The Ferryman
“But then again, Norah thought, Perhaps the report he issued was just a lie.”
By Laura J. Campbell
Norah Obolidae’s hearse-ship, the Ben Nu, could hold up to thirty bodies. He had already picked up twenty-six bodies from other locations when he arrived at the recently terra-formed planet Thiar.
The original transmission from the morgue on Thiar informed him that there were three bodies to pick up. Then Hawthorne ‘Hath’ Blue’s wife contacted him, saying that Hath had died at their remote homestead.
Did the ferryman have space for one more?
Norah’s hearse-ship was moderate in size, powered by a modified ramjet converter engine and featured an ultra-cold morgue chamber designed for storing the bodies during transport. The Ben Nu also featured upgraded living quarters, a few small spare rooms that could be modified as needed, a bridge, and defensive weapons. Sometimes pirates would target hearse-ships, looking to plunder grave goods from the bodies.
Norah did not know why Earthlings, even Earthlings transplanted on the space colonies, sometimes liked to bury their dead with expensive rings and trinkets, but they did. He did not appreciate being made an attractive target.
Norah was not a natural born human. He was a hybrid being. His core contained metallic scaffolding, which supported the regenerating biological tissue. He had a mind, an electromagnetic system incorporating neurons and supportive tissue. He could learn and remember; he could recall everything he had ever seen or heard. Norah had studied most of the galaxy’s religions and considered himself a good man.
He attended the internment of all the bodies he transported. It seemed empty to him to just drop them off and leave. Somebody should pay the dead their final respects.
Norah landed and secured the Ben Nu on the ship-pad at the Blue homestead on Thiar. Mrs. Blue, a woman named Laurel, was already waiting for him.
Laurel Blue was petite, with cornflower blue eyes, marigold-colored hair, and a slight green tinge to her skin. The green tinge was common on Thiar. Scientists said it had something to do with the aggressive plant life thriving on the planet being in a symbiotic equilibrium with the animals, including humans, living on the new planet’s surface.
“You look like an undertaker,” she said as he approached.
Norah was muscular and his skin had a brick-red undertone. His hair was long and black, his eyes were also black, although some said they could see some hint of green in his irises. He wore a black duster, long enough that it reached the heels of his black boots.
“I look like one because I am one,” he replied. He looked around. “This place still has that new planet smell.”
Thiar was magnificent; it was covered with sweeping prairies, deep freshwater lakes, and mountain ranges capped with snow.
“It’s nice enough,” Laurel noted. “This is a young terra-form, in the final stage of settling. The ecological systems are equilibrating. That is why we can’t bury anyone here. The Company is concerned that human remains may interfere with the final set. The Company does not want its investment unraveled by dead people.”
“Regnas does as Regnas wants,” Norah replied, knowing that Laurel meant Regnas Corporation when she said the Company. “Paying for the dead to be carried away is much more expensive than sticking them in the ground. But le protocole est le protocole.”
“That translates to good business for you,” she pointed out. “You’re the only hearse-ship in this quadrant.”
“Not many people want to run around in deep space with a ship full of dead people,” he explained. “I do not mind. Dead people are quiet passengers. Mostly.”
“Thank you for agreeing to pick up one more,” Laurel said, as she ushered him into her home. The log-cabin dwelling had a high ceiling, about fifteen feet tall, featuring thick wooden beams. There was a large stone fireplace, and the walls featured triple-paned windows framed with intricately woven Damask curtains. Beautiful rustic furniture and colorful rugs decorated the Blue abode. The house itself smelled like pine trees and wildflower prairie air. She closed the door.
Hawthorne Blue’s body lay in the middle of the room, on a long dining room table, wrapped in woven wool blankets. Hath’s body did not smell bad, owing to Laurel inserting bundles of sage and eucalyptus in the folds of the blankets.
“I didn’t think I would be calling for your services,” she said softly. “Hath was ill, but I expected him to recover.”
“What were his final symptoms?” Norah asked, as he pulled up Hath’s old medical records, sent over by the Planet’s Company Administrator. Norah liked to finish all the paperwork before he left the planet.
“He was vomiting, complained of stomach pains, and he said his left arm was numb. He assured me he had just over-exerted himself working on a fence around the flower beds. That there was nothing to worry about.”
“Hawthorne had a history of heart problems,” Norah noted, consulting his tablet. “He opted for meds as opposed to surgery. Was he taking his meds?”
“Religiously,” she handed him a tablet, displaying their Colonist’s Log.
Norah looked at the notes Laurel had entered in the log, maintained on a shared database, and designed to keep Regnas updated on terraform development.
“You did the infectious disease scan on him and found no evidence of underlying contagious disease,” Norah noted from his entries. “That will make Regnas happy. I charge Regnas extra to transport those who may harbor a pathogen. I do not see any physician visit entries. Not even for his last illness.”
“We never saw a doctor,” Laurel answered. “There are only a few doctors on-planet. They all live in Town.”
“Ah,” Norah noted. “Town. The Company named the central city here ‘Town.’ Because they were extra imaginative the day they named it. I transmit the death certificates to the Office of Vital Statistics in Town.”
“Fancy names don’t mean much on a new terraform,” Laurel noted. “Have you ever been on a first-wave colonization planet before this one?”
“I have been to terraforms even newer than this. I have been to places where the atmosphere is still under development. Sometimes people forget they cannot breathe there yet. They succumb to toxic atmospheres. Then someone will call me. Do not worry about this place, though. Thiar will be a wonderful place to live, you mark my words.” He got back to business. “So, there is no doctor’s death certificate for Hath?”
“Hath said he didn’t need to see a doctor. Hath wouldn’t have followed the doctor’s orders, anyway. He didn’t trust them. Hence, he opted for meds and not surgery for his heart. He told me that when he died, he did not want ‘one of those quacks’ poking and prodding his body. He wanted me to call the ferryman, to guide him over to the other side in peace. So, I called you. You can do the autopsy, can’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am. You can trust me to do a respectable job.”
“We respect the hard work you do,” Laurel mentioned. “You have a thankless job.”
“You work hard, too. I saw animals on the property. And substantial crops,” Norah noted.
“The work is good,” she replied. “The burden is light.”
Norah scanned Hath’s body, noting the temperature and estimating a time of death. “This farm is more than a handful for two people.”
“Hath tended the animals,” Laurel said. “Tending the plants is my job. They say that they will send me a helper, now that Hath is dead. An android to help with the crops. Do androids have green thumbs, Mr. Norah?”
“Some might. Though you have beautiful flowers. You are enough.” he replied comfortingly. He looked outside of the window closest to him. Laurel had planted imported Earth flowers of every color around the house. Her porch was surrounded by white azaleas, yellow daffodils, orange marigolds, red roses, purple pansies, blue cornflowers, green Bells of Ireland, and black hellebore. Sage, peppermint, rosemary, and basil grew in window boxes around the house.
“We do what we can to make it pretty and comfortable. The Company provided this house, a generous plot of land, and an energy wall that keeps the wolves at bay.”
“Ah, the wolves. I have picked up a few colonists from here killed by wolves.”
“The company put wolves here intentionally,” Laurel replied. “They are part of the ecosystem. The environment needs apex predators. Wolves, hawks, bears, mountain lions. They cause trouble, on occasion.”
“You seem the type to keep out of trouble,” Norah said. The Blues’ lifestyle seemed the kind that would keep them healthy. He was looking for factors that might have contributed to Hawthorne’s sudden death. “Do you do any gas mining?”
“No gas mining. One day I want to have a lavender field, but we need a loan for that. It’s classified as a luxury crop. The bankers won’t give us the loan yet. Hath says it is a matter of Company politics. I love flowers, Mr. Norah. We didn’t have any flowers on Earth. There was no space there for us to grow anything there. If I entered a flower shop, the security guards looked at me suspiciously. But I liked to look and smell. Flowers are so decadent and luxurious.”
“Do you miss Earth?”
“We hated living on Earth. It was so stale and barren. A weed managed to grow in-between the cracks of the concrete in my housing project. All us tenants watered and loved on that little thing. It might even still be there. Have you ever been to Earth, Mr. Norah?”
“No, ma’am,” he replied. “We hybrid beings are not very welcome on Earth. They are suspicious of us there. They think we hybrids will unite and take over or some such nonsense. I am from Enceladus. Enceladus is a beautiful place. I am happy to be from there. My awareness date is May 22. I try to visit Enceladus every May 22 to celebrate.”
“You’re a Gemini,” Laurel smiled. “Emeralds are the May birthstone. I see a little green in your eyes. Like dark emeralds. They say Enceladus has emerald-colored ice lakes. And that Enceladus is still cold, even generations after the terraform. Of course, it’s a Herschel Project colony, not Regnas. Herschel keeps things a little more natural.”
“Being a hybrid, I don’t feel the cold so much,” he replied. “When is your birthdate?” He asked as he examined Hath’s body for any signs of obvious trauma, finding none.
“January 6,” Laurel replied. “I’m a Capricorn. They say Capricorns are good with plants.”
“That seems very evident from your garden,” Norah noted.
“Our farm sells fresh produce and wool to the nearby colonies,” Laurel continued. “We also manage a sorghum field and cranberry bog in a co-op with some of our neighbors. Regnas takes its percentage off the top of each sale. Hath and I about break even every season.”
A tuxedo-colored cat walked up to Norah, rubbing his calves with her nose. Norah reached down and patted the cat. The cat purred loudly, then sat at his feet.
“Duck likes you,” Laurel observed. “Duck only likes really good people.”
“You named your cat ‘Duck?’”
“A cat named Duck, and I also have a white feathered duck named Cat,” she answered. “The duck thinks it is a cat. The cat thinks it’s human.”
“A duck named Cat, and a cat named Duck,” Norah said. “That’s pretty funny.”
“You do what you can to keep a sense of humor out here,” Laurel replied. “Regnas sure doesn’t issue that to you.”
“I do not suppose that they do. That might cost them extra. Not meaning any offense, of course.”
“Hath and I aren’t Regnas employees,” Laurel smiled. “So, you can say whatever you want about them around me. We’re independent contractors. You are not wearing any Regnas badge, I notice.”
“I work for myself, too,” Norah confirmed. “How long has Hath been dead?” He was estimating forty-eight hours.
“Two days. Before he died, he told me to contact you if he didn’t make it. It took me a full day to accept that he had really died.”
Outside, Norah heard a vehicle arrive. “Are you expecting company?”
Laurel looked out of the window and sighed. “The Regnas Company Man from Town. I figured he would show up eventually.”
She opened the door before the man knocked, inviting in a tall thin man wearing a starched white shirt and denim jeans.
“Hello, Mr. Nilrin,” she greeted.
“Now, Laurel, you know we are on a first-name basis,” Nilrin replied. “Even in front of your company.”
He extended a hand towards Norah. “I am Ketryn Nilrin,” he greeted. “Regnas Corporation Terra Form Officer, Chief, Level 3. I saw your ship’s registration when you landed.”
“Just here collecting my silent crew,” Norah replied.
Nilrin looked at Hawthorne’s body. “We didn’t even know that Hath had passed until you added his name to your manifest. Glad to see Laurel called the ferryman, though. No attempting a forbidden burial.” Nilrin’s badge identified his name and title: TFOC. People of his rank were commonly referred to as FOCers by the general colony populations. FOCers, at the end of a terraform, were notorious for getting little done and taking their sweet time doing it. Someone had to have kicked Nilrin in the seat of his pants to get him out of his office and to the Blue homestead.
“Norah Obolidae,” Norah introduced himself. “Hearse driver. Sometime mortician. Sometime coroner. Sometimes funeral officiator.”
“When life is over, just call Norah,” Ketryn laughed. It didn’t really rhyme, but Ketryn amused himself.
“What brings a Level 3 Chief Terra Form Officer out here?” Norah asked. “This is just a routine body pick-up. A duty that is way below your pay grade.”
“Hath didn’t see a Town doctor for his final illness,” Nilrin said. “That features a procedural issue.”
“Hath didn’t like doctors,” Laurel reminded Ketryn.
“You know the rules, Laurel,” Ketryn replied. “We need an autopsy now. Before the ferryman takes the body away. Sounds like we’re in luck, though⸺Mr. Norah has the credentials to do the job. I checked his licenses.”
Duck stood up and sniffed Ketryn. Ketryn reached out to the cat, but Duck hissed and ran away. “I’ve never liked cats,” he said. “They’ve never liked me. I’m more of a dog man. I love hearing those big dogs howling in the mountains. I’ll miss that when I’m reassigned.”
“You mean the wolves howling?” Norah asked.
“Big ole doggoes,” Ketryn smiled.
“One of the bodies I just loaded from this planet may have a different attitude,” Norah observed. “His cause of Death: Wolf attack.”
“Everyone here knows the rules,” Ketryn observed. “You take on the risk of a wolf attack, that’s on you. So, can you do Hath’s autopsy here?”
“I have sufficient facilities on my ship,” Norah replied.
“And I trust a machine like you to do an honest job.” Ketryn grinned. “I hear that hybrids don’t lie. I think that lying is a human attribute. Machines may make mistakes, but that is when we feed them bad data. Garbage in, garbage out, right, Mr. Norah?”
“I’ll get my gurney to transport Mr. Blue to my ship,” Norah replied, heading back to the Ben Nu.
“An immediate autopsy? The ferryman can do that on his way to the burying place.” Laurel asked Ketryn, once Norah was out of earshot. “Hath had a heart attack, Ketryn.”
“How are your profits looking, Laurel?” Ketryn asked, looking around the well-kept house.
“There’s nothing to be concerned about.”
“Really?” Ketryn asked. “Your lackluster profits don’t concern you?”
“Profits? Let me remind you, Mr. Nilrin, Hath and I were living in squalor on Earth,” Laurel replied. “A four-hundred-square-foot apartment where we smelled everything and about every one of our neighbors. Fifteen-hour shifts in manufacturing, making parts for things we would never be able to afford to buy. This place, by contrast, is paradise. Hath got to breathe fresh air here to his dying day. Profits were not the primary motivator for our electing to come here.”
“But you could do with a boost to the bottom line?”
“What do you mean by that?” Laurel asked.
“Hath had just increased his life insurance policy. Lots of credit coming your way now that he is dead. More than you need. Plus, the company is issuing you an android as part of the death benefits to help with the work around here. So, no loss of manpower, only loss of the man.”
“What are you insinuating?” Laurel asked, horrified.
“A man drops dead in the middle of nowhere, and the spouse stands to profit handsomely,” Ketryn said. “Regnas wants an autopsy performed before it pays out the policy. Just in case of foul play.”
“Are you suggesting that I killed my husband?”
“I’ve seen harsher things done for less money,” Ketryn replied.
“You son-of-a-bitch,” Laurel seethed. “You cannot be reassigned off this planet fast enough for me. I hope they send you to the most miserable project Regnas has ever conceived.”
***
A few hours later, Laurel entered the hearse-ship with some trepidation. Norah took her back to the morgue room. The room was sterile, and equipped with clean stainless-steel fixtures and soft blue lighting.
Norah instructed Laurel to sit at a small table and placed a glass of water in front of her. She could see her husband’s body through a nearby glass window. A basket containing her and Hath’s clothing and dishes from the house was meticulously organized on a table near the body. Ketryn had sent them over for analysis. He had also forwarded copies of the Blues’ Independent Contractor Contract, their life insurance policy folder, and copies of their recent financials.
Hawthorne’s body was carefully re-wrapped in the blankets and herbs Laurel had used. “Thank you for making him look okay again,” she said.
She nervously sipped the water, looking around. “This place is very cold,” she observed.
“The morgue area needs to be cold for the bodies and the equipment. Like I said, being a hybrid, I do not feel the cold so much. There is a blanket on the chair next to you if you need it.”
“Have you ever seen a ghost on board?” Laurel asked, wrapping the blanket around herself.
“I would like to,” Norah replied. “Hybrids do not report seeing many spirits. It seems like dead natural borns like to hang around only other natural borns. Not with us.”
“I had hoped death was more accepting of all types. People includes hybrids, as far as I am concerned.” She paused. “Maybe you need a cat.”
“A cat?”
“Cats can sense spirits. Maybe there are spirits here and you just can’t see them. Cats are good luck on ships, anyway. You should get a cat.”
“Maybe I should. If I do, I will name her Duck.” Norah promised. “But for now, please forgive me, I have some distasteful things to discuss. Tell me about you and Hath. Were you getting along okay?”
The table she sat at was specially designed to detect changes in her pulse, her temperature, her blood pressure, and her breathing. Cameras mounted on the walls captured every movement of her eyes, her lips, and her hands. Norah had all the data directly routed to the electronic components of his mind. He would instantly be able to tell if she was lying or telling the truth.
Laurel looked at her husband’s corpse. “We were both happy to be off Earth. Happy to be here. Happy to breathe real air, and drink fresh water. To go outside and see butterflies in the daytime and lightning bugs in the nighttime. You don’t see butterflies or lightning bugs on Earth. The pesticides have killed them all. Our marriage was a comfortable routine, but we were content. We kept busy. We laughed. Now it will be me and an android. Those things are all machine. Nothing biological about them. Do they even pretend to laugh?”
“Every android I have worked with has been very pleasant and very effective,” Norah comforted her. “A word of advice, though: androids will mirror you. So, when you are around them, be sure to be the person you want them to be.”
“That sounds very human to me,” Laurel said, seeming satisfied with that answer. She looked at Hawthorne as she spoke, as if hoping to see his chest begin to move again with the rhythm of breathing. Hoping that she could tell the hearse-driver to go away because she didn’t need his services anymore.
“Tell me about his final illness,” Norah prodded.
“He got nauseous. He was vomiting. He complained of numb arms, especially his left arm. There were some blisters in his mouth. I did everything I could to keep him hydrated and comfortable. I tried to talk him into calling for a doctor, but he refused.”
“I detected the painkillers and antiemetics in his system,” Norah replied. “You followed the proper course of treatment. But that did not work.”
“He started to convulse. Then he died.”
“You ate all of your meals together?”
“Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Mealtime is something of a ritual when you are isolated like we are.” She looked at the dishes, guessing that they had been examined for any food-borne poison. “Ketryn is suggesting that I killed Hath. I did not kill him, Mr. Norah. I cannot prove that, but it is the truth.”
“The dishware didn’t show signs of any contaminants,” Norah assured her. “My equipment can detect mere molecules of any poison or pathogen, even after considerable cleaning efforts. Lucky for you, I have the most advanced detection equipment in the quadrant.”
“How can you even say lucky?” Laurel asked, tears welling up in her eyes. “I lost my husband — I can’t even visit his grave on this planet. I can’t go back to Earth. I would rather die than go back to Earth. And now Ketryn is implying that I murdered my Hath? What am I supposed to do?”
“People just get suspicious when they see the insurance money,” Norah soothed. “I read the policy. The policy is in keeping with Regnas regulations, even if Hath had both of your lives insured for significantly more than needed. The insurance company is looking for a reason not to pay.”
“I’m not concerned about the money,” Laurel replied. “I wish I could bury Hath here, so I could visit him.”
“Regnas waits fifty years after terraform set before allowing colony burials,” Norah reminded her. “That is the rule. You knew that when you joined as a first-wave colonist.”
“But he will be buried, not cremated, right?” she asked. “One of the reasons we left Earth is we wanted to be buried. They turn every one to ashes on Earth.”
Norah noted that Laurel did not want Hath cremated. If she had killed him, she would be inclined to want the body destroyed, not available for later exhumation. She was more concerned with respecting his wishes than hiding any evidence that might incriminate her.
“He’ll be buried,” Norah reassured her. “On a nearby moon.”
“Do they bury hybrids?” Laurel asked, trying to distract herself from her pain. “Hybrids eventually age out, just like natural borns do.”
“When I cease operating, I will be interred in a crypt on Enceladus,” Norah answered. “I want to go home when my time is done.”
“Hath was my home.” Laurel said, “I would never kill him. Why did he have to die?”
“People die, love does not,” Norah comforted.
“I didn’t kill him,” Laurel reiterated. “I love him.”
“I have determined that homicide was not the cause of Hath’s passing. You did not kill him.”
“You can make the determination that quickly?” Laurel asked.
“I am an efficient being,” he reminded her. “I have analyzed your reactions, both conscious and unconscious, to my questions. My report will reflect that you had no hand in your husband’s death.”
Laurel looked at Hath’s body. “He almost looks like he is sleeping. I haven’t come to terms with his death yet. I don’t know if I ever will.”
“Do you want a moment with him before I leave?” Norah asked. “I’m planning to depart in a few hours.”
“Hath departed two days ago,” Laurel replied, resignation in her eyes. “I have had those two days with Hath’s shell, Mr. Norah. He needs to find peace now. Enduring peace. Please take him to it.”
***
The Ben Nu launched in the early evening, taking the silent crew to their final assignment.
The final autopsy report stated that Hawthorn Blue had died of a heart attack.
Norah knew more than his report revealed. The copies of the Blues’ Independent Contractor Contracts with Regnas and their recent financial statements, sent to Norah by Ketryn, had painted a grim fiscal picture.
Norah learned what Ketryn and Hath had known; the Blue homestead finances were significantly worse than Laurel suspected. The Blues were not just failing to make a reasonable profit; the Blues were mired in deep losses. They were in danger of having their contract terminated and being sent back to Earth.
Hath, Norah reasoned, was not about to let that happen.
Hath’s clothing from the day he died was covered in microscopic plant cells, acquired when Hath harvested what he needed from the flower garden: traces of white azalea, yellow daffodil, orange marigold, red rose, purple pansy, blue cornflower, green Bells of Ireland, and black hellebore stuck to the fibers of Hath’s clothing. Under Hath’s fingernails, Norah found plant material, and in Hath’s stomach, remnants of the same plant.
Black Hellebore. Helleborus niger. Norah’s data files educated him about that plant. It had a black rose-like flower. And the entire plant was poisonous, thanks to a phototoxin named robin, which interfered with protein synthesis in the gut. Symptoms of its poisoning included vomiting, coldness in the arms, and cardiac arrest.
From his examination, Norah concluded that Hawthorne Blue had committed suicide, rather than see Laurel and him back to the misery they had known on Earth. Hath’s own garden had been his weapon of opportunity.
The life insurance would not pay out if Hath had committed suicide, no more than it would if he died by homicide. So Hath made sure that he died at home, instructing Laurel to call for Norah, not a Company doctor in Town, reasoning that Norah would show up and take Hath’s body away before the usually lethargic Company Man arrived to ask any questions.
Norah had weighed the options when he authored his report.
Maybe it wasn’t suicide, Norah suggested to himself. Maybe Hath was so distracted by his financial situation that he accidentally ingested the plant material.
Regardless, it was better that Laurel remain on Thiar, Norah concluded. Earth is no place for a Capricorn with a green thumb. The android helper would know what to do to turn things around. Laurel would succeed and return the expected profits. There would be no termination of her contract. She will get her field of lavender.
But then again, Norah thought, Perhaps the report he issued was just a lie.
He smiled to himself.
What had Nilrin said: That to lie was a human trait?
Well, Norah though, Norah was more human than Nilrin realized.
Norah was more than just a human; Norah Obolidae was a good man.
