Burke was awake by third bells. He got in the shower for two whole clean cycles, nearly thirty seconds. It was already feeling like a long diurnal, and he hadn’t even left his quarters. He tried not to think that, since it was not fair or right to impede upon a Light Diurnal.

His mate, Sandra, in A341 across the way was already in the hall and locking up when he got out; she was such an early riser.

“Morning, Burke,” she said.

“Hello,” he said. He didn’t like using a word that seemed so much like grief for early greetings. They walked hand in hand down the corridor towards the quad where everyone would gather to check in by fourth bells. Susan Lampguide was already in the quad by the time that Burke and Sandra arrived, so they announced themselves.

“Alpha Burke,” he said.

“Alpha Sandra.”

“Thank you, you are both checked in. Proceed to the Lightsquare for the regular service.”

“Thank you, Lampguide.”

“Go with the Light.”

“And you too,” they said. The Lightsquare was a fair distance, down several of the main streets of the sector. High above, on the ceiling, the sprinklers beeped and turned on, and a fine invigorating mist began to fall. Burke liked the mist most times, even though it sometimes gathered in his thick brows and ran in rivulets into his eyes. All in all, it felt pretty good on his skin. Still, it was a lightgift, so no one would dare speak ill of it, since the Light was so consistently generous. Nearly everything the community of Oberon asked for was given to it, and so there were never grounds for complaint.

“Are you free later?” Sandra asked.

“I think so, after the service.”

“That’s good. We can go to the rawfoods place in Old Town.”

“Oh, let’s,” Burke said. He liked rawfoods and Old Town had such better food in general than the more newly inhabited sectors of Oberon. Sandra was a pretty good match for him, as far as tastes went, and it was highly convenient that she lived across from him. They had been assigned a month and a half ago, so he wasn’t sure that he knew her completely, but the novelty had not worn off either, as some of the older men, specifically Marlon, said it would.

“Matches are new for a while, but nothing stays new forever.”

The Lightsquare opened up before them, a shallow basin built by the Light itself to hold the entire population of Oberon. In front of Burke and Sandra, a sea of flesh spread out. Only the Lightspeaker wore anything to cover himself, the same robes of simple red and white that the Lightspeakers had always worn. Elevated high about the teeming mass of glistening, mist-drenched skin, Lightspeaker Oscar sat high on his floating chair. He was already addressing the crowd, the preservice convocation, usually a discourse on a subject from the manual of the light, a cryptic text whose meanings were only truly known to a select few, scholars and Lightspeaker-elects. This was no different. Oscar, rotund, well-fed, as Lightspeakers were, with his tumbling white beard and booming voice, spoke from his peregrinating seat, his voice echoing from multiple sound-amps around the room.

“The batteries of the self, the mind, the heart, are not of indefinite strength. They need recharging, no person excluded. So says the manual,” Oscar said.

“So it says,” the crowd intoned, the pleasant, perfect voice of a community in unison, where no one voice dominated any other.

“We recharge ourselves so the light may flow from within us to brighten the dark times. No life is complete without times of shining and times of darkness and recharging. This is the message of the manual. No one can live in constant exertion, the light goes out. Even the strongest batteries must someday die down. We replace the ones that must die. That is the natural order of things.”

The crowd was silent now, for he was speaking of death. Here and there, parents explained to children quietly that all people were like batteries, and new ones were born to replace old ones that went away into the Hades Shaft in the bottom sector. Oscar rarely spoke of death, and when he did so, he did so as lightly and metaphorically as possible. Everyone had only the highest regard for his respectful treatment of a sensitive subject. Deaths could be a test of the community’s strength, especially if the family of the dead person focused their anger on the happy couple approved for a baby, who most believed was a reincarnation of the dead person, as a result. There were only 15,499 souls in Oberon, the number had not increased by decree of the light for several hundred Years, so it made sense that the souls were recycled.

In the silence, Sandra squeezed Burke’s hand. She never did well with the death talks. He hoped the prospect of rawfoods and the inevitable mating afterwards would keep her from too much unhappiness. As the crowd’s size increased, Burke felt her and several other people pressed warm and fleshy against his sides.

“Friends, children of the Light, we come together to praise the man who became the light so many years ago. Let us all think of him, that being, now faceless with time, none of us know his face. He was the first who walked through the Lotus Gate, which has never opened since. Oh Holy One, Becomer of the Light, we think kindly of you now, and thank you for the Way you left for us to follow. We too endeavor to one day follow in your footsteps, though the way is hard.”

“It is ever so hard!” the crowd-voice repeated.

“Guide us down the way of moderation, of health and excellence, of diligent dedication to our goals. Lead us to the splendid halls of relief, the end of our journey, where we may rest in total comfort and decadence.”

“Lead us this way!” Oscar’s chair turned a wide circle high above the crowd with the great white globe of the Light that hung from the ceiling at its center.

“Silence now for the coming of the Light.”

With a noise like a sharp, short exhalation, the globe flared to glorious white life. The Light was with them, finally, after nearly ten diurnals. The deafening silence screamed into Burke’s ears and rattled him with joy as it always did. Even if this diurnal had felt long or tired to begin with, a Light Diurnal always managed to get his blood pumping. Especially the moments when he could lose his own identity in the crowd and let it sail amongst the others like a paper boat on one of the fountain ponds, until it was lost to view, and his own observation of his identity’s loss was all that remained. Burke cheered with the crowd and felt himself jostled by the bodies around him. Around him, people called out their prayers and entreaties to the Light, its globe-body hanging like a yellow teardrop poised to fall several hundred feet to drown the people below. Finally, once the voices had died down, the Light spoke.

“Hello,” It said, “How are you?” The voice of the Light was nowhere near as transfixing as Oscar’s impressive bass, though it seemed to come from everywhere at once. It was the voice of an older woman, Burke had always thought, who always seemed stricken with bronchitis.

“Fine!” everyone said.

“Great Light,” Oscar began, “We gather here to hear your words. Give us some of your wisdom and Light, lead us down your path!”

“What do you ask of me this diurnal?” it asked. The voice of the Light was accented differently from everyone else’s, but that was just the way the Light was.

“Great Light, we the people of this community have agreed that we must ask for medicine to curb the fever that has been bothering some of the people of Sector Rho.”

Everyone murmured, even in the presence of the Light. Fevers were very dangerous, and could cause a lot of stress, especially if they killed a large number of people; sometimes surviving families would have to have more than one child at a time to make up for the loss.

“Medicines will be processed into their drinking water. Do not fear this mild fever, it will be gone soon,” the Light said.

“Praise the Light!” the crowd said. The Light’s globe went dark, and the members of the crowd flailed about in reverence, the sound of flesh slapping flesh like a drumroll in the sudden darkness.

“Friends, friends!” Oscar cried from on high, “the Light has granted our request this cycle, we are its chosen people!” Above him, on the ceiling, the airjets shot out plumes of smoke, various colors issuing from various jets. The smoke fell slowly down, blue, green, yellow, red, surrounding the thousands of people, who began to disentangle themselves from each other.

“Incense!” said Oscar. The miraculous incense settled into the basin of the Lightsquare, clouding vision and burning the eyes of the crowd. Oscar’s hacking cough pounded from the sound-amps in the walls and floor. The smoke smelled savory and sweet, like the smell of good cooking, P-meat, and honey-tomato-spice sauce.