The Ups and Downs of Being Dead (37 page)

“Now I know what you are thinking,” Witherington said. “What
about Dr. James Bedford, a truly courageous man, who in 1967 volunteered to be
frozen by
traditional
means. Dr.
Bedford’s body remains in a frozen state at Crycor and we have every hope that
he will be successfully reanimated in the very near future. Ladies and
gentlemen, Dr. James Bedford.”

Again, Witherington turned and gestured to the man standing
on his other side. Bedford stepped forward for a bow.

“Poor old geezer,” Maggie muttered. “If he makes it, it’ll
be a miracle. That was very gracious of the committee to include him in the
celebration.”

Back front and center, Witherington made another
announcement.

“Another milestone was achieved in June of this year, but
the committee felt it deserved repeating this December. This is now the second
meeting of cryonics temps, worldwide, with no…new… members.”

The crowd roared their enthusiasm.

“This is an astounding revelation,” Witherington said. “It
means that no one—NO ONE—has involuntarily died, anywhere in the world. Medical
advancements have achieved what no one thought was possible one hundred years
ago. Immortality.”

The crowd broke into ear-piercing screeches and howls.
Robert wondered if their combined energy could be heard outside the stadium.

“No one has died?” Suzanne asked. “I can hardly believe
that.”

“Oh, people are still dying,” Maggie said. “But because they
have chosen to die. There’s still a strong religious coalition that believes
life should not be prolonged beyond a certain point. Although it has become
something of a gray area for religious leaders. A Christian can get a heart
transplant when he’s ninety, but at some point he’s got to go meet his maker.”

“I wonder what the insurance companies are going to do, now
that no one is taking out revival policies.”

“And Crycor won’t have anymore insurance payoffs coming in,”
Robert said. “I hope they invested wisely. They’ve got a lot of work ahead of
them.” He coughed out a laugh. “That would be funny if the board just took the
money and ran.”

“Fat chance of that,” Maggie said glumly. “I’m afraid our
reanimation is coming—soon.”

Sam came trotting up to the four of them as they crossed the
parking lot. Robert wanted to find the nearest bar and get a drink.

“Hey,” Sam said, poking his head between Robert and Maggie.
“You’re coming to our technology update at Crisler Arena, aren’t you? These
guys I’ve been hanging out with are geniuses. We’ve got a fantastic
presentation. The committee gave us the basketball arena because they figured
we’d draw the biggest crowds.”

“I don’t know,” Maggie said. “Maybe you can give us a recap
later.”

“What? You’re kidding, right? We’re going to be talking
about clones that are being grown right now for us. Well, not for
us
precisely, but for the temps that
have only been in storage the last few years.”

He was so excited, he actually trembled.

“Look, Sam,” Maggie said, her voice soothing and calm. “I
understand your enthusiasm. But some of us aren’t in a real partying mood right
now.”

At first Sam stared at Maggie like she’d just grown a second
head, but then he noticed Joe and Suzanne standing off to the side.

“Oh, right,” he said. “That was rude. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Maggie said. “We’re heading back to the Tower
Hotel. We’ll catch up with you later, okay?”

“Sure thing.”

Sam cupped a hand on Robert’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I don’t
know what I was thinking.”

* * *

The four of them sat at a table in the restaurant next door
to the hotel. Robert stared out the window at passers-by.

“Do you suppose there are others like us who aren’t looking
forward to being reanimated?” he asked.

Maggie snorted. “I’m sure Brian Campbell and the rest of his
emo gang is unhappy. Of course, they’re unhappy about everything.”

“Yeah,” Joe said. “Now they’ll have to get all their new
body parts re-tattooed and re-pierced.”

“And get a job,” Robert added.

“I can’t believe it,” Maggie said to Robert. “Seems like
just a few years ago, you were lamenting how long you would have to wait, with
nothing to do, and nowhere to go.”

“Yeah,” he said, shaking his head. “I didn’t see how I was
going to survive without working fifteen-hour days.”

“I remember you even considered climbing into your dewar
like Albert Jackson did, just hanging out in the liquid nitrogen for all this
time.”

“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.

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.”