Eschaton 1 – The Other End of Time

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Patrice

Once you've dug a grave you need to fill it back up again. Patrice knew that. But, as the first scoops of dirt plopped onto Patsy's body, she could hardly bear to look, much less to take part in the work. For the first time she understood why people bothered to box their dead in coffins before they laid them away. The coffins weren't to protect the deceased. They were there for the sake of the witnesses, to spare them the sight and sound of clods falling on a face that was once as alive as their own.

But as each successive shovelful of dirt fell on Patsy's body the shape at the bottom of the hole looked less like a human person and more like some random lump of anonymous earth; and, grimly, Patrice picked up a scoop and took her place with the others.

That earned her a grateful look from Jimmy Lin. "Thanks," he said, and then paused to look back at where Martin and Rosaleen were sorting over the guns. Dopey was returning in the arms of one of die Docs. Jimmy looked at Patrice again, this time pleading. "Listen, you can finish without me, can't you? Because I'd really like to check those weapons out-"

"Go ahead," she said. And beside her, Pat saw the expression on Dannerman's face and added:

"You too, Dan. We'll be all right."

The funny thing was, Patrice thought as the men hurried to join the others, that Pat actually did seem to be all right. She wasn't weeping. She didn't even look particularly unhappy. She was frowning slightly in concentration as she dealt with the task at hand, efficiently sliding her ancient scoop into the dwindling pile of dirt, methodically dropping the clods in place to fill the lowest parts of the rising layers of dirt.

It was a good example to follow. Patrice followed it. It was easier refilling the grave than digging it had been, and then, when it was all in, and they had scraped all the loose dirt possible off the ground, there was a small mound to mark the burial place. Patrice knelt to pat it smooth. She was so absorbed in her task it was a surprise to hear Pat's voice. "Patrice? That's good enough. I'm going to clean up a little."

Another good example to follow, and Patrice followed it. But then, as they knelt beside the stream, she looked over at the others. "Then we'd better see what's going on," she offered. " "Sure," Pat said absently, scrubbing at her hands. The water was cold, and the clayey soil sticky; the dirt didn't want to come off. Then she paused, looking over at Patrice. "Listen. You're not sore at me, are you?"

"About what?" Patrice was honestly baffled for a moment, then clarity came. "Oh, you mean about you making out with Dan-Dan? No, of course not."

Pat didn't seem satisfied with the answer. She was looking at the gravesite. She sighed. "Easy for you to say, maybe," she said. "It might not be so easy for Patsy. She was the one that got killed." Then, just before she plunged her face into the water, she added, "You know what I'm wondering? I wonder if there's any truth to this idea of everybody meeting everybody again at the eschaton. Because if there is Dan and I might have some explaining to do."

is Patrice rinsed the tearstains off her own face she considered what Pat had said. Could it be true that some sort of high-tech heaven was waiting for all of them? For herself, for Patsy-for all of the Pats, including the one on Earth? And for Husbands One and Two (and what would that reunion be like?), and for feckless, ill-tempered Mick Jarvas and all the other people at the observatory, and even for Uncle Cubby, finally getting to see what his heirs had done with his money? Not to mention Hitler and Stalin and Napoleon and everybody else, all the way back to Tiglath-Pilesar and Nebuchadnezzar… and Dopey, too, in fact all the Dopeys there had ever been, as well as all the other myriad extraterrestrials in this astonishingly populated universe, wherever found.

She couldn't imagine it. Would Patsy in fact be ticked off at being allowed to get killed? Would it be like the wronged dead of the old superstitions, coming back as ghosts to haunt those who had harmed them in life? Only these wouldn't be the sort of ghosts that contented themselves with dripping blood from an unseen wound, or shrieking pitifully in the night. These would be real-at least as real as she would be herself, in this fantastic rising-up time in the remote future.

She lifted her face from the water and stopped herself short. No! It wouldn't be like that at all. If they did see Patsy again, it would be that same Patsy who was themselves. Who knew everything about them and forgave all, just as they forgave themselves-and, for the things that weren't really forgivable, simply accepted them and got on with it.

She laughed out loud and stood up, startling Pat who was drying her face with the hem of her shirt. "No," she said, "if it's all true you won't have to explain. It'll be all right."