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Friday, Jul 10, 2009
A century after dying the first time, Peter Skilling is about to discover that the future doesn't look kindly on the minor indiscretions of the past.
Feb 19, 2004 | Peter Skilling did not remember falling into a glacial crevasse on the north slope of Mount McKinley, so it came as a surprise to him when he awoke to find what appeared to be a robot sitting next to his bed.
"You're a very lucky man, Peter Skilling," the robot said to him. "A genuinely unique set of circumstances. You might have sustained fatal trauma from your fall, but look! You fell into a subglacial stream, resulting in scrapes and bruises only! And you might have been ground to gel by the glacier but for the earthquake that struck hours after your death and sheared away a portion of the mountain, leaving your body exposed in a depression away from the redirected glacier. Then, too, consider the above-average snowfall that encased your remains and protected you from the depredations of weather and wildlife."
"My remains?" Peter croaked.
Noting the dryness of his throat, the robot moved swiftly to unspool a thin hose from the wall and placed its nipple in Peter's mouth. Reflexively Peter sucked, and his mouth filled with cool water.
"This is the truly amazing chapter in your saga, Mr. Skilling," the robot gushed. "You died so quickly and in such cold water that -- if you'll permit me an inorganic figure of speech -- your autonomic system shorted out. Your brain function is astonishingly well preserved, and we have been able to surgically reconstruct damaged pathways. You were our perfect candidate. Quite a find, if I do say so myself!"
The robot paused. "Do you consider yourself sufficiently apprised of the fortuitous circumstances in which you find yourself?"
Peter hadn't caught much of the robot's effusion, but he gathered that he'd been in an accident on the mountain and survived. That seemed lucky. "I guess," he said.
"Very good," the robot said. It extended a hand, and Peter shook. The robot's hand was warm. "I am called Burkhardt," the robot said. "I wish you all the very best."
It left, and Peter noticed a woman in a white coat who had apparently been waiting near the door while the robot, Burkhardt, had told Peter how lucky he was. She stepped forward and smiled at him. "I'm Dr. McBride," she said. "I hope the steelie didn't overload you. We have to observe protocols as part of our grant mechanism, and it's easier to have robots take care of them than entrust the process to people."
"OK," Peter said.
"Why don't you sit up?" Dr. McBride suggested. "I think you'll find everything's in working order."
Peter sat up, surfed a brief wave of dizziness, and discovered that he did feel pretty good. "Yeah," he said. "I feel OK. So why am I in the hospital?"
Dr. McBride looked annoyed. "Yes. I thought maybe Burkhardt had rushed a little. These federal programs, you know. Not that I'm criticizing, it would be much more difficult to address everything on a case-by-case basis when we don't have access to all the intelligence, but it's only natural." Although she still looked in his direction, the doctor was no longer talking to Peter.
He took another drink from the wall nipple. Dr. McBride looked up at him and smiled again, apologetically this time. "I'm sorry, Mr. Skilling," she said. "I haven't answered your question."
Peter raised an eyebrow and sucked at the nipple.
"You see, you died in 2005. We've spent the past several months working you through the rejuvenation process, and I have to say it's gone very well."
The nipple fell out of Peter's mouth and a little water dribbled down his chin. Dr. McBride's smile regained some of its strength.
"There's no way to cushion it," she said. "Although God knows Burkhardt tries. You've been dead for 98 years. And now you have another chance to live."
Her gaze shifted to a monitor by Peter's head. "Mm," she said. "I was afraid of that." Crossing to the monitor, Dr. McBride opened a drawer and removed a shiny instrument.
Peter couldn't breathe. He tried to speak, and a breathy whine came out of his mouth.
"I've going to give you something that will alleviate your shock response," Dr. McBride said. Peter heard a hiss, and then he was gone.
