The aid got to her feet. “I’ll give you some time to go through it. Take however long you need. If you have any questions, you can ask the pad. It is hooked to an AI who will explain most of the basics to you. If it cannot answer your queries properly, it will send for someone who can. There is no rush.” Her smile was warm.
There was certainly a rush from my end, although I didn’t bother her with that detail. Express service was in the contract—I spotted it in my first pass through the initial pages. As I was paying for preferred treatment, they would make sure it happened. The advantage of for-profit organizations is that they rely upon their reputation. A few whispers that they failed to meet their contractual obligations would damage their reputation and their revenue would dry up. I trusted them as far as the contract extended.
I read through the contract, every clause. There were a lot of them. I asked the AI, via the pad, to adjust some of the causes. I’d had more than a few years practice dealing with contracts. Directing a battalion was as much an administrative function as it was a battle commander’s role.
When I was ready to sign, the medical aid magically returned. She witnessed my chop, I directed payment to the financial account she gave me, then she took the pad away. Business was concluded.
I was escorted to a suite with a bedroom larger than my entire apartment on the Judeste. When I was here several decades ago to rebuild my left arm, I shared a larger room with other Rangers. It stopped us from going mad with boredom. Now, though, I wanted the privacy that came with the upgraded price.
I sat on the feather soft sofa and waited for the treatment to begin.
No one really remembers rejuvenation. Even the classic, long-term processes still leave the patient unaware for long periods of time. During those times, unpleasant things were done to the body, including the brain. At least, that was how I remember my last rejuvenation—a mostly blank period of time, bereft of thought, interrupted by a few moments of strained coherency.
That was not my experience this time. I sat on the sofa for an hour or so before the strain of the day’s traveling caught up with me. I went to bed and snuggled into a mattress that was cloud soft and wondered if I would sleep at all…and if I did sleep, would I dream, as usual?
It was the last thought I had before I woke to morning sunshine and even a damn bird singing, nearby. I was refreshed and was not at all tired. I stretched.
The medical aid who had taken me through the contract stepped into the room. She was smiling again.
“Well hello,” I told her. “Are we finally getting started, then?”
She surprised me by sitting on the bed. She gave a soft laugh. “You are already ten days into your treatment.”
I stared at her.
“Look at your hand,” she told me.
I lifted my hand up. The back of it, which had been covered in liver spots the last time I looked at it, was now free of all of them. The veins which had ridged so heavily were still distinct, but far less protruding than they had been. I was looking at the hand of a middle-aged woman, not one on the brink of dying.
“You started while I was sleeping…”
“It seems like sleep to you, of course. That is intentional. Patients are far less stressed if they are unaware of the impending processes.”
“Only now you have tipped your hand. I know that more processes are impending.”
“Only because the therapy has not finished. Are you hungry?”
“Is that why you woke me up? To have me eat something?”
“We could feed you nutritional yeast but having you awake and aware and moving around the room will help us assess progress so far. Feel free to get up and order a meal from the terminal.”
“It isn’t a printer?”
“We have a chef on staff.” She got to her feet.
“You have a name I can use?”
“Dominica,” she told me and went away.
I eased carefully out of bed and paused to stare at my knees. There were no longer wrinkles around the bones. The skin looked, and felt, firm.
It was only then I realized there were no mirrors in the room. The omission was deliberate, of course. They didn’t want patients scaring themselves halfway through the process.
I went over to the small, efficient terminal and ordered my usual eggs. My stomach rumbled heavily and panged. I added bacon and toast. I upgraded the cup of coffee to a jug of coffee and cream, too. My mouth watered as I ordered it.
I sat on the sofa and found my sack placed at the other end. I dug out my pad and went through messages.
There were ten messages from Juliyana, one for each day passed. All of them were cryptic, noncommittal. They consisted of “I’m fine, everything is proceeding,” in one form or another.
Three days ago, I had received a message from Farhan. My spirits dropped when I saw it. Because I was expecting it, I made myself open the message.
The content of the message was no more or less than I expected, either. Farhan demanded I reroute the money back to the family account. He preferred to presume that I had diverted the dividends because of a simple misunderstanding. Although he did not fail to add the veiled threat of bringing Rangers down upon me.
The longer the delay before you respond to my request, the more certain I will become
