Goodbye

“I’m so sorry,” Virginia whispered. She placed a hand on his shoulder but left a gap between them. She hated funerals as much as Sam did, so much so that she’d skipped his father’s funeral. He appreciated that she’d put that aside for someone that had been in their lives for as long as Seb had.

“Thanks for coming.” Or maybe, like Sam, she felt responsible.

Modern funerals had become detached affairs, filled with screens and presided over by nobody in particular. Sam had been forced to learn about this when his father passed. Costs had risen so much, and people’s tolerances for the dour nature of the affair had plummeted in kind. For want of any will or final requests, Sebastian’s final goodbye took place at the San Francisco Municipal Funeral Parlour, next door to the hospital.

The room was sterile, sea-foam green painted onto a stucco, and a large screen hung on the wall at the back. Several rows of bench seating, almost none of which was occupied. A gentle piano ballad played from the speakers in no discernible pattern. In the front sat Samir and Virginia. They’d both heard someone slip into the back, and neither had found the courage to look behind them.

“Today,” began Aida, “we say goodbye to friend, partner, and pillar of the community, Sebastian Carr. A harbourmaster at the Port of San Francisco, the loss of Mr. Carr will be felt acutely by our local economy.” Sam ground his teeth as Aida continued. “Magenta regrets to inform you that owing to his low usage, Mr. Carr’s Mirror will be unavailable for further engagement. In this way, he is truly gone.”

Sam let his vision blur, instead focusing on the ringing in his ears. He was numb to all of this. Everything reminded him of his father, and when he had passed. If he ever felt the loss, or was at a particular low, he could still speak to his father’s dop. It was unfortunate he wouldn’t have the same opportunity with Sebastian. But Seb’s wishes had to be respected.

He hadn’t been able to face Lydia since the incident, though he’d been to hers briefly to collect a few items. She hadn’t been home, and Aida told him she was still at Magenta Tower. She must’ve lost her ring, he thought. Any blame he took upon himself, he would force her to share. At very least she had to explain herself. Had she been involved? It had to be her, or someone in her network. Who else could it be?

No other mourners arrived before the rites ended. Sam wondered if it was another byproduct of Seb’s refusal to have a dop. Did anyone even know he was gone? As the two of the shuffled out of the row, Sam caught Mel in his eye-line at the back of the room.

“Shit,” he muttered to Virginia.

“We should say something.”

“I can’t face her.” Sam turned to one side. She had definitely seen him, but he felt it was best they not speak. It was more respectful, he thought. She wouldn’t be forced to pretend.

“I need to say something to her.” Virginia nodded and began to head over.

“Wait.” Sam fished around in his backpack. “Can you give her this? I think she would want to have it.” He handed Virginia the framed picture of Sebastian, Rebecca Prue, and the mystery woman, which he’d carried around ever since Seb had given it to him.

“Of course.”

Sam kept his back to the affair and instead chose to watch the slideshow of photos that had continued to run on the screen. All genned, and almost none of any real events–such were Seb’s privacy preferences. People had gotten used to this kind of slideshow at events like this, and it had long since stopped being considered disrespectful. It’s their fault for not providing the data needed to gen more accurate photos. He found it darkly amusing to see images of a family that Seb didn’t have, on holidays that never took place, set to a depressing auto-gen sonata. Seb would’ve loved this, he thought with a smile. However minuscule, it was his final victory over the machine.

The sound of glass breaking broke Sam’s concentration. He spun round to see Mel’s back as she left in a huff. Virginia stood and stared, shoulders slumped. At her feet was the shattered picture frame.

“She did not want the photo.”

A bit of glass crunched under Sam’s shoe as he stepped over. “I see. Did she say anything?”

“Aida refused to translate it due to its offensive nature.”

Sam nodded. “That’s Mel. She hates me.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. She wanted me to convince Seb to let the club fail. She said she wished it didn’t even exist.”

“She did?” Virginia squinted at the door Mel had exited through.

“I’m just fucking selfish,” Sam continued. “All I wanted was to get out.”

Virginia bent down and fished the photo out of the remnants of the frame. “Here.” She paused and stared, her head tilted suspiciously. “He was fighting for the club, wasn’t he? This wasn’t about you.”

“I suppose.” He took the photo. It felt more vulnerable now that he held it between two fingers. A scrap of time, a moment that was almost forgotten, save for a bit of fabric that had gotten snagged on a nail as everyone rushed past. “Nobody would’ve paid this photo any attention. They wouldn’t have kept it, or cared, or even believed it was real. But Sebastian.” Sam choked up, and his eyes burned. “Sebastian put it in a frame. He was so proud of it.”

“You’d go to London, right?” Virginia draped her arm across Sam.

“Yeah.” Sam scrunched his face. “Why do you say that?”

“Your heart was always there.”

“That’s…” He stared at his shoes, stood in the glass and wood splinters. “That’s not true.”

“It’s something I could’ve probably helped you with, if you’d asked.”

“Getting to London?”

She kissed his cheek. “Your heart.”

He wandered the city for hours before his feet led him back to Lydia’s. He told himself it was because he lived there. In reality he wasn’t sure what he hoped to get from seeing her again. Would she normalise things? Refuse to discuss what had happened? Had she already planned what came next?

The front door to her apartment responded to his touch and slid open. A man in a grey suit and large Spex rose to his feet, and two others emerged from the bedroom at the end of the hallway. Sam stumbled backwards out of the door.

“Yeah,” said the man wearing Spex. “She confirms that’s him.”

“I…” Sam’s protestation was cut short by the man who stood behind him in the hallway. He tried to wrench himself free, but the man clasped him by the shoulders. “Stop!”

“Relax,” the man said. “Magenta security. You’re being reassigned in the wake of your recent actions.”

“My actions,” Sam shouted, “no, you’re wrong. I’m friends with Virginia Rose, does she know about this?”

“Sir, even Rebecca Prue knows about this.”

Sam’s earpiece chimed. “Samir,” said Aida in an even tone, “please. Relax.”

“Aida?” The unrequested activation of Aida only deepened his confusion. “I don’t understand. What is this?”

“Samir, this is what you requested.”