Cryo-Man (Cryo-Man series, #1) (17 page)

             
“E wanted me alive for you,” she says resolutely, as if
I’m
the fool for questioning that. “He said that was most important for you.”

             
I shake my head in disbelief. Either she’s lying or E really lost his marbles at the end; I guess it doesn’t change things either way.

             
“That makes no sense,” I say, growing increasingly frustrated. “
If
that’s the case, blood loss must’ve made him delusional. There’s no reason why you’d be as important as him.”

             
Again I don’t consider the cruelty of my words before they leave my mouth. The old woman looks hurt, which leaves me feeling inexplicably guilty. For a moment, she doesn’t look so old to me.

             
“I don’t know what to tell you, E wanted it this way,” she says. “Once the soldier left, I rushed out and found E near death but still crawling in this room. I wanted him to lie down but he insisted I help open the safe. He kept muttering reasons for keeping your folder hidden from you. He wanted to be the one to give you the folder, he tried to live long enough for you to return. When we heard footsteps approaching again, he ordered me away to hide in case it was the soldier returning. Those must’ve been the last words he ever spoke. I’m sorry he couldn’t survive a few more minutes to say goodbye.”

             
I look from E to the folder, feeling even worse that he spent the final seconds of his incredible life worrying about me. I suddenly think about the few minutes before I reached the control room, about why I didn’t go faster descending the stairwell or searching other rooms. I wonder if E heard my footsteps stomping around, if he was hoping I’d get to him before his final breath…

             
I shake my head; there’ll be plenty of time to torture myself later about the thought of E dying alone.

             
“Did he hide
your
file, too?”

             
“According to E, my file really
was
destroyed,” she says. “He showed me my cryo-chamber. The rack that held my file was full of water. I pulled out the folder but everything fell apart, nothing could be saved.”

             
“And you can’t remember any of your past?” I ask.             

             
The woman looks me directly in the eyes. It feels like something passes between us in that look, some sort of connection though she’s so much older. It feels like we’re two lost souls pushed together in a strange world, under the most unexpected of circumstances. She shakes her head and looks away.

             
“I’m just glad you have your file so you can learn about your son,” the woman says.

             
My memory of the little boy flashes in my mind, the longing to learn about him returning in full force. I look down at the folder, wondering if it holds the answers.

             
“How did you know about my… my son?” I ask, suddenly irritated by her intrusion. I hate the idea of her knowing more about me than I do. “Did you read my private information?”

             
“I didn’t read any of it, I swear,” she says. “E asked about what memories I could remember. When he told me about you, he said you had a single memory about chasing a little boy in the final moments of your life. Were you scared at the end? Was the little boy scared when calling the Cryonics Institute?”

             
“He was brave,” I say proudly. The woman smiles. “And I wasn’t scared, more like sad to be leaving him, angry that my time with him was being cut short. Still, I remember being focused on him calling CIFPOL and even more focused on him reminding his mother about a box.”

             
“A box?” she asks. “What box? Was it important to you?”

             
I only take my eyes off the folder long enough to glance at E. As close as I’ve felt with the old woman at certain moments, her incessant questions are getting on my nerves now. Emotions are already racing through my mind without needing to explain the Heaven Box and what it might possibly mean.

             
“It’s private,” I tell her. I turn to walk out of the control room and she begins to follow. “I’d like to read this alone.”

             
The old woman stops and nods though she can’t hide her look of hurt. But I feel no guilt about hurting her feelings and don’t glance back as I walk down the hallway, enter the sterile room where I first woke and close the door behind me.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

             
My name is Nikolas Edwards. That information is atop the first page inside the folder. In parentheses is the name Niko; without needing to read another word, I sense that I prefer going by that nickname. I need to sit down for this, not because I’m tired or weak or need to recharge but because it feels like I shouldn’t be standing while reading my life story. The sterile room is more trashed than when I left it – and there’s nothing for me to sit on – so I plop my robotic body on a section of floor in the corner before continuing to read.

             
I was born February 6, 1980 in a New Jersey hospital. I was pronounced dead on October 23, 2013 at that same hospital. My cause of death is listed as acute myelogenous leukemia. None of that information rings a bell though it’s always been a safe assumption that cancer is what killed me. A copy of my death certificate is attached to my transfer papers to CIFPOL but I’m not interested in studying official paperwork when there’s so much else in the folder.

             
My wife’s name is Katina and the names of our two children are –
two
children? One of the last things I remember before dying is the sound of crying, which I assumed to be the boy on the phone. But it makes more sense that there was also a baby in the house. According to the records, the baby’s name was Jeremy and he was less than a year old at my time of death. I wait for the spark of memory to flash in my mind – to recall what the baby looked like or the moment he was born or even a single instant when I held him in my arms – but nothing comes. But if I felt even half the love for the baby as I did for my older son, I know the boy was greatly loved in the short time I had with him.

             
Henry was four years old when I died. I think of the boy from my memory and place the name to his face. It seems right but I can’t specifically remember. I quickly flip through dozens more pages but don’t stop until I reach a photograph of the two kids. Henry appears a little younger than I recall and his hair is much longer. The baby looks more like an infant, no more than a few months old.

A corner of the picture is ripped and all I can see of the third person is a feminine hand, probably my wife’s. I scan through the rest of the pages, looking for that part of the picture, but it’s nowhere to be found, nor are there any other pictures. I can’t imagine a torn photograph being placed with the file so I wonder why someone would’ve ripped it, why they would’ve removed it from the rest of my life story. I consider going back to the control room to search E for it but there are no bloody fingerprints on
any
of the papers in my folder. I doubt E had the time or coordination to tear it off. I’m sure I’ll lament the loss of my wife’s photo in the days to come but for now I’m too interested in the rest of the folder to focus on it.

             
Based on the dates from other humans’ folders I scanned, I see I’ve been dead well over five hundred years, though that number is probably greater since many years have passed since CIFPOL stopped accepting new patients. But the significance of that number doesn’t truly hit me until I come across an extended family tree with my wife’s and my name at the top. The branches spread out exponentially farther down on the paper, dozens upon dozens of lives ultimately spawned from the two children my wife and I created. It’s really quite amazing to think I could’ve started so much life. The family tree cuts off several hundred years after my death, though the next pages contain a long list of family members I could’ve contacted had I been taken out of cryostasis earlier.

I’m flattered to find a lot of Nikolases among the tree, starting with both of my boys giving the name to their first sons. It makes me feel worse that I don’t remember my second son at all, yet he thought enough of me to name his son after me. My wife – my Katina – must’ve made sure I remained a big presence in their lives long after I was gone; for that, I’ll forever be grateful to the woman I love with all of my heart but don’t remember with any of my mind.

The most depressing part of the tree is that it lists the dates of death for my wife and two sons. All lived to ripe old ages, a relief since neither of my children seemed to inherit my cancerous genes. While I know I’ve been dead for centuries – which means generations after me have been gone a long time – I still feel a twinge of sadness knowing my two boys died hundreds of years ago.

I read through the rest of the folder, scrutinizing every single word, hoping for the one piece of information that will unlock in my brain the memories of the past. For the first time, I’m getting a better idea of who I was. I sense the memories in my mind but locating them is like finding a tiny dark marble somewhere in a pitch-black building with no hope for a flashlight. No matter how many words I read about my past, it’s still not enough.

“I need something more,” I tell the folder as I near its end.

It listens to me. The final piece of paper is labeled SPECIAL INSTRUCTIONS. My eyes are immediately drawn to a set of numbers, similar in length and layout but completely different from the ones I sensed when my GPS was first hooked up. They’re obviously coordinates and no sooner do I read them when they become burned into my mind. The GPS tells me they’re for a destination hundreds of miles away, somewhere across the country. I automatically know the exact route to get there.

When I read the rest of the form, it fills me with such hope that I’m on my feet by the end without remembering having stood. I’ve been instructed to travel to these coordinates upon reanimation; I’ve also been told to bring a shovel. Buried beneath the surface on that site is the Heaven Box left by my family. The bottom of the form contains three signatures: Katina, Henry, Jeremy.

I suddenly realize why E was so insistent about installing a GPS in my brain. Nowhere on this page – or on
any
of the pages – does it say
what
the Heaven Box is. The memory of it is slightly clearer in the fog of my mind but that only makes it more frustrating that I can’t remember it. But seeing the three signatures – knowing it was the final thing I thought about before dying – tells me that if the Heaven Box won’t unlock my memories, nothing will.

The Cryonics Institute might feel like home now but I know what I have to do; more specifically, I know where I have to
go
. E was right to have worried about me leaving if I had this information.

I walk out of the sterile room with no intention of looking back at any of the rooms, at least until I pass a door I hadn’t considered until this moment. As I figured, the squad of assassin bots are now in the garbage room next to older models that also failed to kill E. I rifle through the metallic corpses, searching in vain for spare robot parts, anything useful to help defend myself against assassins and humans. But nothing sticks out, not that I’d be able to fix myself anyway. Now I wish I’d taken up E on his offer to teach me about such things.

“You might need this,” the old woman says behind me.

I’d nearly forgotten about her. When I turn, she tosses me something I snag out of the air. It’s some sort of bag or backpack fashioned out of torn bed sheets.

“What’s this for?” I ask.

“To put your folder in,” she says. “Or anything else you’ll bring when you leave here.”

I don’t know how she figured out I’m leaving but I don’t ask. Besides, I’m too focused on the same bag she has slung over her own robotic shoulder. Whatever is inside must be heavy because the bag hangs down low. I’m curious about what’s in hers but if I start asking questions, she might do the same. Instead, I put my folder in the bag and walk out of the room.

“We’re leaving already?” she asks.

“
We
?” I ask, though I shouldn’t be surprised. “Why would you want to come with me to the surface?”

“E wanted me to go with you, he thought the two of us could work better together,” she says.

“He also thought thawing a soldier would be better for our protection; look how that worked out,” I say. The woman grimaces and I can’t blame her. I feel bad about speaking ill of the dead. “Look, I’m just saying things don’t always go according to plan and E wasn’t right about everything. However dangerous and bleak you think the surface might be, imagine it ten times worse. I have a long journey ahead of me.”

“I’m up for it,” she says confidently.

The bag shifts on her shoulder and I see a wire sticking out of the top. Apparently she had the same idea about raiding the robots for parts.

“In case we need fixes,” she says, seeing me looking at the bag. It annoys me that she knew what I was thinking.

“You know what to do with that?” I ask.

She smiles, pleased that I sound impressed. She gets on my nerves – or would it be my circuits? – but it feels strangely good to make her smile.

“You didn’t have the chance to watch E in action but he may have taught me a trick or two while putting together the soldier,” she says. “He at least showed me the important fixes to keep us alive.”

“I expected to make this journey alone,” I say. “But considering the surface is so dangerous, it might not be a bad idea to watch out for each other. It’s been a long day but it’s nothing compared to what’s in front of us. I think we’d better get a full recharge before leaving.”

“Recharge?” the old woman asks nervously.

“Didn’t E explain that to you?”

She nods reluctantly. “There was no reason for me to recharge yet. I have to be honest, I’m not looking forward to it.”

“It’s not a big deal, I’ve done it a few times already,” I say. “Just like going to sleep. And since you haven’t drained all of your power, your shutdown shouldn’t last long. If it makes you feel better, you can go first and I’ll make sure everything goes smoothly.”

Her face relaxes. “Okay, but only because I trust you to watch over me.”

A stab of guilt jabs at where my heart used to be. I give her as soothing a smile as I can muster before showing her the shutdown button within her core.

“I’ll see you in a few hours,” I say.

She smiles as I push the button. Her eyes close and head sags but her body remains upright as she powers down. I look more closely at her bag, certain that something important is inside. I reach out to take it off her shoulder but stop myself. I hated the thought of her reading my folder and intruding on my privacy so I won’t do that to her.

“Sorry,” I whisper, hoping she can somehow hear. “But this is something I need to do on my own. I hope you understand.”

I turn and leave the facility forever, with nothing but the folder in my bag and the coordinates of the Heaven Box fresh in my mind.