it. “It scares me,” he said. “Every time I come back, I have to piece together what my body’s done without me. One day, I’m afraid I might — ”
“You’re different, I know, but don’t let that define you. You are capable of great things,” Granfa Jeff said, smiling. But the muscles around his eyes were tense.
“How long before they lock me up?” Victor asked. “A year? Two? And then? Someday you’re going to be staring down at my hospital bed remembering that I used to be an actual person, not a — a — ” Victor waved at the broken pot, soil, and fern on the ground. “I’m not a plant!”
He pulled himself to his feet, watching his granfa stand with some difficulty, placing his wrinkled hands against the glass behind him and huffing.
Victor said, “There must be a way. You can’t close the whole hospital! What about everyone else?”
“We’ll make arrangements for them at other facilities.”
“What about me? Please, Granfa. Fix me,” Victor whispered.
Granfa Jeff’s lips trembled. “I am so, so sorry, my boy.”
A shadow passed over Granfa Jeff’s features. It was deathly fear. What could scare him so much?
Granfa Jeff gulped and placed a steady hand on Victor’s shoulder. His voice was resolute. “Listen to me. I wish there were some other way. I do. One day you’ll understand. I’m doing this for you own good. Listen . . .” Granfa took a smooth black data egg from his coat pocket and gave it to Victor. “It’s important that you hear me and remember.”
The data egg weighed heavily in Victor’s palms. As he stared at its ebony surface, a strange calm settled on him. He felt in sync with his body, in tune with his environment.
“It will open one day,” his granfa said. “When you’re ready to hear. When it’s safer. For now, you must never let it out of your sight, especially during a reclassification appointment. Focus on mastering your condition, so when the day comes, you’ll be ready. Remember my words: Never surrender. Remember that. Never surrender.”
Victor asked, “Ready for what? What are you afraid of?”
Granfa tried to smile. “One day, you’ll understand. I mustn’t say more than that.” Then he turned and walked stiffly into the hospital, locking the doors and disappearing into the gloom.
Chapter 4
Jefferson Eastmore, founder of the American Union’s biotechnology industry, and the man who led a revolution in healthcare technology and innovation, died Sunday. He was seventy-seven.
His death was confirmed by the Holistic Healing Network, an affiliation of hospitals, clinics, and research centers that Mr. Eastmore founded in 1944 to help the American Union and Europe recover and reconcile following the War of the Atlantic. Widely known as the man who cured cancer, Mr. Eastmore is survived by his mother, his wife, his two children and two grandchildren, and many more members of one of the American Union’s most illustrious families. The cause of death was cardiac arrest, following a prolonged illness.
— MeshNews report, 21 February 1991
Semiautonomous California
23 February 1991
Six members of the Eastmore family gathered on a hillside graveyard overlooking Oakland & Bayshore’s City Lake, but only the near shore could be seen through heavy morning fog. Victor stood under a redwood tree that dripped condensation on him, while the rest of his family stood on a bioconcrete path. He was maintaining a precarious sort of calm, but the feelings swirling around him were treacherous and tidal. He tried to concentrate on the landscape and draw comfort from its stillness.
Clusters of headstone-marked graves dotted the hill, but much of the cemetery adhered to the more recent tradition of burial mounds, resurrected after the Communion Crisis and the fall of the Catholic Church. Many of the mounds were simple, unadorned grassy lumps, but the wealthier families had commissioned elaborate arrangements of paving stones, some polished to such a
“You’re different, I know, but don’t let that define you. You are capable of great things,” Granfa Jeff said, smiling. But the muscles around his eyes were tense.
“How long before they lock me up?” Victor asked. “A year? Two? And then? Someday you’re going to be staring down at my hospital bed remembering that I used to be an actual person, not a — a — ” Victor waved at the broken pot, soil, and fern on the ground. “I’m not a plant!”
He pulled himself to his feet, watching his granfa stand with some difficulty, placing his wrinkled hands against the glass behind him and huffing.
Victor said, “There must be a way. You can’t close the whole hospital! What about everyone else?”
“We’ll make arrangements for them at other facilities.”
“What about me? Please, Granfa. Fix me,” Victor whispered.
Granfa Jeff’s lips trembled. “I am so, so sorry, my boy.”
A shadow passed over Granfa Jeff’s features. It was deathly fear. What could scare him so much?
Granfa Jeff gulped and placed a steady hand on Victor’s shoulder. His voice was resolute. “Listen to me. I wish there were some other way. I do. One day you’ll understand. I’m doing this for you own good. Listen . . .” Granfa took a smooth black data egg from his coat pocket and gave it to Victor. “It’s important that you hear me and remember.”
The data egg weighed heavily in Victor’s palms. As he stared at its ebony surface, a strange calm settled on him. He felt in sync with his body, in tune with his environment.
“It will open one day,” his granfa said. “When you’re ready to hear. When it’s safer. For now, you must never let it out of your sight, especially during a reclassification appointment. Focus on mastering your condition, so when the day comes, you’ll be ready. Remember my words: Never surrender. Remember that. Never surrender.”
Victor asked, “Ready for what? What are you afraid of?”
Granfa tried to smile. “One day, you’ll understand. I mustn’t say more than that.” Then he turned and walked stiffly into the hospital, locking the doors and disappearing into the gloom.
Chapter 4
Jefferson Eastmore, founder of the American Union’s biotechnology industry, and the man who led a revolution in healthcare technology and innovation, died Sunday. He was seventy-seven.
His death was confirmed by the Holistic Healing Network, an affiliation of hospitals, clinics, and research centers that Mr. Eastmore founded in 1944 to help the American Union and Europe recover and reconcile following the War of the Atlantic. Widely known as the man who cured cancer, Mr. Eastmore is survived by his mother, his wife, his two children and two grandchildren, and many more members of one of the American Union’s most illustrious families. The cause of death was cardiac arrest, following a prolonged illness.
— MeshNews report, 21 February 1991
Semiautonomous California
23 February 1991
Six members of the Eastmore family gathered on a hillside graveyard overlooking Oakland & Bayshore’s City Lake, but only the near shore could be seen through heavy morning fog. Victor stood under a redwood tree that dripped condensation on him, while the rest of his family stood on a bioconcrete path. He was maintaining a precarious sort of calm, but the feelings swirling around him were treacherous and tidal. He tried to concentrate on the landscape and draw comfort from its stillness.
Clusters of headstone-marked graves dotted the hill, but much of the cemetery adhered to the more recent tradition of burial mounds, resurrected after the Communion Crisis and the fall of the Catholic Church. Many of the mounds were simple, unadorned grassy lumps, but the wealthier families had commissioned elaborate arrangements of paving stones, some polished to such a
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