Изменить стиль страницы

As Drake told his story he was forced to relive scenes that he had suppressed for centuries. If Ana was to be helped, Trismon Sorel had to know everything: all Ana’s symptoms, the progress of her illness, the manner of her death, the procedure in her freezing.

Sorel listened intently. He raised his hand to interrupt only when Drake spoke of the awful hours with Ana at the Second Chance cryonics facility.

“One moment. You say that the original medical records were stored with the cryocorpse. Are they there now?”

“They should be. Everything should be there, inside the cryotank.”

“Then before we proceed further let me summon the necessary experts, in both antique Medicine and Languages. Let me say at once, we are able to cure all known diseases. That includes every past disease of which we have ever heard. However, we will need to examine the records and the cryocorpse itself.” He sat, eyes distant, for three or four seconds.

Two waves of emotion swept through Drake. He felt a wild and terrible joy, like an agony of relief: Ana would be cured at last. But he also felt a superstitious awe. Trismon Sorel’s advanced mental powers seemed to include telepathy. “You are speaking to other people directly, by transmitting your thoughts?”

Sorel looked puzzled, and again there was a brief pause before he smiled. “Not in the way that you are perhaps thinking. I can do no more than you yourself will be able to accomplish in a few days’ time. You will share your thoughts with others. You will have instant” access to all information in the data banks. You will calculate faster and better than the computer of the ship that brought you here. Look.”

He turned his head and raised the hair above his temple. Drake saw a faint, thin discoloration, normally covered by the hairline.

“That marks where the implant sits,” Sorel went on. “It is normally installed in early infancy, and can be changed at any time. It is tiny, smaller and thinner than a pin, and it serves multiple purposes: as a body function monitor, as a slave computer, and as a transmitter and receiver. Commands, requests, data, and programs can be sent or received. I can speak with data banks or with other individuals. I have requested via the Copernicus network that both medical and language experts go directly to your ship. And I am able to speak to you now, in real time, because although your language is new to me, I am employing the language translation modules within the Tycho network.”

Some transfer of information was still directly from person to person. Sorel read Drake’s misgivings from his facial expression. “Do not worry about this. In your case — as in all cryowomb revivals — the implant will be totally optional. Before you make a decision you will have ample opportunity to observe its use in others. But I can assure you that if you do proceed, you will find it hard within a few weeks to believe that you were ever able to function without such a service. You will possess total recall; you will be a calculator beyond the most powerful computers of your time; and you will have immediate access to every data bank within the solar system — although, naturally, access and transmission time to people and data banks on other planets is considerable. Do you have questions, Drake Merlin?”

“Only one. I want to know if Ana can be cured.”

“I have asked the medical team that question. They are already on board your ship, and they are performing their

assessment. I will inquire as to their progress. One moment.”

The gray eyes widened. Their expression again became remote and preoccupied. This time the wait stretched on, to become one minute and then two.

As the silence continued, Drake felt a knife of tension twisting inside him. If communication was mind-to-mind, what was taking so long? He was afraid that something was going wrong, but what could it possibly be? He comforted himself with Trismon Sorel’s assurance: this society was able to cure all diseases of humans, including every known past disease.

But it was taking too long. Finally he could stand to remain silent no longer. “Are you talking to them? What do they say to you?”

Sorel’s eyes focused again on Drake. “I am talking now to the medical specialists. It is somewhat… complicated. Give me one moment more.”

The gray eyes were changing. They became gentler and more personal. At last Trismon Sorel nodded, as though confirming something that he already feared. He spoke to Drake more slowly, choosing his words with great care.

“They ask me to ask you certain questions. The woman in the cryotank, Anastasia. According to our records she had been constantly maintained in the Pluto cryowombs. Is that correct?”

Drake nodded.

“And when you found her, she was within a cryotank?”

Again, Drake nodded.

“You did not remove her, but you brought the whole cryotank with you on board the ship?”

“That’s right.” Drake’s mind was filled with foreboding. “I had the tank carried from the cryowombs to the ship, exactly as I found it. It was done very carefully. The gravity on Pluto is low, and the machines had no trouble handling it.”

Trismon Sorel was frowning. “Then it is difficult to see how there could be any problem. Unless — Drake Merlin, think hard. Did you open the tank, for any reason, after your ship left Pluto?”

Drake saw again before him Ana’s peaceful face, her pearly eyes and milky skin. He felt a sickness like death. “I did open it. Just once. The outer case, for a few moments, after we left Canopus. The inner seals were unbroken. I looked for only a second or two. I was careful to seal the cryotank afterward …”

It was pointless to try to explain why he had done it, to say that he had been unable not to do it. Trismon

Sorel was regarding him sorrowfully, across an eight-hundred-year gulf. Somehow his face was Tom Lambert’s, and also Par Leon’s. The eyes spoke the same sad message.

“Drake Merlin, a Pluto cryotank is not designed for sealing and resealing. Closing calls for special equipment and special procedures, available only in the cryowombs. When a seal is broken, it is assumed that the person will at once be resurrected, or special resealing methods must be adopted. Do you understand what I am saying? With an imperfect seal, suitable conditions cannot be maintained within a cryotank.”

“Then Ana…”

“One moment more. Again I must consult the specialists, and the data banks.” The eyes once more became unblinking. The silence dragged on and on, longer than before. When Trismon Sorel at last focused on Drake, his face was beyond doubt.

“I have checked all our references. The medical team, at my request, did the same to provide independent confirmation. We have formed the same conclusion. The problem that faces us is quite different from that of curing a disease. The damage caused to a body, and particularly to a body’s brain, when a cryotank is opened and resurrection is not performed at once… that damage is permanent. It cannot be repaired, and there can be no possible revival. Now, or ever.

“I am sorry, Drake Merlin. Anastasia is dead. Forever dead.”

Forever dead. Ana is dead. Trismon Sorel’s words echoed those of Tom Lambert, so long ago. But this time Drake

heard the ring of complete certainty.

Yet each man kills the thing he loves. He, not disease, had killed Ana. Like Orpheus of the old myths, he had pursued his Eurydice through hell. In his case it had been a double hell of cryodeath and Canopus, but like Orpheus in Hades he had found his love and brought her back toward life. Like Orpheus he had looked at her; and in looking he had lost her.

With that thought age-old barriers came down inside his mind. For the first time he noticed a spicy fragrance in the air that he was breathing. He felt a steady dry breeze blowing past him, and far-off along the corridor he heard the faint concert pitch A-natural of vibrating metal. It was as though all his senses were opening, after long centuries of hibernation.