"In many ways," the palm-sized hologram explained,

  "All this started with your father and I trying to understand our own mortality." 

  Leaves falling, little snapping sounds of stems broken by hardfrost. 

  "We gotta go," said one of the young men in a formal club sportcoat. 

  "I'm not ready," another admitted gently. 

  "We can talk about this more, later." 

  "But it was all I had." 

  "They can see the ring in the face shield!  And (i)those(i)," yet another young man held up a scrap of shredded clothing symbolizing which group, "Are on the square perimeter, on foot." 

  "Commander?" 

  The text layer over the hologram of the long lost mother was a see-through countdown of self-destructing.