Under the red and blazing sun, softened to orange and gentle by the atmospheric filter, the single civilized section of Clelia was stunningly beautiful: a handful of container houses, set a century ago around an old stone building, faced a gently sloping valley ablaze with intense yellow flowers, followed by a mirror-smooth lake, which reflected mountains towering to the sky, capped with eternal snow.
The stone building was the result of an old and forgotten colonization dream: a house that could have been pulled straight from one of Earth's pre-stellar fictions: gray stone walls, a meticulously organized garden with a charming terrace, weathered and colorfully painted walls, and red-tiled roofs, marked with the inscription "First House of Clelia." The only house, evidently.
Behind the village stood the spectacular skeleton of some space-faring monster, its bleached bones as wide as the columns of a mad temple, forming a ribcage 150 meters high. With some imagination, the creature could be reconstructed—a massive, tailless whale-like being. The LE identified it as a Megasteraphailana, a creature that had lived in interstellar space—millions, if not billions, of such skeletons drifted in space. Here, however, it was perfectly harvestable: the wealth of this world and the reason four families had exiled themselves to Clelia.
Twenty years earlier, the Jespersens, Scotts, Bihotz, and Salute families, united by their faith in a Christian sect called the True Believers of Jesus, had pooled their savings to emigrate to Clelia and purchase a mineral-extraction robot—a ten-meter mechanical beast that "ate" the skeleton bit by bit, converting it into piles of calcium, platinum, and thorium, which Sky transported off-world to repay The Debt. This debt, their obsession, was expected to be paid off within seven years, after which thalers would begin flowing freely.
If Ada had understood the disillusioned discussions among the children correctly, the original plan was to use this fortune to build a Christian domain in the After, the place where one goes after death. However, five years ago, a new Pope, Pius XVII, declared that the immortal soul no longer existed in the After. Disoriented by this new, infallible decree, they were uncertain about their plans—except that the debt still had to be repaid, which kept them busy. With any luck, a new Pope might soften the current stance in the future.
Why wasn't Clelia a tourist paradise, with its natural beauty? The answer was simple biology: the ecosystem was overloaded with cyanobacteria that made all plants grown in the soil, or any unfiltered water, toxic to humans. According to planetary explorers who had drilled core samples across the world, this had even prevented the evolution of animal life beyond simple cells. The most economical solution was to build large, hermetically sealed greenhouses filled with healthy soil and plants, which sustained the small village. Maintaining the greenhouses efficiently occupied everyone, as idleness was considered the root of all vices.
With the population exceeding twenty due to births, HS regulations required the installation of a planetary custodian. In their great wisdom, the AIs selected Senga—a man both close to the After due to his advanced age and an erudite Christian. Senga, with his dark skin, large white mustache like clouds, and a magnetic acceleration rifle (MAR) slung across his back, wore the standard blue-and-gold uniform daily. Everyone called him Uncle. On Sundays, bearing a mandate from the Cardinal of the First Prefecture of Prospero, he officiated Mass—the only time he set down his MAR.
Each family had its share of children, as God had commanded them to be fruitful and multiply. The patriarch of the Salute family, a skilled doctor, managed the births. However, the children rarely mingled between families. Though Ada drew curiosity and glances, a flirtation before marriage in such a closed community would have been the seed of a melodrama. Despite the silences and stolen glances, distant affections were evident.
Ada soon got to know the Jespersen boys better.
For delaying his work, Japhet was assigned double duty sowing seeds—a back-breaking task they still lacked robots for. Unwilling to endure the punishment, he passed the work to Ada, who accepted without complaint. Manual labor suited her. Secretly, she would ask the LE for mathematical results or concepts (like Dirac masses) and meditate on them while plowing, hauling calcium sacks, or, in this case, sowing seeds. Japhet's punishment, on top of his regular work, stretched far beyond the day, but Ada barely noticed, lost in thought.
When Paul realized Ada's absence and Japhet's awkwardness during supper prayers, he dragged Japhet by the ear to find her, then delivered a violent, unchristian punch. Japhet spent the night working without food, needing a tooth reset by Father Salute. Ada resolved to distrust Japhet—but even more so his father.
Paul Junior was a rotten seed who, like Clelia's cyanobacteria, would never yield a healthy plant. One day, as the Scott children and the Jespersen brothers gathered to talk to Ada, he sneered violently:"Ada's an Antio-bitch, isn't she? I heard they all sleep around over there. You ever slept with your uncle? Your dad?"
Ada, whose Shareplace education included a comprehensive explanation of sexuality, calmly replied:"No."
Her steady tone, as if she were answering a simple math question, made a strong impression. Paul Junior stammered, and Ada warmly asked if he had more questions—genuinely hoping they were interested in Shareplace life. The conversation ended there, and no one used the term "Antio-bitch" again.
Then there was Ben. Ben was kind, a little simple but not foolish. He and Ada exchanged knowledge, taking turns as mentor and student. He taught her everything he knew about plant cultivation, while she spoke to him about prime numbers. He was one of the planet's few rays of sunshine, along with Sky, who arrived every two months to load calcium, thorium, and platinum—and to share dinner. Sky liked Ada and always brought a small gift: candy, a colorful tunic, or a Raven-shaped toy.
When Ada turned twelve, Paul took her to Senga. It was during a gentle summer, on the terrace of the old house's abandoned garden. She still carried Léon at her belt.
It was Ada's Digital Baptism—a HS ceremony that, despite its name, was entirely secular.
"My dear," Senga said, setting down his rifle and opening an antique terminal, "you're twelve years old now. You're entitled to your own private LE, though we don't have private terminals on Clelia. This will be your family's. But when you speak to it, it will recognize you. That's important because the better the LE understands you, the more it can help you. If you ever have an accident and can't go to the After, we'll be able to emulate you."
"I haven't discussed the After with Ada yet," Paul said awkwardly.
"Paul, my friend," Senga replied, "Ada's a sweet girl who attends Mass, but she must choose to follow your beliefs on her own. Until then, as a citizen of the HS, she's entitled to the After. I agree with you, Paul. But I have to follow the law. And besides... who knows what the next Pope will say?"
"What does emulating mean?"
"If you die, a copy of you appears in the After," Senga replied.
"But I'll be dead."
"Exactly!" Paul exclaimed, winking at Senga.
"So what's the point?"
"Well, you're going to live a long time. You'll make friends—I wish you many. Enemies—I wish you far fewer. Maybe even a family you love? And when you die, you'll have the choice…or not," he added, glancing at Paul, "to go to the After. Basically, you'll be in a computer, like the LE, and you'll continue your life there. But if you have an accident, the LE can make a copy of you. It doesn't change anything for you, but your friends… well, they can still love you."
"That wouldn't be me!"
"This Ada, she's super smart," Paul added."Well, I agree with your perspective too," Senga said. "But the After's structure deems emulation important. And you know, those AIs are much smarter than you or me. That being said, you can ask Paul's LE at any time not to emulate you, and it'll be honored. (He coughed.) Okay, this is important, so I need to be VERY clear. The LE here is disconnected from the SH's main network because we're too far away. It syncs when Sky arrives with his Raven. So, your baptism and decision won't be fully registered until then. Got it? Now, the big question. You need to choose a name for your digital identity. If you don't like it, you can change it anytime—just come see me. But it's, let's say, more elegant and easier if you can keep it for a long time. Think carefully."
Ada sank into thought while Paul and Senga exchanged pleasantries about the Jespersen family. Then Ada declared:
"Gorylkin. With a 'y' in Gory."
"Like this?" Senga showed her a word on the screen.
"Yes."
"Can you confirm it again for me?"
"I confirm it." (A ding confirmed Ada's voice imprint.)
"Welcome to your digital adulthood, Gorylkin."
"What's that name, Ada?" Paul asked."A friend…from the Shareplace."
Paul grimaced slightly in disappointment but shook Ada's hand as a father might. His touch was warm and tender, and Ada appreciated it without daring to say too much.
When Ada turned fourteen, Sky arrived, as she now knew, with three types of cargo: soil and plants, small treats, and a secret payload, likely related to adult entertainment or drugs. This time, however, he brought the most extraordinary surplus cargo.
It was summer, so even though Sky arrived late, as usual, the sun hadn't set. Patriarchs, offspring, and the planetary guardian—rifle slung over his back—formed a circle around the Nomad to unload the crates. Sky called for space:
"Clear the way! Make room!"
From the pod open door, a tall figure emerged. It was a Xeno. Brownish-green. Insectoid, with an ant-like head devoid of antennae, empty eyes, and two large, agile mantis-like arms. Thin as a stick insect but as tall as a man, it looked as though it might be swept away by the slightest breeze, save for its broad thorax and abdomen.
"Good Lord," exclaimed Father Scott, reaching for an automagn on his belt (which was quite useless on a planet without indigenous life). "What is this damn Xeno?"
"Calm down, Jarvis," Senga interjected, taking his rifle into his hands like cradling a child. "Remember the words of the Holy Church: Xenos are our brothers."
"I thought it might be useful to you," Sky said, grasping one of the Xeno's limbs. "Look at these claws. It could dig trenches in the rock without breaking a sweat. And you know Xenos: they work day and night. No need to save up for a robot anymore. I'll leave it with you for three hundred."
The "beast of burden" argument hit its mark. The Xeno didn't react.
"Trafficking Xenos is a crime," Senga said, his tone calm and serious.
"You know, Sky, I like you, but I know your record. No crime on Clelia."
"No jail here either, old man."
"I could have one built."
"And who'd supply you then? Relax, Custodian. Let's say this Xeno is just visiting. And since I'm such a nice guy, you add a small three-hundred-thaler bonus to the shipment."
"We could take it on trial," Father Jespersen said.
The others silently agreed. Senga scanned their faces one by one, then declared, with a hint of feigned regret:
"Fine. By HS law regarding Xenos, you are welcome on Clelia," Senga added after a pause, using the silence to look each family head in the eye. "Unless you object, and following standard nomenclature, you'll be Clelia Alpha 1, but we'll call you Alpha. Folks, treat this Xeno as you would your own child. Got it? Or I'll enforce the law."
And so, Alpha joined the community. The Xeno wasn't particularly talkative. In fact, it didn't utter a word and seemed incapable of doing so. However, it understood everything as well as a human—and on the first try. Sky was right: it worked like a machine, tirelessly and without asking for anything. Over the weeks, the people of Clelia neither distrusted nor loved it any more than a rock among weeds—it simply became part of the scenery.
Curiously, Ada noticed that Alpha neither ate, drank, nor slept. Each night, through her window, she saw it standing on its legs, head tilted up, silently gazing at the stars.