Kingman touched his ear, listened. “Helicopters are ready to launch soon. We’ll have them on scene as quickly as possible.”
“Will it be fast enough?” Nouri Tobler asked in a rough voice. “Will James survive?”
The physicians took full control, worked to stop the bleeding from the head injury, ran a final check. “He has the best possible chance,” Kingman said.
“But where’s Stephen?” Francesca still attempted to look through the corner of her eyes, SHERPA’s eyes. The optical sensors scanned, and at the periphery she saw another thermal image. “Off to the left. Up on the slope near those three exposed rocks.”
SHERPA’s head swiveled, and all spectators could see the smear of body warmth, and more than that—movement. It was Stephen, clawing free of the snow that had buried him. “He’s alive!” she cried, then squeezed the two girls curled up against her. “Daddy’s alive.”
Stephen got his head and shoulders free. “Over here,” he gasped, his voice weak.
“We have to get to him.” Francesca struggled to move inside the avatar body, but hers was only a passive interface. The physicians had taken full control, tending to James.
“If your husband is moving, that’s a good sign,” Kingman said.
Francesca longed to scramble across the ice field and pull Stephen out of the cold, smothering embrace. She would use the robot’s body, the artificial limbs, the haptic sensors, to wrap her arms around Stephen and hold him, use the robot’s waste heat to keep him alive.
Stephen pulled himself farther out of the snow, propping himself up. He brushed ice chips away and coughed. Francesca recoiled to see blood splashing out of his side, a bright red stain on the freshly exposed white snow.
SHERPA’s optical sensors swiveled back to the still-unconscious form of James. Inside the link, the coordinating surgeon said, “That’s good for now. Let’s go check the other patient.”
After ensuring James was stretched out and in a place where he wouldn’t slip down a slope even if he moved or rolled, SHERPA covered him with a thin thermal film to keep him warm. Then the avatar dug polymer hands and feet into the loose snow to make a cautious ascending traverse across the field to where Stephen struggled to extricate himself.
Suddenly, large chunks of frozen debris slid out from under Stephen’s hips, and he began to slide down the slope. He yelled, and Francesca yelled with him. He reached out his gloved hands, flailing, trying to slow his fall. He left more blood on the snow.
The avatar shifted its approach to intercept Stephen, working itself downward and across as snow slid under its textured feet. Stephen spread himself out, increasing his surface area, halting his fall. Finally, the unstable snow chunks caught on a rock ledge, and he came to a stop. He groaned in pain.
SHERPA picked and climbed its way over to him. From where he sat slumped on the ledge, Stephen looked gray, and his face was slack. He panted hard. He managed to sit, then pulled on the rock, trying to drag himself upright, but the effort was too much for him.
Through the eyes of the avatar, Francesca saw a wide maroon patch on his clothing, wet, soaked with blood from an injury in his left mid-torso. A large wicked shard of ice had pierced him like a crystalline spearpoint.
Breathing fast and ragged, Stephen reached out to grip the avatar’s body. “I’m here. I’m okay.”
“Help him!” Francesca shouted into the passive link.
The medical team took over, assuming full fine control of the medical suite in the artificial body. They scanned Stephen’s vitals, assessed his injuries. “We can’t remove the ice shard. Pack gauze around it so we can apply pressure.”
“Traumatic injury, upper quadrant.”
The doctors had been reporting through the speakers in SHERPA’s plastic face, but Francesca said, “Let me talk to him.”
Kingman nodded, gestured to one of his techs. Her audio link became active. “Stephen—it’s Francesca! I’m here.”
“You’re very far away.” He sounded disoriented.
“Not as far as you might think. It’s the next best thing to being there.” She reached out, used SHERPA’s polymer hand to clasp her husband’s arm. “Hold on. Helicopters are on their way, a full rescue crew. It won’t be long.”
“I’m fine,” he said. “I hate to have the whole world watching this. Don’t want to go down in history … as a klutz.”
“Sorry, but we have to do our work,” one of the physicians cut in over her private audio interface. “We need control back.”
She said quickly, “I’m here, Stephen. The doctors have to take over now, but I’m watching. I’m with you.”
“Yeah, a doctor would be a good idea.” He forced a wheezing laugh. The spreading bloodstain in his side was growing ominously larger around the gauze and the ice shard.
Francesca retreated into the avatar’s background as the surgeons took over. She had always been an active person, wanting to participate. She had climbed so many mountains with Stephen, summiting one Fourteener after another. Once, alone on the top of Mount Lindsey after a grueling hike, with the Sangre de Cristo range all around them, they had decided to make love in the rocky windbreak shelter. What could be more romantic? But they had been so sweaty and so exhausted, the experience had left much to be desired. They spent more time gasping for breath than gasping with pleasure.
Once the girls were born, Francesca had become a mother instead of a mountain climber, caretaker and teacher of her own daughters instead of classrooms of students. She had been happy with her life and with herself. She had been proud of Stephen.
But they both jumped at this chance Kingman’s avatar program offered. Stephen could at last climb Mount Rainier, and she could be with him—and Tanya and Tammy had climbed the mountain, too. Connected through SHERPA, they had all stood on top that morning, surrounded by rocks and the sweeping plunge of the crater, the vast fields of the mountain’s multiple glaciers.
As the sun rose on the top of the world, Stephen and James had thrown their arms up, howling into the thin air with excitement, and all those many thousands of spectators and participants linked in through the avatar connection did the same as SHERPA raised its synthetic arms.
The Rainier summit was the highest high … swept away only hours later in a roar and sweep of falling snow.
“Is … James all right?” Stephen gasped to the avatar as the remote physicians poked and prodded at his wound, muttering amongst themselves as to how best to treat the injury. He slumped back to a sitting position against the rough volcanic rock. “I’m dizzy … but I can help. With SHERPA I can work my way over to him.” He pressed a hand against his stomach.
The emergency physicians were using the avatar’s full capabilities. They had a backchatter on their own channel, but Kingman allowed Francesca and Nouri to listen in. One of the doctors spoke through SHERPA. “You need to stay put. Mr. Tobler has a concussion, but he is stabilized. We’re more concerned about you now.”
“I’m better off than he is,” Stephen insisted. “Francesca, are you still there?”
“I’m here. And so are the girls. The helicopters are on their way. They’ll be there soon.”
Kingman signaled to her in the external real-world window in a corner of her field of view. “Two hours,” he mouthed.
“They’ll be there in an hour, Stephen. Just hold on.”
He made a weak sound. “I’ll hold on.” The remote physicians tried to hold him down and keep him still. Their backchatter became ominously quiet.
Francesca continued, “Just relax. Let them tend you.” She could feel Tanya and Tammy snuggling next to her, as if they could get closer to their distant father that way.
Kingman touched her shoulder and signaled for her to drop out of the immersive link. As she came out, disoriented to find herself in the mundane control lounge, his grave expression made her feel sick. “What’s the matter? Everything’s all right now. We’ve got them.”
“I won’t lie to you,” Kingman said.
“It’s far worse than it looks. I … I want you to know.”
“But Stephen’s conscious. He’s talking. He wants to go help James.”
The lead scientist swallowed hard. He looked at her, looked away, then with a visible effort turned back to her. “The ice shard, that wound in his side—he has traumatic internal injuries. The physicians think it’s a splenic laceration, but it may have hit the aorta, and there’s no way to block it off. He’s got so much adrenaline he may not feel pain, but he’s bleeding a lot.” Kingman swallowed again. “In fact, his systolic blood pressure has dropped twenty since the first reading, in only a few minutes. That’s a strong indicator he may be bleeding out. SHERPA’s sensors and diagnostics are quite sophisticated, but the medical suite can’t stop internal hemorrhaging on that scale.”
Francesca felt cold, couldn’t formulate a question. Finally, she said, “But you have the very best telepresence doctors. Bring in any specialist to link up to the avatar. They can be right there.”
“We have access to the world’s best expertise, but he’s out on a snowfield. In order to have a hope of saving him, the surgical environment is … is just not there. Best case, the helicopters couldn’t get him to a real hospital in under two hours.” The man shook his head. “Maybe the doctors are misinterpreting the signs, but if the internal injury is what we suspect, it … may be fast.”
Her world collapsed and broke apart. “How long?”
Kingman just looked at her. “Our experts might be wrong, but prepare yourself. SHERPA has administered epinephrine, but the blood pressure isn’t responding. The remote medics have done everything they possibly can.”
“No, I don’t accept that!” she said. “He’s right there!” That’s when the girls started crying, but she wasn’t sure whether either of them understood what was going on. Her voice hitched, and she struggled to be strong. “Can I talk to him?”
Kingman drew a breath. “I can do more than that. I can let you be with him, through the avatar. SHERPA will project your face, your voice. With haptic sensors you can hold him.”
Francesca felt cold, a layer of ice around her growing panic. “What about our daughters?”
Kingman didn’t hesitate. “They can be there, too. We’ve deactivated the public connection, and no one else is watching him right now except for the doctors and you. The media is clamoring.”
“I don’t want reporters with my husband as he dies,” she snapped.
“No, it’ll just be you. You, and Tammy and Tanya.”
Tears streamed from her eyes. “Let’s hook up the girls again. We don’t have much time.”
Tanya and Tammy crowded next to her on the padded seat while a technician hurriedly reapplied the contact web to the girls. Kingman said, “I’m going to drop you into avatar mode again. The physicians will back off.”
Francesca braced herself, thought about the summits she and Stephen had achieved, the high points of their lives—and not just on mountains. She thought of the open air, the expansive views, the exhilaration of endorphins, the fresh sense of accomplishment. Now she was so far away … but through the haptic sensors she could feel him so close. SHERPA’s hands were her hands, and she was with Stephen again.
“Something isn’t … right,” Stephen said. He seemed very dizzy and disoriented, lightheaded. “I’m hurt bad, aren’t I?”
She wouldn’t lie. “I’m sorry.”
“I thought so. Helicopters coming?”
“They’re on the way, right now.”
When Stephen looked up at her, his expression fell. Through the projected overlay image on the avatar’s face, he could read her real thoughts. “Won’t get here in time.”
“There’s always a chance, Stephen! Always a chance.”
“I see your face. After all these years … I can read you.”
He would not have wanted her to sugar-coat the situation. With so little time left, he deserved to know, to face his fate, to be with them. “They think you have severe internal bleeding.”
“I feel … loopy.”
She squeezed, and SHERPA’s hand clasped his arm. “I wish you were here,” he said.
“Actually, I wish you were here. Just one of the armchair mountaineers letting someone else take the risk.” Her voice cracked.
“I like to do things for myself.” He spoke slowly, as if each word were a heavy weight to be lifted out of his mouth. “Is everyone else watching, too?”
“No, just us … and the girls. Tanya and Tammy are holding you along with me. Can you feel this?” She squeezed again. “They have the touch sensors, too. We’re all here.”
“Good, I’ll take that. Better than dying alone on a mountainside.”
“You’re not alone. We’re here.” Francesca leaned forward in the control lounge chair, and SHERPA’s arms extended on the ice slope, embracing Stephen, wrapping around him and holding him. She could feel his solidity, feel his touch. Through the avatar’s haptic sensors, they were right beside him. The girls felt the same thing.
Francesca was shuddering and trembling as she stifled her sobs so Stephen wouldn’t notice. “I love you.” He grew quieter, but he was smiling, comforted to have them next to him.
Francesca held him. His daughters held him. With a simple adjustment, the whole world could hold him in his last moments, but for now she had him to herself. They were there for him, and Stephen went quietly under the cold, bright sky after summiting a mountaintop he had always wanted to do—with his family.
In the control lounge, the three remained connected to SHERPA long after he was gone. It wasn’t until the audio pickups brought her the sound of approaching helicopters in the high, thin air that she relinquished control so the telepresence physicians and the search-and-rescue teams could save James.
They would also bring Stephen’s body back to her, but through the avatar she already had an experience that was far more meaningful, far more precious to her, and she held onto that, even as she let go of her husband.
This is my second story written for XPRIZE. I am a member of their Science Fiction Advisory Council, serving with many other well-known visionaries and futurists. In a partnership with Japanese airline ANA, XPRIZE asked its science fiction writers to each create a story about a specific passenger in a specific seat on an ANA jet that somehow jumps twenty years in the future. The aim was for us to showcase marvelous changes that might be possible in the next twenty years.
Then I learned that a very close friend was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer, and I had to write this story.
Terminal
Turbulence didn’t bother her—Magdalene Cross had enough going on in her mind. Her thoughts and memories, which had once been so organized, were now as scrambled as unpredictable air currents high over the Pacific.
It was 4:30 in the morning, but on the long overseas flight from Tokyo to San Francisco the string of time zones made the hour meaningless. Magdalene couldn’t sleep, and she couldn’t concentrate. The anti-seizure meds always made her feel dopey but not sleepy, the worst of both worlds. More drugs treated her dizziness and nausea, and several varieties of potent pain meds battled the mind-shattering headaches that would be her constant companion until the end.
Magdalene would rather have been with her family in her last days, but she feared she had waited too long for the flight home. Always cutting it close …
Throughout her career, Magdalene had prided herself on her punctuality, meeting every deadline, arriving just in time so as to waste not a minute. Thirty-five years as a corporate executive managing projects, leading research teams, jockeying for government grants, overseeing university hospitals, receiving awards for her landmark work on breast cancer research. Everyone in the field knew that she had helped shepherd tremendous progress toward a cure. That had been her passion.
Oh, the cruel irony!
The Boeing 777 twitched and jumped, and Magdalene blinked as she saw a strange underlying ripple go through the air, but the distortion faded away. Sh
e often experienced vision problems, halos, ghost images.
She found her purse in the little alcove near her window seat and removed her pill case. God, it was like a portable pharmacy! She took two OxyContin and waited for them to work, knowing they would only make her feel more fuzzy and disconnected. But it was better than the pain.
With all of her meetings and appearances throughout her career, Magdalene knew how to be comfortable aboard the ANA flight. Her window seat was spacious enough and the tray table gave her room to put together one of her jigsaw puzzles, a small one. Alas, small ones—ridiculously simple ones—were all she could do these days. It was embarrassing and sad.
Taking a plastic zip bag from her purse, she spilled out the colorful cardboard pieces onto the tray table. Twenty-five large pieces with prominent curves and protrusions designed to challenge a four-year-old. Working through the process meticulously, Magdalene turned each jigsaw puzzle piece face up, looked at the colorful printing. It would be a smiling cartoon figure, a happy rabbit. The twenty-five pieces were scattered at random, and she felt a moment of panic as she looked down at them. The colors and broken artwork made no sense. How would those pieces fit together?
Magdalene felt the floating sensation of the opiates kicking in, and she made herself consider the puzzle like a large project that she had once managed, step-by-step. She could do this. She sorted the edge pieces using her fingers to feel the smooth straight side, because the tactile addition helped make the pieces fit together mentally. A wave of nausea rippled through her, and she paused, waiting for it to pass.
Then she began to align the edge pieces, looking in dismay at the swatches of color, trying to understand the order. Slowly trying one after another in an organized fashion, she lined them up.
During the months of treatment in Tokyo, she would spend hours at a table in her room working on jigsaw puzzles until they became too disheartening. The puzzles were meant to be a distraction from the rigors of chemotherapy supplemented with targeted radiation. It was a new experimental procedure available only in Japan, not authorized for use in the United States. “Aggressive yet promising” the research papers had stated, offered to only a select few patients, but she was Magdalene Cross, and she had connections, many friends in the research field. And she had no other chance.
Selected Stories: Volume 1 Page 12
