139 Years to the End of the World

Life Goes On, Part Three

None of the mechanics that left the Cryo-Chamber did so much as look at me when I passed them in the long corridor. I was reminded that for many on Project Dawn, I was but another job, and the small group of people with an emotional attachment to me are possibly the only friends I had left.

Entering the chamber, I got my first look at the new Cryo-Tube. Installed on a raised platform, the new tube – well, more of a box then – looked much more similar to a science fiction machine than the bulky metal monster before. The cumbersome tanks of preservation liquid remained around it, but the main part that housed me had been replaced with a sleek, metallic, rectangular container with a half cylinder glass door.

I instantly recognized Doctor Parker as he was the only blond in the room. He stood by one of the control panels with what looked to be an ECG monitor. His hair had also grown out into a ponytail which I thought was kind of an untidy hairstyle for a doctor but perfect for a slightly arrogant hippy.

"This is more like it," I said as I approached him. "Now it's starting to look sci-fi."

The doctor looked up from his work and, in a completely unfamiliar fashion, smiled at my presence. "Yeah. No more climbing up and down for you."

"I'm sorry about earlier," I blurted out.

"For what?"

"For not forgiving you."

Parker nodded solemnly and turned his sights to the machine in the middle of the room. "I started talking with the professor and G after that day. They told me the little things about you that I never thought to look into myself." He pulled up a chair and sat down. I leaned against the console and listened to his story. "That's the thing about being a doctor. When I worked at the ER for my internship, I saw so many patients that they just become a number to you. A job. I numbed myself and forgot that they were human as well."

Unsure of how to reply, or even if I should, the better part of my social abilities, which there wasn't a lot left of, redirected the conversation. "What's new with the Cryo-Tube?"

Jumping on the bandwagon away from the awkward topic, Parker explained, "Well, as you can see, we have a door now so all you have to do is step into it. And we can monitor your physical status by sight as well." The doctor got up and headed to the machine. I followed. Knocking on the glass door, he explained, "High density magnesium aluminate spinel. One of the hardest transparent ceramics we have. It'll help keep in the pressure when we fill up the liquid while giving us visuals of you."

"I don't know. That's kind of weird you know, you guys watching me as I sleep."

"It beats us not knowing your physical condition. At least this way, we won't just rely on the ECG. We'll be able to use other methods to help preserve you better." I found it weird speaking of myself as an experiment, but figured the term was required for them to properly do their jobs. Too much emotional investment can sometimes lead to bad decisions, no matter what the doctor thought of professional stoicity.

I leaned into the glass. Well, the doctor called it a spinel-ceramic-something but I'm a layman and if it's hard and transparent, it's glass. On the other side, I can see the enclosed space as just slightly smaller than the previous metal one. The floor was a metal grate, probably to drain out the liquid. There were about half a dozen of what looked to be medical instruments – from tubes to plastic suction cups – placed on the white interior wall, including an oxygen mask. A shoulder harness was connected to the ceiling and left dangling in the middle.

Parker continued the explanation. "The holes in the walls are used to better regulate the liquid," sure enough, there were four holes that wrapped the wall at waist height. "With that, we can control how active your body is. We can adjust the pressure and the amount of the liquid, basically letting your body 'exercise' in a way. Keeps your body healthier and active. Lot's of sciency medical stuff you won't understand."