New York. 2017 A.D.
Walter Emmerson was dying. But that was no reason to let his standards slip.
The Hospital at St Augustine’s was the most exclusive private hospital in the country, with only the finest doctors. Even their chef was five star. There was no reason for Walter to eat the kind of garbage they usually served in more public hospitals.
But his doctors had put him on a restricted diet. One that took several of the more civilized options off the menu. That wasn’t acceptable. Townsend didn’t have much appetite, but what little he ate was not about to be hospital food.
There was a knock at his door, and his nurse came in. “Are you up to receiving a visitor, Mister Emmerson?”
Walter blinked. He’d never had a visitor before; outside his staff. “Send him in.”
A familiar face entered the room, and nodded respectfully to the Nurse. Walter brightened. Townsend Chalcott Coatesworth was one of his old friends. They’d attended Prep School together, and kept in touch over the years as they built their fortunes; Walter in Construction, Townsend in Insurance; though neither of them were limited to those fields in their holdings and investments.
Townsend came over. “Your hospital has the most attractive nurses.”
“The homely ones are downstairs, where the ‘cheap seats’ are.” Walter quipped. “It can make it difficult for them to get a proper reading on my heartrate, but it’s quite worth it.”
The two men laughed as Townsend sat down.
“Eisenmenger's disease.” Walter said softly.
“Never heard of it.”
“Neither had I, until they told me I had it.” Walter admitted. “I need a heart-lung transplant.”
Townsend nodded. “Not the easiest thing to get.”
“Oh, I had the donors lined up in less than a day.” Walter waved it off. “A word or two in the right ear, and you can get to the top of the donor lists. It’s a big world. Someone with the right blood type dies every day. And the list is so anonymous, it’s almost impossible for someone waiting for the call to notice they’re waiting a few days longer.”
“How much did you have to ‘donate’ to the hospital for that?”
“A new Trauma Centre.” Walter smirked. “They’ll treat hundreds of patients a day, so…” His smirk faltered. “Of course, that’s just what you do. I’ve spoken to seven different surgeons. They all say I probably won’t survive the operation… and it’ll buy me three or four years, at most. My excesses have finally caught up with me.”
“Four years?” Townsend sat down. “That’s um… longer than I’ve got.”
Walter blinked, stunned. “What?”
“It seems time caught up with us both.” Townsend nodded. “I’m not just here to visit you. I had an appointment of my own.” He looked sad. “It’s ‘Goodnight, Nurse’.”
“What are they telling you?”
Townsend shook his head. “I can get a surgeon by tomorrow, if I put my name forward. I’m not going to.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m eighty six, twice divorced, with no kids… And what’s another year?” Townsend looked at the table between them, and reached across to lift the cloche off Walter’s plate. “I might have known you wouldn’t eat the standard stuff.”
“A lobster frittata with a white truffle reduction.” Walter nodded. “You should see what I eat for dinners.”
“And I’m sure your heart appreciates the flavor.” Townsend countered.
“What difference does that make anymore?” Walter shot back. “So, you got a plan?”
“For what comes next?” Townsend grinned. “I’ve taken an awful lot out of the world… and it suddenly dawned on me that maybe it was too much.”
“Yeah?”
“Well, unless they’re wrong, and you really can take it with you, it’s not like I’m saving for my retirement or anything.”
“We still showed them, Townie.” Walter chuckled.
Townsend put on a brave face. “I’m giving it all away.”
“What?” Walter laughed.
“It’s not like I need it. When people like us say ‘we’ve lost everything’ it’s still a hundred times what some schmuck with a shovel can get.” Townsend stole his wineglass and took a sip. “The way I figure it, people like us don’t do the things we do because we expect to see heaven. Until now, that didn’t seem like a problem.”
“Don’t tell me you’re getting superstitious.”
“You’re not?” Townsend argued. “I never gave much thought to what was in that ‘undiscovered country’, but it’s all I can think about now; since it’s all I’ve got left.” He pushed the glass back. “I’ve done my share of the taking. If my last act is to give it all away… I don’t know, maybe that’ll do for a legacy.”
“Sounds to me like you’re trying to buy your way into heaven.” Walter commented.
“I prefer to think of it as ‘negotiating for the ultimate deal’. Is that so unreasonable, given that the deal is pretty much done, one way or another?”
Walter said nothing to that. He didn’t agree, but there was no point arguing.
“Have you spoken to Walt?” Townsend asked.
“My son? We spoke on the phone last night. It… ended, as most conversations between us do.”
“Didn’t tell him, did you?”
“No.” Walter confessed.
Silence. Finally, Townsend broke it. “What did you mean, before? When you said ‘we showed them’?”
Walter smirked again. “My first personal physician? He told me I was on a suicidal course, more than forty years ago. I outlived that quack and sucked every last drop out of the good life. Real life.”
Townsend sniffed. “It’s oddly liberating, giving it all away, knowing I’ll never have to deal again. I feel like Santa Claus. ‘You get a donation, and you get a pony, and you get a new clinic, and you get a new house; and here, have a homeless shelter’. For my swan song, I’m going out with some class.”
Walter forced himself to take a bite, let the luxurious flavor roll around his mouth. “Me? I don’t plan on going out at all.”
~oo00oo~
“Mister Milne.” Walter gestured for him to sit. “I appreciate your promptness.”
“I’m aware of how valuable your time is, Mister Emmerson.” Milne said politely. “Even more so now than usual.”
“Indeed.” Walter nodded. “You’re aware, I hope, that I’m not a man to take fools lightly.”
“Nosir.”
“And you should also be aware that I’ve already run off a few sham artists who were hoping to take advantage of my… medical status to run a long con.”
“You can be sure, my company is the real thing.”
“And yet, you do not advertise.”
“No point. We don’t have the facilities for the whole human race. And for what we’re offering, they couldn’t afford it anyway. And to be perfectly honest, there are still some legal hurdles that nobody accounted for. Hurdles that we can clear, but you can’t wait for.”
Walter nodded. “How does this work?”
“You give us power of attorney, so that we can make the arrangements for your remains. We can either wait for nature to take its unfair and indiscriminate course, or we can induce, in such a way as to improve your odds of revival. It’s actually not that different from the way a surgeon can stop your heart long enough to operate or transplant. We just keep you that way a fair bit longer.” Milne walked him through it. “Your body will be preserved, and the whole company is kept in various trusts, to insure that the project does not end with any one manager.”
“And what’s to stop you from just pulling the plug?”
“Your fee will be put into another trust, which pays out at regular intervals. Our legal department is mandated to make sure we are following the arrangement. If we want you to, pardon the phrase, ‘live up’ to your end of the bargain, we have to act in good faith.” Milne brought out a folder, about the width of a small-city phonebook. “Our ‘fine print’. For your perusal.” Mailne sat back in the plush leather chair. “I think it best for all concerned that you be as certain of our service as we are.”
Walter was pleased with that. “Thank you. I shall give it due attention, given what’s at stake.”
“And that leaves only the unpleasantness of our fee.” Milne took out an expensive fountain pen and wrote down a number, sliding the page across the table at him.
Walter read the number. “I’ve always said, if you have to ask what something costs, you can’t really afford it. This, to me, still seems like a lot.”
“And what else do you plan to spend it on?” Milne countered.
“Yes. ‘Your money, or your life’.” Walter scorned. “That’s what you say when you’re mugging someone.”
“Or when you work for a private hospital.” Milne fired back with a smile. “Walter, we’re offering you a chance to cheat death. Something that has never once, in history, been available to anyone. It’s not even available now. That’s why Cryonics exist. You have it in your power to be one of the few people from our century who could live forever. And really, what’s money compared to that?”
“You expect me to live forever with nothing?”
“Not at all. We’re a full service company.” Milne promised smoothly. “We’ve made an accounting of your diverse and many holdings, and believe it will be a relatively simple matter to secure them.”
Walter sat up straighter, the machines beeping a little faster. If there was a con-game being played, this was it. “You’ve already examined my portfolio.”
“Sir, we don’t offer this to anyone who can’t afford it.” Milne promised. “This is about the future, and securing yourself a place in it. Ask yourself, if this technology had been available seventy years ago, who would have predicted this world? IBM was a company that nobody had ever heard of. Then technology evolved, and they became extremely profitable. Google, Amazon, and Apple? Who had heard of them, even thirty years ago?”
“How long do you expect me to be… under?” Walter asked.
“To beat the death barrier? Realistically, fifty years. Maybe less. Needless to say, people are working on it with due diligence.” Milne nodded. “Nobody knows what that world will look like. Oil and Coal were some of the most stable stocks and properties until ten years ago. Now they’re in freefall. Technology and market trends changed. You know what became more valuable in the last hundred years? The same things that always did. Gold, diamonds, land. They’re expensive, but they’re the one thing that’s future-proof. If you had to keep your wealth someplace safe and reliable for that long, what would you invest in?”
Walter considered that, and turned to the document. “It feels like science fiction.”
“It is. But so is eternal life.” Milne nodded.
Walter thought hard for a few minutes, but the spike of pain that went through his chest was something he couldn’t argue with. “Alright. I accept.”
“There is… regretfully, one last hurdle to clear.” Milne said evenly. “Your son, Walt? Typically, we don’t offer this service to people with living heirs. The kind of costs we’re talking about… Your son stands to inherit a vast fortune. And it will be spent in another direction. If you can offer my people assurances that we aren’t going to spend the rest of his life fighting for our fee…”
“You want me to disinherit my son?”
“That’s your choice, sir.” Milne countered. “But we don’t offer ‘family deals’. Provision could be made to include your son, of course; but he’ll either be a major legal hassle, or our next customer.”
Walter hesitated.
“That doubt, right there? Either get rid of it or bid me good day, right now.” Milne sensed his hesitation. “A thousand years from now, all of us are dust. Except for the ones that find a way to take control of their own death and defeat it. You’re charging into the unknown, and the one thing we can promise you, is that you’ll be leaving behind the life you knew. How many people can say they faced death on their own terms and won? A thousand years from now, everything we did will be meaningless. A thousand years from now, maybe everyone will live forever. But given what it’ll likely cost to succeed, you can count on the fact that it’ll be the ultimate prize. The number of people in this century who can take a shot at seeing it? More people have walked on the moon. This is a very exclusive club, Walter. And if you have doubts, then I can offer it to someone else. Your choice.”
Walter gave a single nod, liking that idea. “I’ve dedicated my entire adult life to making the world bend to my choices. Death is the only opponent I have yet to beat.” He picked up the file. “I’ll have my people study this, and make the necessary arrangements. If your fine print is as advertised, I’ll be in touch…” Pain lanced through his chest unexpectedly. “Uh. And soon.”
~oo00oo~
The work took a few weeks. Walter’s legal team had taken apart the contracts, and decided it was a legitimate offer. His diverse holdings were liquidated and put into trusts, invested into commodities that would be valuable for centuries.
His doctors had told him that he still had a few months. Clearing the final legal and financial hurdles hadn’t been easy. Informing his son was harder still. Walter wasn’t going to be ‘that’ parent. His son would always be looked after, but ‘looked after’ wasn’t the same as ‘obscenely wealthy’; and Walt was raw about it.
Walter had shared these thoughts with Milne, who had told him not to stress about it. There were several people preserved already, and some of them had made provision for their children to be the same.
“Assuming, of course, that they don’t crack the problem in his lifetime.” Milne had said with a smile. “You may be able to make it up to your boy across eternity.”
“If they don’t crack it by then, and if Walt can’t afford your rates, I’ll never see my son again.” Walter said quietly.
Milne studied him. “I told you: If you have doubts, now’s the time to listen to them, because once we give you the injection, you won’t be able to. Immortality is a one way street.”
Walter felt another painful spike in his chest. “The pain is constant now, and even my superior breeding can ignore endless pain for only so long. Do it. Now.”
Milne stepped out to give his nurses and doctors the go-ahead, and Walter took in a deep breath, letting himself take in the ‘last sights’ as they began the injection. The silk sheets that surrounded him, the fresh-cut flowers that perfumed the room every second, the gold frames on the impressionist originals that cost a fortune to be moved into his private hospital room.
On the big screen TV, the Business Channel was suddenly filled with a familiar face. Townsend was in the news. Walter immediately turned up the volume.
“...large donations to various social causes. So much so that the Board of Directors at Coatesworth Industries moved to have him declared incompetent. For more on this, our Financial Editor. Dan?”
“Nothing’s like to come of that challenge, since he’s being careful to give only his own money. Coatesworth sold off all his personal holdings, and his own stocks and bonds; while releasing his medical records, showing he has less than six months to live. A revelation that has calmed rumors, without making his Directors feel better. Even if they challenge this philanthropy in court, there won’t be much left for them.”
“Expressions of gratitude and condolence are pouring in from across the world. The new Coatesworth Foundation will provide medicine to thousands of people in low-income areas on a weekly basis, as well as the largest number of privately funded homeless shelters in Europe. A man with nothing to lose, the legacy of Townsend Chalcott Coatesworth is assured, as-”
Walter muted the TV. “Milne, bring my notepad over, would you?” He croaked. “I want to leave a note for my lawyer, regarding the last of my financials.”
“Walter, there’s almost none of your financials left. They’ve all been liquidated for this.”
“I still have a few hundred thousand.” Walter gestured at the TV. “Those people that Townsend is helping? They’re…” His chest spiked again. “They’re not worth much, and they’re easily replaceable. But if they want to spend their tiny lives running around like desperate worker bees, I can at least buy them some socks. It’s not like I’ll ever have to think about them again, where I’m going…” His breathing started to slow. “After all, none of them could hope to afford a chance at eternal life, right?”
“This is true.” Milne said gravely.
Walter scribbled down the note, feeling his pen grow heavy, his grip become slack...
Should I pray? The thought came to him distantly, as his eyes closed and his brain shut down. I’m not a believer… But now that I’m facing… my own death… I don’t-
The light reaching his eyelids suddenly became warmer and brighter. Walter took a deep breath. The breath came easily and naturally. He didn’t open his eyes, as he had learned a long time ago. Always get your bearings before you let anyone in the room know that you were aware of them.
He could sense someone several feet away, not moving. So, someone was there for him. Walter took another breath, and noticed the perfume of oranges and the sounds of birds. The flowers in his hospital room had been lilacs, not Orange Blossoms.
Did it work? He thought to himself, almost hopeful.
He opened his eyes and sat up. It was daytime, and he was outside, in a large garden. There were buildings beyond a grove of orange trees, and a single tower the reached hundreds of stories into the air; though the architecture was something completely foreign. He could see people having a picnic over in the distance, and his vision was sharp enough to notice that there were several children. More than the usual proportion.
Walter was very analytical, and was already calculating what that meant. Why had he awoken here? Were those children patients? Was it a school trip? Hospitals didn’t have gardens this size. Only the very high end ones had the luxury of a meditation garden at all…
“Hello.”
Walter turned. The newcomer was a young man, about twenty five. Walter sized him up as being an intern, and not one of the doctors in charge. It boded well, that he didn’t have a team of surgeons on hand to meet him, and that they’d revived him in a park instead of a Critical Care Ward. “How long?” He asked immediately, and marveled at how steady and strong his voice sounded. It was a younger man’s voice.
The young man blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“How long have I been dead?” Walter clarified, impatient.
The young man, not much older than a teenage boy, really; blinked owlishly, and smiled at him. “Well, usually that’s the hardest part to get through when we do this.”
“I’m sure.” Walter drawled. “But I’m not a fool. Now, how long?”
“Well, I looked you up, and you were reported as deceased in 2017. By your calendar, it is now midway through the 23rd Century.”
Walter put a hand to his chest. “And my heart? It’s… well?”
“Like new; same as every other part.” The young man smiled.
Walter looked around. “So, is it just the one thing fixed, or… everything?” He didn’t want to appear ungrateful, but the whole point of the experiment was to see how long he could increase his longevity. Some estimates said the death barrier would be broken completely within half a century. If more than two had passed... “By which I mean: How long am I likely to last?”
“Well, that’s up to you.” The young man said warmly. “But there’s no reason it can’t last… forever and ever.”
“IT WORKED!” Walter threw up his arms and let out a war whoop that got the attention of everyone in the garden. “HAHAHA! IT WORKED! I DID IT!”
Walter beamed at the world, feeling exalted; full of energy and vitality. He’d made death yield to him. All that was left was to…
To what? Walter asked himself in awe at what he’d achieved. What does one do for an encore?
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