Diaspora Ad Astra by Emil M. Flores

the crash created the violent whiplash that snapped her neck.
    “Yes, Honey,” was all David could say.
    “I don’t remember seeing any blood. I would have fainted.” Shelley giggled.
    On her grandmother’s farm, there had been a friendly goat that the young Shelley had thought of as a pet. Accidentally seeing it slaughtered and being sprayed with warm
goat blood permanently ruined any chance of Shelley ever considering going to medical school.
    David steered the car out of the parking lot and through Bio Regain Center’s gates. They drove past the Center’s perimeter walls. Sprayed on the white-painted
reinforced concrete were the words:
     
    BIO REGAIN ENEMY OF FILIPINO POOR
    The letters glowed scarlet against the stark white background. An ugly gash on the company’s genteel face.
    David turned away from the graffiti and drove towards the EDSA Speedway.
    As they walked up their home’s front door, Sparky’s excited yapping could be heard from within. David punched in the security code and the Spitz bounded out even
before the door had completely slid open. Shelley picked Sparky up. She giggled as the Spitz licked her face over and over in affectionate doggie kisses.
    They entered their home, and were once again surrounded by all the things they associated with comfort. Their books. David’s television and DVD player—curiosities
from before the advent of Holographic Projection Entertainment. His spanking-new 21x21 holovision. Shelley’s vibrant, hyper-realistic paintings and the assorted materials she made them with.
Knickknacks and furniture that spanned decades, mixed and matched to complement their bungalow and to create the warm, cozy effect they both loved.
    The house seemed cold and empty the days David spent there without Shelley. He had never felt so alone in years. With her back, the place was home once more. He wrapped Shelley
in a tight embrace and felt great relief at accepting Mateo’s offer.
    They sat down for dinner. David had made Beef Teriyaki. Shelley had her LXR.
    Warily, she looked at the clear glass vial filled with colorless liquid. “So this is what I eat?”
    “For the next few months, Honey.”
    Shelley twisted off the seal, raised the vial to her lips, and took a sip. She made a face.
    “What’s wrong Honey?” David asked, his chopsticks poised over his plate.
    “It tastes like rust.”
     
    Months passed.
    David learned, though was not really surprised, that Resurrection was not covered by insurance. Resurrection Policies in the Philippines were still in the planning stages.
Their insurance company refused to pay up for accidental death since, technically, Shelley was no longer dead.
    The lawsuit against the car company went a little better. To avoid bad press about a defective navigation system in their top-selling vehicle, they offered to settle out of
court. Unwilling to fight a prolonged legal battle and in dire need of Credits, David accepted the relatively mediocre settlement, to the chagrin of his lawyer. After legal fees, most of the
Credits got swallowed up by the abyss that was Shelley’s Resurrection bill.
    David used up all his savings, and mortgaged the bungalow to cover the balance. He sold off the remaining car and most of their furniture and belongings for the initial LXR
expenses. The house was practically bare now. But Shelley was there. For David, that was all that mattered.
    One evening, he found her standing by the gaping front door. She stared up at the darkened sky.
    “Honey? What are you doing there?”
    Shelley frowned slightly and ran her fingers through her hair. “I… don’t remember.”
    He called Doctor Victorino about the memory lapse.
    “It happens,” the doctor’s projection on the holophone said. “Undergoing death may cause considerable trauma. Not to mention the cause of death, which
in Mrs. Lazaro’s case was rather violent. They’re just temporary, as far as our studies show. Nothing to worry about,