It Gets Better (Animus Vox)

Remi stared up at an endless sky full of stars, and thought about how big the universe was. How big the multiverse must be, by extension.

“Whenever you want,” Glitch said, and he turned towards her. “You can go home whenever you want,” she clarified, clearly assuming that his gaze was one of longing, of homesickness. “If you just visualize it, and picture leaping there, you’ll find your way back to Terra.”

“Thanks,” he replied, unsure of what else he was meant to say. “I assume you’re leaving soon.”

An emotion flickered across her face, before being immediately stifled. Even though he’d saved her life, Glitch still didn’t seem entirely comfortable around Remi. At least not enough to be emotionally vulnerable. “Yes. I’ve said my goodbyes to Bril, and to Kan.” Kan’s grave, she meant. “My need to be here is substantially lesser than my need to find him.”

Sesilius’ escape had made Glitch angry in a way that Remi suspected few other people had ever seen and survived. And the oath she swore, to hunt him down across hundreds or thousands of planes, was one that sent a shiver down Remi’s spine. He was deeply grateful that they were on the same side, at least for now.

“I feel like I should look for survivors,” Remi said, looking back up at the sky, as though that would be where he’d find them. “The ship left here in a hurry, they probably left someone behind.”

“If that’s what you wish to do,” Glitch shrugged. “Now you are free to do whatever strikes your fancy. Whether that’s on Olten, or Terra, or another plane entirely, no one can stop you.” She paused, and then continued, “I know that Dr Dal had some difficulties with the fact that her wife was unable to traverse the planes with her. She is free to travel the multiverse, but in practice cannot.”

Which wasn’t an issue that Remi had. Did Glitch know that? Remi was bad at hiding that style of emotion. “That must be rough,” he said dumbly. What else was there to say? He once again looked down from the stars, back towards Glitch. “In that case, I think I’m the only goodbye you still owe?” She nodded. “Thank you, Glitch. For believing in me. For showing me….all of this.”

“I owe you far more than you owe me, Remi Amber. And I suspect that under your humility and modesty, you’re aware of that.”

Remi snorted slightly at the insinuation that he was particularly humble, given how he’d handled discovering his true power and potential, but gave an affirmative nod to Glitch. He wasn’t going to say ‘you’re welcome’ but he also wasn’t going to downplay everything he’d done. And then she was gone, leaving behind her a wave of melodious sound and technicolor light spray, and Remi was alone.

But only briefly. As the light show died down, Remi’s eyes refocused on something in the distance, on top of one of the mesas that towered over the land. A figure sat, wearing an AOSE spacesuit. A survivor? Remi leapt into the air, telekinesis carrying him up and up, and flew to the mesa. But as he got close, his heart stopped. Not a survivor. The suit contained a corpse, a skeleton, staring out of the fractured face shield.

And then the corpse turned to face Remi, and stared at him with an exquisite sadness only conveyable through barren eye sockets. “Why are you still here?” It asked, a gravely voice unburdened by vocal chords. Remi didn’t know how to respond, and just floated there, hovering out of reach. “You should’ve gone home, with the rest of them.”

The AOSE didn’t fully understand how Olten’s undeath functioned. It was a phenomenon almost exclusive to humans, and there wasn’t a consistent pattern when it happened. Some stories even suggested that it wasn’t about Olten, that people on starships could also come back wrong. That the issue was space, that humanity was never meant to leave Terra. But the returned didn’t tend to stay talkative. They lost who they were before death. It was as if they became a puppet for the emptiness and cruelty of space.

That didn’t seem to be the case for this skeleton, who tilted its head slightly. “Remi? Can you hear me?”

“I—” He took a moment to breathe. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“Are you real? Are you actually here? Or am I imagining you?”

The thought of the deadman being real, and Remi the illusion, would be funny if it weren’t so bitterly sad. “I’m real. Do you remember what happened?”

The skeleton leaned back, and stared up at the stars, in a gesture that made Remi feel like he was looking into a mirror. “It hasn’t been long, has it? Did you leave, and then come back?”

“No.” Remi pursed his lips, and then decided to take a chance. He flew over, and took a seat right next to the skeleton. Slowly, he leaned back, and stared up at the same sky as the deadman, at the same set of stars.

“Did you want to come here, to Olten? Did you ever think that something like this might happen?”

Remi put an arm around the skeleton’s shoulders, resting it lightly, not wanting to somehow cause the frail bones to disintegrate. “No more questions, please. Not until you answer mine.”

“I died, Remi. He shot me.” There was a weariness in the voice that broke Remi’s heart a little bit, before his brain caught up and realized who the skeleton was. He looked down from the sky, and to the spacesuit, his eyes finally settling on a charred name badge, almost destroyed by the explosion. Lysander Jal.

“Lysander, I’m so sorry,” Remi’s voice caught in his throat, cracking for an instant. “I let you down. I...I should’ve been faster. I should’ve been stronger.” The deadman stayed silent, and Remi’s anxiety built. “I never thought any of this would happen, not even for a second. I didn’t realize how much would rely on me. I didn’t realize what could go wrong, if I fell short.”

“Human nature.”

“What?”

“We disappoint, we disappear, we die, but we don’t.” Lysander said it simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “If not now, some other time. But it all ends up this way, eventually. One way or the other.”

“I don’t know if a ship is ever going to come back,” Remi offered. “I can ask Bril, but…” He trailed off. He didn’t know what he was even saying. Lysander didn’t respond. “You remember dying, but do you remember everything else?”

“I remember enough.” Lysander turned to Remi, heartfelt emotion expressed on a visage lacking muscles, from a body lacking a heart. “When are you leaving?”

“I don’t know.”

“I suppose most of us don’t.”

Slowly, Lysander looked back up towards the sky full of endless stars, and Remi looked up beside him.