"Wow." For an instant, even her own death seemed unimportant. Relatively unimportant, anyway.
So thinking, she cycled back again into sleep. And fell down into the darkness, into the noisy clamor of her mind.
It was hellish. The city was gone, replaced by a matrix of noise: hammerings, clatterings, sudden crashes. She started forward and walked into an upright steel pipe. Staggering back, she stumbled into another. An engine started up somewhere nearby, and gigantic gears meshed noisily, grinding something that gave off a metal shriek. The floor shook underfoot. Lizzie decided it was wisest to stay put.
A familiar presence, permeated with despair. "Why did you do this to me?"
"What have I done?"
"I used to be everything."
Something nearby began pounding like a pile-driver. It was giving her a headache. She had to shout to be heard over its din. "You're still something!"
Quietly. "I'm nothing."
"That's ... not true! You're ... here! You exist! That's ... something!"
A world-encompassing sadness. "False comfort. What a pointless thing to offer."
She was conscious again.
Consuelo was saying something. "...isn't going to like it."
"The spiritual wellness professionals back home all agree that this is the best possible course of action for her."
"Oh, please!"
Alan had to be the most anal-retentive person Lizzie knew. Consuelo was definitely the most phlegmatic. Things had to be running pretty tense for both of them to be bickering like this. "Um ... guys?" Lizzie said. "I'm awake."
There was a moment's silence, not unlike those her parents had shared when she was little and she'd wandered into one of their arguments. Then Consuelo said, a little too brightly, "Hey, it's good to have you back," and Alan said, "NAFTASA wants you to speak with someone. Hold on. I've got a recording of her first transmission cued up and ready for you."
A woman's voice came online. _"This is Dr. Alma Rosenblum. Elizabeth, I'd like to talk with you about how you're feeling. I appreciate that the time delay between Earth and Titan is going to make our conversation a little awkward at first, but I'm confident that the two of us can work through it."_
"What kind of crap is this?" Lizzie said angrily. "Who is this woman?"
"NAFTASA thought it would help if you -- "
"She's a grief counselor, isn't she?"
"Technically, she's a transition therapist." Alan said.
"Look, I don't buy into any of that touchy-feely Newage" -- she deliberately mispronounced the word to rhyme with sewage -- "stuff. Anyway, what's the hurry? You guys haven't given up on me, have you?"
"Uh..."
"You've been asleep for hours," Consuelo said. "We've done a little weather modeling in your absence. Maybe we should share it with you."
She squirted the info to Lizzie's suit, and Lizzie scrolled it up on her visor. A primitive simulation showed the evaporation lake beneath her with an overlay of liquid temperatures. It was only a few degrees warmer than the air above it, but that was enough to create a massive updraft from the lake's center. An overlay of tiny blue arrows showed the direction of local microcurrents of air coming together to form a spiraling shaft that rose over two kilometers above the surface before breaking and spilling westward.
A new overlay put a small blinking light 800 meters above the lake surface. That represented her. Tiny red arrows showed her projected drift.
According to this, she would go around and around in a circle over the lake for approximately forever. Her ballooning rig wasn't designed to go high enough for the winds to blow her back over the land. Her suit wasn't designed to float. Even if she managed to bring herself down for a gentle landing, once she hit the lake she was going to sink like a stone. She wouldn't drown. But she wouldn't make it to shore either.
Which meant that she was going to die.
Involuntarily, tears welled up in Lizzie's eyes. She tried to blink them away, as angry at the humiliation of crying at a time like this as she was at the stupidity of her death itself. "Damn it, don't let me die like _this!_ Not from my own incompetence, for pity's sake!"
"Nobody's said anything about incompetence," Alan began soothingly.
In that instant, the follow-up message from Dr. Alma Rosenblum arrived from Earth. _"Yes, I'm a grief counselor, Elizabeth. You're facing an emotionally significant milestone in your life, and it's important that you understand and embrace it. That's my job. To help you comprehend the significance and necessity and -- yes -- even the beauty of death."_
"Private channel please!" Lizzie took several deep cleansing breaths to calm herself. Then, more reasonably, she said, "Alan, I'm a _Catholic,_ okay? If I'm going to die, I don't want a grief counselor, I want a goddamned priest." Abruptly, she yawned. "Oh, fuck. Not again." She yawned twice more. "A priest, understand? Wake me up when he's online."
Then she again was standing at the bottom of her mind, in the blank expanse of where the drowned city had been. Though she could see nothing, she felt certain that she stood at the center of a vast, featureless plain, one so large she could walk across it forever and never arrive anywhere. She sensed that she was in the aftermath of a great struggle. Or maybe it was just a lull.
A great, tense silence surrounded her.
"Hello?" she said. The word echoed soundlessly, absence upon absence.
At last that gentle voice said, "You seem different."
"I'm going to die," Lizzie said. "Knowing that changes a person." The ground was covered with soft ash, as if from an enormous conflagration. She didn't want to think about what it was that had burned. The smell of it filled her nostrils.
"Death. We understand this concept."
"Do you?"
"We have understood it for a long time."
"Have you?"
"Ever since you brought it to us."
"Me?"
"You brought us the concept of individuality. It is the same thing."
Awareness dawned. "Culture shock! That's what all this is about, isn't it? You didn't know there could be more than one sentient being in existence. You didn't know you lived at the bottom of an ocean on a small world inside a Universe with billions of galaxies. I brought you more information than you could swallow in one bite, and now you're choking on it."
Mournfully: "Choking. What a grotesque concept."
"Wake up, Lizzie!"
She woke up. "I think I'm getting somewhere," she said. Then she laughed.
"O'Brien," Alan said carefully. "Why did you just laugh?"
"Because I'm not getting anywhere, am I? I'm becalmed here, going around and around in a very slow circle. And I'm down to my last" -- she checked -- "twenty hours of oxygen. And nobody's going to rescue me. And I'm going to die. But other than that, I'm making terrific progress."
"O'Brien, you're..."
"I'm okay, Alan. A little frazzled. Maybe a bit too emotionally honest. But under the circumstances, I think that's permitted, don't you?"
"Lizzie, we have your priest. His name is Father Laferrier. The Archdiocese of Montreal arranged a hookup for him."
"Montreal? Why Montreal? No, don't explain -- more NAFTASA politics, right?"
"Actually, my brother-in-law is a Catholic, and I asked him who was good."
She was silent for a touch. "I'm sorry, Alan. I don't know what got into me."
"You've been under a lot of pressure. Here. I've got him on tape."
_"Hello, Ms. O'Brien, I'm Father Laferrier. I've talked with the officials here, and they've promised that you and I can talk privately, and that they won't record what's said. So if you want to make your confession now, I'm ready for you."_