by Judyth Baker
“This is why we need to keep her alive!” the Historian told the cameras. “She knows things we have forgotten, in the field of medicine. Consider this, when you cast your vote.”
“You have lost so much knowledge!” the Ancient One sighed out. “You have awakened me to this nightmare. Morons! Neanderthals!”
“No, it is not as bad as that,” the psychologist objected. “We have no wars. We wiped out all the old diseases. We have no sorrows.”
“Do you have any joys?” Stella asked him. “If I could see you clearly, would I see a smiling face? For though a field might be planted with tears, in its harvest, there is joy.”
“I do not have the word ‘joy’ in my vocabulary,” the psychologist said apologetically. “It sounds as if it is close to the word ‘friendship’ or perhaps, to ‘having error-free genetic material.’”
“More than that! More than that!” Stella remonstrated. “My poor husband, he warned me–”
The Ancient One’s breath was now coming in harsh wheezes: she was losing her battle to stay conscious. “My husband said, ‘I will live here and die here. I do not trust a future where the present is so full of death.’ Was he right?” A tear fell from the Old One’s eye. Blood was dripping from her torn wrist. A new needle was swinging down toward her, in the cobalt blue of the room. She saw it coming…
“No – not another needle!”
”It’s to stabilize your breathing,” a doctor explained. “This one won’t hurt as much.”
She screamed when the needle drilled into her: then she began panting. “Did you know the hairless coyote?” she whispered, her eyes closing. “We – we kept him at the Experimental Zoo, along with the Bear-Headed Man, after the Killing Rains. There were so many mutations we needed to study.…” For a moment, she was silent. Then she struggled on, between sighs, saying, “The coyote had come from parents born free. He, too, wanted freedom. Wanted to trot out into the radioactive wastes where he had been born. One night, I let him go. Ah, the Institute was angry! But the Coyote was free. He only lived a few months, I suppose…”
Stella leaned back. “If you would help me,” she grunted, “I could be free from this place. Why not let me go? Even if I only lived a few months – why do this to me? Strap me down? Can’t I live awhile?”
“You condition was terminal,” a doctor spoke up. “For sure, you wouldn’t live more than a few months. Maybe a year.”
“Besides the expense,” the Director added. “Having to delay. Waiting for your tissues until you died.”
“Can you live in the outside world, yet?” Stella wanted to know. They sensed it was her last question, for she was collapsing forward, tremors now shaking her body. “I still have eggs in my ovaries, did you know that? If you kill me, won’t you at least save my eggs?”
She had slipped into a deep series of long breaths. They came longer…. deeper…
“Quickly!” a doctor ordered, “re-inject her with the cryogenic solution!”
As the expensive fluids were prepared, to be pumped and circulated throughout the wrinkled body, now quite still, the web-works of delicate wires and tubes were withdrawn, one by one, from Stella’s flaccid body. A film of delicate plastics fell over her, as she was lifted to a standing position again. The plastics formed a shield between her and the foam that then quickly enveloped her frail frame. A shower of crystals fell like snow around her, as the Pod whitened with cold. A shiny device whirled layer upon layer of foil around the Ancient One, as a spinning spider’s wrap-work might, until the Subject was a cocoon again. The repacking took only fifteen minutes. It was all automated.
The Pod was wheeled back into the great black, metal box from whence it had come. All air was pumped out, nitrogen was pumped in, and it was hermetically sealed. The box itself was then lifted by robotic arms and laid inside a vault. As those great doors slammed shut, a doctor moved to stand between the Director and the Students.
It was time for the Psychologist to recite his final report. The vote would come after hearing and questioning his presentation.
“Students, before you and the World cast your votes, please record my comments. Subject Stella 7-OH was preoccupied with the desire to live, despite her great age. The rage reflex was still intact, despite all the preconditioning we used before she was Awakened. There were no masochistic tendencies, but there was some confusion concerning her belief that she was worthy to be kept alive. As is usual in these cases, pain interrupted a great deal of what she tried to communicate. There was a definite interest in why our lives are now so short.”
The Psychologist flipped to another section of his module and continued: “Compare Subject Stella 7-OH with Subject John 5-OH, who does not even care to live, in what would amount to a level of severe and chronic pain, because of the evil memories of his last days, also spent in pain. Any questions?”
There was a timorous wave from one of the Students in the back of the room.
“Are coyotes dogs?”
A doctor, obviously irritated, retorted, “You were supposed to have received that data back in Comparative Mammals! To refresh your memory, coyotes were domesticated for dog racing, became hairless due to the Blessed Rains that wiped out our most dangerous enemies, and are known for their complex teeth, which are in double rows, and for possessing two tails. There are rumors that some coyotes did survive in the Outside World. That makes Stella 7-OH’s story of interest to our geneticists.”
The Psychologist then stood forth again. “I wish to remind you doctors, that after all my cautioning, you still seem to credit these half-dead, prehistoric Subjects as having accurate memories! Don’t confuse her drug-derived ravings with reality. It should be noted that Subject Stella 7-OH was still unable to recognize any of us, and had totally forgotten that she had been previously resuscitated, even though this is the third time that we have Awakened her. Any more questions?”
Another student waved to gain attention. “Will Stella ever remember a previous Awakening?”
The Psychologist’s short, little body shook with suppressed laughter and scorn. “Have you been sleeping, sir? We drained off her memories, for her own good. They’ve been canistered and can be returned to her, if we feel it would be the best for her. But they’re traumatic memories.”
“But you just faulted her for not remembering previous Awakenings,” the student persisted. He read aloud from his notes: “Quote: ‘It should be noted that Subject Stella 7-OH was still unable to recognize any of us, and had totally forgotten that she had been previously resuscitated, even though this is the third time that we have Awakened her. Why criticize her for not remembering them, if you canistered her memories?”
“How dare you!” the Psychologist trumpeted out, his face reddening with rage.
“How dare you?” the Historian shot back. “Why do you hate Stella so much?”
“Because – “ the Psychologist could feel a Fit coming on – a Fit of Anger that he must control at all costs, or all would be lost – “because you care more about Stella than you do about me!”
The Students gasped. The Psychologist, suddenly aware of how far he had overstepped things, shrilled out a fierce curse on them all and stomped from the room.
The Historian now stood forth, trembling with excitement and anger. “Let’s proceed, before the vote, in an orderly manner,” she said, keeping her voice steady and professional, though the redness of her face betrayed her inner turmoil. “To elaborate a little on Stella’s memory, this Subject’s brain has been remarkably well preserved so far. However, our doctors have told me that we are coming close to exhausting her final reserves of glycogen. We have to make up our minds whether we’ll let her live a few months – or years – on life support, where she will be aware – able to live some kind of life – or whether we should allow her to die and use her tissues now. Any more questions?”
The same Student nervously waved, to gain her attention.
“Yes?”
“Why can’t we examine low
er animals first, before waking these people?”
“Some of your modern friends may find it reprehensible to use people like this,” the Historian agreed, “but remember: you will not find a thousand howls of a hairless coyote as important as fifty words coming from the throat of an Awakened Subject.”
“I think every human life is valuable, in whatever state it’s in,” another student commented. “I think Stella should be allowed to live, because she wants to. That’s good enough for me.”
“Are there any other questions?” the Director asked. This was actually a signal that all questions should now cease. After a polite pause, the Director said, “Well, then, you may be seated.”
The Historian had been barely able to conceal her anger over her boyfriend’s bad behavior. Well, that’s the end of him!” she thought. Good riddance!
“Experiment 7-OH is now over,” the Director said. “Please cast your final votes.”
The Students sat down slowly, took up their modules, and voted. The Historian cleared her nose, stuffy with her tears, and cast her vote, too. In a few moments, the entire World had done the same. The Director then stood again, and the room hushed down. “We’ve been told,” she said, “that we will not be able to revive Stella many more times. It might be better to allow her to live awhile. It’s her desire. Of course, that would be expensive, and this University would need a strong ‘yes’ vote to allow that.” The Director turned toward the Media recorders. “So, have the votes come in?”
“They have,” a reporter responded.
“So, what is the verdict?” the Director asked. “Does she live, or does she die?”
The Historian knew, instinctively, what the final vote would be, despite all the efforts to try to make it look fair. The Director realized it, too, and as the others left the room, she sat herself down next to the Historian, who was weeping. The Director was so important that by this very act, the Historian’s status and income would be higher, safer and more secure for the rest of her life.
“Madame,” the Director told her, closing her module to private, “do you really want human beings to become aware, and maybe contaminate the world again? What would be next? Rehabilitating Stella so she could walk among us, talk among us, and feed us peanuts? Consider what they did to us, cutting our lifespan in half, before we finally conquered them!”
And the two elephants rumbled together in agreement that, after all, it was a very good thing that the humans still left on the planet were all safely ensconced in cryogenic capsules, where they belonged.
Endnotes
1. The Hayflick Limit Theory of Aging (expounded by Dr. Leonard Hayflick) is based on observations that the human cell can divide only a limited number of times. When it reaches that limit, the cell dies. Mitochondria are organelles that exist inside most living cells, providing the preponderance of energy used by the cell and thereby the body as a whole. When mitochondria die, eventually the body will die. “There is compelling evidence that mitochondria in animals and chloroplasts in plants were once primitive bacterial cells. This evidence is described in the endosymbiotic theory.” ( “The Cells that Changed the Earth” http://learn.genetics.utah.edu/content/cells/organelles/ )
“Frozen child: The youngest person to be cryogenically preserved” by Jonathan Head 15 Oct. 2015
“Sahatorn and his wife Nareerat have three other children. Nareerat had to have her uterus removed after the first birth, so Einz and her younger brother and sister were conceived through IVF. Technology, they say, played a central role at the very start of her life, and could well help restore it.
The Naovaratpong family chose Alcor, an Arizona-based non-profit organisation that is the leading provider of what it calls “life extension” services, to carry out the preservation of Einz’s brain. The family was closely involved in the preparations, designing the special coffin in which she would be transported to the United States.
[A] … team from Alcor flew to Thailand to supervise the initial cooling of the body. As the little girl deteriorated, she was moved from hospital to her own room. The moment she was pronounced dead, the Alcor team began what is known as “cryoprotection”; removing bodily fluids and replacing them with forms of anti-freeze that allow the body to be deep frozen without suffering large-scale tissue damage.
After arriving in Arizona her brain was extracted, and is preserved at a temperature of -196C. She is Alcor’s 134th patient, and by far its youngest.
[The family] also plan to visit the Alcor facility, to see the steel container in which Einz’s brain is being kept in what the company calls “biostasis.” The Naovaratpongs say they have donated similar sums of money to what they have spent on Einz’s cryopreservation to cancer research in Thailand.
Alcor says its operation is “an experiment in the most literal sense of the word.” It does not promise a second chance at life, but says cryonics is “an effort to save lives.”
It says “real death” only occurs when a dying body begins to shut down and its chemicals become so “disorganised” that medical technology cannot restore them. Future technology could make it more likely that the process can be reversed.
Moments after a customer is declared legally dead, the body is put on artificial life support, and blood replaced with preservatives, for transportation from anywhere in the world to Alcor’s headquarters.
The body is flooded with chemicals called “cryoprotectants,” which cool cells to -120C without ice forming, a process called vitrification.
The body is then cooled further to -196C and stored indefinitely in liquid nitrogen.
http://www.bbc.com/news/world-asia-34311502
Algorithm
“We forget that the systems we build are as fallible, political and biased as ourselves.”
– Christopher Steiner, “Algorithms Are Taking Over The World,”
TEDxOrangeCoast, 2015.
Algorithm: 2430 AD definition [algə-riT-Həm] noun: 1. A process or set of rules to be followed using calculations, especially by a computer. 2. In mathematics and computer science, a self-contained step-by-step set of operations to be performed by a sentient being, monitored by the Elite. 3. In set theory, an ordinal number, or ordinal, is the order type of a well-ordered set. 4. Sentient ordinals are usually identified with hereditarily transitive sets. Ordinals originated as a sub-species derived from human beings at the time of the Pentultimate Cyborg Revolution of 2120 AD.
As I sat in the Pod, avoiding the glances of the Ordinals, I wondered if I should have told Antares, my latest brain-mate and
orgasm-witness, that I was planning on taking a vacation. Not only that: I was planning to somehow take her with me.
That was almost unheard-of. As of last year, I had become one of Antares’ Angels. One of her primary contacts who took care of her – provided for her – used her. Gently. More gently, I knew, than the others did. I think she appreciated that. Certainly, if she knew that I was going to be testing this Algorithm today, she might have been concerned. We had been together a long time, at least three weeks, and since this was our third cycle together in two years I knew – or I hoped – she would care enough to provide some comfort and understanding after I told her how I had been Punished today.
It was still stinging my brain. In my half-erased memory of it, with a surge of resentment, I wanted to keep the memory alive, so I ran over the exchange I’d had with Mickey. I went over it five, six, seven times. Each time I did, I became more frightened. For Mickey was no ordinary Algorithm. He was the Word Monitor for over a million Ordinals – all of them living in my sector of the city.
Before I even said the test word to him, Mickey had picked it up as illegal.
“You can’t use that word,” Mickey had told me.
“Why not?”
“It doesn’t exist.”
“So what? I invented it.”
“Can’t use it.”
I’d been arguing a bit with Mickey, true enough, but that isn’t forbidden. It’s almo
st my duty. But even though I was giving him all the correct signals that I was no threat (I even began to back away), his face began changing.
That was a bad sign. By the time I had said “I invented it,” Mickey’s face looked like mine, and it was my mouth in his body speaking the words “Can’t use it” back at me.
That made me angry. I’m a Freeman. I’m a Linguistic Engineer; specialty, English. My particular duty is to check on the soundness of the English Algorithms regularly, including even the most important one of them all – Mickey, the Word Monitor. It was the most important link to the Main Controlling Algorithm over what was officially left of the English language.
Now, Mickey is not really a ‘he.’ He’s an ‘it,’ but I liked being a little personal. I’d been working with him for almost forty years. Mickey is there to make sure there’s no inappropriate use of a word. Overseeing the Algorithms that regulate the use of English is a major part of my job.
As one of the best Freeman Engineers on the planet, whose memory hasn’t been cleared out (and I’m careful to not let that happen), I even have the privilege of writing down my thoughts, because my job is to preserve the necessary portions of the English language and keep it understandable, even to the Ordinals, those poor creatures who work so hard to keep us all in a perfectly secure society.
True enough, I might have gone a bit too far.
I’d become fascinated with the idea of not only preserving the legal words in The English Language, but allowing the list of legal words to grow. Just a little. New words keep a language dynamic. Today, however, was a little different. I was supposed to test the Word Monitor Algorithm with a new word, to check its sorting and censorship functions. There was nothing “wrong” with the test word I had selected, by the way. Its only flaw is that it was unknown to Mickey.
As I’d done several times before over the past decades, I inserted the new word, as was my right, and watched as Mickey rolled his eyes and digested it.
Mickey’s real name was Anthrax 7, but because he had two large earlike appendages on both sides of his “face” I liked to call him “Mickey,” after the famed black rodent of the twentieth century.