The colonists looked everywhere but in each other’s eyes.
Despite their knowledge, their scientific curiosity and their access to the ISSA Net database, none of them was quite willing to talk about the elephant in the room:
When the only source of protein, the flesh of a recently-deceased colonist, was known to contain stage-4 cancer, was it edible?
On so many levels — emotional, ethical, practical, moral.
Back on Earth, body parts recycled for food had entered the fictional mainstream eons ago, the food made flesh (or was that the other way around?) long before Martian colonisation became a buzzword, let alone a reality.
On Mars, though, there was not the sophisticated equipment to separate healthy flesh from diseased flesh.
Malnutrition and scurvy had swept through some of the outer settlements.
Colony No. 1 was not supposed to suffer the fate of poor planning and execution.
Burying the dead was no longer an option, had been argued and regulated out of existence several generations back.
The colonists put the decision off a day.
Sure, they were rational beings but mourning the dead was still an active part of their subculture. Give themselves a day to grieve before making this important decision, they told each other without saying a word by leaving the lab where a dear friend, colleague and family member lay motionless, eternally unresponsive.
treetrunkdings 