Genesis 2.0

by Collin Piprell

  "No," says Dee Zu.

  Smiling away, Bentley takes up the pitch. "We offer unsurpassed care in perpetuity, or until prevailing circumstances permit the implementation of client revival in a viable condition."

  "No," Son says.

  "You may trust us implicitly. Top‐secret information only now declassified: Happy Chillin lies nested within a former NORAD military installation hardened against anything except, perhaps, a direct strike from a hydrogen bomb. As a super‐stealth facility, it remains off the GPS system."

  "Jesus Christ."

  "We appear on no maps."

  "Maximum protection from mishaps."

  "Optimal opportunity to chill."

  "Stay as long as you will."

  "Safe and sound."

  "Stick around."

  "Christ," Son says.

  •

  Son and Dee Zu are soon restrained, shaved, given enemas and purgatives followed by what they are told are disinfectant showers and a radiation bath.

  The Dickhead, irresistibly strong, won't take no for an answer. He is assisted by TeDee and TeDum. It turns out ditherbots can extrude limbs and Swiss Army knife‐like appendages on demand.

  Short of skinning him alive, the staff decide they can't remove the vestige patch of mantle from Son's kidney area. The contents of his catchbag, mainly meat, are incinerated. The ball survives the incinerator intact and is returned to him. Dee Zu had nothing but a spearstick.

  "Where's the rest of our stuff?" Son says.

  "It has been placed in storage." Bentley beams. "You will not be charged for this service."

  Then Bentley and a dreckad take turns selling them the farm.

  Abide in faith with us

  "Client welfare: our number‐one ongoing priority."

  Ask about our term layaways

  Death is always premature!

  Let our trained health and financial counselors intercede for you.

  •

  "So?" Bentley's smile almost makes it ear to ear. "How may we be of service?"

  "For a start," Son tells him, "you can turn off the dreckads."

  The hype inside his head ceases. A moment's blessed silence, aside from soft beeps and burbles and background music. Then the background music swells to fill the auditory vacuum.

  "Boogie Chillen," Dee Zu says.

  "What?"

  "John Lee Hooker. One of Cisco's favorites."

  "And the music," Son says to Bentley.

  "You don't like the music?" Bentley's smile barely quivers. "Done. Anything else?"

  "We're looking for someone."

  "And we're in a hurry," Dee Zu adds.

  Bentley wrings his hands and turns oily. "Someone special. A dear, provisionally departed loved one. Your grandfather, perhaps."

  "Dearly departed," TeDum says.

  "Only nearly departed," says TeDee.

  Bentley brightens. "Please identify the individual."

  "Name names," TeDum says.

  "Or one name."

  "The client's name."

  "Jesus Christ," Son says.

  "Jesus Christ?" TeDee boggles.

  TeDum boggles in concert. "Jesus Christ?"

  "No," Son says. "William 'Lee' Farley Frick. Jesus, Jesus Christ."

  "William 'Lee' Farley Frick Jesus Jesus Christ?"

  "No," says Dee Zu. "William 'Lee' Farley Frick. No Jesus, no Christ, okay?"

  "William Farley Frick, Inventory #101‐26," Bentley says. "Please confirm."

  "Yes," Dee Zu says. "Yes."

  "We have to wake him up," Son tells Bentley, meanwhile telling himself to remain calm. "Can you do that?"

  "We can."

  "So do it," Dee Zu says.

  "But he will die." Never mind he's still smiling, Bentley conveys distress. "The technological means to effectively achieve the implementation of cellular de‐icing remains unavailable at this point in time."

  "No fix."

  "No tricks."

  "No way."

  "José."

  TeDee and TeDum giggle and shake and bump bellies.

  "Yes." Bentley feels he must elaborate. "The medical knowledge and procedures sufficient to effect a definitive cure of his specific illness have yet to be put in place."

  Son waves an arm, tries to clear the air of jabber. "Look, we need to get information from him. And we need it now."

  "He will die."

  "We need the information."

  "Who is able to authorize such a measure?"

  "We have the passcodes."

  "That is true. Nevertheless, we cannot accept responsibility for an inventory failure of this nature."

  "So blame it on us."

  "You agree, then, to sign a waiver?"

  "Whatever."

  "You will accept full responsibility for what ensues?"

  "Inventory failure."

  "Premature revival."

  "Very unwise."

  "Untimely demise."

  "Yes, yes. We'll sign. Let's just do it."

  medibot transfusions rule

  "Greetings!" A machine voice issues from a microphone somewhere outside the jar.

  "Greetings," Dee Zu replies.

  Son waggles his fingers at it. Talking to a head in a jar clearly makes him uncomfortable.

  "Lee," Dee Zu asks. "Is your name 'Lee'?"

  This brings the eyes around in a flash. "Wow! Who are you? What year is it? Now, I mean. When is it? Where are we? What's been happening?"

  The head has questions. Its eyes move, and there is some facial expression. The mouth moves, but slackly, uncertainly related to any words. "What the fuck is that?" it says.

  "That's the Dickhead." Dee Zu guesses that's where the head is looking.

  "Far out. My name is William Farley Frick. But you must know that, right? Otherwise what would you be doing here talking to me. Hey. You can call me Lee; my friends call me Lee."

  Lee the Head squints at them. "That's weird. You're buck naked! Of course you're built like a brick … You look great, missy. He laughs, a rusty croak. "Last time I looked, you people wore lab coats. Never mind, you look great."

  He lapses into unintelligible monosyllables and infantile noises.

  Aside from the gibberish, talking to this head reminds Dee Zu of talking to the Doll back in her ESUSA apartment. And she could be possessed by the spirit of Son, so intensely does she suddenly wish she had a Greek salad and crusty bread. Food, at a time like this?

  "Not used to company." Lee the Head is back again.

  "How do you feel?" she asks him.

  "I feel fucked up. How do I look?"

  "Pretty good," Son says.

  "Whoa. Just remembered something." Whatever that might be, it has him looking worse. "Where's the rest of me?"

  "What are you talking about?"

  "My body. Where's my body?"

  "Calm yourself, Mr. Frick." Bentley is glad to supply good news. "Your body is safe in storage. Everything is good."

  "A‐OK," TeDee says.

  "Tickety‐boo," adds TeDum, adopting some kind of accent.

  "Lee," Dee Zu says. "Listen to me. We need your help."

  "You're kidding, right?"

  "No."

  "Fine," he says. "But first tell me everything's okay. God, I'm tired. I don't feel good," he says, and then drifts off into mutters and sighs and total unintelligibility. His eyes close and he goes silent.

  "Shit," says Son. "Is he dead?"

  "Inventory failure imminent," says TeDum.

  "Not so loud," TeDee says.

  "Failure imminent." TeDum whispers it.

  •

  "Status report," Bentley says.

  "Recording theta waves," TeDee reports.

  "Typical of light sleep," says TeDum.

  TeDee giggles. "Typically death entails no waves."

  "So wake him up," Son says.

  "No."

  "No?"

  "Spoiled already."

  "William Farley Frick, Inventory #101‐26,
stage three deterioration. He might not wake up again."

  "What? He has to wake up again."

  "Bentley?"

  Bentley has appeared over beside a billboard‐size display on the far wall. It's a calendar. Instead of days, it marks the years from 2022 to 2200. The 2022–2038 squares lie against a white background and include a scatter of yellow lights, easily a thousand or two of them.

  "What's with the lights?" Son asks.

  "Each represents a client," Bentley replies.

  The bot attendants would have all this digitally internalized anyway, so why the razzmatazz? "Why the huge display?" says Dee Zu.

  "We want our clients to share the larger vision." Bentley wavers slightly, then firms up again as he beams at them. "Clients find it reassuring, before they take the final steps, to know that many fellow travelers have gone before them."

  Son steps over to the pre‐mid century lights, some of which have dulled to yellow‐gray. "What about these?"

  Maybe Dee Zu only imagines Bentley's smile dimming. "Removed from inventory," he says.

  "Dead?" Dee Zu asks.

  "Abiding no longer," TeDum blinks his big eyes and teeters in a sorrowful manner.

  "No longer lingering." TeDee totters with sadness.

  Bentley smiles radiantly and says, "Due to factors beyond our control."

  "Forces majeures."

  "Layaways lapsed."

  "So reassuring," says Dee Zu.

  "How many more are going to die?" Son says.

  "Some."

  "A number."

  "Unforeseen contingencies."

  "Acts of God."

  "Twists of fate."

  "Not our fault."

  "Too bad."

  "So sad."

  "How many of the total number will never be revived?" Son presents his question again.

  Dee Zu interrupts. "What about that light? The red one. It's flashing."

  "Would you like coffee?" says Bentley, with his relentless smile.

  •

  "No, no," says Son. "You have to keep him going."

  "He has nearly gone."

  "Going, going…"

  "Nearly dead," says TeDee.

  "Nearly gone," TeDum says. "Premature near‐death."

  "This is not our responsibility," Bentley says. "We advised against reviving him at this time. This action was taken in clear contravention of the relevant rules and procedures and against our better advice."

  TeDee and TeDum provide the chorus: "He was awakened prematurely."

  "You signed a waiver," says Bentley.

  "Cell damage from ice crystals," TeDee says.

  TeDum wobbles like a fat gyro. "No way to fix it."

  "But you froze him anyway," Dee Zu says.

  "He was suspended according to the appropriate protocols." Bentley smiles brilliantly all the while radiating anxiety. "A contract is established with all clients. It stipulates appropriate circumstances must be obtained prior to attempts at revival. The agreement was abrogated, in this case, although not by us."

  "Awakened too soon," TeDee says.

  "Premature resurrection," adds TeDum.

  "Premature passing." TeDee amends the evaluation.

  "Death is always premature."

  "Mortality sucks."

  "Yet it happens."

  "His untimely passing can only be attributed to factors beyond our control. Official standards of practice have been observed to the letter. We sternly cautioned against premature revival."

  "Premature revival entails premature death."

  "I have a question," says Dee Zu.

  "Easy come, easy go."

  "No. Not what to say."

  "Jesus Christ," Son says. "Shut up and listen, okay?"

  "Okay."

  "Okay."

  "When did you freeze him?" Dee Zu asks Bentley.

  "June of 2022."

  "Oh, boy. So no medibots."

  TeDee lists inquisitively toward Dee Zu and asks, "Medibots?"

  "Medibots are what?" TeDum tilts the other way.

  "We do not know 'medibots.'"

  "In‐system bio repair and maintenance bots?"

  "Yes," Dee Zu says.

  "Let's give him a medibot transfusion," says Son. "It worked for me."

  "Your request is without precedent. Please clarify."

  "If we needed to transfuse blood into our friend Lee, here," Dee Zu asks, "how would we do that?"

  "We could add an IV bag. But no need; he has a full allocation of blood, a judicious portion of all he contained before he entered the vat."

  "Our blood comes equipped with medibots. Maybe they can repair him, keep him alive."

  "One must be authorized to undertake medical decisions of this nature. I must consult to see whether or not I am so authorized."

  Bentley addresses his ditherbot consultancy. "May we bleed our visitors into Inventory #101‐26's IV bag?"

  "Medibots are new territory."

  "We lack data."

  "Let's just do it," Son says. "Okay?"

  "I must then ask you to sign this ancillary waiver," says Bentley, gesturing toward pages issuing even now from the same slot that delivered the first waiver. "Only if you would be so kind, an exception might be made in this case."

  "No," says TeDee. "Not an exception."

  "For this case is unprecedented," TeDum says.

  "Pardon me." Bentley beams some more. "I meant to say a precedent may be established in this case."

  •

  As they drain blood from him, Son is doing what Dee Zu thinks of as his Poppy impression. "Okay," he says. "The medibots do a quick repair job, we wake him up again, squeeze him for the information and … What's next?"

  "But what if we do revive this … this 'Lee' thing?" Dee Zu says. "What can we tell him? We don't have any cure."

  "We tell him everything's okay, give us the code."

  "You really don't care, do you?"

  "I care. But we're all going to be spoiled if we don't get our asses in gear."

  Asses in gear. More Poppy, she assumes.

  •

  "A little time out there, no? A dramatic hiatus, you could say, like I lost the script for a second."

  "Inventory#101‐26 has revived!"

  "Glory be."

  "Hallelujah."

  Lee sputters. It's a laugh. "How long has it been, anyway?"

  His eyeballs go this way and that. Then they fix on Dee Zu. "Wow. But I'm motormouthing away here like I haven't talked to anybody in, like, thirty years or something."

  "Thirty‐four years," says TeDee.

  "One‐third of a century," TeDum says.

  "Not exactly."

  "Somewhat more."

  "Three hundred and thirty days more."

  "Give or take."

  "Far fuckin' out. Though it seems like yesterday, just a minute ago, actually, that they gassed me. Put me away on ice. At the same time it feels like an eternity. Wow. And I had these dreams. I think. Hey. Is everything okay? Outside, I mean. No problems? How do I look? Look at me, okay? You've got the cure, right? Well, yeah. You wouldn't come waking me up if you didn't have the cure. But just listen to me. You can't get a word in edgewise. So tell me I'm going to be okay, okay?"

  "You're good," Son tells him. "But we need information."

  "Information?"

  "Yes."

  "Hey. Has anybody seen a stock market report? What year did you say it was, again? How's the SSE‐Dow Jones doing? I must be totally rich."

  "We should talk about this later," Bentley says.

  "What? No … talk now."

  "This isn't a good time."

  "Goddammit. … part of the deal … pile of money." That notion restores Lee. "Sixty percent of it for a portfolio you were supposed to manage till you woke me up," he says.

  "We need your help," Dee Zu says.

  "Wait. Who's President these days? President Crystal Darlene Hunkunder must be long gone, right?"

  "We have to ask yo
u something."

  "Wait. I've got another question. My Angie. Oh, my God. My Angie. Did she get herself frozen? Tell me."

  "Mr. Frick," says Son. "Please shut up for a minute."

  Dee Zu gives him a big smile and says, "There's something we have to ask you, okay?"

  "First tell me about Angie."

  "You refer to 'Angie Frick,' wife of William Farley Frick, Inventory #101‐26?"

  "Yes."

  "No."

  "No? What do you mean, 'no'?"

  "We have no Angie Frick in storage."

  "For fucksake." That's what Lee the Head says, but he looks happier than that. "Try Angelina Frick."

  Bentley smiles radiantly. "Not in inventory," he says.

  "Mrs William Farley Frick, then."

  "No." Bentley's smile remains undiminished.

  Lee's lips twitch in a way that also suggests a smile. "Fuck me," he says. "I was sure she'd find a way to hound me all the way into my next life." Then he does smile, no question.

  •

  "Please, Mr. Frick. Lee," Dee Zu says. "You've got to listen."

  "Code?"

  "Back when you were co‐mall operations manager," Dee Zu says. "You and Brian Finister shared a reboot code. For the machine MOM backup. Remember? He took half, and you took half."

  "Brian? That bastard."

  "He speaks very highly of you," Dee Zu says, and for all she knows this may be true. "And he says you should give us your half of the codestring."

  "Tell him he can bite me. In fact it wouldn't surprise me if he was responsible for infecting me with the BITEME virus in the first place."

  "He gave us the following recognition password and memory trigger: FuckfuckfucktheFuckinFuck12457766667ate9threefuck."

  "I don't know anything about that."

  "Please. It's extremely important."

  Son tries it as well: "FuckfuckfucktheFuckinFuck12457766667ate9threefuck."

  Something's happening. At least the head is getting all flushed and agitated. It says, "Brian sent you, right?"

  "Right. Brian Finister."

  "Then I'm telling you, and you can tell Brian the same: Go fuck yourself."

  "You don't understand…"

  "F…Fuck."

  last dreams

  He is all the sky watching the land. Whoever he is and whenever. Whatever. Nothing happens.

  •

  The moments fleet by or they never end. One slice of time presents a green and blue and white panorama, a flash‐frozen image of emergent geological, biological and cultural process. All is gladness.

  •

  Another freeze‐frame evokes only a sense of incalculable loss. The landward watching presents a hellish waste, a blasted terrain that extends from horizon to horizon.