Assimilation

by James Stryker

  Robert’s smile faded. She’d been gone for more than a year and had been conscious, yet mute, for days. Now that she was finally speaking, he’d hoped to get more out of her.

  “If you’ll hold it, let me read to you. If you can stand to hear it slowly,” Natalie said.

  She knew. Through the joy of hearing her voice he was likely to lose the meaning of her actual words.

  “If I can stand it? There’s nothing I’d rather hear than your voice.”

  Robert nudged the side table and lowered the rail to her bed. He sat halfway on it, and bent the magazine’s spine to hold in front of her. He could smell her hair and feel the warmth from her skin. Both were worth the mildly uncomfortable position.

  Chapter 4

  The promised discussion took place in Dr. Brigman’s office the next day, and it was the first time Andrew had been allowed to leave the hospital room. After staring at the same four walls for weeks, the excitement of a new place temporarily mashed down the weight of his internal conflict.

  Robert pushed his wheelchair out into the hall. And what a hall! Had there ever been such a hall? Unlike his bleached room, the walls were sectioned in a cream colored molding. The tile was different too. White but patterned with streaks of black, splotches of yellow, daubs of—

  “Nat, what are you doing? You’re going to tip the chair over.” Robert paused.

  Thank God. Twisting from side to side as he tried to study the floor was making him dizzy.

  “Look.” Andrew pointed to a square.

  “It’s tile.”

  “Doesn’t it remind you of anything?”

  “Tile.”

  “Jackson Pollock. The colors and the marbling. It reminds me of White Light. Don’t you think?”

  The look on Robert’s face revealed his thoughts before he spoke. “I think it reminds me of vinyl tile. Stop squirming, hon.”

  No matter. Andrew took a breath and swallowed. Natalie hadn’t needed Robert to be interested in art for them to get along. It hadn’t mattered before, so it shouldn’t matter now. As the wheelchair moved forward he locked an image of the abstract tile in his mind for solitary consideration later. There are other things to enjoy. Such as:

  “After the meeting, why don’t we go outside? The nurse opened the blinds this morning and it’s so bright—”

  “No.”

  Andrew turned his head. “Why not?”

  “Nat, you remember how there’s that sect that doesn’t understand anything about CryoLife?” Robert stopped again outside a door. A gold plaque in the middle proclaimed it to be the office of Dr. Brigman. “They have a troop outside to heckle people to cause trouble.”

  “Why? I mean, on what basis do they oppose CryoLife?”

  “It doesn’t matter what basis.”

  “Sure it does. What—”

  “They’re uneducated religious fanatics with nothing better to do than clog sidewalks.”

  Robert’s eyebrows were pulled together and his tone had a clipped feel. Natalie had been inquisitive about the world, but her questions never went three deep. Her husband gave an answer and things moved on. But despite Robert’s frustration, Andrew couldn’t curb his curiosity. People opposing CryoLife? Why? And what did they know?

  “They must feel passionately about—”

  “Much good it does them.” Robert smiled and appeared to push aside his annoyance. When he ran a hand through Andrew’s hair, Andrew tried not to lean away. “They’re waiting for us, Nat.”

  Before he could say anything further, Robert pushed open the door and wheeled him into the office.

  Andrew watched as Robert shook hands with the two men and one woman in the room. Dr. Brigman introduced his colleagues as Mr. Tweed, legal representation of the Cryobiotic Treatment Center, and Dr. Zuniga, head of the CryoLife psychiatric board. Once they’d all taken their seats, Brigman spread his hands apart like a benevolent God, and the meeting began.

  “I speak on behalf of CryoLife when I say this is why we do what we do. Reuniting beautiful families that would’ve been otherwise torn apart by tragedy.” The way the doctor looked between the two of them gave Andrew an unsettling feeling.

  “We’re so pleased to be part of your recovery journey.” Dr. Zuniga smiled at Andrew. He didn’t return it. There was something exaggerated about her expression. Like she’d read somewhere that the wider the smile, the higher and rounder the eyebrows, the more trustworthy a person appeared. The result resembled an overinflated balloon.

  And who can trust a balloon? An honest person doesn’t need to try so hard to look honest.

  “We appreciate everything your staff has done.” Robert placed his hand on Andrew’s arm.

  In his head, Andrew began to count.

  1 Mississippi. 2 Mississippi. 3 Mississippi.

  Robert’s touch still felt awful, but the only way he’d relearn to like it was by endurance. Yesterday, he’d let it go for ten seconds. Today, he was trying to hold out for fifteen.

  “There are some things we need to outline as part of the six-month recovery plan—”

  Andrew cleared his throat and pulled away from Robert at only seven seconds. He couldn’t concentrate on training when he was on the brink of having answers. The three professionals focused on him as he spoke. “I have questions first.”

  “By all means, Mrs. Keller.” Brigman drew his fingertips together in an upside down “V”. “Ask us anything.”

  “I’d like to know what happened to me.”

  “You were in a car accident and declared imminently dead. We were able to preserve your brain and reanimate you.”

  “I want to know how it happened.”

  “Our organization doesn’t review or file police reports, ma’am.” While Mr. Tweed’s face remained neutral, the lack of an overcompensating smile like Zuniga’s or Brigman’s thin-lipped grin didn’t make Andrew feel differently about him. Something about these CryoLife people – they couldn’t be trusted. “I’d recommend contacting the Savannah Police Department for that information.”

  “I don’t mean what happened in the accident.”

  Andrew felt his shoulders stiffen and in his peripheral vision, the psychiatrist’s balloon appearance shrunk slightly as she made a note in the portfolio on her lap.

  Always scrutinized. Always being watched. But I wouldn’t get so fucking pissed off if you’d stop dicking me around and just answer—

  Robert touched his shoulder. “Nat, you don’t want the technical details.”

  1 Mississippi. 2—

  “Yes, I do.” Andrew shrugged him off. “I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”

  “It’s too graphic for you.” Robert nodded and touched him again. “Way too—”

  “How would you know? You’re not a doctor, remember? You weren’t sure when I asked you before.”

  This time, Robert’s hand withdrew of its own accord and he broke Andrew’s eye contact, turning his head away.

  You lied to me. Even if it was because the old Natalie wouldn’t have wanted to know, I did. I still do. And you deliberately withheld information from me, you son-of-a-bitch.

  “Mrs. Keller,” Tweed interrupted the angry silence. “Our processes are also patented and classified.”

  Andrew looked from Robert to the attorney. “I need to know what happened to me.”

  Dr. Zuniga clicked the top of her pen and set her folder of notes on the corner of Brigman’s desk. “I think a general outline could be given if it’d help with the trauma. Not full disclosure, but understanding more can be an effective coping tool.” She sucked in a breath to re-inflate her face and smiled at Robert. “Assuming that’s okay with you, Mr. Keller, of course.”

  Andrew shot a glare to Robert, but before he could speak, Robert answered. “Okay. But please keep it general. That type of thing makes her uncomfortable.”

  “I’m fine.” Andrew crossed his arms tightly and looked across the desk as Dr. Brigman began.

  “You’re aware of the CryoLife guidelines a
nd candidacy in time of need?”

  Tweed broke in, reciting from memory: “As referenced in article 1–5: ‘For redemption of benefits, CryoLife participants must be between the ages of 18 and 35 at time of crisis. As determined by a licensed CryoLife technician, participants must have minimal to no existent brain injury associated with crisis. Participants must be declared imminently dead by a licensed CryoLife technician, or pronounced dead no more than two full minutes before extraction proceedings begin. Participants—”

  “What does that mean, ‘declared imminently dead’?” Andrew asked. “You said I was declared imminently dead.”

  “You were still alive, but anticipated to die,” Brigman said.

  Isn’t that the general human condition? “Aren’t you alive but anticipated to die? Can I extract your brain?”

  Zuniga pushed a pair of eyeglasses farther up the bridge of her nose, took her portfolio, and jotted something else.

  That’s right, bitch. Note it all up. Everything was so frustrating. Andrew knew he was already failing. Old Natalie had been demure and accommodating. But he couldn’t help that he wasn’t easily dominated or reserved. The words rolled out before he could stop them.

  Brigman seemed to take the venomous comment in stride. “Tweed?”

  “As deemed by a licensed CryoLife technician, ‘imminently dead’ is defined by the anticipated death of an individual within five minutes or less due to trauma.”

  “One can never be absolutely positive, but I’m relatively certain I don’t fit that criteria.” Brigman smiled.

  “Well, as you said – ‘one can never be absolutely positive.’”

  “Natalie, enough.” Robert took his hand. “I apologize, she’s not usually like this.”

  “Don’t apologize for me, I—” Andrew stopped as Robert curled his fingers sharp into his palm.

  “No, no, don’t you worry about it, Mr. Keller. She’s right – one can never be absolutely positive.” Brigman leaned forward with a smile before continuing. “But I certainly hope I make it to lunchtime. It’s pizza Thursday in the hospital cafeteria.”

  Pizza? Are you serious?

  Amid the polite chuckles all around, Andrew managed to pull his hand from Robert. He folded his arms again and gave Brigman a concentrated stare.

  “Anyway, once a participant is determined to be qualified, our technician jumps into action. We provisionally connect the body with a machine to continue circulation and oxygen while the blood is replaced with a stabilizer reducing freezing damage. We then extract the brain. It’s kept in storage and cooled by liquid nitrogen for up to five years, or until the beneficiary waives benefits, or provides the deductible to begin reanimation.”

  “You said ‘reducing freezing damage.’ The freezing causes damage?”

  “The brain is delicate, Mrs. Keller, damage could result from many things. This goes back to the cryonic concept that surfaced two hundred years ago – preserving the body at low temperatures with the ultimate goal of revival in a more medically advanced future. And that future is now.”

  “But that wasn’t—”

  “My team is comprised of the best cryonicists in the world, the best,” Brigman interrupted. “And we’ve conquered every physical and neurological challenge in the field. First for simple organ recreation, which eliminated the need for organ donation, ending an epidemic that plagued mankind for—”

  “You’re not answering—”

  “We’re at a completely different level than the primitive techniques where they’d basically hang a body in an icy sleeping bag. Reminds me of …”

  Andrew felt himself shaking, and his cheeks burned. This was his medical care. HIS. He had a right to know what had happened to him. He should not have to—

  “Dr. Brigman, I think my wife is trying to ask you something.”

  He glanced over at Robert, who offered an almost imperceptible smile.

  For what? Lying to me? Pinching my hand? Getting this douche bag to shut up does not make—

  “I apologize, Mrs. Keller.” The head doctor pulled his lips into his professional smirk and looked at Natalie. “I’m just very proud of the work we do here. Please, go ahead with your question.”

  “I want to know if the freezing causes damage. Does your procedure cause brain damage?”

  Tweed coughed. “Per section 14–8, ‘Participant and beneficiaries agree the CryoLife Corporation and associated staff are not liable for perceived or actual damage. Participant and beneficiaries waive rights to all litigation.”

  Dr. Brigman laced his fingers and rested his hands on his stomach, rocking in his chair. “We’ve implemented many new methods to reduce the impact of the temporary loss of circulation and oxygen, the stabilizer, and cooling process. Nonetheless, it’s inherent that minor brain tissue damage occasionally occurs due to crystallization, lack of oxygen, et cetera.” He lifted a hand and gave a lilting gesture. “And we can’t forget that this procedure isn’t being performed with a healthy person. There may be undetected impairment resulting from the crisis.”

  To his surprise, when Andrew looked to Robert, one of his eyebrows was lifted. You did know something, but not that much. Maybe that’s why you held back from me.

  And he felt a little better about Natalie’s husband, which was a relief in many ways. Abhorring his touch was one thing, but if Andrew couldn’t trust Robert, then who did he really have? He turned to the doctors and attorney.

  Certainly not these so called “care providers.”

  “Brain damage?” Andrew snapped. “You cause people brain—”

  “If you’re considering the daily function of an individual, Mrs. Keller, ‘damage’ is probably an overstatement,” Brigman replied. “Yes, there’s tissue alteration, but we’re talking about minor changes.”

  “Changes?”

  “If I may?” Dr. Zuniga rose and took a plastic brain model from a shelf beside Brigman’s desk. Andrew saw that it was sectioned into hundreds of colorful places like a mosaic, or a stained glass window. Larger pieces were labeled with abbreviations, but there were other portions smaller than a pinhead.

  Pointillism, kind of. A Seurat brain.

  Dr. Zuniga crouched to be at his eye level and drew a line with her fingertip around a section the size of a golf ball.

  “We’ve isolated crystallization here, so anything affected won’t be debilitating to the individual,” she said. “You see, Natalie, most people think the brain is infinitely complex, but it comes down to groups of cells. There’s an exact pattern of cells responsible for everything you like and dislike. Your greatest joys and deepest sorrows are a bit of brain matter. Tissue damage to this area only impacts things like that.”

  I hate being spoken to like I’m in preschool. Where’s that group of cells? I’m not going to shove your pen up my fucking nose, so stop treating me like a five-year-old.

  “I had a patient years ago.” Dr. Brigman nodded. “Loved Chinese food. When we reanimated him, he couldn’t stand the stuff. Another woman we brought back had the desire to play piano. Never touched an instrument before or wanted to. Now she’s a professional musician.”

  Oh, the horror. Chinese food and piano. How did those beleaguered individuals find the courage to survive? But instead, and before he could stop himself to consider:

  “Has anyone ever come back as another person?”

  This question prompted Dr. Zuniga’s expeditious return to her chair. The helium leaked from her ears and her eyebrows settled to a normal position on her face while she added more notes. Andrew cringed and chewed the inside of his cheek.

  Stupid. Stupid. Why can’t you just shut up, Andrew? No, Natalie. Natalie. Shut up, Natalie. But then, why should you? They ripped out your brain and crusted it with Shake ’n Bake. What further damage can they really do?

  “In a way that’s what brings us here – your recovery plan.” Brigman turned his attention to Andrew. “Whatever the cause of changes in the individual’s brain, the question is posed – how
much is too much? At what point is a patient too different from their previous identity? Natalie Keller died a year and a half ago. We don’t yet know if your reanimated brain has the amount of substance – the behavior, the memory, the character – that makes you her, and not someone else.”

  The breath he was about to exhale abruptly lodged in his throat, and a few seconds passed before he could speak.

  “If I’m not Natalie, who am I?”

  “Technically, you’re no one.”

  He laughed. “That’s ridiculous.”

  Whoever I am, I am someone. You can’t just be nothing.

  “Is it? Consider if I was reanimated to discover I’d lost my medical knowledge. Would it be right to practice as a doctor? And what if I lost all memory of my family? Would it be fair to continue to be responsible for them and financially support strangers? Am I entitled to my assets, my legal obligations? It’s extremely unlikely with how advanced our neurosuspension techniques are, but the most remote possibility still requires an answer.”

  “And for that reason,” Tweed supplemented, “per section 42–2, and in accordance with United States law, ‘A legal conservatorship will be established between reanimated individuals and a court appointed conservator. The conservatorship will remain in place for no less than six months following the date of reanimation, whereupon the conservator may grant the conservatee full benefits and entitlements in assimilation of the previously held identity. The conservator retains the right to pass full conservatorship to the CryoLife Corporation at request and upon return of the conservatee to the facility at—’”

  “Wait, wait. Conservatorship?” Andrew’s breathing now came quickly, and he felt his heart hammering his chest. He saw Robert touch his wrist, but barely felt it and didn’t bother to start counting before snatching his hand away. “Granting? Passing? I’m not a child. I’m not mentally incapacitated. And I’m no one’s property.”

  “Certainly not, ma’am,” Tweed said. “And we can understand how this is upsetting for you; however, in the eyes of the law, Natalie Keller is dead. Until we can verify who you are, you don’t have a permanent identity. These processes and regulations have been established for your protection.”