Freddie’s funeral, which was the fourth-to-last ever held, was held on a huge, floating raft in a Mediterranean bay. He had, somewhat surprisingly, set aside a large sum of money to make it happen. His many younger friends danced, and ran stalls with drinks and games. Every few minutes there was a barrage of fireworks, perhaps timed to some kind of schedule known to Freddie before death, but seemingly random to the living attendees. Pictures and recordings of the man himself played on big screens, and music blared.

Carlos stood with Juanita. His search through the bio-logs of Abraham had shown nothing untoward so far. The work continued - there were many more variables to read, to understand, and he didn’t trust the summaries which the technology provided.

At least for Freddie, there was no mystery. Frederick had been parasailing. He skimmed the water a little too closely, and his sail had folded, throwing him into the water at a speed where it might as well have been concrete. His brain was dead long before his body could be recovered. He was irrevocably gone.

“I’m going to find Austen,” Juanita said. She had been out of sorts with her brother for a while - his obsessive belief that something had gone awry regarding Abraham’s death was consuming him, she felt. Days had become months had become more than a year of closed-off and cloistered research, and rarely could she tempt him into other projects or expeditions of the sorts they had liked previously.

She walked across the event toward the quieter end, where a gallery of sorts had been set up, filled with art pieces by Freddie, for Freddie, about Freddie; or just things he had liked or thought would be amusing to those who would mark his death. She had contributed one work herself - an early portrait, from decades past. At that point there had been around 100 of the older generation left, and she had decided to try for physical, in-person, paint-and-canvas pictures of all of them. Even racing, she hadn’t made it - biometrics hadn’t been as good back then, plus other accidents had happened, so the collection stretched only to 86. Her portrait of Freddie hung near the entrance to the gallery area, and she slowed to glance at it. She found it wanting. The smirk was too sneering, the smugness too self-centred.

“Not a great first impression, eh?” said Freddie’s voice from behind her, making her tense in surprise - but she’d been caught out once already at the funeral by something like this, so she only turned slowly. She found what she knew she would: A hologram of Freddie, well dressed in a summer suit and hat, leaning on a cane. A quick scan around and she noticed the projectors artfully placed in the corners, and the cameras that would have recognised her and triggered the illusion. The image laughed. “You only get to make one first impression, my dear, no matter how long you live - and did I botch it with you! Look what you did to my nose!”

“You made up for it, Freddie,” said Juanita back, waiting to see if it would respond. Some of the holograms were just recordings, others had pre-programmed conversations, others seemed to incorporate small language models Freddie seemed to have trained to talk like himself, to add variation and some flexibility to their responses.

“Oh, did I now? I demand a new portrait then!” sniggered the hologram. “Quickly, now, before your memory of me fades! I want frescoes and triptychs, ‘Ani, each more glorious than the last. They have to be all you - no auto-generated whackodoodles, just oil, sweat and tears.”

“I take it back - I was right about you to start with, you clown.”

“Hah! Your poison words can’t reach me, woman. But in all honesty,” the hologram started to fade, “You are one of the finest artists I ever had the pleasure of knowing. I treasured this portrait - a meeting captured, one facet of me laid bare for all time. Thank you, Juanita - keep painting!”

“Wait,” said Juanita suddenly, just as the illusion had become nothingness. It flicked back on, and the image of Freddie looked expectantly at her. She struggled for a moment to know what she wanted. “Was that a recording?”

“Certain parts, my dear, plus some computer trickery,” it replied.

She nodded, throat tight, and looked away, then back. “Have you seen Austen?” she tried.

“She was here 13 minutes ago, and went that way.” The virtual cane pointed through the gallery, towards the raft’s edge. Juanita nodded again, muttered some thanks, and hurried on.

She found Austen on a bench overlooking the ocean, away from the noise. Her eyes were puffy but she looked up and smiled when Juanita said her name, and shuffled sideways to make better room. Juanita sat, easing herself down slowly. Austen dabbed her eyes as she started talking.

“Freddie did a fantastic job with this, didn’t he? Or was it one of his grandchildren? Mine are having a wonderful time. Some of them are down there, you know,” she gestured to the ocean, “Scuba diving. He had some kind of wreck made for people to explore.”

“All Freddie, I think. None of his family seem to know otherwise.”

“Gosh, when did he find the time? Between everything else he did? The raft, the location, the food, the recordings - and all of it secret, for a party he wouldn’t get to go to. He must have been cramming it in for years, between his hobbies, and music, and all the other things he liked to do and share.”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“He probably got a kick out of it - kind of joke he told himself. He was a weird one.”

“Yes, he was, wasn’t he?” Austen let out a little snort, “One of a kind.”

They lapsed into silence. Over the sound of the ocean, it took a moment for Juanita to realise Austen was crying. She put an arm around her, though her shoulder ached. Austen leaned in.

“He was going to outlive me, you know?” Austen managed, “One hundred to one. We shared our data - the two youngest of the oldest. And I’m… was … three years younger than him. He had something, some heart muscle imperfection which would eventually catch, catch up to him, you know, it said… like me and the thing, the blood cancer… no, no, not for years, ‘Ani, not for years and years and years. Don’t worry about me, it’s just…”

Juanita patted her on the back and stroked her hair whilst she continued. Eventually, whilst they sat quietly once more, there were footsteps behind them. Juanita turned to see Chae-won walking slowly towards them. She was accompanied by a thin, bespectacled man, who appeared to be approaching middle age - unlucky for him, Juanita thought.

“Hello,” Chae-won started, stopping a little short when she saw their blurred mascara, but quickly recovering. “May I join you?”

“Of course, Chae-Won, sit down!”; The two women shifted to make a third space on the small bench, Austen in the middle. As Chae-won sat, Juanita glanced questioningly at the man in glasses, wondering if he would come and stand in front of them, as there was certainly no space for a fourth. Instead, he remained a few paces back, turning to gaze towards a slightly different part of the horizon.

“Hello!” Called Austen to him, “Are you joining us? I don’t believe we’ve met!”

The man turned back and gave a tight smile and a nod. His eyes flicked over to Chae-won, who spoke.

“He’s an assistant,” she said. “Helping me keep my schedule in order, and so on. He -”. She stopped talking. A look of annoyance crossed her face.

“I’m Sebastian Hoon,” The man broke in. His voice was quiet. “Distant nephew. Don’t mind me.” He went back to the horizon. Chae-won stared imperiously into the distance for a few seconds.

“Quite the memorial,” she said firmly, pointedly not looking towards Sebastian. “I do find the holograms unsettling though. Very lifelike, I find.”

Austen and Juanita shared a bewildered look for a moment.

“Yes,” tried Austen, “I keep being caught out by them, and then turning to see Freddie there, when he’s not… I’m not sure that it’s what I would do, but oh, it is so him to have his games! Oh, I miss him…”

Chae-won nodded once and sighed. A moment passed. “How is Carlos?” she then said to Juanita, who gave a small snort.

“Difficult,” she said. “He gets passionate, and when he does he can get angry. He’s never really learned to react otherwise, even after all these years. Our father was the same. He’s gotten a bit obsessed with Abraham’s data logs.”

Chae-won’s brow furrowed for a moment and she opened her mouth to speak, but she was interrupted by Austen, who interjected loudly, waving at someone down the seafront..

“Oh look, he’s here! Carlos!”

Indeed it was. Carlos had emerged from between two buildings, talking animatedly with another person, an androgynous-looking youth. Seeing them, he raised a hand in a wave, but stopped walking a distance away and kept talking to the youth. A couple of minutes of this continued, Austen wondering aloud what they were talking about, and Juanita remarking that at least it seemed to be keeping her brother entertained, before finally Carlos made his way over. The youth trailed behind.

“Hi, ‘Anita, Austen, Chae-won. Lost sight of you in all this. Freddie made it very noisy, didn’t he? Austen, Chae-won, you are both looking well. Good to see you both. Hello there.”. This last greeting was to Sebastian, to and from whom Carlos gave and received a polite nod.

“Good to see you too, Carlos!” Austen rose to kiss him on the cheek, “This is Sebastian, Chae-won’s nephew and assistant. Who is your friend?” She said, looking at the trailing youth.

“Ah. I’d like you all to meet Phrasix, one of Freddie’s distant grandchildren. She’s a journalist, of sorts. Good with computers, too, so I’m told. I said I would introduce her to you all.”

“Yes!” Phrasix leapt at her opportunity, almost leaping forward physically as well as metaphorically. “Hello! Hi! It’s so good to meet all of you! I’ve heard so much about you!”

“Have you now,” said Juanita, still sitting but shaking the eagerly proffered hand when it came to her.”From Freddie? Probably rubbish, if so.”

“Oh! No, I mean, yes, but not just from Gramps, I mean Freddie, also just from… everywhere? And the things you have all written, well mostly you Professor Hoon, and all the short stories you wrote Ms de Leon, Mr de Leon was telling me about when you wrote some of them, and…”

“Call me Carlos,” broke in Carlos firmly. “You wanted to ask something?” he prompted.

“Ah! Yes - it’s just - Like Mr… Carlos said, I’m working on journalism, or well, writing people’s stories, and I spoke to Gramps a lot in the last few years, you know, writing down some of his conversations, and I thought, coming here, that maybe… some of you wouldn’t mind? It would be just so interesting, you know, and I could put them together. It would be so interesting to read, you know?” She petered out.

“Well,” said Juanita, “You wouldn’t be the first.”

“No, said the youth. “But-”. She stopped. At that moment, a volley of fireworks crackled nearby. They were all quiet, waiting for it to finish, but when it did, no one spoke for a beat.

“Very well,” said Chae-woon, suddenly. “Speak to… my assistant.” She indicated Sebastian. Phrasix lit up, nodding vigorously, before turning to the others. Juanita considered, before shaking her head, causing a sudden deflation.

“Not soon,” said Juanita. “Maybe ask again later, if whatever you are doing for Carlos goes well.”

“I’d be delighted,” said Austen, inducing re-inflation of Phrasix. “Will you share my email address, Carlos?” The man nodded, and Phrasix went happily to talk to Sebastian, who had taken out a tablet, presumably to find a calendar, and so on. Quiet returned to the four remaining ancients - the silence was companionable, comfortable.

Then, Chae-won turned to Carlos, and conversationally asked:

“And Carlos, how is Abraham these days?”

The silence became stunned, then deafening.