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Chapter 10

Avatars are drawn to the Lifebooks of those long dead. It makes sense that we wish to feel connected to our progenitors, but, for most avatars, the Lifebooks are more display piece and curiosity than window into the past. If we could understand this drive, maybe we could figure out why so many of us strive to find the first Lifebook.

Night seeped across the sky like ink wicking into paper. It started at the edge of the horizon as a dark gray that soon deepened to purple as it devoured the daytime blue-green. White stars sparkled around the silvery sheen of the asteroid belt. He'd always loved the astroglow from the belt. It looked like a waterfall cascading across the sky. A streetlamp buzzed to life nearby, pulling Val back down to Pocalypse. He shook himself and reached up to straighten his fedora, but his fingers found only the strands of his hair. The hat was back in the LEIT, along with his kerchief and trench. Sighing, he ran his hands over his dark blue vest and checked the silver badge pinned to it: Lifebook Collection Avatar. Dark black pants, a long-sleeved gray shirt, a shoulder bag, and a stun baton at his belt completed the outfit. He missed his trench coat, but the vest wasn't too bad.

Avatars jostled him on the sidewalk, and ratphs fluttered around the streetlights, casting billowy shadows over the many colorful heads. Val heard the bugs' bodies bounce against the hot bulbs and wanted to turn and watch them again, but he pinched his leg instead and kept walking. He was already pushing the time for his visit; LiCA's rarely took on night raids. He sped up and soon turned down a dark side street that smelled faintly of urine and rot. His throat clenched in a gag, but he held it in and navigated through the crowd.

Within a few paces, his shoes rolled over bits of crumbling duristone from the walls on either side. Left neglected, the rain had entered the cracks, eroding the facades away. Dozens of feet crunched over plastics and pyrus until the sound filled his head. He wanted to plug his ears, but he didn't.

Light tumbled out from an archway onto the street. Brick and mortar columns stood crumbling on either side of what used to be a gated entry. The gate itself was long gone, but the rusted iron arch overhead read: Pennway Station West. A figure lay slumped against the column just outside the light. The avatar's chin rested on his chest, which rose and fell in a regular rhythm. As Val drew near the entry, he saw the man's head tilt ever so slightly. Val ignored the man and kept walking, smoothing his vest as he passed under the arch- with a small group of avatars.

The gate and pathway beyond were both wide enough for a small cargo transport to pass through. The duristone roadway, although cracked, was clear of debris and lit from above by a row of lamps perched along the top edge of the wall. Four of the bulbs sat dark and dormant in their sconces, but the rest were sterile white and bright. Val counted twenty-two lights, including the four burnt bulbs. Five of the lamp housings were missing large chunks of the ceramic covers. Three bent holders. About six feet between each lamp. Seven-foot walls on either side, no doors...

An avatar walking in the opposite direction stumbled into him. Val's gaze snapped to her, searching the woman's face. Misty-green hair trailed down her back in a nest of tangles. Her yellow eyes leveled at him slowly, like sticky turntables forced about their axis. She kept balling her hands in the frayed hem of her light blue shirt and then pulling them out to place them at her sides, only to slide them back up to her shirt again. Her eyes pinched into a glare as she looked at him.

"What do you wa-want?" She threw the words at him like a shield as she backed away.

He put his hands out to his sides and smiled. "Nothing, I just thought I recognized you. I'm sorry." He turned to go, but she was suddenly clutching at his arm, tears streaming down her face.

"Do-do you kn-know who I am? Can you t-tell me who I am? P-please."

Her grip nearly cut off the circulation in his arm, so he put a hand carefully around her wrist and dragged her hand away. "No, I'm sorry. I was mistaken. I don't know who you are."