can start a line of tee shirts and tchatchkes for them?

'Wish you were here - MORT-E'

or

'My dad died, and all I got was this lousy MORT-E Tee-shirt.'

better yet,

'I survived the MORT-E'

I'll have to contact my cousin on Luna. This may turn profitable after all.

If this takes off, I’ll do the rest: MORT-N, MORT-S and MORT-W. That would be even better!

 "We will drop off the boxes, a quick 'My Air' and take off. We'll get a huge speed boost being so close to the sun and can pick up fresh supplies on Luna. We'll be traveling free and clear in the void in no time."

There was nothing the crew could say. They were in this together.

"More important, I get to keep my license, and we may have some time for shore leave on the way back. Tang, I know you want to go back to the Luna Casino."

"That would be good, although I'll have to dip into my poker mad-money since this pro-bono stuff doesn't pay."

"I know that is tough. I'll find a way to make it up to you, maybe a bonus after this job is done."

"Octopus, please plot a course to the Eastern Boost station."

The urn cargo was not kept on Earth's moon, sitting dead quiet in a Quonset hut or two. Word got out that the LunaCola would do a dump run, and the Mort-Transport Ships converged on them from all directions. These special MTS carriers, painted void-black, met the LunaCola at the designated transfer point, halfway between the moon and the Eastern Lagrangian boost lasers.

Like Earth’s carrion eaters, the vultures and scavengers, everyone wanted them to do a good job, since these are required for a healthy environment. Which did not mean they were welcome anywhere near other sentients on a regular basis. The MTS collected the dead from their routes and used the void to process the tissue. They earned a handling fee and could keep any extracted water. Jewelry, small metal implants, and any un-needed gifts were theirs for the taking. It was rumored that some of those ships had tattoo wall hangings and nice fur rugs, but that was unsubstantiated.

The transport ships gathered around the LunaCola, little bot flies, delivering their boxes filled with concentrated sentient remains. It was a simple push and grab to get the pallets into the hold. Both crew members were glad that they had full space suits on for the transfer and would probably sterilize the gear before using it again.

Everything locked down, the LunaCola moved out to their boost point. No one on the ship felt like having any clever banter. They wanted to get the job over and never have to do this again.

"Octopus, please give us a heading. We will need to tack into the sun to the Eastern Mortuary Complex. It is orbiting beyond Mercury and will take at least twelve course changes before we can land."

"Tang, can you send a payment to the Boost Cannon for 35 megawatts, medium spread, and a 5-second burst."

Jack, feeling left out, "What me do, Captain?"

Captain Grace thought for a minute. I could send Jack out to double-check the lines, but that would be busywork, and I don’t want to insult him. "Here, give Tang this discount boost coupon we received from the Mortuary Complex."

Jack thought, Good, me get easy job.

The bridge turned bright red, the Lagrangian cannon firing them straight at the core. They were halfway to Venus before they had to start tacking against the sun, swinging close to Mercury to meet up with the Eastern mortuary rock. They had time to think about the job. With no cargo to maintain nor pillaging rodents to deal with, there was little else to do but discuss their imminent situation.

Mortuary Asteroid

Death is never simple and seldom fun, especially for the deceased.

Closure is important for the survivors, but what to do with the recently dearly departed?

  Toss them into the Void!

Point them toward the solar core!

Let them slowly descent into the cleansing nuclear fire!

 Doesn't work too well, does it?

As with everything in the void, different options have different outcomes.

>Tossing will not get them close enough to Sol to burn until the expanding solar photosphere solves that problem.

>Adding floating bodies to an asteroid's debris field is self-defeating in the long run.

>There is no extra space on an asteroid to store bodies.

The surface is already spoken for. Everything is tuned to capture solar radiation.

>There is no room inside, the core is for the living.

Earth has it easy; dirt for the dead, dirt and bacteria, dirt and worms. It is a regular recycling heaven on that wet, warm world. The sentients in the Asteroid belt could do the same, but not as elegantly. They don’t have the luxury of waiting years for the former sentients to make their way down the entropy ladder. Cremation takes power and power is life in this cold void. That trade-off was not what the administrators of the colonies wanted.

That still left the problem of what to do with an ever-increasing pile of departed. Sentients usually want more dignity than suffering a trip down the chute into the compost system. Once in the bin, the ex-sentients are mixed with other garbage, plants, and sewage, then spit out the other end as soil. The final product was a good thing, the transition not so much. In addition, it put a burden on the workers who have to pick out the bones for further processing. After the heliospheric-wide strike by the workologists against the bony compost, the powers-that-be had to come up with another solution.

Transport of the dead off-asteroid is expensive and, without insurance, too costly for most. Leaving un-needed bodies on smaller rocks is only feasible for a short time, then it is grotesque and creepy. Even the rocks start to complain after a while.

Designated funeral asteroids, parked close to the solar core at the four quadrants surrounding Sol was the solution. These so-called MortAsteroids had a longitudinal orbit, crossing the angled latitudinal orbit of Mercury, named MORT-N, E, S, and W.

No cargo LiftShip wanted to transport the former-sentients in their boxes, there was always more lucrative and desirable cargo. It was the void, but crews carried the same superstitions and insecurities as their waterborne cousins. Specification was the key, as usual: Mort-Ships were relatively small, collectors in charge of preparing the urns, the garbage trucks for the asteroid dead. These ships could not easily fly into the solar storm, only LiftShips had that ability. The MORT-Asteroids had to wait until some poor sucker was conned or forced into delivering the collected, transmuted sentient bodies for final dissolution on the shores of Mercury.

The boxy-urns bound for the LunaCola’s hold, transferred from the Mort-Ships at the East Lagrangian boost laser, sat, quietly, respecting their situation. The Mort-Ships were paid for collection, handling and transport. They gathered what extras they could off the drying sentients as a bonus. The LunaCola got none of this, the pro bono work was only for them.

The Shamans on the MORT-Asteroids were paid to perform particular rituals at auspicious times of the former sentient’s journey. As the urn’s next-to-final stop, the Master Shamans ensured that rites, ancient and new, were performed correctly. Or at least close enough to satisfy those paying the fees.

Urns were sorted and separated by Shaman-type. Each was an expert in their theology, and they perform ceremonies that would make the dead's friends and family proud. The segregation continued up to their final dissolution on Mercury. The agnostics and atheists got their own special section where they wouldn't have to mingle with the lesser beings and their boxed debris. On the plus side, they got a better rate, since they were shoved into a corner and ignored until it was time for their cellular transformation to molecular dust.

Each Mercurial day, the Shamans performed routines specific to their cult. They said a short prayer, sang and danced, moved in a special manner, or stayed still to honor the departed. Special actions were performed for the catapult launch and Mercury's sunrise/sunsets for those passing from light to dark or vice versa.

The many religious groups and cults inhabiting Sol's heliosphere had a place on the MORT-Asteroids. Humans seemed to have most of them. Many canines worshiped the humans, but that was probably a left-over reflex from living together in community packs for eons. It may have been unclear who was the master in those situations.

The MORT-Asteroids, sitting in its self-made shadow of Sol, had a special place for the sun-worshiping cults. There were two main opposing groups, both sure that their path was the best. They did not come to blows, most of the time, and celebrated the same solar mass on the other side of the Asteroid. One group would be offended if their Sun-god was used for disposal and the opposing group only wanted their ultimate meet-up with the solar maelstrom. Anyone picking the Sun as their final resting place had to pay extra. First, they had to pacify the anti-disposal cult. Then they had to pay to the pro-solar cult for the privilege of a quick exit. The scientists forbid use of the sun for body disposal and the bureaucrats were paid to ignore the legal issues.

Some scientists claimed they were studying the effect of tiny pieces of sentients hitting the photosphere. Their research was well-financed by the cults and bureaucrats even though the answer was clear. All-in-all, only the sentients who were rich before becoming cellular debris could obey the tenets of a hot solar religion. The others had to settle for the disappointment of a slow near-burn on Mercury or change religions.

Maybe the left-behinds thought their acquaintances' remnants would be stored on the MORT-Asteroid until the end of time, or the Sun. That was neither desirable nor possible, these tiny asteroids had limited storage space. With some complex calculations, a handy catapult, and time, their boxy-client's new home on Mercury awaits. Time does not always enter into the equation, but family and friends might want to know when the dark side of Mercury begins to cover the ground so they can close out the lamenting.

Multiple databases were required to track where the urns are at any point in time and when they would turn to dust. Urns cycle through the Mort-system, moved from room to room, until catapulted to the dark side. Size and design would determine when they would be baked into oblivion during the 60 or so EarthDays Mercury faces the Sun.

The sentients nestling in their nano-spider urns were beyond controlling the situation. Unpacked and broken down by the Sun, they were carried by the solar wind with a chance to settle back on home rocks in the heliosphere.

Unlike popular fantasies and vids, these poor little containers did not burst into flames when they were first touched at sunrise, but slowly disappeared in the heat and photon onslaught. If a few didn't make it on the first turn, well, no one would check to see the status. Eventually, Sol would do its work. Sensors around the Sun reported the solar wind and strength. A predicted time of dissolution was easily calculated, allowing the families and friends to prepare for the final departure.

Those closest to the departed could usually be talked into contributing for special privileges to soothe their troubled souls or guilt, whichever could be best corrected with more ΞStandards. The planet was not a smooth ball and choices could determine where on the surface the packets were placed. Some wanted to end the charade as fast as possible and opted for ridgelines or south-facing crater walls. Others wanted to drag things on as long as possible, and aimed for deep craters.

The rich have a few more options and could pay for injection directly into the Sun or a trip out beyond the edges of the heliosphere. Both options are illegal, but not uncommon.

It took 68 EarthDays (1408 EarthHours) for the rock to turn, the toasty 180’C solar burn dissolving the outer nano-spider container The freeze-dried remains slowly dissipating into the weak atmosphere. The carbon and minerals from the dearly departed joined the planet's dust tail, returning to their origins in the heliosphere. Dust to life and back again, like everything else in the neighborhood.

Rituals are performed when the planet rotates and the nano-spider baskets burn up along with their freeze-dried cargo. Stacked or lined up to greet the Sun, they are tracked and the database entry closed out, setting a final note to the process.

Sure, we are all made of stardust, but now, in the era of the MortAsteroids, mixed with a little sentient dust.

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