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The Delight of Death

The rush was indescribable, in Alex’s opinion there was nothing like it. It wasn’t a chemically induced high or a sexual feeling, it was something entirely different but somehow more satisfying. It was a kind of brilliant shining euphoria that set up domino rallies of joy explosions in his brain. But it wasn’t exactly a high, it was like being at home, in bed, safe and warm but Alex was nowhere near his bed or his home. He was ill. Incredibly, wonderfully, deadly ill and miles from home.

Suddenly someone intruded on his pleasure.

“How do you feel?” asked the blurred figure.

Alex did his best to describe how he felt. How everything had suddenly become soft edged, like he was living everything through a blanket, and the high he felt, filling with happiness until he was sure he was about to burst.

“You know you are dying?” asked the figure.

Yes, Alex knew he was dying but it was going to be an adventure, a pleasurable experience, something wonderful and above all safe. It was going to be better than anything he had ever done before, it was the only thing he had never done. Alex’s life was a good and full one.

Alex lived in a golden age. Humanity had spread out into the galaxy like a virus, infecting every habitable planet it came to but had discovered nothing. No more intelligent life. Plenty of plants but nothing of more than insectile order that could be could be called life. Ships brought thousands of colonists to pristine, virgin worlds and those worlds were forever polluted, but a change began to overtake those who left the homeworld. Apathy began to set in and the realisation that humanity was alone in the universe. Space was no longer the new world to be explored, one part of the galaxy looks much like another, people became introverted and wanted to concentrate on their little part of the galaxy. It wasn’t selfishness, it was mere self-interest, as if the whole human race had become weary of life itself. The major miracles had had been explained by science, the minor miracles were seldom worth explanation, most people were satisfied that there was no god and there was nothing else left to explain. Colonies drifted along without contact with Earth for decades. Space travel became a rarely used anachronism, no further exploration was carried out. The galaxy slept like the sleeping princess in her tower, waiting for a prince to wake her.

On Earth there were no class based societies, no poor, no homeless. Everyone had everything they needed because perfect co-operation had been achieved. There was no war because there was no reason to fight, as war was found to be primarily based on greed and envy. No language barriers existed and people had found that listening was often easier than talking anyway. The weather was controlled so that everywhere had just the right amount of sun and rain, winter was as short as it could be safely made. Perfection had possibly been attained.

No one was upset by this. Each person could do as they pleased, have as little or as much adventure in their lives as they wished. If a person wished to work they could find a job but if they would rather not work then there was no reason for them to do so. Everyone had the right to do as they wished, to have everything as they wanted and live in any way they chose. Life was good, this was, after all, utopia.
Except that society had begun to stagnate. It had been predicted but no one really noticed or seemed to care when it began to happen. There were hardly any scientists left to chart the decay of civilisation and those scientists which were left were concerned with something else, they were concentrating on the one problem left to human kind. Death.

Alex had lived his life in this world lazily, among friends. He was a poet who had considered himself lucky to live in such pure and carefree times. The only interruption to the pleasure he was now experiencing was when he remembered that he would achieve nothing by his life, all he left behind were some badly written poems and a few bastard children. His children were long grown up and parents themselves, although he could never have called himself a parent to his children, he was only their father in the biological sense. He regretted that, and he regretted his poetry, and not placing his mark on humanity more substantially. Alex died at that instant. He died knowing that his death was the only gift he had given his race.
The blurred figure that Alex had seen was taking notes from monitors that read his vital signs and she took down the time of death calmly.

“Five minutes past eight,” said Jenny and turned to four other white coated men and women. They stood around his bed like four angelic sentinels ready to bear his soul away, their faces unmoving.

“If any of you are disturbed by this death, you may leave now to speak with one of the institute councillors. Death can be difficult for those who are not used to this phenomenon,” said Jenny. She looked back at the flickering monitors that were old and failed regularly, but parts were scarce to repair them.

“How old was he?” asked a man.

“Three hundred and thirty eight,” replied Jenny, barely glancing up.

One woman closed her eyes, shook her head and left the room. He was only a young man, she thought, not even four hundred yet. What had they done here?

Jenny finally turned to face the group. She stood in front of the other three, two men and a woman, and realised that, although the experiment had been a success, her team of scientists wished to hear reassurances from her.

“Know that he died well and happy, as we predicted. We have his own words to prove that. This has been a great step forward in our art.”

“Our art?” said the woman, letting out a bark of mocking laughter. “You call this art?” she said indicating the dead Alex.

“Our art is science,” replied Jenny. “I call this release.”

The woman looked as if she might argue the point but one of the men held up a silencing hand. “Marta, we all knew what we were trying to achieve and we have done it. Why do you question it now?”

“And you don’t question it now, Evan? We have just killed a man who may have lived for longer.” She turned the question back to him. Now he was obliged to answer.

“Death is the last unknown for man, the final adventure – there is nothing more left for us to explore. Or it is the last great evil, it occurs rarely, after a long life, so it is all the more shocking to us that any person should suffer pain when they die when all their life they have only known happiness.”

“He was only young still!” said Marta.

“He has this right, ever since the Euthanasia Act. He may die when he wishes,” said Jenny. “Thanks is due to this substance that he may die in pleasure,” Jenny picked up the vial of virus which had killed Alex so swiftly and beautifully. “You are quiet, Richard, what do you say to what we have done?”

“I want to be the next person to be infected,” said the second man who had been silent all this time. Marta laughed harshly again.

“What?” asked Evan. “You have a purpose in life, this is for those for whom life is no longer important. You have a purpose,” he repeated.

“I no longer have a purpose,” replied Richard.

“Very well,” said Jenny. “This team’s purpose is over now that we have developed the virus and it has been tested.”

“This team’s purpose was not to kill those for whom life had become unimportant, it was to provide a pleasant death for those who were terminally ill,” said Marta. “Do you think anyone in this age can really be said to have a purpose in life?”

“People will queue up outside our doors to die this way,” said Evan. “We are pruning the human race of those who would hold us back; we need to progress.”

“Ah,” Jenny breathed, “you are the Anti-stagnation Theorist spy that I knew to be present on this team. A ridiculous way of thinking, outdated. Change is evil. Death is evil. We are only making it a sweeter pill to swallow.” Her eyes sparkled with fiery depths as she calmly walked to the door of the laboratory and locked it. In one quick movement she took a tiny pin from her coat pocket and pressed it into Evan’s unsuspecting skin.

Evan died. This he had not foreseen.

“What have you done?” cried Marta.

“What needed to be done,” said Jenny. “Even he is not radical enough to carry out the plan I have in mind.”

“Will you kill me next?” Marta bridled. “Or Richard? Are we also not radical enough for you.”

“Richard will say nothing because he wishes to die. You are not an Anti-stagnation Theorist but you joined this project, you must wish to gain some advantage from it.” Jenny stared at Marta but did not move towards her. “Clear away the two bodies.”

“You expect me to keep quiet about this? What are you seeking from this incident?”

“Evan was correct in many respects. People will want to die from this virus but their deaths will be expensive. Life may be cheap but a good death will cost them more than they know. We cannot manufacture enough of the virus to meet the demand of a bored population, we will have to dilute it to make it go further. The death will take longer and the pleasure will not be so great. There will be some people who are immune to the virus, they will not die but take the diluted virus with them into society. They will spread the virus like a plague, polluting all those whom they taint with their contact. People will die, slowly, not even knowing that they are unwell. People who do not want to die will die with those who do, and there will be some who wish to die by the virus but cannot. And I will have power over them all.”

“You are a Revolutionist. You want the Fall!” Marta exclaimed and finally saw the plan of their project leader.

“You made a perceptive comment when you asked if any human in this age really has a purpose. Our purpose is to survive and to survive we must not stagnate. I am, as you said, a Revolutionist. I believe the human race cannot evolve now it has reached this state. The Fall must come now!” With her final exclamation, Jenny dropped the vial in her hand which shattered into tiny crystal shards of light and liquid on the floor.

“What have you done?” said Marta. “We will all die.”

“You will die,” said Jenny, “I am immune.”

Marta collapsed to the floor. She died in unexpected happiness.

“It would appear that I am also immune,” said Richard. “Did you have to kill the other two?” he asked.

“They would never have allowed us to carry out the plan once they realised what was happening. I gave them a chance to leave but they did not take it and I could not be more open.”

“We are doing the right thing,” stated Richard, as if he himself needed convincing.

“I will report an accident,” said Jenny. “Then we will announce that the virus is ready for use.” Richard nodded and went to unlock the door.

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