“Welcome, Ellis Rogers,” a feminine voice said. No one around. The voice came from everywhere. “How are you feeling?”
“Feeling? I’m not feeling anything.”
“Wonderful,” said the soothing voice.
Stillness—total stillness, and white light, and the undulating roll of waves.
“Did I die?”
“Yes.”
While not completely unexpected, the answer still surprised him.
So this is death? Not so bad. Could have been a lot worse. Death is a lot like a spa.
He was still breathing. Maybe he only thought he was. Residual memory or something. Maybe dying had a decompression process, a PTSD cooldown. If this was death, life was certainly cause for all kinds of stress disorders. He had to be dead. He could breathe perfectly. He took in deep breaths the likes of which he hadn’t experienced in years.
“Are you God?” he finally asked, already thinking that the feminists and goddess worshipers had it right all along.
“I’m Maude.”
“Maude?”
“Yes.”
Ellis wasn’t sure what to make of that. All he could think of was the 1970s television show staring Bea Arthur. The thought of Bea Arthur as God was a bit disturbing, and yet he could see it in a weird way. Only the soft voice wasn’t that of the Maude from the television show. This voice was serene, gentle. More like a voice from a meditation CD. Still, Ellis had a bigger question he needed answered. He hadn’t smelled any brimstone, but he might not have reached the penthouse either. “Where am I exactly?”
“Recovery Room 234-A, Level 17, Replacements Central Wing, Institute for Species Preservation, Wegener, Kerguelen micro continent, Antarctic Plate, Hollow World, Earth.”
“Hollow World?”
“Yes.”
“Maude?”
“Yes?”
“Are you a vox?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not dead then, am I?”
“No, not dead. You only died.”
A portal opened and someone entered the room. Ellis had no idea who. The individual was naked, with no distinguishing marks. All Ellis knew was that it wasn’t Pax, Pol, or anyone else from the farm. This person had all their fingers. That narrowed the possibilities to only several million. Ellis actually had no idea about the population of Hollow World but imagined it to be significantly less than the billions that had roamed the continents back in the days of China and India.
Ellis’s visitor looked around, frowning. “Maude, Ellis Rogers is awake. Can we have something a bit nicer than sterile nothingness?”
The white walls and glowing ceiling disappeared, and Ellis found himself on a beach. Overhead was a cobalt sky, and at his feet was an aquamarine ocean. Sensuously curved palm trees reached into view, and billowing white clouds drifted like cotton balls. He’d had a screen saver that looked just like it called Hawaiian Dreams.
“Hello, Ellis Rogers, I’m Wat-45, your attending physician.”
“I heard I died.”
“You did—you did indeed.” Wat tapped the air, producing a wall and an input screen. He continued to tap through a series of images, while overhead a seagull cried. “But we fixed that.”
“Really? How do you fix death?”
“That’s what we do here at the ISP. We treat it like a disease—which it is.” Wat turned. “In your case, your body had shut down—massive heart failure. Your brain functions would have died, too, but they were frozen by the quick action of Dex-92876—a onetime associate here. I believe you know each other?”
Wat paused. Ellis nodded, pleased to discover he could still do that.
“Once your brain was locked up safe and secure, it was merely a matter of growing you a new heart and lungs. We actually gave you a deluxe package, a complete new set of organs, as most of your old ones were badly worn. Not surprising after two thousand years, eh?”
Wat offered him a smile, then resumed tapping on the wall. Ellis could see transparent images of organs flashing by.
“You’ve got some nice ones now. Top of the line. We augmented them to provide stronger heart walls and expanded lung capacity. You’ll be able to run a marathon twice over and hardly notice. We also inserted a molecular-level decay resistor, which won’t do much for your preexisting cells, but will ensure these new organs never need replacing.”
Ellis couldn’t help thinking about how each time he bought a new car the salesmen always mentioned the rustproofing and how important it was in Detroit. All that salt eats away at the body. With our undercoating, you get a guarantee of a long life.
“Wow—” Wat paused on an image that to Ellis looked like a Rorschach test. “Your old lungs were a disaster. You can take them home if you like, but if you prefer not to, we’d love to keep them.”
“That’s fine.” Seriously, did people keep them?
“Great.” Wat swept a hand across the wall; the images scrolled by, stopping when Wat tapped. “Ah, yes—we grafted new sections of arteries where we saw signs of impending collapse. Where the tubing was clogged, we dredged out the mess.” Wat turned again with a shocked look. “None of us could believe what we saw in there. It’s like you were pumping sludge through your circulatory system instead of blood.”
Wat focused on the wall images again, which were superimposed on a sailboat that had appeared on the horizon and was coasting through Ellis’s organs. “Your liver was weakening, so you got a new one, as well as a new spleen, pancreas, kidneys, bladder, gallbladder, stomach, and a full set of intestines—large and small. The old ones were torn up and clogging as if you’d been eating glass and gravel for the last few years. You weren’t, I hope.” Wat offered another happy smile. Too happy. The doctor reminded Ellis of a puppy greeting a new visitor.
“And…” Wat punched a few more screens. “Oh, you have new eyes. Old lenses were getting thicker, less transparent, and less elastic, the pupils shrinking.”
Ellis was shocked and found himself involuntarily blinking.
“Ciliary ligaments and muscles were weakening too. Your ears were fine, though, as far as we could tell, and we didn’t bother with the skin either—didn’t think you’d like to wake up looking like me.” Wat laughed high and giddy, like a schoolgirl at a teen-idol concert.
“And…oh! You were inoculated for disease. Turns out you died of extemdiousness, or doubleD disease, as it was once called. One of the old designer viruses that still lingers. Looks like it was racing your fibrosis to see which could collapse your ventricle walls first. Not much of a race, really. The pulmonary fibrosis didn’t stand a chance against a virus built to kill people. The extemdiousness is what took you down. Nasty bug. Highly contagious and aggressive, it incubates for a few days then attacks multiple systems at once, killing quickly. You drop dead without warning—hence the name. Hard to believe there was ever a time when people created these things on purpose.” Wat closed the screen, leaving them once again in the unblemished serenity of the island beach. “And that’s it.”
Wat turned around with a pleased look. “You should feel a whole lot better. I would take it slow to begin with, just as a precaution. You want to get accustomed to the new organs. Let them ramp up to speed. So, don’t actually try running that marathon I talked about…for at least a few weeks. Also, you’re going to experience a day or two of fatigue. Despite the boosters, your body has gone through a really big shock, and it will take a while to adjust. You’ll be normal in a week. Just get plenty of rest, and…” Wat stepped closer, staring for a long moment. “I just want to say what an honor it has been to work on you. I heard—we all heard—the rumors, and saw the grams, but when Pol-789 brought you in, everyone’s chin just hit the floor. It was just…” Wat choked up, took a deep breath, and blinked repeatedly. “I’m sorry. I told myself I wouldn’t cry, but—” Wat took a second and then said, “I swear, you’re the fourth miracle. You really are.”
“How long will I be here?”
“As long as you want.”