A small boy marches in procession, footfalls synchronized to the throbbing drums. His voice is lost among the others, their deep rhythmic chant fading into the night. Sunrise hits the sky like an igniting inferno, as vermilion dances with crimson, gold and turmeric. The song hastens, and so does their pace. Rounding the final bend of the mossy trail, the mausoleum entrance comes into full view; an intricate circle of standing stones marks the location of a sloping tunnel. His guts twist in fear as they pass underground, this lasts only a moment though, as he is surrounded by the safety of his family: parents, siblings, and cousins both close and distant. The chant echoes on the dense stone walls of the tunnel. Down, down, down he descends. The air here is frigid but not stale, unlike the natural caves explored by successive generations of children on long summer evenings.
The echo changes. He enters a large domed chamber, along its perimeter are thirty archways leading to the crypts. The mausoleum is shaped like a spindled wheel, something seen only in school books about ancient Earth. Between each arch is a casket, colder than ice, nearly as cold as space itself. These are the most important and influential ancestors he knows, resting in the dome is the highest honour. As he walks the perimeter he counts… thirteen, fourteen, at the fifteenth casket he kneels to untie the package he carries. With quaking hands he lights a cone of incense, and neatly arrange his offering with the others, hoping it pleases.
The dark ceiling comes alive with stars. On and on the chanting continues as the journey of the family from Earth outward is traced on the sky-map above. Holograms of the ancestors began to materialize, walking through the flesh and blood family like phantoms. Dizzy and short of breath, he hallucinates himself floating on the dense clouds of incense smoke. The room fills up with bodies, he is almost unable to tell the ghosts from the corporeal. His head spins faster and faster as they appear and pass through him; with each encounter he is drained, as if each apparition carries off a piece of him. As the song reaches its climax the phantoms recede.
The Matriarch stands on a platform in the centre of the room. She raises a hand for attention, pressing the song into silence. “My children, today on the 21st centennial of our arrival upon this humble world. We gather to honour those that came before us. We stand here, among some of history’s greatest individuals: the builder of the Venusian floating cities, the inventor of true cryogenic stasis, the first interstellar pilot and so many others.” She gestures in a wide arc for emphasis. “Be proud my children, we come from the greatest scientists and artists; engineers and architects the Milky Way has ever known. We carry some of each of them within us, and as such the potential for greatness like no other bloodline. One day you may choose to join them here. We have learned from the records of their great deeds, and the time has come once again to learn from them in the flesh.”
A soft hum fills the chamber. His heart threatens to burst from excitement. He has met ancestors before. There are many awake and living on the grounds, and still others have visited from distant star systems and far off adventures; but there has not been a centennial yet in his lifetime. Now there would be a gathering unlike anything he has seen.
The Matriarch descends the central platform, her slight limp reminding her family she may soon join the ancestors in the catacombs. The crowd parts for her, clearing her path to the grandest sarcophagus: the resting place of the first Matriarch. Taller than the rest, it gleams even in the dim light; a perfect barrel of opal inlaid with gold. She stands before it, reaching out her hand and laying it on the control panel. Her lips move as if whispering, but he cannot hear beyond the throaty hum. With reverence she removes her hand, leaving its afterimage aglow on the panel. “It is done.”
The thunderous applause of the gathered family is deafening. Faster than his swimming mind can follow, the Matriarch is lifted onto her palanquin. Family members clad in white robes press forward to encircle each casket; the others fall back to the entrance, like a tide falling away from shore. Hypnotized and intoxicated, he fights the human current for a glance of the awakened immortals. Sensing his intent, he is picked up by strong arms and placed on his uncle’s back. As they ascend from the mausoleum he is already dozing, dreaming of his promised birthright.
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