Page 19 - Tales Apocalyptic and Dystopian

The Infoarchy
(Fantastic Transactions 2, 1997)

“Not dreaming?” said Lester Morris to the people standing by his
bed.
“No,” replied a tall man in white clothing; but he was no taller nor
clothed any whiter than the others. “We are going to examine you
now.”
“Oh. Okay. How long was I in the tank?” Lester’s eyes vainly
searched the pale pink walls and ceiling for a clock or calendar.
“One hundred and seventeen years.”
Lester waited for an invasion of needles and tubes. It did not
come. His attendants stood quietly watching something behind him.
Their heads made small movements toward each other, toward the
ceiling, toward the floor. The silence bothered him.
“So, that’s quite a long time, isn’t it? I mean, a lot of companies
don’t even last fifty years, but it looks like Westwood Cryonics is still
going strong.”
The tall man spoke.
“It ceased operations ten years after you were chilled. Your tank
was among the few to survive several political and ecological
upheavals. The state is now in charge of your case.”
Lester found he could move his limbs and sit up.
“Well, I certainly got my money’s worth, even though Uncle Sam
has been picking up my cold storage tab for a hell of a long time. A
hundred and seventeen years.” He shook his head. “It really took this
long to find a cure for metastasized pedunculated osteochondroma. I
know it’s going to be difficult to adjust to the way things are now, but
I’m prepared. I mean, if you had fifty thousand bucks in the bank
compounding interest for a century or so, and you suddenly had the
curse of a fatal disease lifted from your life, wouldn’t you be ready to
start over in a brand new world?”
Only the tall man remained. “You need to rest now. A mild
sedative has been administered.”
Then he too was gone.

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