AlterWorld

Chapter One

"A month. One month of relatively active life. I’m afraid, this is all you’ve got left," the doctor removed his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes.

I knew of course that his profession would make anyone a cynic. And still he didn’t seem to be delivering the news lightly.

The doctor shook his head, his hair gray before his time. "Yes, a month," he pursed his lips, hesitating, then blurted,

"It’ll be the question of what runs out first: your health reserves, your will to live in ever-growing agony—or your ability to finance therapy and medications. I hope you’ll excuse me for being so blatant. I’m very sorry. Normally, we don’t inform our patients in case of a Class A diagnosis. We contact their relatives, but you don’t seem to have listed any. What a shame. I don’t think that spending the next month in and out of surgeries will be worth your while. We just can’t do anything for you. An inoperable brain tumor is indeed the end of the line. Today’s medical science just isn’t good enough. I’d rather suggest you put your affairs in order. Pay off your debts. Go on holiday with your friends or someone you love."

He continued talking but his voice didn’t register any more. I stared at his hands fiddling with some paperwork. I wasn't going to die, surely! What cancer was he talking about? My life had only just started to work out!

The phrase echoed in my mind. Today’s medical science just isn’t good enough. What about the science of the future, then? Will it be good enough?

The thought struck me, giving me new hope. I sprung to my feet. The chair creaked, having heard yet another death sentence. It must have witnessed more of those than Old Sparky. I mumbled my goodbyes and headed for the door. Ignoring the elevator, I flew down the steps three at a time, ran across the crowded parking lot and slumped into my Hyundai’s seat.

I pulled the cell out of its case and started the browser. What was it that I’d heard on the radio on my way to work? The first in Moscow…We sell immortality… a chance to live forever… to see the future with your own eyes… Implanted by some marketroid team, the buzz words sat firmly in my brain, and still I couldn’t remember the name of the thing - a center or something.

My head smarted with the effort, sending colored circles dancing before my eyes. I winced and sat still, waiting for the spasm to go, then felt for the painkillers in my pocket. When had I last taken them? Was it with my breakfast at ten o’clock? If it was, I’d better make the pills last another couple of hours. The doctor had already taken me to task saying that all that constant OD-ing was ruining my liver. Had he been trying to be fu

What was their name, dammit! Was it Chrome? Chronyl? Or… Chronos? Exactly. Chronos. I Googled their office number.

"Chronos life extension, how can I help you?" chimed a young female voice, soft and eager.

"I, er," I faltered. "I mean, hi. It’s about your cryonics program. Can I make an appointment or something?"

"Absolutely. I’m feeding you our location."

Forty minutes later, I parked up by a state-of-the-art business center. Their high-speed elevator gave me a bout of childish delight replaced by a new spasm of agony. I gave up and swallowed another pill with best wishes to my liver. It shouldn’t get any ideas about being transplanted, once I croaked, into some lucky alcoholic billionaire.

The client manager was too young and too pretty. A strategically undone button on her business blouse added to her cleavage and hindered my concentration. But despite her tender age, she spoke in a competent voice and her eyes filled with compassion and purpose as we talked.