A Pure Lifer, whose ancestors had been some of the earliest of the Pure Lifers had gotten very, very sick. They were still quite young, had very small children to raise, and none of the "medicine" on their world was helping them. In fact, they were getting worse quickly, and no one was willing to care for the children if their parent were to perish, and they had no spouse. What were they to do? Only option left, contact the Alliance, it was, quite literally, life and death, for their entire family. -- Lessons
It was their choice to go and be pure. It was their choice to build a world without the vaguaries of big pharma's conspiracy potions, or technology that they couldn't find. Or, most importantly quote-unquote 'medicine' with ingredients they couldn't pronounce. No toxins, just nature and healing from a pure world.
Life was short, after all. On Neoden, it was even shorter than it had to be, but by the divine powers, it was natural. Some even shunned antibiotics, preferring homeopathy and essential oils.
The way to make everything work quickly turned into, "Have plenty of children and hope that some make it to create the next generation." For Lysaa, it was the Pure Way. Eat clean, purify the home with cleansing scents and incense, have the right crystals in the right place and all would be well forever. Except... it wasn't.
She was sick and she knew it. The oils weren't working. The herbs weren't working. The special smokes and scents only made her coughs worse. Her entire home was lit by salt lamps to purify the air, but she was still sick. Her eldest were sons and not expected to take over the running of the house yet. The daughters were still learning how to walk, talk, and toilet themselves. Her husband had died just a year ago and it was all she could do to keep the garden going so they would have enough to make it through winter.
She'd tried everything she had.
If she died, her children would perish without her. She knew it. All the neighbourhood gossips knew it. They seemed to be waiting like vultures to start clucking about how terrible the tragedy was going to be and who could have stopped it if she just tried? Lysaa, of course. Because she wasn't doing enough.
There was one other choice. A terrible option. One that would get her and her little ones exiled and shunned from Neoden for the rest of their lives.
That was her choice: die pure and let her children die because of her... or seek help from the Galactics and become polluted for the rest of her life.
She helped the children pack. Loaded up a cart in the dead of night. Loaded up her family first thing in the morning. Set out for the spaceport before anyone who knew her could twitch aside their curtains to tut at her.
The children thought it was a grand adventure. Wrestling in the bed of the cart or pointing out things of interest along the way. Some sang songs. Some jumped about like little frogs.
They had no idea of the crime Lysaa was about to commit on their behalf.
If they knew. If they were older. If Venn had just lived five more years. If she had just tried harder... this would never have had to happen.
If ifs and ands were pots and pans...
She was crying by the time she got to the spaceport gate. She could feel the magnetic bombardment from all their ill-thought technology. It was polluting them even now.
They had machines so small you needed a multitude of lenses just to see them.
There was a queue of more expensive, shielded carts. The men driving them had special helmets and protective crystals. To keep them safe from the alien filth.
They insisted on tracking children as if they were animals.
She, her cart, and her children stood out like a sore thumb. Lysaa could feel everyone's eyes on her. Burning her. She shivered in her seat, tensing to resist the urge to run screaming from this hellhole of gleaming technology and frankenbeasts made to steal the jobs from regular pure people.
"Mama?" said her oldest. Venn Junior. "What's happening?"
It took her five goes to make her voice work. "Remember when I told you it comes to do or die sometimes?"
Only now was he scared. Because she was scared. "...'es?"
"Mama's got to do... or die."
That set all six of them howling. The youngest was crying because the others were crying. Of the six of them, only two knew what death was.
The guard at the gate, a blurry shape beyond Lysaa's tears, took the resulting scene in. "Follow the blue stripe to medical," they said. Slowly and carefully so she could understand. "You're all going to be fine."
Forgive them, they know not what they say. Forgive me, I know too well what I do.
They did not swarm. They did not drag her away from her children. They lead her into a very homey space with clean and handmade things. With soft toys for the children. With warm blankets for her.
The doctor - a Medik, they called them - listened to her heart with a stethoscope. Just like she was used to. They examined her nails, and asked to pluck some of her hair.
Then they said, "You just need a few supplements. If you like, we can give you some retrogenes to make sure you absorb them from your natural diet. It's a common genetic defect on this world. Easily cured."
"...polluted," Lysaa corrected. "We're all polluted. They'll never take us back."
The attending Medik said, "Do you want them to?"
For the first time in her life, Lysaa didn't have an answer.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / TheFull360]
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