The voice startled her. The holographic images of AIs had been around since her childhood, but speaking was a new development. She gazed at the wavering lines that formed a shape for a few seconds, became indiscernible, and then reappeared.

  The shimmering ghost floated toward a red door, centered between sets of oval windows circling the geodesic structure. Solar panels covered the roof.

  The ghost motioned for Kat and her companions. She had the kit in her backpack, and it weighed a good thirty pounds, no piece of cake to haul up a footpath. She was breathing hard when the three reached the structure.

  No matter the assurances of her two colleagues, the assignment was spooky. She had witnessed over a dozen unsealings, but all at company facilities. Even under controlled conditions they occasionally failed. Cryonic chambers had been perfected, though the ones manufactured one or two hundred years ago were frequently flawed, their occupants little more than fossils. They’d opened the chamber all set to go to work and the person would long have been desiccated, turned to stone.

  This chamber was more than four centuries old. Hidden away for four centuries, imagine.

  The three now stood at the entrance.

  “Please go in,” said the ghost.

  Kat watched Marith take a firm grip of the handle and turn. The door opened on a dimly lit room. Kat took a tentative step inside. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw dozens of ancient computers stacked against the walls. In the room’s center, a silver chamber sat atop a three-foot-high platform.

  Kat watched her colleagues approach the platform.

  “How—”

  “It’s activated,” said the ghost.

  “Kat, get out the vitalizer,” ordered Marith.

  Heart pounding, Kat slipped off the backpack and extracted the vitalizer. She scrambled with the device and set it on the table. When she powered up the device, thin wires and narrow tubes slithered out of the box like newborn snakes.

  The chamber squeaked. Doesn’t sound good, thought Kat. Her spine felt icy as if she had fallen backwards into the mountain’s snow.

  Then a ticking.

  “Is everything all right?” asked Mark.

  The ghost shimmered.

  The chamber door moved outward, and the interior lit up.

  Kat stared at the little girl sheathed in cold crystal. Colorless, motionless, lifeless. Oh, how far away she looked. Was life still there? Faint, oh, so very faint. Marith and Mark went into action with their tubes and wires, probing and poking.

  The vitalizer was attached. Kat watched for the first signs of life. A minute passed.

  “Something’s wrong,” said Mark.

  “Increase the spin,” ordered Marith.

  Mark made an adjustment.

  Kat had seen two failures in her brief career. One was a moment of life that in another moment drained away. The other nothing more than stillness and silence.

  The ghost wavered.

  “Full spin,” cried Marith.

  Kat stared at the girl’s blue lips, which trembled.

  A swatch of pink on her chest. A streak of yellow across her hand. A colored shape here, another there. Something moved across the girl’s shoulder. The frozen girl coughed. Stirred.

  “I think we’re okay,” said Marith.

  It was hardly over. They had to prepare her for the journey and the intricate operations to cure and restore her.

  The hologram nodded. “Thank you.”

  She began her work on Angie Murie. The little girl wouldn’t speak for a while, but when she did, the first words would be the same questions all asked upon awakening: “Where are they? My mother? My father? My sister? My brother? My friends?”

  Kat sighed. It was the right thing to do. Most certainly it was the right thing. Everyone agreed. Life was better than death.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I am grateful to the following for their support and critical feedback:

  A.W. Cardiff, Lyle Cross, Paul Du Preez, Priya Doraswamy, Cassie Dutton, Eric Estrin, Penelope Else, Miriam Fristensky, Michela Gianello, Sammi Goldberg, Emily Grandy, Brent Higgins, Nada Holland, Cody James, Nathan Jones, Cynthia Knuts, Carrie Krause, Terri Lewis, Monique Lobosco, Danita Mayer, Clark McCann, Mac McCaskill, Michael McGinty, Kein Ouzunupi, Herman Padilla, Lydia Redwine, Natalie Ross, Terry Stroud, Clinton Tedja, Nicole Teske, Jessie Wolf, Steven S.Hood, Marith Zoli.

  Special thanks to computer engineer Dusty Phillips for his guidance on technology, and to physicist/novelist Marco Ocram for his tutorial on quantum entanglement.

  I thank my family for their enthusiasm about this fiction. My daughter Heather suggested some clever lines of texting dialogue. My son Chris pulled me back from the narrative edge a couple of times, and my wife Eileen stood fast when a personal dilemma threatened to escalate out of control.

  I am indebted to Kelly and the staff of Cursed Dragon Ship.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Alex Austin is a Los Angeles-based journalist, novelist and playwright. His novel Nakamura Reality was published by The Permanent Press in 2016. Publishers Weekly gave the novel a starred review and called the writing, “powerful and moving.” His novel The Perfume Factory was a finalist for Writer’s Digest Independent Literary Novel of the Year, 2009, and was a Kirkus Recommended. Austin’s plays include The Amazing Brenda Strider, a Backstage West Critic’s Pick, winner of the Maddy Award for Playwriting and produced at several venues, including the CoHo Theatre, Portland. His play Mimosa was produced at Los Angeles Theatre Center, the featured play in Wordsmiths Playwrights Festival, presented by the City of Los Angeles Cultural Affairs Department. Dupe was featured in Ten Grand Production’s Cold Cuts Series in New York City. His fiction has been published in numerous literary magazines, including Carte blanche, Black Clock, Beyond Baroque, District Lit, Midway Review, Foliate Oak and The Disconnect. He has written numerous nonfiction articles. Austin is a graduate of UCLA. He lives with his wife Eileen in West Hills, California. Retired from full-time teaching, he currently works as a substitute teacher for the Los Angeles Unified School District.

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