Nothing focuses the mind as the hangman's noose, he mused. While he wasn't necessarily going to see the hangman, he was facing the great unknown, the "big chill" in more ways than one. But it was ultimately a quest for happiness, no different than the illusion of a fast car. His happiness lay in the vim and vigor of youth, but more importantly, a chance to see the future, to expand his ever-inquisitive mind. And his mind was now racing.
Here at the end of his life, on a trip leading to who knows where, Jamie had a revelation, maybe even an epiphany. A cool blue calm settled over him, reality faded, the pain and depression of age evaporated. Resignation and acceptance revealed themselves like a reunion with two old friends. And in a great mental sigh he realized he shouldn't be too hard on the know-nots, because in the end they are all looking for the same thing he was. If you find happiness, real or imagined, maybe that's enough.
In his mild euphoria Jamie idly watched the Chino hills go by. Seems like every square inch of Southern California land had been plowed and made into a tract mansion subdivision in the last 20 years. The natural flora was mowed down, and sticks that would one day be trees stood hopeful in every postage stamp yard.
They finally arrived at SoCal Cryo. It was a single new professional building with a small parking lot and the obligatory sticks-that-would-be-trees lining the freshly paved driveway. His nurses guided him into the customer reception area--brightly lit, with motivational posters on the wall and the ever-present video screen-where he didn't have long to wait. One never kept such a financial asset twiddling his thumbs! When they came for him, he bid farewell to his nurses, who cried a bit, having been with him for 20 some-odd years. Jamie too felt the loss, but the impending adventure quickly commanded his attention. A youngish man stood up from his expensive and expansive wooden desk.
"Mr. Southard, so pleased to meet you," said Dr. Bayer, chief administrator of SoCal Cryonics. "I must say up front, you understand that there are no guaranties as to when, or even if, we can thaw you. We've been flooded with calls ever since the Mexican team thawed out that rat. Moreover, your decision to freeze only your head, while understandable, is far more speculative, as far as reviving you in any real sense of the word."
"Call me Jamie, everybody does. The way I look at it, I don't want to be revived like this. If doctors haven't figured out how to put Humpty-Dumpty back together again, then I might as well stay frozen and become someone's science project. I'm already willing my body, what's left of it, to the University. Anyway, this is my chance to see the future."
Jamie thought of a line from a movie he saw as a youth, an innocent question asked by a self-aware computer. "Will I dream?"
"We've never recorded any electrical activity in a frozen brain, nor have any other research groups. So I'd guess no. But then again, no-one has ever been revived to tell us otherwise."
"So what will happen?"
"Well, to put it bluntly, we euthanize you. We take a tissue sample and administer a new drug, arresticine, to painlessly stop your metabolic functions without doing damage. It's not a toxin, just sort of a chemical off-switch. When your heartbeat and breathing cease naturally, we'll artificially maintain your respiration and cool your body slowly, treating your blood to prevent ice crystals from forming. When your body reaches 260K we'll amputate your head; veins, arteries, nerves and tissue being frozen, the damage will be minimal. Ultimately we'll take your head's temperature down to 77K. Ghoulish, isn't it?"
"Maybe from your point of view. I'll be way out of it by then. What about revival?"
"Ah, you see, that's what we don't know about for certain. Presumably we'll (or whoever has taken over the business-I may be a customer by then!) take your DNA sample and grow a new body for you. It'll be without a brain, so we'll, they'll have to maintain it artificially for many years while it develops. You can see why this is an expensive process! Next I imagine they'll thaw your brain slowly and perform a brain transplant. I would guess you'd need extensive therapy, both physical and emotional, as well as reeducation. The world may be a very different place by the time you awaken, no, by the time you are reborn."
Dr. Bayer looked carefully at Jamie. "Your nurses are gone, and we don't have overnight facilities here. Now's the time to back out."
Jamie cast him dim gaze around the room. He was feeling everything about his age at this moment; the fuzzy vision, the aches and pains, the helplessness. He wasn't happy, but he wasn't afraid.
"Let's do it!"
II
She woke up with a start. The room was dark and immensely quiet, especially after the dream she had just experienced. Can dreams be loud? This one was cacophonous-voices, roars, screeches-but nothing she could isolate. And no images resolved themselves, just the afterglow of shades of dark and light, making the transition from sleep to wakefulness all the more difficult in the pitch black room. She called for the lights and knew immediately something was wrong.
Jamie definitely did not remember being a soprano. As the windowpanes slowly went from opaque to transparent and the room brightened, an impossible fact rudely presented itself. Jamie looked down and saw thin, smooth arms where gnarled, atrophic ones once had been. And the image was quite clear, not the fuzzy blur of 117-year-old eyes. The supple arms ended in long-fingered hands with manicured nails, which lay on top of the comforter on the bed in the strange but friendly bedroom.
Scents, sounds, and sharp focus assaulted him (her?), as if Jamie had awakened from years of being wrapped in foam. He smelled vanilla, heard waves crashing, and saw that under the covers was the rest of a body, a female body, her body.