“Maybe he had the right idea after all,” Robert said. “If we come back without our memories, all of this will be lost. The places we’ve been, the things we’ve done. What about all the classes Sam has taken? All the research Eddie has done about the space programs of other countries?”
Joe rested his head in his hands and shook it. “All those celebrities Madeline Wingate waited patiently to die so she could meet them.”
Everyone at the table burst into laughter, even Robert. And once he started laughing, it just grew, from a slight chuckle, to a laugh, until his whole body convulsed with the absurdity, not just of Madeline, but the whole cryonics experiment. If he were alive, he’d have tears in his eyes, and he’d be gasping for breath. He laughed so hard, his mouth was open, but nothing came out.
Then it ended abruptly with a sob. He looked down at his hands, shocked and embarrassed by his grief. The table grew quiet.
He asked, in a whisper, “What if I don’t remember Suzanne?”
* * *
The spring sun must have felt warm on Dan’s face, because he sat on his haunches and basked in the rays. Then he dropped back down to hands and knees. Robert watched the way Dan gently eased a young tomato plant out of its container and carefully spread apart the roots before he placed it in a hole and tamped down the dirt around it.
Gardening had never held the slightest appeal for Robert. Why grow a tomato when you can buy one? But Dan and Melinda were both organic aficionados. And the first time Robert popped into Dan to taste a fresh-picked tomato, he understood why.
Melinda called out from the screen door. “Your sandwich is ready.”
Both Dan and Robert looked up. Suzanne was right beside Melinda.
Brushing the dirt off his knees, Dan crossed the garden, stepping over the rows he’d already planted. He wove through a tangle of patio furniture, still dripping from the garden hose Melinda had used to spray away the winter dust.
Before he stepped into the vacuumed screen porch, he took off his shoes.
“How’s it coming?” Melinda asked as he came through the door into the kitchen.
“Tomatoes are almost done,” he told her. “I’ve still got all the peppers to put in.”
“I’m just waiting for the furniture to dry, so I can help.”
“Where’s my sandwich?” Robert teased Suzanne.
She puckered her lips and made smooching sounds.
“Hello. Anybody home?” Maggie tottered into the kitchen. “I’m not interrupting anything am I?”
“You know you ask that every time you come here,” Robert said with a droll expression on his face.
Suzanne and Maggie ignored him as they exchanged air kisses.
“Where’s Joe?” Suzanne asked.
“I came alone.” She turned to Robert. “Did you see the news this morning?”
He shook his head. “We’ve been working in the yard.”
The wrinkles on Maggie’s face deepened. She looked at Suzanne first, then at Robert. “It’s started.”
A queasy jolt ran through Robert, as though he’d suddenly dropped down the slope of a roller coaster.
“Today?”
“At ten o’clock, California time,” Maggie said. “The media is all over it. Crycor was trying to keep it low key for the first couple run-throughs, but somehow the news leaked.”
“Let’s go.”
All three of them transported to Crycor’s main facility in California. Formerly, the center had been a huge warehouse full of stainless-steel dewars, with a two-story administrative building, and the surgical, preservation bays in front. But over the last two years, a brand new, three-story reanimation and recovery wing had been added.
Media vehicles from all the networks clogged the street in front of the center. And swarming around the vehicles were temps from all over the country.
“Dear God!” Maggie moaned. “How am I going to find Joe? It wasn’t nearly this crowded earlier.”
“We’re not going to get in to see anything,” Robert said.
“No, we’re not,” Maggie said as she searched frantically for Joe.
“You can’t see anything down here,” Robert said. “Get up on that van.”
Clamoring on top of a news van, Maggie turned in all directions before she finally spotted Joe. Robert watched her wave an arm.
Then she called down to Robert. “He’s holding a spot at the front door. I’m going to go see what’s happening.” She disappeared.
Robert and Suzanne climbed on top of the van to get a better look themselves. Maggie sort of hovered horizontally over Joe rather than invade someone else’s space. She gestured toward the van, and then, seeing Robert, she waved. So did Joe. A few minutes later, Sam poked his head out of the glass front door.
He and Maggie jabbered for several minutes before she drifted slowly back to Robert. That couldn’t be a good sign. If she had encouraging news, she’d have zipped right over.
“Okay,” she said when she alighted on the roof. “Sam says the building is wall-to-wall temps already. There’s no place to stand, and certainly no room in the surgical suite where the procedure is about to begin. He suggested we find a bar, or hotel lobby where we can watch for news updates. He says one of the educational channels has an exclusive on taping the whole thing.”
“Who did they select for the first procedure?” Suzanne asked.
“They’re going strictly by the book,” Maggie said. “The last preserved patient was a woman named Tanya Kettering. Sam says she’s in the surgical suite now, nervous as a cat.”
“I’ll bet,” Robert said. “Everyone expects the first few to get botched somehow.”
“Yes, well, everyone’s hoping for the best.”
“And she knows about the signal?” Robert asked.
For the past several years, more temps had gotten worried about the transfer of memories once reanimation occurred. At the last temp meeting, a universal phrase had been voted on.
Whoever was reanimated first, they were supposed to say ‘It’s a wolverine, not a badger.’ That phrase had become sort of a standing joke since the day Nigel Witherington had addressed over one hundred thousand temps at the Michigan stadium.
If Tanya didn’t remember to say the phrase—. Robert didn’t want to think about the implications.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The educational channel might have gotten an exclusive on taping the procedure, but they certainly weren’t showing it live. For hours, Maggie and Joe, Robert and Suzanne sat in a bar watching doctors and scientists and even people on the street, express their opinions on what was happening. What were the odds of a successful reanimation the first time? How had the process of cryonics evolved? Would this influx of new citizens cause a problem with the employment and housing markets?
Finally, at nine-thirty that night, the program went live at the center. A team of doctors flanked a spokesperson who announced that the procedure was completed, that Tanya Kettering had not yet regained consciousness, but they were quite hopeful that they had achieved what had once been thought impossible.
“The next twenty-four hours are crucial,” he said.
Maggie rolled her eyes. “My God, they still use that tired phrase?”
The bar closed at midnight, and the televisions went silent.
“Let’s go to the executive lounge at the airport,” Maggie suggested. “They’ve got all those TVs.”
The executive lounge at LAX was just as crowded as Crycor. Not only were temps jammed in shoulder-to-shoulder, they were floating in the spaces overhead. And many of the gates had clusters of temps watching the single monitors. Robert and his friends found a deserted gate in terminal eight.
All night long, the news reports were rehashes of the day before. But at eight o’clock the next morning, the news channel went live to the same crew of doctors, looking bleary-eyed and exhausted. They’d probably been up all night, keeping a vigil on Tanya Kettering.
The doctor chosen as spokesperson smiled wearily. “
We are very pleased to announce that Tanya Kettering is awake and cognitive of her surroundings.”
There was very little reaction from the news crews taping, but Robert knew there were thousands of temps who had to be jumping for joy at that moment.
The news station promised a quick interview with Tanya Kettering at nine o’clock.
Robert paced up and down the corridor of terminal eight for an hour, unable to keep still. Suzanne sat curled up in one of the plastic seat, her hands clutched in her lap.
At nine o’clock, the TV anchor made a quick introduction, and the program went live at Crycor.
There was Tanya Kettering, sitting up in a hospital bed, smiling for the camera. Her head was wrapped in a gauze bandage, but she looked incredible. The wrinkles were gone, the bags under her eyes, the sagging jowls. Her clone looked like a healthy, vibrant twenty-something woman.
“Dear God,” Robert murmured. “It’s really happening.”
The reporter held out a microphone, and asked Tanya how she was feeling.
“Wonderful!” Tanya said. “I was afraid I might be in a lot of pain, but I feel terrific.”
“Say it,” Maggie mumbled. “Give the signal.”
Robert stood right next to her. “It’s a wolverine, not a badger.”
The reporter asked Tanya, “Does it feel like you’ve been asleep for two years?”
Tanya giggled. “Not really. I was surprised when they told me how long it had been.”
“Come on!” Robert shouted. “It’s a wolverine, not a badger!”
“Do you remember having any dreams?” the reporter asked.
“No,” Tanya shook her head. “It’s like when I had my hip replaced. One minute I was talking to the surgeons, and the next minute I was waking up and the surgery was over. I don’t remember anything else.”
Robert felt a giant vise crush him, like a shoe had just obliterated an insignificant bug. A short sob escaped from Suzanne before she clapped a hand to her mouth. He wrapped an arm across her shoulders and they did their best to cling to each other.
“Well, I guess that’s it,” he said.
“Not necessarily,” Maggie said. “Maybe they didn’t get all the connections right. You know they have lots of nerves and vessels that have to be matched up between the brain and the stem. Some of her wiring might have gotten crossed.”
“Thanks, Maggie,” Robert said, but he didn’t feel grateful. And he certainly didn’t think she was right.
Nevertheless, over the next two days, all four of them remained near a television where they could get updates on Tanya.
The surgeons were so confident, they scheduled the next surgery. According to Sam, once the team of doctors and technicians was up to speed, they would all head to different centers and begin reanimations there.
When the second temp failed to repeat the signal, Robert gave up hope. He and Suzanne flew back to Dayton. He trudged out to Dan’s garden, sat on a bench, and zoned out.
He didn’t know how long he’d been in his trance, but by the angry expression on Suzanne’s face, it must have been a while.
“That’s enough, Robert. I’m not going to let you sit out here and mope anymore.”
He struggled to keep his voice from wavering. “I don’t want to come back.”
She sighed and sat down next to him. “I know. I don’t want to lose you, either. Especially now that I know you won’t remember me. But there’s nothing we can do to stop this from happening. And Sam says you’re so far down the list that it could still be years before they get to you.”
Robert gazed off into the distance. “I’ll be the same asshole I was when I died. Alone and miserable, with nothing but my job.”
“Come on, now. You’ll be a young man again. You’ll meet someone—”
“I’ll be looking for the same kind of wife I had the first time. I’ll make all the same mistakes. I’ll resent my kids.”
“Maybe not. Even Robbie learned from his mistakes. You might, too.”
Folding his arms on his knees, Robert buried his head in his lap. “I don’t want to come back.”
He made a half-hearted effort to snap out of it, but after a week of sulking, Suzanne had had enough.
“Why don’t you go see Rachel? You haven’t been to the office in months.”
“What’s the point? I won’t remember anything.”
Cocking up an eyebrow, Suzanne gave him a chilly stare. “Just go. And while you’re at it, why don’t you swing through Virginia and check in on Robbie.”
* * *
It was hard to believe that Rachel was eighty-four. She didn’t look a day over fifty. Of course, she had the money for skin rejuvenations, eye lifts, jowl reductions. A couple years ago, she had a bad shoulder socket replaced, and now she was still playing tennis.
She sat on the veranda of their country estate north of the city. One of her great grandchildren—Robert couldn’t remember her name off-hand—crawled across a bamboo mat, chasing a robotic dog. In the distance, Robert watched a couple play tennis on the private court. Was it his great, great grandson Eric, Christa’s boy?
The baby had caught the dog by its tail, and the mechanism that drove the dog whined. Rachel swooped over to rescue the pet before its gears burned up.
“No, no,” she scolded the child gently. “We don’t pull Rover’s tail.”
The way she was going, Rachel would live to be well over a hundred. Robert had never thought about coming back while she and Robbie were still alive. Now it was a real possibility.
He pondered all the changes in the Corporation. Hunter had added a full men’s line during his years at the helm. Christa had expanded the children’s wear to include boys and infants. It would all hit Robert at once.
And what about Rachel and Min? Would he go through all that crap again about being shocked? Would he appreciate their wonderful family, or think his great, great grandchildren were annoying?
Rachel sat back in her chair and sang a song to the child, clapping his hands together to keep the beat.
In the kitchen, Min finished up a big pot of vegetable soup. Crusty breadsticks stood in a crock like a giant bouquet. Eric and his friend each ate a big bowl before leaving. Rachel brought the baby in and strapped her into one of those new-fangled high chairs.
Her name was Emma. Both Rachel and Min praised the child for eating her pureed soup. Then her mother, Teron, Hunter’s oldest daughter, showed up. She ate with Rachel and Min before taking Emma home with her.
As Rachel was cleaning up, one of Kwamee’s boys, Desmond, dropped in, and immediately a bowl was produced, soup reheated, and breadsticks offered.
Robert would be about his age when he was revived. It was obvious that he would be warmly welcomed into the extended family. But would he be critical of their easy-going lifestyle like the old Robert? Dear God, would he be as offensive as Brian Campbell, the emo temp?
Once Rachel and Min went to bed, Robert headed for the airport, stopping in downtown Atlanta to wander around the deserted streets.
The city had changed so much over the years, he doubted if he’d be able to find his way to work. Would he even be working at Audrey’s? Surely he didn’t think he could walk in and take up where he’d left off. Initially, he’d thought Audrey’s would be gone by the time he was reanimated, and he would start over from scratch. But he couldn’t do that now. Compete against his own corporation? Never.
He might start out as a buyer, like Rachel had, but fashion had changed so much over the years, and he would not recall all of the subtle nuances of those trends. He’d be plunked back into his mindset at the age of fifty-seven. How embarrassing, to be told by your grandson that you can’t cut it.
Standing on the sidewalk in front of corporate headquarters, Robert pressed a palm onto the Audrey’s logo, etched in the glass. In a million years, he never would have dreamed that first boutique in Indianapolis would evolve into this. Had Amanda envisioned anything like this when she agreed to marry him?
<
br /> Robert tried to imagine meeting a woman once he returned. People didn’t just chance upon one another and get married anymore. They had to take compatibility tests. And if they wanted children, they had to petition for the right. The infants were incubated in a controlled environment where anomalies were discovered and corrected immediately.
Shaking his head, Robert shuffled toward the transportation station. This alien world he was coming back to might prove to be too daunting. According to Sam, Crycor had a reeducation program prepared that would be downloaded into their brain after they were revived. That fact didn’t offer Robert much solace. The center might load him up with the black and white facts of the past sixty years, but who would teach him the grays?
* * *
It had been a few years since Robert had visited his son. He probably could have transported directly there from Atlanta, but he chose to fly up to Richmond instead. He needed time to prepare himself.
The United States no longer maintained prisons. Younger generations of citizens had been genetically perfected so aberrant behavior was a thing of the past. There was no real crime, no lower class of unemployed, or inner city dregs. Unskilled, manual laborers had been replaced with robots.
Years ago, most of the remaining prisoners were rehabilitated and reintroduced into special work camps. But Robbie was one of those deemed ‘not cost-effective’ for repair, and placed in a communal facility with other elderly prisoners with significant health problems.
Robbie’s ‘retirement’ facility was south of Richmond, Virginia. It looked like one of those old nursing homes from back in the late nineteen-hundreds, only the government had seen no reason to continue the upkeep of the grounds. A few remaining shrubs had managed to survive despite the neglect, but the lawn was hard-packed dirt. Only the hardiest of weeds was able to break through. There were no spring flowers, no hanging pots along the eaves, just a shabby, one-story building across the street from an abandoned strip mall.
There was no guard tower, and no bars at the door. Posted instructions required visitors to place their full hand on a monitoring pad, with fingers spread. A heavy layer of dust and grime covered the hand pad. Robert wondered if anyone had been here since Rachel’s last visit.
The Ups and Downs of Being Dead Page 29