Earth, Abigail is 20, Sophie is 22

Against every instinct in my body I have made the momentous, stupendous trip to Sophie’s home planet, the Earth. I would have been far more hesitant to do this if not for the fact that I am accompanying Sophie to a funeral; that of Louise, her colleague at the Science Institution. Like many things in Sophie’s past, Louise is a bit of a mystery to me. I know she took Sophie in after her mother died. I know that she advocated for Sophie to be the one to test the teleport watch. But Sophie hasn’t mentioned her since before she joined the Alliance, has supposedly not been visiting her. It’s hard to know whether to be concerned that this figure who should loom large in Sophie’s life seems to have faded out of it so easily. I know it’s not reasonable to compare Sophie’s experience with family to my own. No matter how much Sophie and I are to each other, I can’t reach in and understand what it means to have lost both parents so young, to be shaped by death the way she has been. I can’t blame her for the disconnect she might feel from strong emotions and attachment to parental figures in her life. And now Louise has died.

When Sophie informs me of the funeral, she says “I at least owe her to go,” and my thoughts bristle. I realise that she has more complicated feelings about Louise than she wants to let on. But I don’t push the topic, it hardly seems fair. I’ve seen firsthand how Sophie shuts down when she is experiencing grief. I wish I knew the right way to comfort her. In any case, going to the funeral feels like the least I can do as Sophie’s partner. We discuss our options for travel and decide the teleport watch is, in this situation, the appropriate transport.

Earth is… unpleasant. The sky is a glaring blue, and the air carries the sting of pollution. I’m told that other places on the planet are different, but Sophie’s home city is a cold, crowded mass of towering brutalist architecture. It could not be further from the comfort and freedom of my own home town. I find myself looking at Sophie, realising I am gaining crucial insight into her complete disinterest in her home planet; I can’t imagine anyone feeling at home here.

The funeral takes place in the Science Institution, which feels horrifically impersonal. Sophie explains to me that Louise was poor, and in the absence of other funeral arrangements it’s not uncommon for a person’s place of work to take responsibility for an employee’s death. I don’t say anything that I am thinking; about how alien it is to me to not have funerals as part of a community, that it sounds like on Earth a job owns a person, that I wish I had never visited the Earth, and the worst thought of all - Sophie, why didn’t you help Louise? Why did you leave her to die all alone with nothing except her job to care after she is gone? I know that that is horrible, but I can’t not think it.

Sophie is solemn throughout the small event. Within the Science Insitution, a small room has had Louise’s remains - condensed material from her body within a device of some kind - displayed alongside a faded datalog with impersonal, scientific even, information about Louise, the scientist, the researcher, the mentor. Sophie introduces me to a stray ex-colleague here and there, but not many people attend the funeral anyhow. We find out that Louise’s lodging has already been given to someone new at the workplace. I continue to feel disquieted with everything I learn about this so-called institution, which does not appear to be anything special, but is instead dreary, overly complicated, devoid of enthusiasm or even scientific curiosity. This, the place that developed the teleport watch? That sent Sophie out wide-eyed into the universe? It makes no sense.

I think Sophie had wanted to visit Louise’s apartment, to say goodbye in some small way, but it appears that is not feasible. Instead she gets permission to escort me to the records room, where she worked as Louise’s assistant, prior to her research expedition. It is clinical, all cabinets and digifiles. Some equipment appears to be adjusted to the height of a wheelchair. I watch Sophie’s face carefully, desperate for some emotion in her to comfort, but still not even knowing how to approach the topic. This has been easier than the last funeral we went to together, but also she is somehow more distant to me now than then - perhaps it’s the lack of shared grief. I am nothing but an outsider here on Earth, in the Science Institution, in this room with Sophie.

“Rachel said I should visit whenever I’m here.” Sophie says eventually, voice a little strained.

“Do you want to go now?” I ask gently, refusing to assume a thing about her wants and needs today. She nods mutedly and we leave the Science Institution behind. Good riddance.

I slip my hand into hers as we slowly make our way down the street. We are like any other couple in the universe, I tell myself, supporting each other, in love, carefree. Okay, I’m trying too hard to construct a narrative, but still, in spite of the circumstances there is something comforting about being here with her, about blending into a crowd on a planet that couldn’t care less about us. Occasionally I circle the skin of Sophie’s hand with my thumb and she responds in kind, reassuring me that she’s still in there somewhere.

The transports on Sophie’s world are abhorrent, but it isn’t long before we are on what is supposedly the block where Rachel and her housemate, Adrian, live in an apartment. The sheer mass of identical dwellings overwhelms my senses. Before we can enter any building Sophie stops abruptly, crouches down and places her head in her hands, shaking violently. This is so unlike her that for a moment I completely fail to react. Then I am down on the floor with her, encircling her with my arms, murmuring whatever comforts I can summon to my lips.

She is muttering, “No, no, no, no, no.” I am so scared for her, and unsure of the cause of this, now. Of course grief is rarely predictable, but I get the sense there’s something deeper going on.

Bit by bit, Sophie is coaxed out of her crouching position. She wordlessly lets me lead her out of the way of foot traffic and sit her down as comfortably as is possible in this world of concrete.

For a long time there is silence, and then she surprises me by speaking.

“I found out Louise was sick after I started working for the Alliance.” Sophie begins slowly, looking blankly ahead. “I knew she wouldn’t be able to afford the healthcare she needed, and I for once in my life had money that I didn’t need, so I went to her and told her I would pay for it.” she pauses for a second. “She refused. We fought about it. So finally she told me…”

“Yeah?” I say, thinking of Sophie all those years ago, aching for that young girl fighting to prevent the death of someone she cared about and being rebuffed.

Sophie can only tell things at her own pace. She can’t have anything cajoled out of her. It’s something that is endlessly frustrating. It’s also something I love about her. Everything she has told me about her life has been a secret I have earned. Maybe that’s not the healthiest way to think about it but this has been precious to me.

Eventually Sophie shakes her head and continues. “She knew how to find my siblings the whole time. From the moment I stepped foot into the Science Institution when I was thirteen years old. But she chose not to tell me, because she needed help with her research. Because she didn’t want me to be distracted from anything we were doing. She could’ve told me when Aldred died but she didn’t. She only told me when we had reached multiple dead ends with the search for the expedition, and she thought it would help motivate me to keep trying. And it did.”

I am floored. I never met Louise, and now I have been gifted an image of someone vile and selfish and callous. I think of the smiling woman from the datalog, appearing harmless, tired. Sophie has been keeping this secret for years?

“So she regretted it.” I say finally. “She didn’t feel like she deserved to take your money.”

Sophie’s shoulders slump. “I told her I didn’t care about that, or at least, that it wouldn’t stop me from paying. But she still wouldn’t let me. I should've tried harder. I shouldn't have let her push me away.” Her voice breaks and her face returns to her hands.

I am paralysed for a long time, completely heartbroken for her, until the small sound of her voice breaks through; "You must think I'm horrible."

I snap out of it and try to peel her hands off of her face. "Sophie, no! Of course not. You didn't do anything wrong."

Sophie, who never cries, is sobbing in earnest now, clinging onto me but it's as if she can't hear me, can't see me, as if I am simply an object to keep her afloat. I am at a loss, and can do nothing but simply hold her as she weeps, wishing ardently to be able to do something, anything, to fix this.