ELEGY

The link between the EPR paper and cloning marked a major breakthrough. Of course, people are not entangled. Even monozygotic twins are fed differently in the womb, and while their genetic blueprints are identical, the physical composition of each strand diverges when the parent zygote splits into two. What if we could remove these differences? Two zygotes, generated as carbon copies of each other down to the atom, fed in the same controlled incubators for a full nine months, accurate to the microsecond.

Our trials created twins with aligned switches. We put them in similar environments, separated by thousands of kilometres, and yet they behaved the same as though entangled. By observing one we could instantly know the other. Laplace once posited his Demon who could read a single snapshot of the world and from there extrapolate all that was and all that would be in an instant. We are not demons, but given our twins, the Demon from its perch knows the paths they trace will inevitably converge.

- from “Shūbun 53: Annual Findings Report” by Leiblich K.K.

MIRIAM

We crossed Mobius’s shadow as we walked, drawn long and thin by the setting sun. Both arks hummed, their engines idle. Egret’s shadow lay ahead, and in between, a thin strip of grass, burnt sienna in the angled light. This was the last sunset you would ever see.

“Not going to say goodbye?” I asked.

“I said my goodbyes a long time ago.”

I shrugged. It was not my place to speak. “Still, it’s incredible how quickly we built Egret. With your help, of course—the blueprints were invaluable.”

“I’m sure you know why.”

“Why? Well, I suppose, this is humanity’s last resort. Eirie’s coffers are rich, too—its military spending is absurd.” I tilted my head, confused if I had answered correctly.

“Yes, and the fact that this is the only way for at most four hundred to save themselves.”

“In a way, yes…? It is their DNA on board, after all.” I had painstakingly taken samples from the chosen candidates and frozen them in cold storage aboard Mobius and Egret. Still, they were not the originals. The four hundred on Concord would burn and die just like the rest.

“They’re vessels for bugs clinging to life. They can’t wait to wake up on another planet and ruin it just like Concord.” The disgust in your voice was clear. I could not blame you—you loved Concord more than its people. I was confused, however—your words made no sense to me.

Oracle closed the distance. “Nod along. Don’t push the issue,” he murmured. I obeyed, bent by my awe at Oracle and the arks—engineering miracles.

“Alice was different, however,” you continued. “She loved humans more than anything else, even in death. She saw immortality as a debt to repay, not a curse.”

We reached Egret and stepped onto the lift, ascending into its hull. The pod was empty and open, belching cold mist. You undressed and lay inside it, cold water slowly rising to submerge you.

“How does it feel?” I asked. I was about to watch you freeze to death.

“Cold.”

I rolled my eyes. “Thanks. I’ll note that down.” Your amused smile was fragile, trembling. The cold must have been unbearable. “I never got to hear your story,” I mumbled, knowing this was the end. “I imagine it would take years to tell.”

“No… I spent most of it doing nothing at all. It was a short life. I don’t think I could tell it to you now, though.” Your voice shook. “All the better. It’s not a story anyone would want to hear.”

“Why not? The life of an immortal must be fascinating.”

“All good stories come to an end. What, then, is a story that does not end? Boring. Dull. Repetitive. Were this a stage, I’d have been booed off long ago.” Your eyes dimmed, discs of blue glass rather than spheres.

“That’s not true,” I said, adamant. “Your story matters—because it’s yours. Not because I want to be entertained.”

“Hollow words. You only knocked on my door that day because I was the Child of God. Had I been a street urchin you would not have shown me even a passing glance. Don’t fool yourself—it is not my story you want to hear, but that of the Child of God.”

That silenced me. I had nothing to say in response, for you were right. You tilted your head to the west towards where Alice lay frozen in Mobius. “Alice saw through my mantle. She didn’t just look, but saw me as Evie, and nothing else. Her love was unconditional, and yet I spent so little with her.”

“It doesn’t matter how long you spent with her. I can tell she was important to you.”

“It does.” You coughed as you spoke, but I could do nothing but watch. Touching you would contaminate the fluid that submerged all but your face. “I loved her more than anyone else. I should have stayed by her for more than just a few months.”

I clenched my fists. “Is self-pity and loathing all you know? These are your last moments on Concord. Your grief will be wiped clean by cold sleep, and you will wake up anew. Can’t you be happy about something for once?”

Your lips warped, but the ice in your lungs stopped you from laughing. “I’m not delusional. Nobody cares about the last moments of a dying roach in the sand, but because I am myth, I deserve a happy ending? You said it yourself—the cold will leave me a blank slate. It doesn’t matter either way.”

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Stubborn till the very end. “I know you have a thousand light years ahead of you. I know you will wake up remembering nothing. Still, every dream lingers. If Alice is all you cared about on Concord, let her linger. Wake from a nightmare, and you feel relief. Wake from a pleasant dream, and you feel regret. The way you are now—you’ll wake up feeling nothing at all.”

You looked at me, silent, as the ice began to encase you. “Leave me, then. Let me spend my last moments thinking of what little happiness Concord threw at my feet. Let me dream of Alice.” You glanced away before looking at me once more. “Miriam. One last question. Are you amongst the four hundred?”

“Me? No. I’m just a lab tech. It takes great fame—or money—to land a spot on the arks.”

“No? I see. Thank you. Forgive me for being a little cranky. You did nothing wrong—I’m just so, so tired.” You closed your eyes, and the fluid rose to submerge you, slowly turning to a tomb of milky ice. That was that—both you and Alice, put to cold sleep, ready for your next voyage.

I stepped out of the cryogenic chamber and took the lift down from Egret, Oracle in tow.

“Miriam,” Oracle said, orbiting my head and hanging still before me. “I must ask you a favour.”

“A favour? Wait—before that, what did Evie say earlier, about us wanting to save ourselves?”

“Will you help me if I answer?”

“Uh… sure.”

Oracle paused, his sigil flashing for a moment, the sun behind him casting an orange halo. “Your… Leiblich solution, as it was called—it investigated two entangled twins. That is, two humans born from identical zygotes fed and incubated under identical conditions. You observed that they behaved similarly—not of one mind, but similar enough that one seemed almost a spiritual successor to the other.”

“Yes, somewhat. It was not that they behaved identically. Rather, it seemed that the universe was predestined to make them trace the same path. Not like boats steering towards each other on the ocean, but two boats on separate rivers—and as you know, all rivers run to the sea.” I blushed, embarrassed that I had to resort to such unscientific language. The phenomenon had just been too unbelievable.

“I told the humans that they too could move from one vessel to another by leaving clones on the arks. I told them they would wake up on their new planet.”

“What?” It took me a moment to understand. “But the embryos on the arks were made from cells in their bodies. We took hair samples and extracted the required genetic material. That in itself is insufficient. It doesn’t meet the second condition for entangled twins.”

“Yes. Which is?”

“The incubator,” I said, trying to remember. “Even if the resulting embryo were atom to atom identical to what they were in their mothers’ wombs—which is unlikely—they were fed in those very same wombs. The incubators can never replicate those conditions—they have their own, consistent stock. The new embryo would be raised as a visually identical but different person.” I scratched my head. “Like two identical eggs, but one boiled in a pan, and the other…” How many ways are there to boil an egg?

“Steamed, perhaps?” Oracle suggested, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Right—essentially, the environment matters just as much as the seed. The Leiblich twins came from lab embryos, identical to the atom, incubated in identical stock. The disparity makes entanglement impossible, and thus the self will not transfer at all. The arks save humanity, not humans.”

“Do you think humans would have agreed to build an ark, knowing this?”

I stared at him, the pieces falling into place. “You sold them a lie?”

“For a small price.”

“But… why? There is value in saving our species, even if it means leaving us to burn.” The stench of death made me dizzy. “I’m helping, aren’t I? The mechanics, the lab assistants; none of our genes are aboard the arks.”

“It was not you we had to convince. It was those with the power to order you to build Egret,” Oracle said, glaring at me. “They would never have agreed to defund the war machine unless it meant saving themselves and their families.”

I lowered myself and sat on the grass, looking up at Egret before me. “It was a good lie,” I admitted. “Only the dead will know the truth—that there was no saving us. We knew this, but I suppose your idea gave us a sliver of hope.”

“You brought this fate upon yourselves. Building the arks is how you atone, even if your people do so only out of greed.”

I looked up at him, afraid, but also with respect. “So? What was that favour you needed? It’s the least I can do for you after hearing the truth.”

I saw him hesitate for the first time. It was cute, almost. “There is still space on each ark for one more embryo each. I have two that I need you to include in the seed.”

“Two more? I can do that, but there isn’t much time.”

“Follow me,” he beeped. We crossed the grass to Mobius and boarded it, walked through tight corridors lined with coolant pipes and wiring and entered a small claustrophobic room. It held nothing but a small metal pillar, waist-high, with a tube latched onto it. Pale light illuminated it from below. It held a grey clump immersed in fluid.

“What is that?” I asked.

“Copies of Alice. It was far too risky to generate just one. There are enough embryos in this clump to visit every planet in the universe several times over.”

The clump lay still and dead, but it was a seed—no, a hive of spores, each a spring of life. Each, identical down to the atom.

“The incubators aboard the arks are configured to fill with identical stock each time—the same formulation we used to incubate our ark pilots back home. Incubating these on an ark will, without doubt, generate a twin entangled to Alice, wherever she may be.” He floated over to an inconspicuous drawer and turned towards me, his sigil glowing expectantly. I opened it—inside lay a single hair. “This is from Evie,” he said. “She sheds sometimes.”

Sheds? Tactless! “And you preserved her hair?”

“It wasn’t easy bringing it here, being limbless, but yes. She, unlike Alice, came from the first seed. We kept no copies. Still, I would like you to include Evie aboard Mobius, and Alice aboard Egret. Also, half of Alice’s seed, in case Egret’s Oracle needs it.”

I stared at him. “You saved a spot on both for them?”

“Having a spare is always safer. There must always be a Progenitor. After Alice retired, Evie took up the mantle.”

“Why not put both Evies on Mobius, and likewise with Alice and Egret?”

He turned away. “You specialise in biology. Surely you understand that mixing them is safer. Twins they may be, but while Evie could wield a sword, Alice was hopeless at it. Your Leiblich experiment only lasted a short while, but on the scales immortals operate on, the differences begin to show. They trace the same path, yes—but they are not identical. We would do well to have one of each aboard.”

“Really?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. “Are you sure you aren’t feeling a little sympathy for them, separated by half the universe?”

“I… do sympathise with them, yes. Though they will not remember their time on Concord, I have no reason to keep them apart.”

I pulled him out of the air and into a tight hug, stroking him. “You’re adorable, you know that?” This time, he did not resist.