As I lifted my eyes from the tracking app, I saw my next customer. She was just outside, near a group of rowdy people with colorful umbrellas, and still holding a briefcase that must have been important at that final moment.

She was dead, as expected, and her gaze seemed lost.

I got out of the service car and made my way through the crowd, to help her inside the back seat as best I could. The people side-eyed me at first, but when they saw my dark attire and the black car, they just resigned themselves and dispersed, saying something about the death woman. The medical team of her insurance plan helped me carry her body to the back of my car, and made me sign a waiver, which I stamped with the company seal.

Although the equipment suite was cutting edge, the vehicle itself was old, so I had a few problems with the car part. Preposterous, given how much money the company made. I attached the cables to her standard neck port after two tries, buckled her body in with the seatbelt, placed the briefcase gently on her lap, and crisscrossed another seatbelt to keep it secured. Her clothes were soaked from the rain and steam, but the seats were synthetic leather, and there were little channels under the mats that redirected the excess water to the radiator, after demineralizing it.

I got back behind the wheel, angry. I’d had to postpone my union mandated break for this. The client’s plan was top level, it seemed, since they’d paid me extra to drive all the way here, and the blinking display still showed me a bonus was in play if she gave me a good rating. I’d lost my place in the spicy noodle stall queue, though, so that was a bummer.

Resigned, I turned on the screens and initiated the protocol. I heard her body jolt with a shock in the back, even though I couldn’t see it because of the black plexiglass barrier, which unfortunately was needed for the clients that were not fully dead.

Her face appeared on the monitors, confused. She was a physically frail old woman, very light when we’d carried her, but her eyes were fierce even through the low-resolution screen, which projected her presence as if she were actually sitting in the back seat, alive.

“Greetings. My name is Perse. Nice to meet you, Agnes.” I greeted her with my company designated name, while still fiddling with the ignition. It was hard driving and doing this stuff at the same time.

“Uhm…. Hello, Perse. Where … where are we?” Her voice came through the speakers, faintly.

“We are on Nova Street, near the crossing from the World Monument Park. We regret to inform you that you passed away some minutes ago, but as an exclusive member of our subscription service, we will gladly help you to settle any affairs you had prior to this unfortunate event,” I recited the boilerplate Company Greeting.

The next part was always the most interesting one. Some clients were outraged, some sobbed uncontrollably, and some would even shut down, not speaking until their time was over.

She didn’t do any of that, however.

“Oh, I see. That’s a bummer.” She spoke quietly, the representation of her eyes on the green tinted monitor looking down, sheepishly.

“The system keeping your projected consciousness online offers up to two hours of awareness, and I’ll be happy to help you settle any requests that could feasibly be done within this allotted amount of time. Unfortunately, after this period the chemical processes degenerate rapidly, so we can’t sustain the service anymore. In the interest of time and your satisfaction, are there any urgent demands that I can solve for you, ma’am?” I asked her while I cut through the traffic on Parasol Lane.

“Can I see outside? It’s really dark in ... here.” She looked around.

I cursed silently, since I’d forgotten to turn on her viewports.

Is that better, ma’am? You should be able to see through the windows now, and even around the car, in all directions. If you find this solution too disorienting, we can switch to the alternate mode where you can see things through my eyes.”

“You can leave it as is, it’s different—I like it.” Her head now moved around in the monitor, looking in all directions.

“So, uh, any requests, ma’am? Any paperwork you need to sign, any goods to be delivered, any next of kin to contact?” I asked her again, more urgently, while I waited at the traffic light.

“In a bit. Let me enjoy the city lights for a bit. Quietly.”

We drove through the entirety of Parasol Lane, with its vibrant nightlife.

“What’s an au gratin oyster?” Agnes asked, puzzled by the seafood restaurant to our right, while we waited in traffic. Its daily special was written in chalk on a small board.

“I think it’s an oyster cooked with breadcrumbs or cheese on top? I’m not a seafood kind of girl,” I told her while honking the horn to the slow, ether-fueled car in front of us. The green, wispy smoke that came out of its exhaust clung to the windshield like moisture.

“Oysters should be eaten raw or not at all. Their taste is too rich to be mixed up with other stuff. Oysters taste like the ocean, or so I have been told. Never been to the coast.” Her voice quivered a bit, but it didn’t falter.

“Unfortunately, we don’t have time to reach the coast from where we are, but we can go to any restaurant that you like. The software can link my taste buds with yours, so if you want to have any kind of last meal, just tell me so, and I’ll be happy to oblige. “

I wasn’t a fan of this part. Some clients wanted to eat the vilest stuff and a lot of it, so I had to drink medicine to throw up the food and keep eating more and more.

“Not right now. Maybe later.” She looked down at where her briefcase was. Her physical eyes were not actually moving, of course, but it was hard to remember when the projection was so lifelike.

“No problem, Ma’am. Just say the word if you change your mind,” I said, feeling a bit better.

“You should just call me Agnes. I’m sick of ‘ma’am.’ Heard it enough in the army.” She frowned.

I glanced at her seemingly annoyed face on the monitor.

“Agnes it is. Did you serve? Where?” I asked her out of curiosity.

She closed her eyes for a moment, wrinkles of thought forming in her tinted face.

“I was deployed against the machines. The AiA, they were called? The ones that ended up building that city in the desert. Just for six months before the peace treaty. Talk about a particularly pointless endeavor.” The corner of her lips stretched just a bit. “Met my wife there, however. She was a florist.”

“A florist? What was a florist doing in the desert?” I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Wouldn’t you say that’s where a florist is most needed?” She smiled.

“You could say that indeed, Agnes,” I chuckled.

She looked pleased on the screen, and went silent for a minute.

“I guess we should start by delivering this suitcase. Can we drive to the post office, please?” Her voice was a little garbled with static.

“No problem. We are just around the corner from a delivery station. Whom should I send it to?” I asked her while doing the turn and stopping in front of the place.

“The address is already stamped. It’s ... fragile, so please be careful.” Her head was shaking a bit.

“Will do! Don’t worry, all costs regarding your experiences are fully covered by your plan, so I’ll send it in the best packaging with express delivery,” I told her as I stepped out of the car, opening the back door.

She was, of course, still dead.

I gently took the briefcase out of her cold hands, putting them on her lap. She had a wedding ring on, and her pinky finger was missing. Someone who could afford this kind of service could easily replace a lost finger, so I imagined she hadn’t for a special reason.

“How do I look?” The static on her voice had increased slightly, coming from the headphones I was wearing.

“Pretty dapper, considering.” She was dressed in a dark coat, with a wine-colored velvet shirt underneath and a pleated skirt, already dried up from the rain thanks to the conservatory environment of the back seat.

I closed the door and walked to the post office, where a fringe-haired woman with glasses greeted me with a painfully pretend smile.

It was obviously the uniform, I thought. The charcoal-colored tuxedo and ridiculous top hat probably didn’t elicit the most pleasant thoughts in people. I passed on the instructions Agnes had given me to the attendant, who smiled again and charged me for the delivery. Whatever was inside, it must be pretty special. With the advent of synthetic scanners and printers, it was probably cheaper to send something through the net than standard shipping.

Wasn’t my place to ask.

I got back to the car, where the image of Agnes on the monitor was starting to get a little faded. She perked up as I entered.

“Just to get the most important stuff out of the way, Agnes—any kin we need to contact? We are kinda approaching the halfway point, here,” I asked her as I turned on the ignition.

“Not really. Our children are all raised. I imagine they will find out, eventually. Don’t want to bother any of them.” She sighed, looking through the ghostly window.

“Noted. So, uh, what should we do now?”

Agnes went silent for a bit, her eyes looking down.

“Actually, can I make a call? If I call my daughter, would I be able to speak?” she asked, timidly.

“Yeah, no problem. Just tell me her link address, and I’ll connect you.”

“Oh, shoot, I don’t remember.” Her head went down, disappointed, and then rose up again quickly. “Wait, I think I have it in my pocket, could you check? Her name is Skye.”

“Absolutely, just give me a minute.” I got out of the car again.

“Don’t have many of those, I’m afraid,” she said in a very serious tone, and then burst out laughing nervously. I laughed with her as I checked her pockets, and there was a card for a Skye, painter. The paper looked cheap, and it was creased at the edges, but the link address was there.

“Got it, Agnes. Can I call her?” I asked as I got back inside the car.

“Give me a moment,” she said, breathing deeply.

So I did.

“Alright, you can call her. Audio only, please.” She adjusted her ghostly form on the seat and tidied up her hair.

I put the link address on the calling application, and the device lit up.

“Mother, is that you? Something happened?” Skye’s voice seemed both surprised and annoyed.

I hated to admit, but the part involving butting in on people’s lives was the only thing that kept me sane in this job, so I was always curious to hear these last words exchanged, wondering how mine would be if I ever could afford such a service.

“Hello dear, it’s me. Sorry to call you at such an unexpected hour.” Agnes’ voice was incredibly contained. Even I couldn’t tell she was just behind me, dead.

“It’s no problem. Are mom’s ashes with you?” Skye talked like she was walking down the street.

“I’m afraid not, darling. I’ve already packed her up and sent her to your sister’s house. Are you coming this weekend, for the funeral?” She leaned in a bit on the seat.

“I can’t, I had to take an extra shift at the café. Painting being a dead-end job, as you said.” She was panting now, probably crossing a street.

“Oh, I see. Do ... do you want to go? I can arrange your train ticket, if money is the only issue.” Agnes closed her eyes shut, bracing.

A long pause.

“Are you sure nothing happened? Weren’t you the one lecturing me about money when I dropped out of the Academy last year?” Skye spoke with anger and playfulness now, her voice always a two-sided affair.

“Yes, it was. I was angry.”

“Well, I’m sorry I couldn’t be a soldier like you and her.” Skye’s breathing seemed to cut off for a bit. “That was too harsh, I apologize. You still haven’t said why you called, however.” Skye spoke again with more playfulness in her voice.

“I ... was going to wait until the funeral, but I may as well tell you now. Before your mother passed, we talked about lending you the money for the private art school thing you were saving for. The one in Stella, I think it was?” Agnes’ voice was now sizzling with static, which to poor Skye on the other side would probably just sound like bad reception.

“Are ... are you sure? When did you two talk about that?”

“We were just waiting to see if you were serious about it. As long as you pay us ... me back, of course. I’m not a charity, you know.” Agnes smiled through the monitor, scan lines running through her face.

“That would mean so much to me. Can we talk more at the service? I don’t know what to say now.”

A minute of silence.

“There’s nothing left to be said, dear. I’ll see you there.” She nodded to me to end the call.

“Mom, wai—”

Agnes’ face was getting very distorted now, so I glanced at the monitor just above my dashboard. About half an hour left. My watch indicator was yellow, which she could also see.

“Just so as we are all squared away, dear. Could you give me a reading of all my funeral arrangements, per the contract?” She asked as she did the money transfers to Skye using the built-in financial plugin.

Our system was well-designed.

“Yeah, sure. Let me check.” I opened her file, checking for any outlier clauses that would make my job harder or easier, but couldn’t find any. “Body to be delivered to the Academy for removal of any old-generation, military grade implants, then cremated, then ashes spread in the same place as the spouse. Does that cover it?”

“It does.”

“Not sure about the ashes part. My job display just says to deliver the body.”

“The girls on the Academy will take care of the rest, don’t worry,” she reassured me in a calm tone.

“Sounds good to me. Let me ask you something. Were you really planning to lend her the money for the art thing?” I almost turned around to ask her. Old habits.

She laughed.

“I guess you will never know.”

“Alright, then. Where to now, Agnes?”

She sighed longingly, looking at the bright lights outside.

“Think we can still get one of those oysters?” She smiled at me.

“We can certainly try.” I smiled back.

I drove back to Parasol Lane, where there was a small line at the seafood Restaurant. One of the few perks of the car and the black suit was cutting in line when I had a job in progress, so I sat at one of the tables in the back, ordering the au gratin oyster plate and a bottle of expensive sparkling wine.

“Are you ready?” I asked her as the plate arrived, and I turned on the sensory sharing devices.

“Now or never,” she replied. I couldn’t see her face away from the car, but her voice was dripping with excitement. I stabbed one of the gratinated oysters with a fork, twisting it to grab as much cheese as possible, chewed it thoroughly.

The taste was certainly peculiar, but it honestly wasn’t that big of a deal.

“How’s that for a last meal?” I asked her while stabbing another.

“The cheese doesn’t make sense at all!” She laughed in my ears. “I did like the garlic on it, however. I love garlic.”

“Now for the wine. Cheers, Agnes. To a life.” I raised the glass, trying to focus on the bubbles and not on the weirded-out customers at the other tables.

“Cheers, Perse. To a death.” She made a very clear glass clinking sound with her virtual mouth, and cackled.

I drank the full glass, bottoms up, which was probably not the appropriate way to savor it. The taste made me remember the vineyards I grew up in, long before this smoky place and this endless struggle. It was bubbly, fresh, scented and elegant, everything this city wasn’t.

“Not gonna lie, this was excellent. Never had anything as good as this. Have you?” I sloshed the wine in the glass, swallowing the rest.

“I had, at my wedding!”

“Great occasion, I imagine. Fond memories?” I asked her as I filled another glass.

She didn’t answer.

I put the glass on the table, gently, taking a minute to wait for any response before looking at my watch.

It was red.

She was gone. I stood there for a little while, frowning as I drank another glass of wine.

That always sucked.

I motioned to the waiter, asking if I could take the rest of the food and the bottle to go, and she was at the ready to package the oysters, probably in a hurry for me to leave.

So I did.

I sat on the sidewalk, where the car was parked, pressed a button on my watch for my mandatory break and started to eat my inherited oysters. They were somehow better when cold, so I wolfed them down with the wine.

A homeless woman approached me, asking shyly if she could have some, so I gave her the package with the four remaining oysters and the bottle, since I was feeling full already, and more than a bit tipsy. She thanked me and disappeared into the shadows.

I sat down in the car, locking the doors and propping the seat back. I looked at the link connection on the dashboard, frowning for a second, and then calling my mother in the countryside.

The link rang for a bit, but each time it did I remembered a different kind of indignity, an abuse coated in worried words, an example of what I shouldn’t become, so after ring four I turned it off.

Still had an hour on my break, so I slept, and did not dream.