PART 5

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“A what?” asked Jennifer, the phrase meaningless to her.

“An S.A. – Suspended Automaton. A Deep Sleeper. Cryogenic Citizen.” Caroline stared at Jennifer – Jennifer stared back. Had to be it. Oh my god. Oh my god oh my god. Caroline sharpened her gaze at Jennifer and a sly smile creeped into her lips. “You really did die, didn't you?”

“They told me that the less you knew, the more fun it would be,” Jennifer said, half uncertain, half apologetic. Caroline cut into the mushrooms with renewed vigor. This was amazing! There were only so many S.A.s in the world – the early cryogenic procedures had been barely more than patent medicine and by the time the technique was refined enough to be useful, medical advances had rendered it near-moot. The deep-space crews had used it back when Humanity sought immortality outward rather than inward, but other than that, there weren't many medical cases that had gone beyond the cold and come back again. All of them, of course, had been thawed back when everyone went Into The Box... or so Caroline had always thought.

Caroline looked across at Jennifer. She paused for a moment.

“Nope. You know what? They're right,” Caroline said. It was killing her not knowing what was going on but the whole point of climbing into a body was to not know what was going on. She'd consumed plenty of body media; everyone who drove bodies did. And artificially-limited as her memory might be, she had never even heard of anything like this. Whatever was going on, it was bound for instant-classic status.

The duality crept back into Caroline. On the one hand she was an innkeeper with an amazingly enigmatic guest. On the other hand she was the pilot for what was destined to be a classic body experience. Half of her was relishing the excitement of the event unfolding and eagerly thinking ahead to the prestige and accolades her participation would bring. The other half was gripped with immediate stage fright. Whatever she guessed her audience was this morning she was now certain she had underestimated it.

“Is this... weird for you?” Jennifer asked hesitantly, bringing Caroline back to reality.

“Not half as weird as it is for you I'll bet!” Caroline responded, and grabbed the crème fraiche out of the fridge. She turned on the oven with one hand and pulled a pan down off the wall with the other. “Welcome to the land of the living!”

“Thanks,” Jennifer responded, still uncertain. Caroline set the pan on the stove and scooped a dollop of butter into it. She couldn't think of a word to say. She knew, however, that if her last memories were of being so sick that cryogenic preservation seemed like a viable choice, she'd certainly want something tasty for her first new breakfast.

That, at least, she could handle.

“So... this land of the living,” Jennifer asked, leading.

“Yeah.” Caroline was going to roll with it. Wherever this went it would be because Jennifer took it there.

“Where, exactly, is it?”

How do you answer that? Caroline thought, not entirely sure herself. The answer Caroline would give - “The Bed and Breakfast” - was likely to be completely meaningless to a pre-Singularity human. The answer Jennifer sought was more likely along the lines of “where, exactly, did this used to be?” and that was just as meaningless. A relative answer, however, would beat no answer at all.

“What's the last place you remember, Jennifer?” Caroline asked, then dropped the shallots in the pan with a sizzle.

“Mission Bay Medical Center.”

“Where's that?”

“San Francisco.”

“How many Worlds were there?”

“What?”

“How many planets,” Caroline asked calmly, “were inhabited by people?”

“...one,” Jennifer responded uncertainly. “How many are there now?”

“Three,” Caroline answered, “but that's down from twelve. You've been away for a long time.”

“I guess so,” Jennifer said, then sipped her coffee.

“We're very near where Los Angeles used to be,” Caroline said. “Up the coast a little bit. They used to call this Santa Barbara.”

“They don't call it that any more?” Jennifer asked quizzically.

Caroline's turn to furrow her brow. It was like talking to a child, only not a child. She thought of the Sphere in Abbey's “Flatland” attempting to explain Spaceland to the Square. “They don't so much... call things. Any more. Look – the world is a pretty different place from what you remember.”

“It always was. We used to come down here every Labor Day -” Jennifer cut herself off. She sipped her coffee.

Caroline grabbed the pot and topped her up. Jennifer smiled and nodded. Just two women, enjoying a little morning camaraderie. Caroline tossed the mushrooms in with the shallot. The kitchen smelled of butter and earth.

“I need to ask you some things,” Jennifer confided softly.

“Of course,” Caroline said, and pulled a muffin tin out of a cupboard. She set about buttering the cups.

“Where is everybody?”

“What do you remember about computers?” Caroline asked, the mind in the body being patient with the confused woman before her and the spectator from another universe preparing for an iconic moment.

“They were everywhere!” Jennifer proclaimed, incredulity in her voice. “Phones, players, toasters... we had one in the living room when I was a little girl, but by the time I was in my fifties I had one implanted in my hip! It was ridiculous how many computers...”

Jennifer trailed off. “I don't feel particularly... fifty.”

“I'd guess about thirty,” Caroline responded. In truth, more like thirty five. Caroline remembered just how body-conscious people were before such things ceased to matter, however, and spoke generously.

“My thirties were good to me,” Jennifer responded. “I'd just about figured out how to dress and I finally stopped breaking out. But that can't be.”

Caroline scooped the mushrooms and shallots into a mixing bowl. She grabbed a spoon and the crème fraiche and mixed breakfast as she talked.

“Jennifer,” Caroline started. “I don't know you and you don't know me. But I have to tell you – if you're still in the body you were born with, you're the only one. The only one anywhere.”

“That'd explain why I feel so good,” Jennifer answered sardonically. “So this isn't just really good drugs?”

“It's a whole new you,” Caroline replied. “Minus all the stuff that had a good chance of killing you or wrecking your health, of course. You've probably got more than a hundred years left in that body if you want it.”

“If I want it?”

“You were born to a body. You are, therefore, entitled to that body for as long as you can keep it alive. All of us organics get a body as our birthright; nearly all of us surrendered it at the Singularity but it wasn't compulsory. I gave mine up when I was barely a woman and have enjoyed a long and exciting life among the Simulacra ever since but there's nothing preventing you from growing old in that body and enjoying the best the Worlds have to offer.”

“...so what are you, an android or something?” Jennifer's disposition had transitioned from confused to repulsed. Well it's not like they briefed me, Caroline thought defensively.

“Hardly,” Caroline said, as reassuringly as she could. “I, as in the intelligence now talking to you, am a human being who transcended the need for a body many years ago. I, as the organism standing before you, am biologically identical to every person you've ever known... but I, the intelligence, am but one of many who have occupied and will occupy this organism. When I am not occupying this body, I am, for all intents and purposes, a resident of those computers you once found so ubiquitous.”

Jennifer stared at her. She held her coffee mug as if she'd forgotten her arm existed.

“You gave up your body... to become software,” Jennifer said, the disdain clear in her voice.

“At twenty-two,” Caroline answered cheerfully, willfully immune to Jennifer's tone. “And I went from a life of water rationing, food rationing, power rationing and medicinal rationing to a world of unlimited potential, unlimited horizons and unlimited longevity in doing so.”

“I want to talk to somebody real. This is too much.” Jennifer set her coffee down with finality. She crossed her arms in front of herself and stared at Caroline.

Caroline went to the refrigerator and pulled out the paper packet of ham. She unwrapped it as she talked, carefully avoiding Jennifer's gaze.

“By real, do you mean someone who hasn't seen the inside of a computer?” Caroline asked carefully.

“That would do,” Jennifer responded.

Caroline set slices of ham in the muffin tin and poked them down to form cups. “How, exactly,” she said carefully, “do you think you ended up in that thirty-year-old body of yours?”

Caroline felt Jennifer's eyes burning holes in her back. Walk it off, Jennifer, Caroline thought. For someone whose last memories were of dying, the woman wasn't being particularly open-minded.

Caroline finished scooping the shallot-mushroom mix into the ham cups and cracked an egg over the first. “These will be done in about twenty minutes,” she said to no one in particular. “Would you like me to heat up some croissants? They're made in town and they're delicious.”

Caroline cracked more eggs and waited for an answer. She turned when she didn't hear one... and faced an empty kitchen. Oh, well. More for me, she thought. It really was one of her favorite recipes, something her mother had told her had been passed down through generations. Her mother? Whose mother? Did it matter?

Besides, Jennifer would be back. There weren't that many places to go.

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FINALE