Strange Future: A 23rd Century Guide for the 21st Century Cynic
Joshua Smith
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2009 Joshua Smith
Find additional free content, information about the sequel, and more at http://www.strangefuture.com/
FOREWORD:
According to some scientists, there are an infinite number of universes. Some of these universes are so bizarrely different from ours that we can't possibly begin to describe what they must be like...
Others are nearly exactly the same as ours, with the exception of one tiny detail. For instance, there is a universe somewhere that is a carbon copy of this one, except in that universe, you put on blue socks this morning instead of white ones...
If this theory is true, then it means that somewhere there is a universe where the following story is NOT a story. Somewhere there is a universe where the events described herein have actually occurred...
Let's hope that the theory is wrong.
Chapter 1:
The world was a strange and scary place. Across the globe, world governments fought cold wars behind closed doors. Corporations used their vast amounts of money to buy off politicians to get laws passed that would help them make even more money. Computers had become the norm, and people were using these immensely powerful tools to do equally immense tasks and perform terrible crimes. The climate was changing due to pollution and other unnatural human activities, but very few could seem to accept this fact, and those who didn't fought endless, bitter battles with the ones who did.
This was all rather depressing, but fortunately, this is not the point of this story. This story is about one man. His name was Thomas. He was twenty-five years old, average height, had thick, brown hair, green eyes, glasses, and was just plain fed up with the world. Everything he saw was all depressing, all the time. And what's worse, he had the horrible feeling that soon, the entire mess of it all would result in several major cities exploding into giant, fiery balls that would be visible from space. This, of course, was a very bad thing. But Thomas tried not to think about that too much. Indeed, he spent very little time thinking about anything except for work...
Beep beep beep beep beep!
Thomas groaned and wondered what time it was. He looked over at the clock and groaned again when he got his answer: 5:00 AM. He groaned once more as he swung his legs onto the floor and sat up on the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes. He felt as if he hadn't gotten any sleep at all. This was, of course, entirely possible. He wasn't quite sure when he had gotten to bed last night. All he remembered was doing paperwork until the numbers became indistinguishable from letters, at which point he decided that it probably wasn't wise to continue working. He got up and stumbled towards the bathroom, mentally reviewing his to-do list.
Finish checking and organizing papers. Transfer key points of speech to note cards. Grab something for breakfast. Catch the subway. Stop over on 33rd to pick up the dry cleaning. Get to office before 8:00. Thomas stopped moving his toothbrush back and forth. Something caught his eye. Could it be... No, that wasn't possible. He spit then looked again. Maybe it was... He leaned in towards the mirror to get a closer look.
"Gotta be kidding me..." Thomas said quietly. He looked intently and saw that it was, indeed, a gray hair. "I'm overworked," Thomas muttered as he exited the bathroom. He quickly got dressed, deciding to wear a navy colored suit instead of his usual black. After taking care of the papers and note cards, he ran to the kitchen to grab something to eat. A bagel sounded good. Thomas reached for an onion bagel, then realized he had already brushed, and grabbed a plain one instead. He found his briefcase and threw everything in. He started to run out the door, then paused and laughed at himself. He opened the briefcase again, pulled the bagel back out, and took a bite as he left and locked the door behind him.
Thomas walked briskly down the hallway towards the elevators. He stole a look at his watch and realized--with quite a bit of surprise--that he was actually on time. Perhaps he would take the stairs instead. A bit of extra exercise would do him some good, and fifteen floors of stairs would certainly get his heart pumping. He dashed to the left, burst through the doors, and began running down the stairs as quickly--and carefully--as he could. Finally he reached the first floor landing, panting but feeling much more awake and energized.
"Morning Mr. Gordon," Bill the doorman said as Thomas approached.
"Morning Bill," Thomas said in response.
"Off to work early again I see," Bill said. He smiled the all-knowing smile of an old friend.
"Yeah, as always. At least I'm on time this morning." Thomas chuckled. "Say Bill, you ever wonder what the purpose to this rat race we call life is?"
"Every day, Thomas," Bill said with a deep exhale.
"Really? Found an answer yet?"
"Nope."
"Well that's a shame. Oh well... I've gotta run. Catch you later Bill!"
"Have a good day, Thomas!" Bill yelled after him.
"I'll try!" Thomas shouted over his shoulder as he rushed out the door. As Thomas walked north on Park Avenue towards 86th, the cold winter air set in, making him shiver. When Thomas was younger, he had loved winter. The sledding, fort building, snowball fights, and the slight chance of a snow day made it all worth it. Now that he was all grown up and part of the working world, he hated winter with a passion. He had long since contemplated moving to a warmer climate, but couldn't bring himself to do it. He wasn't at all attached to his job, but he had a great condo, and about twenty years worth of memories holding him in his place. Thomas sighed as the subway station came into sight when he rounded the corner on 86th. Another day, another commute.
Thomas bounded down the steps into the station. He swiped his MetroCard, passed through the turnstile, and joined a throng of fellow commuters on the downtown platform. As they stood and waited, a 5 express train roared through the station. Thomas looked at his watch. He still had plenty of time. A minute later, a 4 pulled into the station.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the conductor announced, "this is a Brooklyn bound express train. Express! If you want local stops, wait for the six, which should be right after this one." Thomas would normally take the express, but had to get off at a local stop to pick up the dry cleaning, so he waited. "Stand clear of the closing doors... Stand clear...Hey! You with the hat! In or out already!" The doors closed and the train departed. True to the conductor's word, a six pulled in less than a minute later. The doors opened and Thomas boarded, miraculously finding a seat.
"This is the six local train. Next stop is 77th Street. Stand clear of the closing doors." The train departed without incident, and Thomas settled in for the ride. The dry cleaners was near the 33rd Street station, so Thomas had quite a few stops to go through before he got off. Thomas began going over his mental checklist again to pass the time and ensure he hadn't forgotten anything, pausing where needed to hear the conductor's announcements.
"This is Grand Central station," the conductor said after a time. "Connections can be made here to the A, C, E, N, Q, W, R, and S trains. If you want any other letters of the alphabet, you're out of luck. Next stop, 33rd Street." Thomas sat up and got his things together. Moments later, the train stopped and Thomas made his way to the street. He walked a short distance and entered the dry cleaners. He approached the unmanned counter, expecting to see someone coming from the back, but no one was visible. Thomas hesitated, then rang the bell next to the register. Silence. Thomas sighed and turned around to watch the traffic on the street behind him. The sun was rising ever higher, signaling Thomas that he would be late if he didn't get this dry cleaning and get back on the subway soon. He turned around to ring the bell again, but was surprised to see a man now standing at the register, looking at Thomas impatiently.
"Oh," Thomas said, "when did you get here?"
"I've been here, you're the one wasting my time staring out the window!" the man said in a gruff voice.
"Well sorry! You could've said something to let me know you had gotten here." The man just tapped his fingers and looked at Thomas expectantly. "I'm picking up two suits, under the name of Gordon."
"You got a claim ticket?"
"Yeah, just give me a sec," Thomas said as he dug for his wallet. He flipped through its contents, searching for the claim ticket, and didn't find it. He started over and searched for it a second time. Still nothing.
"No claim ticket?" The man asked impatiently.
"No, no, hang on, I know I have it!" Thomas flipped through everything a third time and still didn't find it.
"No claim ticket, no clothes! Goodbye!" The man walked off towards the back.
"Wait, can you just--I have to have that suit today!" The man was gone. Thomas sighed. He flipped through all the papers a fourth and fifth time and still couldn't find it. He couldn't believe his luck. Dejected, he left and headed back to the subway, wondering where on Earth he could've left that ticket. About ten minutes later, he arrived to union square and began walking to work.
"Hello Janice," Thomas said to the secretary as he arrived at the fourteenth floor office.
"Good morning, Mr. Gordon," she replied courteously. "Big day today."
"Yeah, unfortunately. Let's hope I survive..."
"I'm sure you'll be fine. Just watch out, Mr. Corbin is in a pretty rotten mood today."
"Thanks," Thomas gulped as he pushed the office door open, "let's hope you're right about things being OK..."
".... that's why I told you to get it done! No! I can't have it tomorrow, I needed it yesterday! Fine. Fine. Well hurry it up!" Marty Corbin hung up the phone in disgust. "Ugh! You can't just find good help these days Thomas. Fortunately, you've never let me down, you've always been there for me!" Thomas flushed, horrified about the prospect of telling Marty about the dry cleaning. "So, Thomas, let's go over the schedule for today shall we?"
"Yes sir," Thomas said nervously. "You have the speech to the board of directors today at three. I've got your note cards right here," Thomas handed them over. Marty took them and began leafing through them. "You also have a meeting today with the president of the company right after the meeting with the board, discussing the figures on this paperwork," Thomas said as he placed the stack of papers on the desk. "I finished them last--"
"Thomas, this speech is all wrong! What IS this speech? It's all wrong, what happened to the talking points I gave you?"
"What? What do you mean? I used the talking points that Janice gave me yesterday!"
"I don't know what talking points you're talking about, because these are certainly not the talking points Janice would've given you."
"I ... I'm sorry sir, but that's all I have! I didn't know that--"
"It looks like I was too quick to give praise. This will do, though... I suppose." Marty sat in silence, flipping through the note cards and grimacing occasionally. Thomas was horrified. He wasn't sure if he should just wait or proceed. If he did proceed, he didn't know if he should acknowledge and apologize for the error, or just pretend it didn't happen and move on.
"I'm sorry sir, it won't happen again..." Thomas hesitated, waiting for a response, but none seemed forthcoming. "About the meeting with the president at four, I--"
"Did you pick up my dry cleaning?" Thomas was horrified.
"What?" Marty stopped flipping through the cards, put them down on the desk, and folded his hands together.
"Thomas," he began, "I asked you to drop off my favorite suit at the dry cleaner yesterday. Do you remember that?"
"Yes, I just--"
"Did you drop the suit off two days ago like I asked?"
"Well, I..."
"Did you?!"
"Yes!" Thomas answered. He had never seen Marty like this before.
"So you dropped it off. Did you pick it up this morning?"
"You see, that's--"
"Just answer the question: yes or no."
"No," Thomas said, bracing himself for the verbal missile sure to come his way.
"Why not? You know I always wear that suit when I speak to the board."
"I know sir, but I--"
"And I DEFINITELY want to be wearing it when I'm having to give a speech like ... like this," he said, pointing to the note cards. "So why didn't you pick it up?"
"I tried sir, but ... I lost the claim ticket."
"You LOST the claim ticket?"
"I'm sorry, I'm sure I just misplaced it somewhere, I can try--" Marty raised his hand and stopped Thomas in his tracks.
"Don't speak." Marty sat in silence, head facing downward, massaging his temples with his index and thumb. Finally he sighed and looked up again. Thomas was sweating bullets.
"I'm sorry, Thomas, but this is unacceptable. I pay you far too much for you to be making major mistakes like this. I know this is your first time, and ordinarily I'd let a mistake--even one as big as this--slide with a warning. However this whole week has been quite revealing. The incompetence shown at nearly every level in this company has made it clear that it's time for some restructuring."
Thomas stood there, too shocked to understand what was being implied.
"I'm sorry Thomas," Marty said, "you're fired."
Flabbergasted, Thomas gaped. Finally, his brain told him to start moving, and he slowly turned to gather up his remaining things. Suddenly, his brain felt outraged, and he turned to give his boss a piece of his mind. He swung around to find Marty staring at him piercingly. Thomas sputtered and lost his nerve, spinning back around to leave.
"Marty Corbin's office, please hold," Janice was saying as Thomas exited the office. He shut the door and then propped himself up against it, looking rather pathetic. Janice looked over and saw Thomas standing there.
"Thomas! What happened?" He continued leaning on the door, unable to force himself to move. He opened his mouth, tried to talk, failed, swallowed, and tried again.
"I got fired," he squeaked.
"What?!" Janice shouted. "Oh Thomas," she said, much quieter this time, "I'm so sorry..."
"He said that I was incompetent, and that it was time to restructure."
"I … I don't know what to say... You're the best personal assistant he's ever had! I don't see how he could say something like that..."
"Well, watch out, you may be next." Janice seemed shocked by this, and was quite prepared to deny it. It wasn't long, however, before the cold hard truth of the statement set in, and she fell silent. Thomas finally peeled himself away from the door and began to leave.
"Janice?" Marty said over the intercom.
"Yes Mr. Corbin?"
"Place an ad in the classifieds for a new personal assistant. I want the ad to say that..." Thomas closed the door behind him, walked down the hall to the elevator, and left work for the last time.
Chapter 2:
To say that Thomas felt miserable would be quite the understatement. He did, indeed, feel miserable. However, it went far beyond that. There was a complex network of emotions he was feeling on the ride home: anger, bitterness, and despair, just to name a few. When he arrived back at his apartment, he was finally starting to feel a slight bit of optimism. How fitting it was, then, that Cathy McAllister and Theresa Wellington happened to be in the lobby of the apartment building when Thomas entered.
"Thomas Gordon? Is that YOU?" Cathy shrieked from across the room. Thomas stopped dead in his tracks and exhaled slowly. He really didn't want to deal with this now, but he could hear his father yelling at him about proper social etiquette. Thomas turned around and walked in their direction. "I knew that it was you! I told you it was him, didn't I Theresa?"
"Yes, and I was sure you were wrong, so sorry dear," Theresa responded.
"Don't worry, we all make mistakes. Thomas darling! How are you doing?"
"Oh, I'm doing OK, I guess," Thomas said in a thoroughly unconvincing tone.
"That's lovely," Theresa said. "You know, my Joey was accepted to Harvard Law--did I tell you this already? I think that maybe I have. Oh well, no matter, he'll be graduating at the end of this coming semester you know."
"Really? That's wonderful, tell him I said hello."
"Oh I'll be sure to do so, you can count on that. He'll be coming to visit over the holidays, but he'll be awfully busy. I'll ask and see if perhaps he can take some time out of his schedule to have some coffee with you or something. I know you two used to be such good friends."
"Yes, it's such a shame you couldn't go to Cornell with Joey and my Robert. I mean, it's understandable given the circumstances, but you three used to be so close! I hardly ever see you going out on the town to have a good time. I can't help but think that your social life would be much more fulfilling if you would have gone to Cornell with Robert and Joey."
"Now Cathy, that's awfully unkind of you," Theresa said in a rather harsh tone. "I'm sure that Thomas has many friends from whatever … college … he went to. Just because you don't see him coming and going with friends all the time doesn't mean he doesn't have a social life."
"Well Theresa I'm just saying, I think poor Thomas here really missed out on some great opportunities!"
"Of course he did, but that's not his fault, now is it?"
Thomas stood there, somehow managing to endure the abuse. It was quite impressive, actually. But Thomas had long ago come to terms with the fact that every time he saw these two old birds he would have to put up with their degrading comments. In his estimation, this was probably fifteenth time this year--at a bare minimum--that he had heard this conversation.
"Theresa! I'm surprised at you! You can't possibly imagine that I would be so cold about the death of his parents! It's clearly not his fault, I'm just saying that it's a shame that things happened the way they did."
"Yes, but I think Thomas has managed very well with what he's been given!"
"There's no denying that."
"No, certainly not. He seems to have quite a good job. Isn't that right Thomas?" Thomas hesitated. He should have just said yes and ended the conversation. At the very least, he could've ignored the question or changed the subject. But Thomas made a critical mistake: opening his fat mouth.
"Not anymore."
"What?" Cathy chuckled. "Come now!"
"Nope. I got fired today." Theresa and Cathy's faces dropped, but their eyes sparkled with delight.
"Oh Thomas," Theresa gasped, "how horrible!"
"Absolutely dreadful!" Cathy said. "Whatever are you going to do?"
"I'll be fine. I've saved quite a bit of money over the years, and as you know, the condo is paid off, so I don't have a lot of bills to worry about."
"Well perhaps it's quite a good thing that you haven't had a very active social life. You've been able to save a lot of money that way, and that can tide you over for the time being," Cathy said, smiling.
"I guess so," Theresa said, "and you've lived so conservatively these past few years. Yes, you should be just fine until you find something else."
"Oh I'm quite sure of that," Cathy agreed, "it's quite a shame though really. You're going to be rather limited. The only thing you really have left is your condo."
"This is just all so depressing, let's not talk about this anymore," Theresa said.
"That's OK, I really need to get going anyhow," Thomas lied.
"Aww," Cathy said. "Well Thomas, if you need anything, you know who to call."
"I'll keep that in mind. Thank you. I'll see you two around. Tell Robert I said hello as well Mrs. McAllister."
"I certainly will, goodbye dear!" Thomas left the two women and went off in search of a wall to bang his head against. The women didn't seem to mind and continued talking as if nothing of any significance at all had happened. This wasn't unusual. To them, the preceding conversation was, in fact, of no significance at all.
Thomas burst into his apartment, mentally and emotionally exhausted. He kept running over the day's events in his mind. It just didn't seem fair. He had never made a mistake like this before, and was still shell shocked that his first big mistake resulted in his immediate firing. Then, to top it all off, he had to come home to be lectured by Tweedledee and Tweedledum about how deprived he was and how horrible his life would be now that he had lost his job.
"Hmph!" Thomas scoffed audibly. Of course, Thomas knew he was completely fine. He had budgeted and saved wisely over the past few years, so he had quite a large chunk in the bank. On top of that, his parent's life insurance policy had paid off the condo, leaving him with minimal bills. He wasn't going to be in any trouble at all. But the insinuation by Cathy and Theresa that he was now going to be limited infuriated him. If anything, the exact opposite was true! Thomas had lived the large majority of his adult life locked in a single pattern. Few, if any, opportunities for change had ever presented themselves to him and those that had, Thomas had rejected to maintain the status quo.
Now, however, the status quo had been broken. Thomas was once again the master of his life. He was free to make whatever choices he wanted to. Countless doors had been opened! A new, better, more rewarding job could be his! He could make some new friends and have a more active social life. Hey, he could even move to a smaller, more manageable place if he wanted!
Thomas mused on this last point. Work had always kept him sufficiently distracted, preventing him from really thinking about what was going on around him. Thomas would notice the craziness in the world, but it would immediately get filed away at the back of his mind while he attended to Marty's every whim. For the first time in a very long time, Thomas wasn't worrying about Marty. Gone was the constant mental to-do list. Instead, Thomas could think clearly, and his mind was busy piecing things together. It was building a picture that was, to be frank, not pretty.
As the picture became more and more complete, it also became clear to him that he did not fit in anywhere within the social strata of the city. This wasn't upsetting. It was actually a relief. The lack of a social life had always bothered him on some level, but he was understanding for the first time that it wasn't necessarily his fault. There was simply no place in the city where he belonged.
On top of all of this, Thomas had long had a personal theory that human society could only handle so much pressure. With the pressure from the strife and anxiety in the world increasing exponentially, it was only a matter of time before society's limit was reached. When that time came, Thomas had reasoned, being in the city surrounded by ten million people was probably not the best idea in the world. Now Thomas was free. He could move wherever he wanted!
Thomas began envisioning a quiet life in the country away from the hustle and bustle of big city life. He could see the green, lush grass surrounding his house. Stretched above him, a clear blue sky could be seen without the obstruction of skyscrapers. At night, countless stars were visible, filling the inky void. And best of all, he wouldn't have to worry about getting axe murdered on the walk home!
"Yes!" Thomas exclaimed to no one in particular. "I'm going to do it! I'm going to get out of this city!"
Chapter 3:
Patricia Murphey sat at her desk, sorting paperwork. She paused momentarily, looked over at the half-finished game of solitaire displayed on her computer screen, and sighed softly. Patricia had been a secretary for nearly twenty years--not always at this office of course--but she still fondly remembered the first time she used a computer for her job. It was a beautiful workstation with all the options: word processing, spreadsheets, and, best of all, solitaire. Patricia smiled. She loved working with computers on her job. But being a secretary wasn't all it was cracked up to be.
Patricia looked up to see Thomas reentering the office from Dodge Avenue. She sighed deeply. This was the part of her job that got her down: the people. It wasn't that Patricia hated all people. To the contrary, Patricia did enjoy the company of her workmates and got along very well with her boss. The people who bothered her the most were the clients. This made her work as a secretary rather difficult, but Patricia put on her professional hat when needed, and trudged through the days. Most of the time it wasn't too bad, but Thomas was challenging her much more than the average client. He sat down on the couch and picked up a copy of National Geographic from the coffee table.
Patricia shook her head. Thomas was more than two hours early, and she had made it clear to him that morning when he arrived that Ms. Tharpe would not be able to see him until after three that evening. Yet here he was, several hours early. Patricia shook her head again. She could not understand why some people had no concept of time at all. It seemed like a fairly straightforward, important concept. But here was yet another person who had apparently failed to learn. Patricia dismissed the thoughts from her mind. What did she care, so long as he didn't bother her?
Thomas sighed softly and put the magazine down. The cover article hadn't turned out to be very interesting after all. He looked around the office and wondered idly what Ms. Tharpe would be like. He had never dealt with a Realtor before and hoped that she would be trustworthy. He spotted a bulletin board on the opposite side of the office littered with notes, business cards, and flyers. With nothing else to do, he wandered over to take a look. He quickly skimmed over the posted items. Someone lost their dog and was offering a reward. There were going to be childbirth classes down the street at the community center in a month. A local school was going to be holding classes for American Sign Language starting next week. Thomas paused for a second. Sign language. That might be fun... He then noticed the flyer right below that. It simply read this:
"Fed Up?"
Below it were precut strips in the paper, each containing an identical name and phone number. None had been taken. Thomas always felt awkward about taking pull tabs from flyers. He once had a bad experience in which he took a tab from a flyer advertising a bike that was for sale. After he called, he was suddenly thrust into the middle of a very strained relationship between the girl who was selling the bike, and her ex-boyfriend who actually owned the bike.
Thomas had vowed to never again take the chance and call a number on one of these flyers, but this flyer spoke to him on several deep levels. The simple words "Fed Up?" expressed everything he had been feeling about the world recently. He took out his cell phone, and carefully dialed the number. It rang three times, and finally, there was an answer.
"Hello..."
"Yes, hello! My name is Thom--"
"Thank you for calling!" the recording said. "You have seen our flyer and you are clearly, and quite simply, fed up with it all. We share the feeling, and that's why our group of clear thinking and concerned community members is inviting you, a fellow groaner and sigher, to our next meeting--on December 11th, 2007, at the Old Fort Library Branch, meeting room B, at 2 PM. At the meeting, we will discuss a conclusion we have reached that we believe will finally give resolution to all of the problems you're having with Earth and the people who live on it. Please, be punctual."
Thomas looked at his watch: 1:45 PM, December 11th, 2007. If he was going to make it to the Old Fort Library in fifteen minutes, he was going to have to start running the twelve block distance immediately. He looked over at the receptionist, back at his watch, at the receptionist, and at his watch again. 1:46.
"Excuse me, miss?"
Patricia slowly and painfully turned her head away from the game of solitaire in a way that would send a message of her disdain of being disturbed as clearly as possible. When it was finally in position, she slowly moved her hand to push her horn rimmed glasses up her nose. When she succeeded in doing that, she cleared her throat and said in the driest tone imaginable, "Yes, sir, may I help you?"
"Uh ... Hi ... so sorry to bother you," he paused as Patricia started to smile, drinking in the success of years of practice. "Well, I was just wondering if Ms. Tharpe will be able to see me soon?"
Patricia looked at him with a profound sense of awe. She had encountered this many times before, but every time she couldn't help but wonder how such scatterbrained, unobservant people could get by in the world without losing their kidneys to fast talking con-artists. She did the only thing she could do in this situation. She reached across the desk and slowly moved a plastic sign that had a clock face and two plastic hands on it towards him. She cleared her throat loudly and went back to playing solitaire. Thomas looked at the sign that he hadn't noticed until that very moment and read it. It said "Will return at:" and had the plastic hands pointing at 2:30. Thomas was profoundly embarrassed.
"Ah… right then, well, thank you, I'm going to take care of some other things, and I'll be back later. Thank ... thank you for your, uh, help."
Thomas dashed out the door and stole a look at his watch. 1:48. He turned out of the office on the corner of 42nd Street and Dodge Avenue, and began running north, saw the sign for 43rd Street, and quickly turned around and began running south. The Old Fort Library was located on the corner of 30th Street and Dodge, and Thomas didn't have much time. As he raced down the streets, he bumped into countless people, got cursed at by several others, and received at least one death threat. He ran as fast as he could, hesitating at crosswalks and dashing between cars where he could do so safely. He crossed 36th Street and stole a look at his watch. 1:55.
"There's no way I can make it on time!" He thought to himself, but he came this far and couldn't let himself stop now. Thomas was fairly athletic, but the streets were simply too crowded to get through quickly enough. Had the streets been empty, he mused, he would be able to get there in no time. Finally, at long last, he burst through the doors of the Old Fort Library and saw the clock on the wall: 2:00.
"Quick!" He shouted. "Where's meeting room B!"
The librarian looked up at him slowly, raising her head in a way that would express her utter contempt for all things human.
"Ahhh, I don't have time for this!" Thomas looked up and saw a sign that said "Meeting Rooms." It was accompanied with a rather friendly, helpful arrow pointing in the direction of a hallway straight ahead of him. He ran off in that direction, down the corridor, and finally located Room B in the middle of the stretch of hall. He panted and looked at his watch. 2:01. He turned the knob slowly and entered the room...
Chapter 4:
"You're late," said a strange wobbly looking man standing in the front of the room. He looked about 50, some gray hairs here and there. Thomas recognized his voice from the recording he had listened to. He glanced around the room. Sitting in the corner adjacent to him were two other men and two women. The one man looked to be as old as time, hunkered over in his chair. He was, by all appearances, asleep. The other man looked to be in his mid twenties, and otherwise had no immediately noticeable features. The first, older woman was probably in her late thirties--possibly early forties--and fairly pudgy. She had on a white lab coat, large, coke bottle glasses, and long, ruby red nails. Putting those things together, Thomas reckoned, was not a normal combination by any "standard" definition of fashion. Last, but certainly not least in Thomas' eyes, was a beautiful young woman. She had long, flowing black hair, a fashionable looking sweater and khakis, beautiful blue eyes you could lose yourself in, and big, pouty lips that Thomas imagined would be very soft and loving...
"Ahem!" The wobbly man cleared his throat, jolting Thomas from his thoughts and back to the present.
"Oh, err, yes?" said Thomas.
"I said you're late! I can't stand it when people are late. Didn't you hear the message? Be punctual! I tell you, you can't plan on starting anything on time in today's world. Well go on, sit down!"
Thomas looked around awkwardly for a chair, something that was completely unnecessary given that the group had the entire meeting room and about fifty chairs available to choose from. Thomas started to walk one way, then the other, and finally plopped himself down on a chair that he deemed a safe distance from everyone else. He had this paranoid feeling that he may need to bolt from the room and wanted to be out of arm's reach of the small, ragtag looking group. He was unsure of why he was so anxious, but it certainly wasn't the first time he had felt that way. His breathing was still irregular, but Thomas couldn't be sure if it was from the run or the feelings of paranoia.
"Well Doug, it's 2:05. Check your...computer thing and see how many people called in."
The young looking man produced a notebook computer from a backpack and set it in his lap. Thomas now noted that Doug was wearing blue jeans and a baggy, ill-fitting sweatshirt that appeared to be at least three to four sizes too big. A few keystrokes later Doug announced his findings. "Server says only two people called, one yesterday and one today, about twenty minutes ago."
"Well twenty minutes ago must've been this fellow here given the way he stood there panting. He probably ran here from somewhere. That or he was just completely captivated by Vera..." The wobbly man cracked a smile.
Thomas flushed, and glanced over at the girl, who was equally, if not more, red. "Realtor's office on 42nd and Dodge..." He muttered.
"That is quite a ways. Well Doug, I don't think anyone else will be coming now if they're this late, so whoever called yesterday is a lost cause. Let's get started." He glanced at Thomas. "What's your name?"
"Thomas."
"Have a last name?"
"Gordon. Why?"
"Just curious is all. My name is Frank, that's Doug with the laptop, Ervin next to him asleep ... again ..." Frank looked slightly worried about this fact for a short time. He finally shook his head and proceeded. "That's Flo there, and I believe you already noticed Vera."
Thomas flushed again, getting slightly angry with this Frank character. "Do you all have last names?" He said sarcastically.
"Of course we do!" Frank said, staring at Thomas as if there was a loud parrot perched on Thomas' shoulder that had hurled an insult at his mother. "What kind of question is that?"
Frank obviously wasn't getting it. Thomas sighed and decided not to fight it, no matter how obvious the question was in his mind. There was a period of awkward silence. Thomas fought the urge to leave. Finally, he got the courage to ask the question that was running through his mind.
"So, what are we doing here?"
"Ah," said Frank, pausing for a period of time longer than what Thomas deemed necessary. He seemed lost in thought. "Oh. Right then, well, you see, we're all members of this little group of people--coalition if you will--that are simply sick and tired of the world as we know it. We see the way things are heading and we've basically come to the conclusion that humanity is in a rough spot right now and things are only going to go downhill from here. After all, things must get worse before they can get better." He chucked to himself. Thomas attempted to grasp why that statement was so funny, and failed. "Well, anyhow," Frank continued, "we've come up with an idea that we think can help solve this frustration--for some of us at least. You see, for years now, Ervin, myself, and Flo have been working on something that you might at first think of as impossible: cryogenics."
Thomas raised an eyebrow.
Frank paused, looking for a more averse reaction. Upon not finding one, he continued. "You know ... human cryopreservation?"
Thomas allowed his eyebrows to trade elevations.
"Well the research has been going on for years now. Scientists in San Diego have been working for over two decades, freezing cell matter from different species of rare animals for their 'frozen zoo.' They have one at the University of New Orleans as well. All very fascinating, but there's not been much work done on the process of preserving a full living body. At least not so far as anybody in the public knew. Can you imagine the backlash certain groups would have created?"
Thomas gaped. "Wait ..." he started. He stopped. "But... that's just science fiction and urban legend! You can't seriously expect me to believe that you can freeze a human and then just thaw them out later, good as new. That's impossible!"
This was the argument Frank was waiting for. "Ah, but nothing is impossible if you put your mind to it! That's precisely what we've been doing now for many, many years--Ervin, Flo and I--working on preserving a full human body for--in theory you see--an indefinite period of time!"
"So you're looking for guinea pigs?"
"What? No, we already have those, they're frozen down at the lab now."
"You have frozen guinea pigs already?"
"Well, yes, along with several other animals. We've had great success!"
"OK, but what I meant was that now you want human test subjects..."
"We have some of those now too, yes."
Thomas prepared to bolt from the room...
"They've already signed up and are due down to the lab in a week."
Thomas relaxed again.
"Well ... so how does this apply to the fact of being fed up with life? I mean you can't solve Earth's problems by freezing people!"
"Obviously not!" Frank scoffed. "No, no, we don't want to freeze everyone, just a select few who wish to volunteer to get away from it all, to essentially go to sleep and then wake up in a brave new world--no pun intended of course and all the love in the world for Huxley--but don't you see? If you're fed up enough with the world now to even come here then you're leagues ahead of everyone else out there! Most people are so content to go about their sad, pathetic excuses for lives that they don't even notice how chaotic everything is around them! But you! You know what's going on, you understand what's happening, you want to see change. Maybe before you only envisioned changing yourself or your comfort zone, but what if the whole world were to change, and for the better? Wouldn't that be spectacular?!"
Thomas thought about this. Fleeing the city was, at best, only temporary, and it probably wouldn't be without its own problems. The future... That could be completely different, and it would have to be better than the present, it would have to be! He grinned, and then quickly grimaced.
"Getting frozen?" he thought to himself. It didn't sound at all pleasant, or safe.
"I don't know, the whole freezing thing just sounds so ... strange, so dangerous." He said.
Frank looked baffled for a split second, failing to comprehend the danger of his life's work. He then remembered that he was dealing with a naïve outsider, and he had to be more understanding.
"Well, Tom, I'll tell you what: here's my card. That's my number there at the bottom. You go home and think about it. If you're at all interested, in any way, shape, or form, give me a call, and we can arrange for you to come see the lab for yourself."
Thomas took the card, handling it as if it may spontaneously combust for no apparent reason at all.
"Thanks," he said, "I'll definitely be doing a lot of thinking about this, you can be sure of that."
He stood up to leave and turned one way, then the other. Finally, just as awkwardly as he had picked a seat, he made his way to the door and left. As the door clicked shut, Ervin sat up suddenly.
"What? Meeting start yet?"
Chapter 5:
Thomas left the library and walked in the direction of the realtor's office, his mind swimming in a pool of a million thoughts. The future! In his mind he always envisioned time travel as taking place in a shiny looking car. The car would dash off and obtain a mystical speed of eighty-eight miles per hour before leaping through the space-time continuum and arriving at the predetermined time period. Something like that he would readily take advantage of, just for the chance to drive a car with doors that opened the wrong way. But traveling in the future, frozen in a tube? It seemed completely impossible. More implausible, even, than the aforementioned car.
It seemed like too much work to even think about doing something so crazy. He decided to just file it away in the back of his mind and ignore it for the time being. As he walked back through the doors of the realtor's office, the secretary glanced up furtively. She watched him as he sat down in a chair and stared vacantly into the air around him. Patricia wondered if she should even bother, but decided that it could be fun. She searched her memory to find the best tone of voice to use for this situation to express her utter and complete contempt for him.
"Excuse me, sir," she exhaled. "I hate to interrupt your deep, important thoughts, but according to the plastic clock hands, Ms. Tharpe is done with her lunch, and has been for some time. The clock also informs me that you are late and that it would be in your best interests to go back and see her now before her next appointment in ten minutes."
"Oh, er, yes. Thank you. Very much." Thomas flushed and walked back towards the office. He made a mental note to never attempt to befriend a secretary, lest his self-worth be completely shattered. He found a door labeled "Caroline Tharpe, Realtor" and knocked timidly.
"Come in!" A voice from inside said. Thomas entered. "Sit, sit, we're already behind and we've got so much to discuss! Hello! How are you? I trust you're well and ready to sell otherwise you wouldn't be here!" She laughed at her rhyme, briefly thought about pointing it out to showcase her brilliance, thought better of it and smiled brightly instead. She appeared to be in her early forties, wore bright red lipstick, at least three strands of pearls, large hoop earrings, and the most horrible wig Thomas had ever seen in his life. It took great effort for Thomas to not stare blankly into the wig's deeply entangled fray of orange curls.
"So tell me what you have for me, I know you're a walk-in, but I hope you brought me some pictures!"
"Ah, yes, here they are." He produced an envelope from his pocket. It was badly mangled from the run. "Sorry," he said sheepishly as he handed it to her.
Caroline sighed and reached for the envelope. It was all she needed to have another one of these types of people. But a customer was a customer, a sale was a sale, and money, was glorious, green, shiny money. She fiddled with the envelope, intentionally giving the appearance of struggling with it to make a point, and finally opened it to pull out the photographs.
"My my my..." she said as she flipped through them, laboriously straightening each one out as she went. "It's even more beautiful than I would've imagined! Thomas, even in today's relatively poor real estate market, I can tell you now that you aren't going to have a single problem selling this place. Now, not that I wish to discourage you of course," she laughed and reached for his arm, firmly grasping it and suddenly changing her tone, "but may I ask why you're selling such a wonderful place?" Thomas didn't appreciate the physical contact at all, but chose to ignore it for the time being.
"Honestly, I'm sick of the big city life, I just want to get out of here and move to an area where it's wide and open, where you don't have a couple thousand neighbors within a few blocks, and where I can enjoy nature." He moved his arm back towards him. Caroline's grip didn't budge.
"I see, I see," she said quickly, "and where, may I ask, do you intend on moving to to obtain such a thing?"
"Well, I'm not entirely sure... I know land is cheap out west in some places. I'm sure you can find cheap land in the country near here too. I was thinking of taking the money I get from the condo, combining it with my savings, and buying a nice, small house with a large plot of land." Caroline's face dropped. All sweetness was suddenly absent in her voice and mannerisms.
"Honey, I'm going to be completely honest with you. I don't have time to be taken on a wild goose chase with someone who's going to list their place and then suddenly back out on me. Time is money and I'm not going to let you waste my money! Now before you even think of listing, I strongly suggest you do some research into where you want to live and find a potential new home there--with the help of a fellow realtor of course. Once you've done that, compare the new house and environment, especially the neighbors, with what you have here. After you've seriously evaluated things, come back to me. I'm not going to help you out unless you've done some more research, especially since this is such a ... drastic decision."
Suddenly there was a rap on the door and Caroline's demeanor changed back to what it was before. "And that'll be my four 'o' clock!" She walked to the door and opened it. "You have my number Mr. Gordon, you think things over now and give me a call. Hello hello, how are you?" She said to her next customers, ushering them into the room while simultaneously ushering Thomas out. Thomas stood in the hallway, his mind lost and refusing to be found. He left the office and headed home, unable to think of anything but his bed, and how much he desired to slide into it.
Chapter 6:
Thomas awoke that morning to the sound of traffic, just like every other morning. He lay there for a time, attempting to figure out what he did the night before. He couldn't remember anything except walking into his house, entering the bedroom, and collapsing onto his bed. It all seemed very anticlimactic after the previous day's events. His mind leapt momentarily, then settled back down. The mere thought of the previous day still seemed to instill angst, but after getting up, stumbling to the kitchen, and having a fresh cup of coffee he felt more prepared to tackle the matter.
Despite all of his excitement over the prospect of time travel, he couldn't seem to focus on the strange encounter at the library. All he could think about was that detestable Caroline Tharpe and her sudden, rash personality change that was accompanied with an iron grip. However, part of him couldn't help but feel that she was right. Perhaps more research, maybe even a trip to the country was in order after all. He dug around in his pockets and pulled out a card that simply said "Frank" and a number. Thomas pondered. He came to the conclusion that this whole affair must be some elaborate scam. He paused and thought again, then came to the conclusion that it couldn't possibly be a scam: not once was an exchange of money mentioned. Perhaps instead it was part of some larger sociological or psychological experiment these people were running. Perhaps they wanted to see just how long a person will believe something seemingly outlandish--masked with the guise of science--will actually solve their problems.
Either way, even if it was a scam--Thomas was now relatively convinced that it was in some way--it certainly wouldn't be any harm to him so long as he didn't pay into anything. He decided to take the leap and call the number: he had absolutely nothing to lose. A few rings later and Frank answered the phone.
"Hello?"
"Yes, Frank? This is Thomas."
"Oh good, glad you decided to call Tom. I suppose you want to come down and see the lab now, eh?"
"Actually, yes, that's exactly what I'd like to do. When can I come down? For that matter, where would I be coming to?"
"Well that's easy, just head on down to 625 East 68th Street. Can you come right now? We're about to start a test on a lab rat, but we can wait till you get here if you'd like."
"Oh. Sure, as long as that lab rat isn't me!" Thomas laughed. Frank didn't. "OK ... so yeah, I'll be right down."
"OK, see you in a bit."
Thomas hung up the phone and walked out of his condo, turned right, and went up the street to the subway station. This was one of the rituals of day-to-day life he found fascinating. Masses of humanity would pile down stairs, swipe cards and go through gates (or, alternatively, go through gates without swiping cards). After that, they would pile down more stairs and stand on hot, crowded platforms to wait for one of the elusive trains to arrive. Once it did, everyone would push and shove in an attempt to gain the privilege of sitting down on one of the benches contained within. Everyone who wasn't close enough to get a seat would pile in and pick an armpit to stand next to for duration of their ride. This particular day, Thomas was fortunate enough to get next to someone who ranked as a "mild" on his mental stink-o-meter.
After a few stops, Thomas finally arrived on 68th Street and began walking towards his destination. It was quite a long walk, but something he was used to, having never owned a car. He knew how to drive, but living in a city with a fantastic public transportation system had spoiled him. As far as he was concerned, there was no point in owning a car if there was no one outside of the city you ever go to visit. Finally, he arrived at his destination. It was an inconspicuous looking building, nothing out of the ordinary about it at all. Thomas approached the door and peeked in the window. The door seemed to simply lead to a foyer that was the gateway to the rest of the building. He imagined living quarters, an office or two, and the actual lab--if there really was one--all connected through this main entryway. Painted on the glass were the words "Cryotech, Inc." in a dark blue color. He rang the bell and waited, turning around to view the other buildings on the street, all of which looked just as innocent as this one. Thomas began to wonder who it was that had built all of these buildings, but his musing was interrupted by the arrival of someone in the foyer coming towards the door. He turned back around, expecting to see Frank or someone else he had met yesterday, but was instead greeted by someone new.
"Hey, you actually came," Doug said.
"Oh, errr," Thomas muttered. This was definitely the same Doug, but he looked completely different than the person from the day before. Doug motioned him to step in, and he did so, then stood back as Doug secured the door again. It was the same person all right, but Thomas realized that he had never seen Doug standing the day before, only sitting in a slouched position. Now Doug was wearing completely different clothes. The bulky looking sweatshirt from the day before was gone. Instead, he now sported a standard looking t-shirt and shorts. As Doug stood in front of him, he seemed at least four or five inches taller than Thomas, and appeared very athletic. Doug finished fiddling with the door and turned around.
"Something wrong? You didn't seem like you knew who I was." Doug smirked.
"Oh, well, nothing, it's just that I never saw you standing yesterday so I didn't realize how tall and, well, big you were, that's all. I mean what with talking about all that computer stuff you didn't seem to be the type of person who worked out or anything."
Doug laughed. "Well, let's just say I got tired of being the neighborhood punching bag, but never got tired of being a geek. Come on, Frank and the rest are waiting."
They walked through a door on the right side of the foyer and down into the basement. Thomas marveled as they entered a wide, open room. It was much bigger than one would ever imagine the building containing simply from seeing it from the outside. The floors were covered with checkered tile, and the walls were painted a nice, clean white. The whole environment seemed exactly like the stereotypical lab seen in most Hollywood B-movies, except that the contents of the lab actually seemed organized, sterile, and there were no dead animals in jars on the shelves. Computers and other scientific looking instruments were scattered throughout the room: some mounted on walls, some on tables, others were free standing. Frank poked his head around the back of a row of strange looking machines and beckoned them to come over. Doug walked that direction and joined Flo and Ervin. Ervin was, once again, asleep. Before Thomas could get to the group, however, he caught sight of the machines that Frank was working on and stopped dead in his tracks. He stared in awe at three large, cylindrical tubes about three feet wide and seven feet tall.
"Wow..." he gasped.
"Heh," chuckled Frank, "yeah, those are the freezing tubes. Right now one of them is occupied by a guinea pig--and has been for about a week--and the other two are free, though we're about to put Bob the rat into one of them now."
Thomas was not very inclined to understand all of this. Sure, he could use a computer, knew how to email, surf the web, download music, all the things typical of his generation. He was certainly not computer illiterate, nor was he completely science illiterate, but the things he saw went straight over his head. First Frank injected something into Bob, hooked up some wires and tubes ("For monitoring and supporting bodily systems you see!"), and finally stuck the little guy onto a platform inside the tube.
"When we have humans in here, we won't need any platforms or chairs or anything aside from a few restraints, they'll just stand and freeze in place." Frank closed the door, punched a few buttons and turned a few knobs off to the side of the tube, and finally turned around to face them. "Ready?" he grinned like a kid who knew a present was coming. "Here we go!" He pulled a lever and Thomas watched as the rat, who was sniffing at the air in his strange new environment, became still and frozen in the blink of an eye.
"Heehee!" blurted Frank, nearly giddy. "Do you see now?"
"I see," said Thomas, "but how do I know the rat will come back to life, perfectly normal and healthy?"
"Well that's what Kiki is here to show you." Frank gestured towards the guinea pig. "We'll revive her now."
Thomas glanced back at Doug, Flo, and Ervin, all of whom were simply smiling, seeming to enjoy watching Frank get a kick out of his work. Even Ervin seemed to have a smirk on his face, though Thomas couldn't be sure whether he was still sleeping or not as his head was still angled downward. He turned back towards Frank who was punching more buttons.
Download this book for your ebook reader.
(Pages 1-28 show above.)