River died at one hundred and sixty-three years old.
Medical technology had extended lifespans considerably since her original era. Bodies could be maintained. Aging could be delayed. Death could be postponed. But eventually, biology failed. Eventually, consciousness exhausted its substrate. Eventually, even preserved tissue gave out.
She died in her home in Singular Commune. Surrounded by friends. Surrounded by other preserved singulars who'd chosen the same path. Surrounded by community of forty-seven thousand that had dwindled to thirty-two thousand as biology claimed the oldest members.
She died knowing Singular Commune was dying. Knowing extinction was approaching faster now. Knowing the math was inexorable: thirty-two thousand singulars producing maybe two hundred children per year. Population declining. Gene pool narrowing. Sustainability failing.
