The New World

Pyramid

"Dad, can you hear me?"

Clara and her mother sat in front of the glowing terminal in the semi-darkness of their cubicle. The first sound they heard was a gasp, a sign that Clara's late father was reacting, which sent a shiver down Clara's spine. Then imprecise syllables, like the stammering of a reanimated patient emerging from a long period of lethargy. Words began to form, expressing the perpetual dream from which he was being awakened. Lazaro's image began to appear in the terminal's hologram. At first blurred, a nebula of imprecise outlines, then sharper and sharper. Finally, they recognized his face, framed by raven-black hair, eyes lazily opening.

"Clara, is that you, darling?", yawned Lazaro.

"Hello, Daddy."

Two years earlier, the sad news had arrived. After 6 months in a deep coma, as a result of the gas he had inhaled during the police raid on the Bronix Boulevard apartment, Lazaro Chavez had finally died.

"Our brother Lazaro has unfortunately been torn from this life," announced an obsequious priest.

Ah, if only that night he hadn't gone up to those damned rebels. At the time, and ever since her parents' divorce, Clara had spent most weekends at her father's house. He worked as a technician at West Net and Clara, then sixteen, was studying art.

"In His great goodness, God has softened your misfortune by allowing our brother's mind to survive in the Holy Refuge," the priest added. The cremation was witnessed only by Clara, her mother and a priest, as the affair had never been made public, and several friends did not wish to compromise themselves.

The rite of the Holy Congregation was celebrated in this small gathering. The priest removed Lazaro's Spirit Pearl from the pile of ashes. Then he carefully inserted it into a cartridge. After many prayers and liturgical signs, he sent the cartridge through the Pyramid's pneumatic circuits and assigned it a slot to connect to the Network. On Judgment Day, Lazaro, who had lived a blameless life, would return from the dead to find his Spirit Pearl and live again for eternity.

Clara was able to log on to see him, as she had done during her coma. At first, it was every day and in direct thought through her terminal, to be more present. She was happy to see her father, to talk to him, to have the impression of touching him, of smelling him. He always appeared dressed in the mauve outfit of a radio antenna repairman, his first job. And his peaceful smile. He stood in the position of someone about to shake hands. This was the look he'd given himself when he'd last been transferred to a coma, and he'd never change it now. He'd keep it for eternity.

"Clara, Clara," Lazaro murmured, making the girl shiver.

"We came with Mum," Clara continued. We..., we need to talk to you.

Clara's parents had been separated since childhood, but Zoe had been devastated by the terrible accident that had claimed the life of her ex-husband and daughter's father. Despite their differences of opinion -- me, the Good Believer, Zoe the "miscreant", as he himself put it - which had been the main cause of their separation, Zoe still had affection for the strict but tender man who had been her companion for so many years. His sudden loss had been a lasting trauma for her daughter.

Now living full-time with her mother, she continued her art studies in Empire City. But life was difficult. The meager salary earned by her mother, a social worker at the immigration agency, plus the monthly allowance paid as compensation for Lazaro's death, were insufficient. Clara had found a job as a waitress. The low pay, the whims of disgruntled customers, the greasy fumes and bitter remarks of the restaurant owner had quickly dampened her initial motivation. Several customers, less interested in the contents of their plate than in Clara, willingly offered to supplement her pay.