Glitz and glam, a big to-do. In some ways, it felt almost disrespectful to the truth of what was occurring in this hidden room, far from the eyes of the law. Errod was among his peers, however, so he kept a jovial air about him. The rich and powerful, here to purchase the last vestiges of the recently deceased.

 

“Errod, hello!” a sharply dressed man called. “You rarely miss an auction these days, do you?”

 

“About as often as you do, dear fellow,” Errod replied. The man, Albert McCallum, smiled.

 

“You got me there.” Albert leaned in. “Did you hear about the secret lot tonight? Seems like David’s memories are up for sale.”

 

“That old bastard? How?”

 

“Evidently, his wife knew about his many affairs and waited until he passed to burn his legacy down. All of his company secrets offered to the highest bidder. He’s one of your competitors, right? Or was, anyway.”

 

“True enough,” Errod said, sensing where this was going.

 

“I can help you win it,” Albert whispered. “For a price, that is.”

 

“I’ll have to pass. Thank you.”

 

“Pass? This is an opportunity! Trade secrets, insight into his R&D breakthroughs, hell, even his email password could pay for itself many times over in your line of work.”

 

“I’m here for the usual, Albert. I have no need for anything else.”

 

* * *

 

“Next lot for bid is 97 on your catalog: a collection of memories by one Terrance Freeman. Included are family vacations to several national parks, some now inaccessible nature preserves, and firsthand contact with extinct animals such as the Bengal tiger and the Chinese panda bear.” The auctioneer looked over the crowd, his face belying his concern. “The bidding will begin at 125.”

 

Errod could feel the disinterest in the room. Bidders were engaged in conversation with each other, waiting for this lot to go unsold as well. What need do the rich have for the memories of vacations when they have the money and power to experience it for themselves?

 

“I have 125. Do I have 130?” the auctioneer continued. Suddenly, the whispers around the room stopped to see Errod’s raised paddle. Then, a flurry of bids came in, all trying to outdo one another.

 

“Do they even know why they’re bidding?” Albert asked. He had chosen a seat directly behind Errod.

 

“They think I have some secret information about this lot. Just like all the others,” Errod said.

 

“And in the end, you’ll outbid them all, as usual.”

 

Errod smiled, raising his paddle once more before stating, “One million.”

 

The bidding stopped immediately, no one willing to risk raising the stakes more, even if it held a mysterious value only Errod knew. “Sold!” the auctioneer yelled, slamming his gavel down.

 

* * *

 

“Seven lots this time. Quite a haul,” Albert said, walking alongside Errod as they exited the venue. “You can trust me, old friend. Do you know something nobody else does?”

 

“Not at all. These lots are exactly what you think.”

 

“But, why? There aren’t many of us at these auctions that can compare to your wealth. Why do you need memories of vacations? Can’t you just take them on your own?”

 

This time, a genuine smile did cross Errod’s face. “I could,” he stated.

 

* * *

 

“Papa, papa,” a young boy said, “what did you bring today?”

 

Errod looked down at his son: a withered, gaunt boy. Breathing tubes came from his nose and traveled over the hospital bed he lived in. A collection of monitors kept close watch over his vitals and a team of around the clock nurses made sure the boy was comfortable. Despite his near endless wealth, there wasn’t anything more he could do for his child. A terminal illness that science could not fix.

 

“I’ve got a few good ones today, Gavin. How about we go and see some pandas?”

 

“Yes, please!” Gavin yelled, as much as his limited lung capacity could manage.

 

Errod loaded one of the memory banks into his son’s decoder and waited for it to program. Then, a helmet came down to cover the boy’s eyes and played, inserting the memory directly into Gavin’s brain, allowing him to keep it as his own forever.

 

Above the bed, a large monitor displayed the memory in real-time, as Gavin experienced it. Errod grabbed hold of his son’s hand and they both squeezed. A few tears escaped from Errod’s eyes as he watched.

 

They spent the rest of the day traveling mountains, flying in the skies above, going deep sea fishing, and riding roller coasters in amusement parks the world over.

 

As the weeks and months went by, Errod watched his son deteriorate. Eleven years old, seven of those spent in his bed. He did all he could, and thanks to the Memory Auction, he could give his son some semblance of enjoyment. Every night before he slept, Errod would still feel the sting of not being able to give Gavin these experiences himself, something they could experience together and create their own unique memories instead of taking them from someone else.

 

* * *

 

“Sir, this was left for you,” Elliot said. She was one of Gavin’s nurses, the closest thing the boy had had to a friend. In her hand she held a memory bank. “Gavin wanted you to have this.”

 

It took hours of deliberation; Errod couldn’t bring himself to use the memory. It took him a few shots of liquid courage and no small number of tears before he loaded the memory into the decoder.

 

The memory was unique. It was not a recollection of a place or an event. Instead, there was nothing but love and warmth; the boy’s thoughts and feelings about his life and his father. Errod could feel the depth of his son’s life, finding that the child had neither regret nor sorrow in his last days. A last gift from Gavin, a memory that would forever be Errod’s.