Even in mid-November, the heat was punishing. Mourners clustered beneath a canvas canopy, shielding themselves from the sun as it hammered down. In front of them, a freshly dug grave surrounded by a faux grass covering. The faint, acrid tang of artificial turf mingled with the loamy scent of turned earth. Now and then, the hot wind caught the mix and carried it across the mourners. The endless saw-buzz of cicadas droned in the background.
A small casket hovered above the soil, suspended by two thick straps threaded through a pulley rig.
Off to the side stood a tripod bearing a photo of beautiful, sweet Emily, eight, radiant, still smiling bravely in the weeks before the hospital claimed her for that long, grueling final stay. What no one noticed was that Rei had taped the broken allosaurus tail beneath the frame, a hidden tribute to keep his cherished sister close.
It was a Wednesday, a school day, but no one questioned Rei’s absence, not the teachers, not the classmates who saw the empty desk and said nothing. This was his sister, after all. They all knew what had happened. It was all too common.
Ruth sat in the front row of folding chairs, racked with sobs. Edward was on one side, Rei on the other, each with an arm around her, trying to console the inconsolable.
The Rabbi came to the end of the service, reciting the El Malei Rachamim in Hebrew, his voice low and steady. When he finished, he closed his prayer book, stepped toward Ruth, and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“I’m so sorry, Ruth,” he said softly.
Ruth looked up at him. “Why, Rabbi, why? My baby girl? What did she ever do to this world?”
“The way of the Lord is not for us to know,” he said, well aware this wasn’t what she wanted to hear. “But Emily was a beautiful soul and she will be with us in our heart for all time. May her memory be a blessing.”
Ruth doubled over and began heaving sobs again. Edward put his head down against her neck. His glasses slid down the bridge of his nose, and a single tear traced along the frame before leaving a dark spot on her blouse.
The Rabbi looked to Rei. Rei nodded. The two gravediggers went to each of the cranks and slowly lowered the little coffin down to the bottom of the grave. When they were done, they decoupled the straps, removed them and stepped out of the way.
The Rabbi turned to Rei. “Rei, we have to do this. Kevod ha-met, to honor your sister. Do you want to begin?”
Rei glanced toward the shovel, half-buried in the mound of dirt. “Okay,” he said. Then, to his mother: “Mom… it’s time.”
Edward gave a small nod. “Go ahead. Your mother and I will be along in a moment.”
Rei got up and walked over to the shovel. He turned it upside down as was the tradition and lifted as much dirt as he could and flung it into the grave. Staring down at the casket, he became a little unhinged. He turned the shovel right side up and scooped up another huge load and dumped it into the grave. He kept digging and flinging and digging and flinging as if somehow that might bring Emily back. Finally, the Rabbi touched his shoulder, not to stop him, but to witness the storm, letting it burn through. Only when Rei’s arms began to tremble did he say, softly, “Rei, that’s enough.”
Rei looked at him angrily. “The whole goddamned world. Goddamned nanoplastics. They all had to use them and they’re killing us. Killed her.” Rei started crying and the Rabbi wrapped him in a bear hug.
“She isn’t suffering anymore,” the Rabbi said. “There should be some solace in that.”
“Well, there isn’t,” Rei said. He pushed himself away and jammed the shovel into the dirt. He stepped aside so the other mourners could contribute. As they passed him, they all murmured things that Rei was sure were meant to be consoling. He couldn’t hear them.
Later, after the mourners had gone and the grave was filled, Edward finally persuaded Ruth it was time to leave. The three Bieraks walked slowly toward the transport platform, arms linked around one another like scaffolding. The ground beneath their feet radiated heat, warping the air above the concrete as the platform’s pad shimmered in the distance like a mirage.
Ruth faltered, her knees buckling, but Edward and Rei held her up.
“I still can’t believe it,” she whispered. “Our baby is gone.”
Edward said, “Ruthie, there’s nothing more we could have done.”
Rei balled his fists. “We could have. We should have. All that damned poison. In the air, in the soil, in our food. It’s everywhere. I think the whole Earth is doomed.”
At his outburst, Ruth began to cry again.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” Rei said quietly. “It just makes me so angry.”
“We all miss her, Rei,” Edward replied. “They said they’re starting to retrofit the domes with filters.”
“Yeah,” Rei muttered. “But it won’t bring Emily back.”
Time moved forward, as it always does. By the following year, the world had changed, but not where it mattered most to Rei. By now, he was fifteen, sitting in his den, scribbling on his quantum tablet. A news program played in the background on the holo-vision.
“Top stories today: Four representatives from the Mars colonies are meeting in person with U.S. officials this evening...”
Rei put down his quantum tablet, grabbed an empty glass from the little cocktail table next to his recliner, and got up to go to the kitchen as the anchor continued.
“…to assist in the refit of the first Ark, destination Alpha Centauri. Projected launch has been pushed back to 2065.”
Rei turned, catching sight of the gleaming Ark I seemingly floating in the air in front of him. Its nearly completed hull caught the sunlight as it drifted silently in low Earth orbit, part promise, part farewell.
The newscaster pressed on. “Batten down the hatches. Brittany, our first Category 6 hurricane of the year is now churning in the Gulf.”
Rei passed the shelving in the den, once stocked with his parents’ liquor, though neither drank much anymore. Now it mostly held echoes: his freshman year JV swimming trophies, a scale model of the ancient Space Shuttle with a tethered astronaut drifting beside it, and other scattered knick-knacks. A digital picture holo-frame quietly cycled through the family’s history, though there weren’t many images from after Emily’s passing. In the corner sat a restored Pac-Man arcade console, flickering quietly. Rei still played it from time to time.
On another shelf sat two of Rei’s favorite “toys.” One was a space wheel: a chrome spinner that zipped up and down a pair of clear plastic rails, seemingly forever, its near-perpetual motion powered by a hidden thorium battery and magnetic coil concealed in the base. To the casual observer, it was a puzzle box of physics and wonder.
The other was a spinning Philadelphia Eagles mini-helmet, suspended in midair through “magnetic levitation,” balanced delicately between a strong permanent magnet above and an electromagnet below. Once powered on, you used a special tool to align the helmet just right. A gentle tap would set it spinning, slow, steady, mesmerizing, until the thorium batteries ran out, which, in theory, they never would.
Rei stepped into the kitchen. His mother sat at the table, working on her quantum tablet. It was furiously typing, though her hands never touched the laser-projected keyboard, a sight that had long since lost its novelty.
Rei walked to the refrigerator and opened it, searching. Behind him, the newscaster droned on: “What remains of Florida continues to erode. Scientists now predict the peninsula will disappear completely within five years.
“Can I get you something, sweetheart?” Ruth asked.
“Nah. Just wanted some OJ,” Rei said.
From the holo-vision, the anchor pressed on: “For the third year in a row, the CDC confirms nanoplastic-induced cancer remains the leading cause of death in the U.S. Consumers are reminded to check all food products for the NP Clear symbol.”
Rei pulled out an unopened carton of orange juice and set it down on the counter. He stooped down and looked at the carton carefully, turning it to examine all four sides.
“Mom!” he exclaimed. “This OJ isn’t clean. There’s no Clear symbol on it!”
“I’m sorry, Rei. My implant was juggling six threads at once. I didn’t even think to look at it.”
“You know it’s what killed Em and Aunt Evie. You have to be more careful.”
The newscaster continued. “Additions of the new nano-filters have slowed down completion of the major domes around the world.”
Rei snarled into the air. “Of course it has.”
His mother spoke up. “Rei, I was in such a hurry, I shouldn’t be so dependent on it. I promise to be more vigilant. Just throw it out.”
Rei dumped the carton down the kitchen drain as the newscaster continued on. “Citizens around the world have staged major protests regarding the delays.”
“I didn’t mean to yell at you,” Rei said, his voice catching on the last word.
“I know you didn’t, dear. But you’re exactly right. I have to be careful.”
Rei went back to the fridge and got out a pitcher of filtered water and refilled his glass. He made his way back to the den and plopped down in his recliner to watch the rest of the news. For a minute. Then he got bored and changed the channel. The 2045 remake of War of the Worlds caught his interest.
A Martian tripod fired a heat ray. A drone tank exploded.
Speaking out loud to no one, Rei said, “Those are so sleek. Too bad we never found any real Martians. They’re gonna have to do something different next time they make this movie.”
The Martian tripod began to wobble, then tilted precariously.
“So crazy. Bacteria did them in. I wonder… if this actually happened today, how would we beat them?”
Rei looked up at the ceiling. “Em, what do you think?”
In the kitchen, Ruth overheard Rei talking to his sister. She listened carefully.
“I know,” Rei said. “How about we just let those stupid aliens eat our food and drink our water. The nanos will do the rest.”
Ruth didn’t laugh. But she smiled, because it hurt less than crying.
“If that doesn’t work, maybe we could whip up some anti-matter. Or maybe build a virus by hand?”
Rei picked up his quantum tablet and made some notes as the Martian tripod crashed to the ground.