On the quiet outskirts of the Triangulum Galaxy, hundreds of spaceships dock at Schopenhauer-696 b, an exoplanet used as a trading port. Its primary and much sought after export is a delicious, highly versatile, rice-like crop called "eugh." It falls from the planet's moon like snow. This is MA. The moon, I mean. The moon's name is MA. No one knows that though. No one but me and now, of course, you.
MA produces not only the crop but also a heavenly, white aura that works as a lighthouse for ships and a halo for Schopenhauer-696 b. From thousands of miles away, the planet and its moon together look like an archangel. Up close however, the trading grounds look like war. Merchants shove one another and abscond with loose cargo. Security forces surround each warehouse. Mooches cry out and bleed when caught. But the crop is all over the planet. Like, literally covering the ground, several inches deep for hundreds of thousands of miles. I just don't understand.
The Hearse weaves around freights and away from the planet's shuttle landing site, until the incoming ships and unloading are heard but not disruptive. Before the Hearse can grace the ground, Molly and Todd bust out of the back door. They dart into the nearest bonded warehouse to prepare for the press conference, setting the stage with pallets, then the chairs and podium with boxes. Juby, Juno, and Hal hop out of the Hearse soon after. The bellhops guard the passenger door. Only after a scrupulous surveying does Hal open it. Oto steps out. His footsteps crunch on the ricey ground.
Juby skips to face the reaper. "Are you ready?"
Oto nods.
"Gosh." She flicks his nose and starts toward the warehouse. "Look alive, beanpole."
"Thank you," he hollers listlessly then turns to Juno and Hal. "Alright, boys! Your service is much appreciated, as always. Go on and guard the door. I just gotta talk to the miss."
They nod. Juno sniffs the ground. It smells a little burnt and a lot like blood. Hal hauls him away. Oto walks around and taps the driver's window.
Cheron rolls it down. "Maybe this isn't it either."
"No, no, don't do that." He sways, all dramatic. "We checked and rechecked the reaping lists. This is the only day, and this is the only planet, where no one dies. We're not going to get another chance like this."
"Yes, but still, something bad could happen. We can call it off. Just do another online meeting."
Oto shakes his head. "No, we can't. Lorel AI insists on some remote broadcast, and Purgatory isn't even perceptible for mortals." He holds his partner's little hands. "Don't worry. We'll be in and out. Two hours, tops. Then everyone's gone. Don't worry."
She frowns. It has been eight hours since Cheron last swallowed painkillers. The size of each dosage increases the effects' intensity but not their longevity. She thinks she packed some in her breast pocket. She is wrong.
Oto sighs and leans his head against the roof of the Hearse. "I wish you hadn't come."
Her eye shakes. She blinks hard but tries not to blink too much. She tugs at a hangnail.
The man's hands whip up and wave around. "I didn't mean, well, it's just that, your right eye still hasn't healed. And the other can't even stay open." The hands fall. "Take a break, Cheron."
The hangnail peels back like a long thread. She rips it off. Blood dots her thumb. Oto doesn't see this.
"SQUAWK!" Todd squawks from the warehouse's entrance. He points at an incoming broadcasting ship.
"Just a moment!" Oto pivots back to his partner and pokes her hat up. The moonlight washes her face. "Just chill in the Hearse, Cherry! Work on that one poem. There're some snacks in the back, a pillow too. Please, stay in here? Please?"
She swallows. "Sure, dude. Just stop panicking. That kills me." Her mouth is dry.
He exhales a smile and dashes to the box-podium. The window rolls up. Cheron sits and does nothing else. She can't shake this feeling she has.
Meanwhile, Madame Muffinpie travels to MA in search of three clients. Her single-person spacecraft is long, narrow, and it requires its pilot to lie down in it. Yes, it looks exactly like what you think it looks like.
From afar, MA looks like Earth's moon: creamy with splashes of heather gray; webby, white freckles; and many pronounced craters. However, upon closer inspection, the blemishes and bowls reveal to be an entanglement of filament and wires. Over time, the moon's transparent surface has cracked and atrophied, producing an ashy substance that tastes and looks delightful, but is most definitely some sort of glass.
So MA is sort of like a big light bulb, maintained by her two inhabitants. They are twin, rabbit-eared sisters, each with an eye on one side of her face and a huge lamprey-like mouth on the other. One's eye is blue. This is Anye. One's eye is orange. This is Monty. They cover their mouths with their hair. No one knows where they came from or how they came to keep MA, but no one cares, not unless MA stops producing eugh.
Madame Muffinpie lands. Plumes of eugh whirl about. The pod doors open, allowing the cat to rise like an awoken vampire. Just a few feet ahead of her, Anye and Monty stare. They were playing hopscotch.
"Hello, ladies," Madame Muffinpie says. "You both will die very soon of…" She checks her phone. "Asphyxiation? Yes, asphyxiation. That means being unable to breathe and then, of course, death, by the way. Feel free to write your wills and arrange for funerals, if you two fancy. Report back to me when you are ready. And by ready I, of course, mean dead."
Anye and Monty continue staring.
"Come now." Madame Muffinpie claps her fingertips. "Chop-chop."
The warehouse teems with people. Reporters bombard Oto, shoving their microphones at his mouth and throat. Vigilant and occasionally swatting, Juno and Hal flank the reaper. Prominent politicians and broadcasting companies flank them. Countless have to stand due to scarce seating but mostly due to the uncomfortable nature of boxes and container chassis. A crowd of piqued reporters and curious merchants builds by the entrance. Broadcasting ships continue landing in close proximity. Everyone in the multiverse can witness this tumult, even the souls in Purgatory. Molly's glasses have fogged over from her heavy breathing.
One notable figure is a vestment-clad man with a ring of fire reaching around his head from temple to temple. He sits on a shabby box, poised and intent. He is a Soren, the same species as Casey and, likewise, his third eye carves itself into the minds of whoever stares into it. This is Lon Von Wank. No, that's not how you pronounce his last name. He is the universe's most revered theocratic ruler. Lon Von Wank takes notes in a thick, maroon book with an ornate heart embellishing its cover. He frowns, but his divine bearing never falters.
Another notable figure leans over Oto's crumpling podium, nearly shoving her starry microphone through his gullet. She is an infotainment android with dark skin, bright yellow irises, and a perturbing amount of intergalactic, political power. This is Lorel AI. Her red-eyed myrmidons litter the warehouse and the ships surrounding it. These dispensable robots are called Mechanisms or Anis, each referred to by model number then type abbreviation. They are mindless, metal-bodied, and only vaguely female-presenting. Many work as camera operators, while some guard Lorel AI. Most, however, combust if they stand for too long.
Inside Lorel AI's broadcasting ship, Ani-2P (production type) works as a technical director. She switches to the camera centering on Oto.
He has no saliva as he speaks. "Look, I never said I hate babies. I just said that they're more susceptible to death because they're weaker." He pushes a microphone away from his cheek. "That makes sense, right? That's a factual thing I said right there. Do I need to pull up statistics or something?"
"So you're saying that babies are weaker, that they're lower lifeforms?" Lorel AI slaps her microphone on Oto's nose.
"No, I'm saying that they start weak, but they, like all organic creatures, have potential. They can and will, inevitably, get stronger and smarter. Babies are wonderful. They are the future. More than they learn from us, we gain from them."
"So you're saying that inorganic creatures don't have potential? That androids, like me, are worthless, counterfeit scum?"
"Why do you keep telling me what I'm saying? I'm saying what I'm saying. You can hear what I'm saying. I'm saying it."
"So, basically, you hate me."
"That's exactly what he's saying, you bucket-brained ape!" Juby launches. Todd grabs her and strokes her hair until she is just barely calm.
Lon Von Wank clicks his tongue and stands, about to leave.
Oto reaches his hand out. "Lon Von Wank, please!"
The priest turns back around. "It's Lon Von Wank!"
"That's what I said! Wank!"
"No, Wank!"
Ani-2P does not cut away. Cheron looks on, now hugging the peachy pink pillow. She feels a headache coming on. The moon's rays beam down. It's too bright. Cheron tries to take a nap. She can't shake the feeling.
"It's inevitable!" Madame Muffinpie skids and almost slips over the glassy ground. It cracks under her heel. "Wait, please!" She screams as Anye and Monty bolt to her pod. "Don't try to run away! Don't leave! It's pointless! Please!"
Madame Muffinpie frantically scans her inventory. Just a phone, a body bag, and a sickle. She spins the blade like a boomerang. The hilt slugs Monty's eye. Anye grasps her sister's heavy head. She lays Monty down, nice and slow, then charges straight through the cat. Anye lands. The ground cracks, emitting eugh. Her eye widens.
"Fun fact: I can't control my own state of matter. Unless I'm in Purgatory, I'm utterly volatile. I can't fathom how some ghosts consistently pick up items when they haunt. Is solidifying a skill one can master? Do you think?" Madame Muffinpie turns to Anye. The cat continues, "Once upon a time, I turned into a solid and accidentally destroyed a 5.6 million-dollar Goya piece." She sighs, gazing away, wistfully. In the corner of her gaze, it's clear that Monty has figured out how to use the pod.
Madame Muffinpie pounces toward Monty. Monty chucks the sickle. The cat falls to the side. The ground cracks. The blade gashes Anye instead. Her cut bangs fall, revealing an abyss of a mouth. Anye shrieks, only stopping to cough. Blood pools across the gash. Monty cries out in horror for her sister. Eugh wafts all around.
"Oh, oh my goodness. I am so, so sorry." The reaper reaches her hand out to Anye. "I deeply apologize, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to, I didn't mean for this. I'm sorry."
Anye catches her breath and hurls the blade. Madame Muffinpie ducks. The hilt and several locks of Monty's hair lodge into her own throat. She chokes and falls with a devastating crunch. Clouds of eugh fly about. The whole thing looks like a grotesque game of keep away. Monty writhes on the unstable, glassy ground. She teeters at the edge of consciousness.
"All of this is— I'm so sorry— all of this is so unsavory." Madame Muffinpie rushes to Monty. A trail of turbulent cracks and clouds follows her footsteps. "This might be the worst way to die. Am I making it worse? I am making it worse, aren't I? I'm sorry, really. I am so sorry." She hears hacking, borderline vomiting. She turns to Anye again. Anye can't stop coughing
"Eh…" Anye sways. "Eugh…" She falls. The crop fills the air and her lungs.
Madame Muffinpie glances around. "Huh." The fog of eugh is so dense; she can't even see that the ground is closer to being a million pieces than one. A painful sob stabs her ears. It is low, erumpent, and deafening. "Uh."
She checks her phone. Anye and Monty begin to form ghosts. Madame Muffinpie swats at the clouds. She can't see anything. The twins wiggle, still as cloudy, organically-shaped masses. They grab at and sculpt each other with what can hardly be called fingers. Once fully formed and recognizable, the first thing they do is hug. The sob persists.
Madame Muffinpie checks her phone again. She still has one more client to find.
There is screaming in the warehouse. Ani-2P cuts to a wide shot. The entire multiverse witnesses Juby sock Lorel AI, right in the motherboard. Countless Anis charge at Juby. Juno and Todd attempt to shield her. Their ghostly forms do not solidify. The crowd from outside spills in. Molly and Hal cannot body block them all. They too do not solidify. Ani-2P cuts back to Oto. He doesn't know what to say.
Cheron holds her hand to her window, barely seeing past the massive crowd. "Mm." Her head is pounding.
She pats her breast pocket. Something is clawing at her skull. She digs into the pocket. A sharp ringing pulsates in her ears. She removes her gloves. It's too hot in here. The pocket is empty. "Oh my God." Everything she tries to focus on feels distant, as if falling away from her. She scrambles around the driver's seat. She can't get enough air. She can't feel where her fingers are. She wants to force open her throat. It's not just a feeling, she realizes. Something bad will happen. She knows. She looks at the moon. "Oh, my God. Kill me."
Cheron bounds out of the Hearse. The crowd blocks the entrance. Every edge looks fuzzy. Every body is a vibrating sludge. She tries to duck and shove through. No avail. One of the bodies yells at her. She can't hear.
Oto looks around, trying to ease the cacophony smothering him. "Please, everyone, if we could just—" His eyes snap to Cheron. She's drowning.
With the Scythe, he vaults into the crowd and whisks her back into the Hearse. The door shuts. Reporters bang on the windows. The duct-taped windshield cracks more and more.
"Cheron." Oto grips her shoulders. "What's wrong? Besides the obvious."
"Get everyone out of here." She holds her hammering head close to his. "Get everyone out of here. Now."
"What?" His grip tightens. "No one on this planet will die."
She looks at him. "I know."
Oto holds her closer. His eyes emit the most subtle glow. They only get brighter.
Madame Muffinpie stares at her phone and paces across the shattered moon. She lugs a body bag, now holding Anye and Monty. The cat waves her arm through the ashy plumes. She looks around again, and again, and again. The deafening sob surrounds her. She opens her phone once more. The list displays one name.
"I am so confused," Madame Muffinpie says. "Who is MA?"
The snowfall has thickened. The merchants sing with unalloyed joy. Even the security forces smile. Ani-2P cuts to their reactions. Amidst the exultance, a faint sobbing travels. Lon Von Wank stops walking to his lavish spaceship and examines the ground. The chunks of snow look more like hail. The moon looks as if she's growing. The priest whips around to see a long shard of glass pierce a broadcasting ship. One chunk rips an Ani in half. The moon is growing too fast. The sobbing is louder now. It's too hot out here. MA is shattering. MA is sobbing. Her twin daughters have died. Now she will too, falling to the planet she spent millenia caring and decaying for. She tries to shatter herself from the inside, attempting to soften the blow. The entire multiverse watches the fall.
No one dies, but no one is unscathed either.