“We are not bound forever to the circles of the world, and beyond them is more than memory.”
Alex Costa had lived a good, long life. When he died of heart failure, he left behind his wife, three children, ten grandchildren, and two great-grandchildren that he had thankfully gotten to see before he passed. He and Mary Costa owned their farm and raised their children the best they could. They never moved from that small town in Connecticut, and by their winter years their home had accumulated junk from across five generations.
While Mary and her children and grandchildren went through the motions of mourning–funeral arrangements, obituary, securing the will–they all wondered what Alex was up to. Was he watching them, looking down on them from Heaven? Was he proud of them, was he comfortable, was he happy?
Not quite.
When Alex Costa’s heart gave out, he woke up with a jolt. He was no longer in the hospital bed, no longer surrounded by concerned kin. Rather, he was on the floor in a sterile room with white walls that glowed a dull purple. He was breathing easier, his joints didn’t ache, and when he looked down at the rest of his body, it was no longer the weathered vessel of a ninety-seven year old man.
“You present here as the age that is statistically optimal for your build,” came a voice in total monotone. It echoed in the empty room. “Thirty-seven is good for an agriculturalist.”
Alex scooted himself around to see the speaking figure: a humanoid shape that shone so brilliantly Alex couldn’t look directly at it.
“Saint Peter?” he asked in disbelief.
“Negative,” the figure replied, “although I do get that a lot.”
“So the Catholics are wrong?” Alex mused. “I can’t believe that.”
“It isn’t about right or wrong,” the figure answered. “It’s about what happens next.”
“And what is that?”
With a wave of its hand, the figure produced a television screen, so thin that Alex could swear it wasn’t really there. A holo-whatsit, as his grandkids would say. As the figure browsed, the screen flashed with moments from Alex’s life, from his point of view. He didn’t even need to squint to see them anymore: the time he delivered twin calves, the night he went searching for his boys who never came home from hunting in the woods and fought off a coyote to save them, his hands scabbed and bruised from repairing the barn after a hurricane. Just looking at these moments again made Alex tired all over again.
“High strength and stamina,” the figure observed, “strengths in compassion and protection. Slightly lower than average intellect.”
“Watch it,” Alex warned.
“You will have to work on that to progress any farther than World Six,” said the figure. “Do keep that in mind when you’re speccing this time.”
“What kind of language are you speaking to me?” Alex said, his voice raised.
“English,” the figure responded. “I believe that’s what you chose from your skill tree at the age of two, yes?”
Alex grimaced. This creature was starting to bug him. He got to his feet and started to walk towards the screen.
“Listen, you,” he growled. “I don’t know nothing about skill trees or intelligence scores or World Six or whatever you’re on about. I do know I lived my life the damn best I could with what I had. I went to Church every Sunday and loved God, my family, and my country to the end. Where’s my eternal reward for that, huh?”
The figure did not look up or even flinch. It continued its work, swiping through options on the screen. Finally, when Alex was close enough to touch it, the creature looked up at him. Alex caught a glimpse of the most beautiful face he’d ever seen before the light made him avert his gaze.
“Mr. Costa,” said the figure. “Advancement is your reward. Congratulations; you’ve leveled up. We are sending you to a position that will continue to encourage your soul along its proper growth trajectory.”
Alex Costa felt his body heating up. A halo of light shot up from the floor, trapping him in it. He cried out in shock, but he felt no pain. His vision started to fade, or maybe his surroundings were.
The last thing he remembered hearing was the figure’s voice saying, “And do remember the advice I gave you about your intellect score.”
In the kingdom of Prizium on the planet Stark Nine, the Queen Teeza cried out in pain and squeezed down on the hand of her husband, the King Constantine. In moments, another cry joined hers, small but shrill–the cry of new life.
The midwife wrapped the newborn in the finest cloth and set him in his mother’s arms.
“Alexei,” Teeza whispered. “A strong name for a strong boy.”
Alexei, son of Constantine, looked up at his new mother in disbelief, blinked, and proceeded to scream.
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