Lydia was tense as she stepped onto the ship that would take them into space. Despite all the projects she had co?created that were directly connected to cosmic research, she had never actually been beyond Earth. She wanted nothing more than to have the entire journey behind her already — the travel, the examinations, the connection to the machines inside the Cylinder she was headed to. At the clinic, they had already assigned her a specific diet and medication, and checked the overall condition of her body and mind.

  She agreed that artificial intelligence should reconstruct her past in virtual reality based on her memories and data. Some people didn’t want to relive their lives. For them, an entirely new version of memories was created — a world where nothing bad ever happened. The systems were designed so that every decision turned out right. Even if someone chose differently than in real life, everything always ended well. There was no way to lose this game. There was always a happy ending.

  The journey required wearing suits, and she noticed that other elderly passengers had already gathered. Everyone had to arrive alone — farewells with family and loved ones had to happen beforehand. Lydia reached instinctively for her necklace, feeling the cool stone under her fingers. She still remembered begging her granddaughter never to part with it. She knew it might be impossible, but she wanted to take it with her, so she decided to smuggle it in. The androids operating the ship and the station weren’t perfect, and she knew she could keep this one thing with her.

  “Hello, Lydia. My name is Sara. Do you need help boarding?” A humanoid robot with a feminine silhouette approached her with smooth, unnaturally perfect grace. She had gray hair tied in a bun and unnaturally blue eyes glowing softly.

  “Yes, please take me to my seat. Will the journey be long?”

  “If you need support, lean on me. I’m happy to assist,” Sara replied. “The journey will take 11 hours and 17 minutes.”

  “Hm… I thought it was supposed to be eight hours.”

  “Due to cosmic conditions, the Cylinder has shifted its position,” the robot explained.

  “Sara… could you stay with me during the flight?” Lydia asked.

  “I would love to. I’m assigned to you as your caretaker, but during the flight we are disconnected for safety reasons,” she answered. “There is a designated crew onboard who will ensure your comfort.”

  “So we’ll see each other only once we arrive?”

  “Yes, exactly. I’ll be there as soon as we land.”

  The robot helped Lydia to her seat and then headed toward the cargo bay where humanoids were stored during the flight. Lydia was assisted by other robots throughout the journey. Her seat was comfortable, and once they entered space, she took the opportunity to unbuckle and float in zero gravity. She felt so light she burst into laughter. She wasn’t the only one — soon the entire cabin was filled with laughing elderly passengers drifting freely.

  She floated toward an older man and nodded to him. He smiled, sensing her presence, and waved.

  “Our last little whim,” he said, turning toward her with pale, almost white eyes.

  “You know, I feel light because the best part is still ahead of me,” she said cheerfully. “Soon I’ll see the best memories of my life again. I’ll talk to people who are gone but were dear to me.”

  “I would never want to relive any of it,” the old man admitted, attempting a clumsy somersault. “My life was so hard that every memory of it makes my head spin.”

  “So you chose virtual reality? I’m curious — how did you decide who you want to be and what you want to do?” Lydia asked. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

  “I didn’t choose anything. I’m going there to die peacefully, without memories, without any reality. I want to close my eyes and end it. You’re going with hope. Mine died long ago.”

  “I’m truly sorry… I don’t know what happened to you, but wouldn’t it be better to die with your mind full of positive feelings?”

  “Believe me, the world has hurt me so deeply that all I want is to disappear… and death is nothing to fear. When it comes, we’re no longer there — so there is no pain, no loss.”

  “What happened in your life, if I may ask?” Lydia studied his face with curiosity. Only now did she notice he was likely blind — his eyes covered by a blue haze, his face marked with deep wrinkles. She hadn’t seen wrinkles like that in years. People usually cared for their skin so it wouldn’t age.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “I’m a research volunteer. I gave myself to science. It wasn’t easy,” he said. “I never used any medical enhancements. My body aged the way it was designed to. I didn’t take supplements. I lived only by the work of my hands. I was a farmer on the western coast. For years we struggled with a lack of drinking water before the mixture was invented. The first mixtures caused terrible nausea and dizziness, but we had no choice. My wife died in a factory accident 85 years ago. Soon after, my son and daughter…” — his voice broke — “they also died from illnesses caused by testing the new mixtures.” “I was left completely alone. And now I will die as the Gods intended — naturally. I don’t lie to myself. The doctors predicted my end in 12 to 15 days. I want to stay conscious until then. I’ll be connected to machines that will study my physical and mental death. They didn’t let me die on Sirion…” he added with sorrow.

  “My wife was everything I had,” he continued after a moment, as if gathering strength. “She was warmth in a world that kept growing colder. She held our family together while I worked from dawn to dusk. When she died… something inside me shattered. Not just my heart. My purpose.”

  “And the children…” His voice trembled, his hands clenched. “They were my pride. My light. My son had a laugh that could brighten the worst day. My daughter was stubborn like me, but her heart was her mother’s. When the illness took them both…” — he paused, fighting for breath — “…it was as if someone extinguished every star in the sky. From that moment on, I lived only out of duty. Not love. Because love… left with them.”

  “That’s why I don’t want memories,” he whispered. “Every one of them hurts as if it happened yesterday. And I no longer have the strength to love someone I can’t get back.”

  Lydia had heard of volunteers who sacrificed themselves for science, but never of an experiment like this. She was shaken by his story. She didn’t understand why he chose such a path. He spoke of not lying to himself — but was it really wrong to choose comfort in one’s final days instead of pain and truth? She preferred illusions over cruelty. She wasn’t afraid of the end because she wouldn’t even feel it.

  But then another thought struck her: if one has only a single life, shouldn’t it be lived consciously until the very last moment?

  She realized how many days she had spent in artificial environments, without sunlight, wind, or sea. Without nature and its richness. She had spent her life buried in technical problems, hidden inside synthetic realities.

  And only now, listening to the old man, she felt something she hadn’t felt in years — longing. Not for a place, but for people. For conversations that weren’t data analysis. For the touch of a hand that wasn’t part of a medical examination. For closeness she had never allowed herself, always being “too busy.”

  Suddenly she understood that her entire life had been an experiment — not scientific, but emotional. A constant postponing of people. A constant choosing of work over relationships. And now, with only a handful of days left, she had no one left to hold, no one to confess her fear to, no one to say goodbye to.

  She pushed those thoughts away and looked at the old man.

  “Thank you for sharing your story with me. I’m truly sorry. May your energy remain in balance,” she said shyly. A moment later she felt the old man press his hand into hers and hold it gently. She squeezed back, just as softly, and they stayed like that in silence for a long moment. Then he thanked her and drifted away in another direction.

  Lydia felt the unease return. What did it matter that her mind would wander through some virtual world, if her body would no longer allow her to live? This was the end. The realization hit her with full force. She wanted so badly to accept it — or at least stop thinking about it — yet something inside her rose in protest.

  For the first time in her life, she understood something terrifyingly simple: she wasn’t afraid of death. She was afraid that she had never truly lived.

  After about an hour of free?floating, the androids operating the ship began gathering the passengers and guiding them back to their assigned seats. It was almost time for the meal. The food was served in hermetically sealed containers with straws to prevent crumbs, droplets, or floating bits from drifting into the equipment or obstructing breathing.

  Lydia requested a music session — she could feel how much the conversation with the old man had drained her energy.

  The rest of the journey passed smoothly, and before she realized it, she was disembarking with Sara, the humanoid assigned to her. From now on, Sara would be her only companion — until the very end.

  Sara assisted Lydia with all the procedures required to prepare her for the capsule in which she would spend her final moments. Connected to machines that would maintain her basic life functions and monitored by the robot, Lydia would wander through cyberspace.

  Suddenly, she remembered her grandmother’s words. It startled her — she hadn’t thought of her in years. Her grandmother used to say that the world was made of positive and negative energy. If you belonged to one of them, that was where your soul would go after death. Lydia wondered whether her soul would drift toward the positive… and whether the old man’s grief?filled soul would become her opposite. Or perhaps energy was measured in deeds, not in attitude? The more good one had done, the more honestly one had lived — the more one deserved to exist as light?

  There was no time left for doubts.

  Lydia slipped Roza’s necklace beneath the capsule’s lining, near the bend of her knee, so it would stay with her without causing discomfort. Sara observed the action but detected no anomaly and had no protocol for such a situation, so she simply continued her tasks.

  “In a moment I will connect you to all systems, Lydia. Is there anything you’d like to say, share, or ask? Can I do anything for you?”

  “No, thank you, Sara. I’m ready.” Lydia realized these were her last words. She lay down in the capsule with a quiet sigh. A moment later, drowsiness washed over her. When she opened her eyes again, she was in a bright bedroom, and through the wide open shutters she saw endless fields of yellow sunflowers bathed in the most beautiful sunlight she had ever seen.

  With the last trace of awareness, she realized something was wrong. These were not her memories.

  And yet, enchanted and trusting, she let herself sink into this world.