Forever, Inc.
Joseph Yenkavitch

 

ABOVE JONAS FEDMORE, TAUT SAILS BULGED LIKE A BREATH BEING HELD WHILE A COOL SEA BREEZE FLOWED ACRTOSS THE BOAT MINGLING WITH DELICIOUS SUMMER WARMTH. A SPLASH OF WATER ROSE AT THE BOAT KNIFED INTO WHITE-TIPPED WAVES. A SFOT VOICE CALLED TO HIM AND HE TURNED SLOWLY BRINGING INTO VIEW THE LITHE BODY OF A YOUNG WOMAN STRETCHED OUT ON THE COCKPIT SEAT, AN ODALISQUE OF SENSUOUS BEAUTY, TANNED EVERYWHERE UNHINDERED BY ANY BATHING SUIT. HE REACHED OUT AND RAN A HAND OVER HER SMOOTH THIGH AND SHE ROSE TO HIM PRESSING HERSELF AGAINST HIM. SHE KISSED HIM AND HIS HAND ROAMED DOWN HER BODY. QUICKLY THE DAY BECAME LOST TO HER.

Simon Fedmore pulled the bouquet of flowers he held closer to his chest and stood aside as a well-dressed couple walked past. The other man's arm was wrapped around the woman's shoulder while she pressed into him, one hand cluthing a naplin held to her nose. She wasn't crying, a least not anymore. Fedmore nodded in silent condolence. The woman glanced at him and, in that instant, he saw more than grief on her face. She appeared stunned, bewildered. The man kept staring off, vaguely aware he was holding her.

Fedmore watched them move unsteadily down the hallway, footsteps tapping on the marble floor. The woman sniffed, "I don't understand," her voice echoing off the mirrored walls and antique sculptures perched on tall pedestals.

The outer door clanged chut as they left. Another door immediately opened behind Fedmore.

"Mr. Fedmore, Simon Fedmore?" the tall, slender man with a mane of white hair said, one hand still on the doorknob. Fedmore nodded. The man introduced himself as Dr. Mengel, produced a tight smile on his unwrinkled face, and indicated he should follow him into the next room.

Fedmore entered, still distracted by the couple. Then he took a gulp of air, and stopped. The outside of the building had been deceiving. He never imagined that behind the plain front mostly hidden by pine trees such a large room existed. Twenty, maybe twenty-five feet high, it ran perhaps five times that length.

But size wasn't the only thing. The walls, tiered with narrow catwalks, sported marble rectangles three feet by four feet each covered with gauges, dials and lights in varying stages of activity. A control center of some sort, Fedmore thought, but knew it couldn't be. Not in a cemetery call Forever, Inc.

Even though his father had been dead for nearly a year, this was his first time here. It had been part of the will. No one was to visit the deceased, it said, until contacted by the director of Forever, Inc. That was spelled out clearly. His attempt to enter six months ago had been curtly rebuffed. He felt slights, not so much because he needed to complete the bereavement process as out of curiosity.

"You are impressed, I see," Mengel said in a flat tone.

"Very," Fedmore replied, craning his neck to view the hightes level. A slight fragrance of roses filled the room. "Tell me, why has it taken so long for me to be allowed in here?"

"Acclimation, mainly for those of us dealing with the departed." Mengel spoke from behind Fedmore.

Fedmore pivoted. He thought he caught the hint of a smile on Mengel's face. "Acclimation?" Somehow the word didn't fit. "I don't understand." Instantly, he remembered the same words coming form the woman.

"Please," Mengel replied, "come with me."

Fefmore followed him to the center of the room. Mengel stopped, his large hand curling over a mahogany banister that separated them from the wall and a more intricate array of machines. Fedmore glanced around surprised not to see any kind of seating. He glanced at the flowers in his hand wondering what to do with them.

Mengel noticed his confusion and took them and laid the bouquet on the floor. As he moved, his foot brushed them scattered the stems. He paid little attention to the jumbled mass.

"You said something about dealing with the deaprted?" Fedmore said. "Isn't my father in an urn here? What more is there to do?"

"Your father is in an urn," Nengel replied. He ran a hand thorugh his hair platering it down heven more. "That's ar the Riverside Cemetery."

"I wasn't told that." Fedmore felt his frustration level rising.

Ever since his father's death things hadn't seemed quite right. The cremation had been done in private. No one had been allowed to bview the body beforehands. No internment, a least none they were told about. Along with the rest of his father's few friends, he had been cut off from any more dealings with him. Even during his last painful weeks alive, things were stange. With cancer ravaging his body and unspeakable agony testing the limits of his mind, his father had been oddly serene. He never spoke, just lay there, eyes closed, awaiting the end. Only his fisted hand betrayed the pain.

"Your father's wish. Until everything was in place and working properly."

Fedmore shook his head. Nothing was becoming clear. He held up a hand, and stepped back.

"Look, all I know," he said, "is that my father is dwad and absolutely nothing about it makes any sense."

Mengel drew himself up. His sharp gray eyes focused on Fedmore im[eriously. the rest of his face remained imnpassive. It was as though a superior being had decided to speak to a lesser form of life.

"Your father isn't dead."

Fedmore felt his knees go weak. He grabbed the banister. Head swimming, his confusion finally reached a crecendo.

"Enough of this!" His voice ricocheted off the walls. "I'm tired of being yanked around. I'm not some yokel off the streets. I run a successful business. I deal with people all the time. And when I do, I expect straight answers, not some mumbo-jumbo that's supposed to make me feel good. Are you telling me he's not dead because he lives in all our hearts or our memories or some other crap?"

Mengel watched him as he might a child going through a tantrum. Fedmore noticed and calmed down as best he could. He pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wiped his mouth.

"I mean he's here, alive." Mengel swept hias arm toward the banks of marble rectangles.

For the first time, Fedmore could now see names engraved on them. Under each name was a date, just one. The virth date. He could only shake his head.

"It's quite simple," Mengel said. "We have his brain."

Fedmore stared at the wall, as a dim peception grew stronger. Suddenly, all he could picture behind those marble slabs were brains, things out of a bad sc-fi movie; great globs of convoluted tissue floating in vats.

He pointed toward the wall. "In there, behind lights and gauges and marble are brains?" he asked. "My father's brain? I've never heard of such a thing. He never mentioned this. Is this legal?"

"It's here, that's all that matters. You wouldn't have known about it, but I let the departed indicate one family menber be told,if desired. Some families never know."

"Why? I mean, something like this is not just grotesque but..unheard of."

"Not quite." Mengel seemed tired of the questions. "Those with enough money hear of it. They're discreetly contacted. No one knows we're out her in the wilds of Montana. they don't even get a lot of information until we're sure they want to join. If a prospective client isn't interested, they would have trouble convincing anyone such a place existed." He gave Fedmore a long look. "You, of course won't say anything, not wishing to disturb your father's peace, I assume."

Fedmore was taken aback, but regained his composure. "Why would my father want me to know?"

"I don't know." Mengel scratched his sunken cheek. "Maybe he felt you'd be interested someday. Like father like son."

Fedmore felt uneasy with that last remark. Like father like son didn't fit his image of their relationship. Being in business was all they had in common. Different enterprises, at that. Yes, his wealth was growing rapidly, although not close to what his father attained. But the similarities ended there. He did everything on the up and up, didn't sacrifice friends for profit, or his family, for that matter. Some decisions he made were hard, they hurt people, but that's business. Nothing, though, like the ruthlessness his father practiced. Scorched earth sometimes. Wipe out a business for just the tiniest gain.

No, not like father like son. But the uneasiness didn't go away. Now that he had the thought, it seemed to go deeper than he cared to delve.

"So that's why we couldn't see the body. You had to take his brain." Fedmore felt acid rising from his stomach. "And you're doing what with it?"

Mengel gave a small smile, more self-satisfied than friendly.

"Simply put," he said, "I'm projecting images, sensations into his brain. He's living a pre-programmed, a virtual, existence. But one far more varied than that would indicate."

He pressed his hands together. Fedmore noticed a slight twitch near his eys as though this was the only way any excitement could issue from him.

"It's another life," Mengel continued. "A whoel new one."

Fedmore walked away from the wall. He breathed deeply, composing himself. While he had a glimmer of understanding of what was going on, he flet like he needed a drink before he got the full picture.

"Don't suppose you supply some scotch and water with this explanation?" he asked, walking back.

"Your father drank, too, I take it?"

Fedmore stopped, startled. "Well, yes, but I only meant something to calm me. I don't drink a lot. My father did, yes, but...what does it matter?"

"Just confirming what I'd heard. No, sorry, I don't have any liquor here. Drink can make people unstable and well, with all this equipment, lives actually, I don't want to take any chances."

Fedmore felt chilled. Te place now seemed eerily alive.

"You don't need the rest of the body at all?" he asked. His small mouth pressed into a tight line.

"Why?" Mengel moved to one side, adjusted a few dials and peered at a row of gauges. "It's the brain that does all the work."

"And they see just as we do? I can't believe I'm asking these questions."

"Mostly. Look here." Mengel poined at the green face of an oscilloscope. "Watch." He pushed a button a barely audible whirring sound could be heard. "I'm throwing the picture this woman sees out of focus. Look at the scope."

Fedmore peered around the large man. Theheight of the evenly spaced blips suddenly collapsed into mixed squiggled. Mengel pushed the button again and the pleasant pattern returnd.

"That woman," Mengel said, "just reacted to stimulus. the picture she's receiving went out of focus and her brain struggled to get it back. Just the way you might squint to see a sign that's hard to make out. You can't be doing that and not screw up your brain waves."

Fedmore stepped closer to the rows of dials. Behind the panel he could see a tangle of filaments leading away presumably to each brain.

"Tell me," Mengel said, "what kind of person was your father?"

Fedmore didn't turn but talked to the array of gauges. "You asked me that when we met in your office last week."

"And you seemed non-committal."

"Why do you need to know?"

Mengel placed a longer finger against a dial. "These people are special, don't you think?" He didn't wait for an answer. "I can't just work here without wanting to feel close to them. You can understand that?"

"That's why you've been calling around talking to his friends and the rest of the family?"

"I enjoy my work. Even though the world thinks of them as deceased, they are alive, in there own way."

"Wouldn't it be nice if everyone in the family could know this? How easy it would make losing a loved one."

"Was he a loved one?" Mengel looked at Fedmore with a penetrating gaze.

"Well, Fedmore stammered. "He was my father. Could have been a better one, but he provided for us." He shook his head. "No, we were not close, except maybe when we discussed business. Why is this of interest to you?"

"Like I said, one doesn't like to this work in a vacuum."

Fedmore gave him a cynical glance. He bit his lip and then leaned closer to view a vat halfway up the wall. He thought he could make out his father's name on the plate. He pointed. "Is that him?"

Mengel nodded.

"Is he in any pain?"

"From the implant, no."

"It seems kind of gruesome, being here like this, I mean."

"It's what he wanted," Mengel replied casually. "He could afford to buy himself this immortality. Put that accumulated wealth to some purpose. Guess you might say he did take it with him."

Fedmore didn't smile.

"Tell me," Mengel asked, was he a good man?"

"Again with those quetions. He was never around much for me to know, okay." Fedmore shook his head. "If you must know, he was a bastard. Clear enough? He liked money and made a lot of it. Lots of people are poorer because of him. Satisfied?"

Mengel turned and looked up at the rectangular vault holding Fedmore's father.

Fedmore calmed down. He ran a hand over his forehead. It came away shiny with sweat.

"So," he said, "this is no different from one of those virtual reality booths at the arcade. They stick a helmet on your head and project scenes into your eyes. Ride a rollercoaster or jump froma plane. Get all the sensations without the risk."

"Pretty much." Mengle lifted a dik the size of a postage stamp. "Each one of these holds up to sixteen hours of any reality. Slip it in at appropriate times and each of our dearly departed can be anywhere and doing anything they desire.." He took a deep breath, his eyes now locked in a faraway look. "Naturally, I don't spend all my time in here changing disks. We have an automated proces for that."

"Can you do this if the person had died, really died?"

Mengel turned his attention to Fedmore. "Only if we can retrieve the brain within five or ten minutes of death. Otherwise there's too much degeneration. Might be able to project images, but they couldn't be interpreted. Things would be a hodgepodge.."

Fedmore reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of candy. Meticulously, he unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth. "What's my father doing now?" he asked.

Mengel tapped information into a comuter. A screen popped up with mostly numbers.

"Sailing," he said.

Fedmore scratched his chin. "I don't remember him liking sailing," he said.

"That's what he asked for. Wht do you remember him liking?"

"Making money. I'd have bet a bundle this disk was of a broker's office. He'd be watchiong a ticker runin front of him."

"That wouldn't be of much use now, wouldit? You sound bitter."

"I shouldn't be, I suppose. I got a lot of that money. With interest, of course. Would have preferred a bit more attention, though."

"Others told me the same thing," Mengel replied, foldinghis arms across his chest. "A few people weren't so kind in their depiction."

"Oh?"

"Seems he made life difficult for many of them. Ruined some. But you knew that already, didn't you?"

Fedmore stepped back. He kept his eyes on his father's mini-crypt. "Won't he get bored? I mean, how long can he watch the same things over and over?"

"We're a bit more sophisticated than that, Mr. Fedmore, and getting better all the time. First of all, he doesn't view those disks non-stop. There's aregular program to be followed. And the realities can be altered. We have an infinite number of permutations."

Fedmore drummed his fingers on the banister. "Still," he said absently, "forever is a very long time."

"He's not continuously conscious. That's to prevent over-stimulation. To stop him from growing languid."

"He's just turned off? For how long?"

"More like sleeping, actually. Eight hours at a time and sometimes randomly. Like catnaps. We also play disks of everyday life."

"You got pictures of his everyday life?"

"Not his in particular, just anything ordinary. Walking, resting, watching, television, a baseball game."

Fedmore gave a low chuckle. "Wow, talk about the ultimate couch potato." He glanced at Mengel who didn't smile. "Um, do some people just stay tuned to their soap operas?"

"You'd be surprised." Mengel leaned against the railing.

"And the other senses?" Fedmore asked.

"We offer all senses in one degree or another."

Fedmore twisted and faced Mengel. "He can hear?" Suddenly, he felt alarmed.

"No, not us," Mengel answered. "Only what's programmed. He also has olfactory and tactile senses. He will even hear his own voice, although it's something we've put in. But as far as he's concerned, those are his words from his thoughts. It's all a matter of stimulating the correct areas of the brain in the proper manner."

"You can create anything?"

"Just about."

Fedmore gave a wicked little grin.

"Yes," said Mengel. "Everyone had plenty of that in their program."

Fedmore stood and unbuttoned his brown herringbne sports jacket. Slowly he walked along the corridor between the walls. Jut as slowly he returned. He shook his head. Hands thrust into his pocket, he spoke to Mengel. "Does he know what's happening?"

Mengel thought a moment. "Ah, you mean out here. No."

"But does he know he's in there, that what he's seeing and feeling isn't real?" Fedmore put his hand in his pocket ad jingled coins. "Does he really think he's alive?"

"How do you know you're not in there now?"

"Very funny. So, does he?"

"Can't be sure." Mengel adjusted a few dials. "We have terminated his memory systems as best we can lwaving enough for him to remember who he is. Who's to say, though, that when we desensitize him for sleep, he doesn't drag out things we couldn't eliminate. Those would be nightmares be simply wouldn't understnad. Just like ours."

"And he chose this without really knowing?"

"Death is scary."

Fedmore had to agree. "Does he partcipate in his world? he asked. "Or is he simple a spectator?"

"He participates in the sense he sees and feels things happening. But he doesn't really do them. Things happen and he reacts. In some ways, however, his own ingrained sensibilities would make him think of doing things and parts of his brain will accommodate. He might want to reach for something, for instance. The progam will create an artificial hand to touch the object and he could feel it. Yes, I suppose he is more than a spectator."

"And he knows who he is?"

"Yes, definitely. It wouldn't be of much use if he didn't, now would it."

Fedmore couldn't help but be impressed. It must have showed on his face, he thought, the way Mengel looked at him. "Does he feel pain?"

"He feels anything we project to him, and a few things he conjures on his own. Would you like him to feel pain?"

Fedmore was silent a moment. "No, of course not. Just wondering." He turned abruptly feeling suddenly nervous. "Can you communicate with him? You know, ask him things as one of the people in his program and pick up some brain pattern answer from him?"

"We could, but we don't."

"Why?"

"It's in the agreement. Once separated crossed over there can be no communication with the outside world."

"But why? Just think how wonderful it would be to know you can still be with your loved ones."

Mengel gave him a skeptical look.

"For one thing," Mengel said, "the experiece would prove traumatic. Also it would confuse the experiences we try to instill. What wouldl be the reality? Could there even be the pleasant world the separated had wanted while trying to reconcile our intrusion?"

"I suppose not."

"We even suggest that family and friends not come here, although we can't stop those desingated by the separated. Rarely does this do anyone any good."

"I see." Fedmore took a deep breath as though he had been holding it in for an hour. "One last thing."

"Yes." Fedmore could see on Mengel's uninterested face that he had alreay been wiped from consideration.

"Can he die?"

Mengel raised an eyebrow. "It could happen. A power failure of long enough duration. Smash his vat. Any physical violence."

Fedmore gripped the banister. He crunched down on his cany and the sound reverberated in the room. His voice was low as he spole. "No, I mean can he ask to die?"

"Why would he? He has everything to live for."

"But could he?"

"Only if we communicate with him. And, as I've just said, we won't"

"And, if for some reason,it becomes unbearable and he wished to die? Fedmore asked.

Mengel moved closer causing Fedmore to step back. He peered down at the unsureman with a patrician attitude. "Do you wish death when everything is going wonderfully?"

Fedmore re-buttoned his jacket slowly, thoughtfully. "True," he smiled, casually extending a hand to Mengel. "A very informative afternoond, he said. "My father seems to be in good hands. I suppose it's best if I didn't return."

"That's up to you," Mengel answered, holding Fednore's hand loosley before releasing it. "Bringing flowers to his grave is a fine tradition."

"Of course." Fedmore began walking away, Mengel taking a few insincere steps with him. Fedmore turned. "Tell me, will he think he's living forever?"

"I really coulnd't say," Mengel replied, impatiently. "It would be nice to think so."

Fedmore nodded and strolled down the hall and out the large glass doors and into the bright sunlight.

Mengel watched him leave then turned to the great wall. He stood below Jonas Fedmore's marble slab, his hands clasped behind his back, rocking slightly on his feet. For a moment, he fell into a deep concentration, his large lips pursed. His gray eyes squinted. The soft hum of machines filled the cool air.

"You were not good, Mr. Fedmore," he said as though someone were actually listening. "Heaven or Hell, Heaven or Hell. Seems I have no choice."

Mengel's glance moved to one of the machines placed low near the floor. He bent down and took hold of a dangling wire well hidden within the mass of other wires. Skillfully, he inserted it into the back of the machine then stood and flicked a switch on the large console.

He stepped back satisfied. "Balance, Mr. Fedmore," he said with little emotion. "Just balancing the scales."

A SOFT BREEZE BLEW INTO JONAS FEDMORE'S FACE AND SUNLIGHT LAY ON HIM PLEASANTLY. THE FLAWLESS WOMAN REACHED OUT A SLENDER HAND, FINGERS TOUCHING HIS LIPS, A PLAYFUL SMILE ON HER FACE. THEN DARKNESS. A VOID. BUT QUICKLY LIGHT AGAIN. AND HEAT. SUDDENLY ALL AROUND FLAMES BEGAN TO RISE. A CUMULOUS OF RED AND ORANGE SEARED HIM. PAIN SLICED TO THE CORE OF HIMSELF AND HE HEARD HIS SCREAMS. THE FLAMES WRAPPED ABOUT HIM, DEVOURED HIM, ENTERED HIM LIKE A RED-HOT SHARD OF IRON FORCED DOWN HIS THROAT AND BURNED AND BURNED AND BURNED. mov






















 

 

Copyright © 2000 Joseph Yenkavitch
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"