Sometimes I think about the air I breathed, the water I drank, the minutes and the hours and the days, dizzying in their abundance, that I could spend however I liked. I think about how I took them for granted. Until death came and stole them from me. The best things in death—reliving any memory of your life in full sensory detail and experiencing all that you never had the chance to via the memories of others—are also free. Or they are now, at least. When the corrupted Morati angels controlled the net, we had to pay credits to rent outside memories. But those Morati are locked up and the net is gone, along with all the hives and memory chambers and drugs that kept us compliant. So we relive memories for free, but it’s more complicated and less private. We do it by pressing our palm against someone else’s palm. One of the two people involved chooses a memory and both parties share the experience. The idea is to work through your most painful memories, such as your untimely exit from your mortal coil.
