She nodded as if I’d repented enough. “I have to get back quick. We’ll talk about it tonight, okay?” I nodded and she swept back to Miss Marie.
But she didn’t come back to the dorm with us. I waited up all night, fiddling with the itchy port. Finally she snuck in, closing the door quietly behind her. A few of the other girls murmured in their sleep.
“Julia!” I hissed at her.
“Shh!” She hissed again. “I am only here to change my uniform. I can’t stay.”
“What’s going on?”
“Ms. Marie isn’t recovering. Doctor Clemens told me if she doesn’t get better he’s going to try something highly experimental. He needs help so I’m going to go back.” She sounded almost excited as she buttoned her clean, white shirt.
“How are you going to get in? The scanner won’t let you.”
“The technician turned it off. I can get in. Now go to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She coughed into her elbow then took a moment to ruffle my hair. I could see her white uniform glide past the beds and out the door. She turned the knob so the tongue wouldn’t make a noise as it closed.
The next morning I got up and disconnected my port. The machine beeped and then was quiet. I rubbed my eyes and groaned. I felt even more tired than I did when I went to sleep. I guess all the excitement from the night before got to me. As I stood up the door opened and one of the nurses walked in. Everyone froze. You would have thought a tiger had appeared in the door. It might as well have been. No one came to the dorms but us. She held the door open with one hand, as if she didn’t want to be completely in the room with us.
“Ladies,” she started, as if she had to get our attention. Her red uniform stood out like a spot of blood in the pale room. “I am here to inform you that Miss Julia passed away last night. The stress of caring for Miss Marie was too great and affected her heart. We have truly lost a great healer and our hearts go out to you. Those closest to Julia may take a day to grieve. Miss Jane?”
I looked up, surprised. “Yes?” I tried, but my throat had completely dried. I coughed and tried again. “Yes? I’m here.”
She turned her red attention to me. “You will be reassigned to Miss Marie, beginning today. That is all ladies, thank you.”
When the door closed the room began to move again. Any conversation was done in whispers. A few women cried. I did not follow them to get my breakfast. I slipped out and headed to work. What else could I do? Stay in my bed and cry all day? I couldn’t face it, though I kept running the words through my head. Surely Julia was just in the next building, somewhere in the hospital. It was a hospital after all! Couldn’t they save her?
The morning was cold and damp. The lawn, as always, was empty and well kept. The place had once been a public hospital and emergency room, but now the parking lot was mostly empty. No one really came or went. Those who were already here stayed here. The road was always empty too. No one lived out in the country anymore. They grouped together in the city, like bugs around a light, or at places like Michael’s Gate. It seemed like everyone was either very old or very young these days, either in the city or in the hospital.
I held my hand to the scanner inside the door. It beeped loudly, too loudly – a long, drawn out error message. I looked around nervously. My name flashed on the screen and I walked to Miss Marie’s room. I had to keep my mind busy. There was no way I could process the events of the morning. I couldn’t even begin to feel the things that filled up in my chest like tumors. I found the doctor inside. He was checking the machinery, and didn’t look at me when I came in.
“You gave us quite a scare.” He said to Miss Marie, his voice glowing, like a favorite son. “We haven’t had something like that happen in a long time! I think everything’s under control now.
Her room was bigger than my past patients’, but fairly similar. Still there was an extra bed, just in case of overflow, all set up with IV and port and all the other machines. There were tall, clear glass vases full of flowers on the window. I wondered if Julia died here, maybe passing out on the floor, and the thought made my body ache from my chest to my spine. I put a smile on my face and picked up Miss Marie’s food tray.
She smiled at me, a tiny woman with the faintest cloud of white hair. I could see the veins under her thin skin. “I feel so much better today.” She said.
“That’s wonderful.” I answered.
And life went on. I fell into my new routine. My workload was much lighter with only one patient, but life seemed to wear me down faster without Julia. I felt tired and depressed. I developed her cough, as if I missed the sound of it. I lost track of time. I no longer dreamt of a life beyond Michael’s Gate. For my short breaks I drank coffee in the Nurse’s room, alone, and thought nothing at all. A new Medical Assistant came, Jessie, to fill Julia’s bed. She seemed so young, I tried to help her where I could. She told us about her son, his father dead in the War. What choice did she have? The little money she sent home might even get him through school. She came up to me one afternoon, during my break.
“Jane? I thought you might want to know. Mr. Stevens is checking out today. I thought you might want to say good bye.”
“Oh. Thank you.” I said, forced a smile, and walked past her.
I found him standing by the door, a box of his belongings in his hands, reading the plaques beside the door.
“Mr. Stevens.” I called out and he turned to smile at me. “I am so sad to see you go.”
He scoffed. “I bet you are.”
I held my smile. “I can understand why you’d want to leave. Everyone was so shocked by Julia’s death.”
“Oh I’m not shocked by death.” He said, smiling a little. “I fought in the War, you know, before my uncle made his fortune and I came home to work with him. No, death is just the thing that happens at the end of life.”
“Well you’re a lot tougher than me.” I felt a frown pull at the edge of my practices smile, but the smile remained
“Death doesn’t do a thing to you, Miss Jane. Life. Life is what wears you down. Life makes you old and tired. Life continues on when your teachers, your parents, and finally your colleagues and friends die.”
He walked over to me, his cane making a dull, thunking noise on the clean floor. He put a hand on my shoulder. “I am sorry about Julia.” He said. “I really am. She was a good girl. She didn’t deserve that.” He looked at me as if he might say more. He looked at me like he was seeing me, completely, for the first time. He licked his lips and frowned. “You be safe,” was all he said, and turned to walk out the front door.
I wandered back to the break room and looked out the window at the steady rain. I should leave too. I could walk out into the pouring rain and just keep walking. I hadn’t stolen anything from them, except the clothes on my back. I didn’t keep my crappy clothes from my old life. Would they come after me for a white shirt and pants? White shoes? Probably. I couldn’t go home. They knew where I lived, where my family lived.
They used us. I suppose that if you spread the suffering out enough, no one would notice, except sometimes something went wrong. Like Miss. Marie. I wondered if my extra pay ever made it to my family at all. Maybe there was no extra pay for me at all, or Julia, or Irena, or Claire. For some reason this made me the angry, when nothing else did.
The red light sprung to life in the break room. Everyone jumped and turned to stare at it. A buzzing filled the room and the intercom crackled to life.
“Doctor Clemens, please come to Miss Marie’s room immediately.”
The nurses and Medical Assistants turned to look at me. They watched me take a last sip of my coffee and they watched as I walked out of the room. I paused to cough into my elbow. Miss Marie’s room was in chaos. Three nurses were around her bed. She was having some kind of seizure and Doctor Clemens was injecting something clear into her IV. Someone had knocked one of the flowers off the windowsill.
The vase was broken across the floor and the daisies had been crushed underfoot. I worried that someone might slip in the water, but I didn’t go for the mop. I closed the door softly behind me.
Doctor Clemens looked up as Miss Marie stilled on the bed. “Ah. Miss. Please come in. We need your help.” He raised his hand to take my arm, to guide me into the room.
“I know.” I said. Doctor Clemens stopped and looked at me with his small, wet eyes. He looked at me for a long time.
“You know?” He repeated. The nurses slowed and looked over their shoulders at us. They looked afraid.
I knew the empty bed was just to my right, with its port and its machines like hungry infants. I could still walk into the rain. I could walk into the other room and scream until the windows broke and the foundation shook. I could take a needle from the tray and stab the doctor in the eye. I could. I could do any of these things. I am powerful. I am so much more powerful than them, the pathetic doctor and nurses, looking at me like I am poisonous or explosive. I have defeated the army of secrets and death. My mind is clear and powerful.
“Yes.” I say.
FIRST HEAD
BY H.S. DONNELLY
Murmur ... Four more CC’s ... Mr. Kamil? ... He is doing fine ... Yes, increase the levels ... Mr. Tilson? ... No, same schedule ... Yes, Doctor ...
Senses dull, fuzzy. Temples throb faintly. Tongue feels like a lump of liver; teeth (lifting tongue up to touch them) are clean, freshly scrubbed; throat—hack-hack—raw.
In the background, a ‘throb-throb-throb’ vibration. Eyes open warily. Dimly lit room. Vague, oval shapes on a row of night tables opposite. “Huhhh—” he utters hoarsely.
Swuck—Light.
To the left, double doors slide open. Man clothed in glowing white fabric enters silently. Weird blue-white globe hovers over him. White Ghost stops at the first table, bends down, then straightens up and moves to the next table, and the next, and—
“Uhggg!” A row of severed heads! All along the opposite wall.
Pad, pad, pad. White Ghost stops in front of him. “Ohhh, you’re the one. Time for some extra juice.” He peers down at him and double-clicks on something. “There, better?”
“Uhggg.” Tingle of relaxation spreads from the back of his head. The horror recedes.
“Happy days, bud,” White Ghost whispers. “You’re alive now.”
“Uhggg?”
But White Ghost has vanished.
***
Awake.
“Uhaaa!” An object is stuck in his throat.
“Shhh!”
He stops.
The object retreats and, now he can see a man standing in front of him holding a metallic device. “There. That takes care of the Vocalotomy,” the man says. The fellow, white shirt, black curly hair, places the object onto a tray to the left and then picks up a green rectangular pane of glass and taps on it.
Click, then wheeze—A breath of air comes in through his nose, stops and then—Wheeze—reverses. Odd sensation, yet everything still feels ... detached.
“Okay,” Curly Hair looks at him, “do you remember your name? Blink once for ‘Yes’ and twice for ‘No’.”
Wheeze ... Name? Strange, he should know that. But everything—Wheeze—feels vague, lost.
“Do you know your name? Once for ‘Yes’; twice for ‘No’.”
Timidly, he blinks twice.
“Do you remember your past life?”
His past life? Okay, he woke up to those ghastly severed heads. And before that there was ... nothing. Frustration and fear. Two quick blinks.
“Good,” Curly Hair continues. “Okay, let me explain.” He looks down at his tablet device and begins, ”You’ve been successfully revived, so welcome to your Second Life.”
“Uhaaa—” Second Life?
“I’m your Revivologist, Doctor Huter. And your name is Jim Tilson.”
Jim Tilson? Pause. Is that right?
“You died three hundred and fifty years ago.”
“Uhaaa?” Died? God, he thinks, blinking rapidly, what sort of place is this?
“Don’t worry.” Dr. Huter looks up at him. “Normally you’d prepare for your re-awakening as part of your prior life. But you are so old, standard preparation protocols were not in place when you were interned. Fortunately, however, they were smart enough to perform a decapitation.”
“Uhaaa?” My God! Those heads!
“Please, Mr. Tilson. Decapitation is a standard procedure.” Dr. Huter returns to his green tablet. “Your life functions are now being maintained via tubes that draw nutrients from the reservoir tanks in your Head Cart.”
Head Cart, Jim wonders, looking down. He can just see the black edge of—gulp—his table top. He imagines the tubes below him throbbing like arteries. And what if—No, he doesn’t want to think about that.
“Now that you’ve been stabilized, we’ll begin your evaluation process to determine your future net worth to society. Assuming a favorable outcome, you then move on to be re-attached to one of the headless bodies that are grown on our body farms.”
Headless?
More taps. “Final activity for today is for you to review your prior life. Life Catalogue on,” Dr. Huter calls.
A square of blue words, Jim Tilson. First Life, floats in front of him—
Beep! Beep!
Dr. Huter touches his tablet device. “Yes, I’m just about finished here. I’ll be there in two minutes.” He looks back over to Jim. “You can do this yourself. Just make a sound to activate things. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
Prickles go up Jim’s neck as he watches Dr. Huter leave. God, he thinks and puckers his lips as air starts wheezing out. Quiet now, save for some clinks and shuffles coming in from the hall outside. The blue words hang there waiting.
“Uhaaa,” he squeezes out when an exhale comes.
The title vanishes, replaced by a block of words:
Jim Tilson: Never married. No descendants.
Revival Rating: Restricted revival classification.
Potential emotional problems.
Current Status: Revived via investigative protocol.
Life Items:Item One: Revivology History.
“Uhaaa.”
Item One: Revivology History.
Underwent vitrification. Pioneer client of Revivology.
“Uhaaa.”
No more words.
***
Sunlight through the window.
Birds chirp.
Morning? No idea.
From the hall come faint noises of people talking mixed with odd knocks and clinks. Underneath, the machinery gurgles.
Strange not knowing what time it is. Or who he was.
Jim Tilson, he tries again. It still doesn’t feel right. Edginess creeps into his jaw muscles.
Huh?
A man stands motionless by the door. The fellow is average in height and build. Short brown hair. Healthy pinkish complexion. Brown jacket and pants. Tan colored open collar shirt. Staring outward at nothing.
“Hu—llo,” Jim tries.
No response.
Once more, “Hu—llo.”
Nothing.
Footsteps.
“Mr. Tilson,” Dr. Huter sweeps in. “How is your voice today?”
“B-heh-ter,” he manages.
“Wonderful. You’re making excellent progress. Today you get your own Personal Robot Assistant, or P.R.A.” He points towards the man in the corner. “He will be your ‘legs’ for the next little while. And the first thing we’re going to have him do today is take you to your Indoctrination Session. Do you have a name you’d like to call him?”
Name? He tries to remember some names. Come on, think! Think!
“Okay, maybe we’ll call him ‘Bob’,” Dr. Huter says. “Cont
rol, initialize P.R.A. to client Jim Tilson with I.D. ‘Bob’.”
The robot straightens to attention.
“Good. Bob, come here.”
Robot Bob’s body emits a soft hum, rotates and then turns and faces Jim.
“Bob, say hello to Jim Tilson.”
“Hello Jim Tilson.” Robot Bob echoes and smiles.
“Good, Bob. Now take Mr. Tilson to the Indoctrination Session.” He glances towards Jim. “You’re coming along quite nicely, Mr. Tilson.”
“G—hood.” Jim tries to sound confident as Rob-o-Bob steps behind him and starts unhooking various unseen connections.
Dr. Huter frowns as Rob-o-Bob turns him around and heads towards the door.
***
P.R.As and Heads roll through the door ahead of Jim. The Head in front of him appears normal with smooth olive-colored skin and short, thick black hair. But the next one has pale skin with blotches and almost no hair. God, he hopes he looks better than that.
The other P.R.A.s are like Rob-o-Bob, from height and slim build to the measured way they walk. Half have the same brown jackets and pants, while the rest sport longer female-looking long hair and curves. Most have olive colored skin, though a few have black or pinkish-white pigment.
The room opens up into a great semi-circle with white curving walls that arch together. The blue carpeted floor slopes downwards towards a stage lit by floodlights ringing the perimeter.
He feels a slight bump as Rob-o-Bob maneuvers the Head Cart into a set of metal rails recessed into the carpet.
Click–Click
From behind, Rob-o-Bob announces, “Head Cart anchored.” —Swuck—Then, “Replenishment tubes re-connected.” Then, “Jim Tilson, do you require anything?”
“W-a-ter?” He’s not thirsty; just craves the sensation of cool water in his mouth.
Click—Click
A water bottle appears with a drinking tube hovering near his lips. He snags it and awkwardly sucks at it with his cheeks. Water, fresh, wonderful water, gushes into his mouth. He swallows,
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