"It does seem an inelastic demand, yes," agreed Miles in fascination. "More customers now can only mean fewer later. A short-term strategy for such a long-term enterprise."
"Yah, except maybe for those who'd miss their chance."
It was Miles's turn to tilt his head in consideration. "I suppose they're not up to one-hundred-percent market saturation, even now. What about the religious types?"
"Oh, yah, there are still a few refusers."
"Refusers?"
"You're not from around here, are you? Figured from your accent, but I'd have thought you must have been on Kibou longer. In order to end up here, I mean."
"It was something of an accident. I'm glad I stumbled on you, though."
Refusers, like revives, were another item the careful corps tours had neglected to mention, but they hardly needed even Tenbury's brief explanation, which he obligingly supplied, for Miles to figure out. Tenbury's judgment was that those who chose burial over freezing for superstitious reasons were a self-limiting phenomenon. Miles thought of those fringe utopian communities that had practiced strict celibacy and thus died out within the first couple of generations, or non-generations, and nodded provisional agreement.
Tenbury then kindly took Miles through the far door, out of the workshop and into another corridor-thankfully lit, though even with illumination the general effect was of an unsettling cross between a space station corridor and a morgue. There he opened an empty cryo-drawer, recently reconditioned, and pointed out its features, rather like a very restrained used-vehicle salesman.
"It seems…?small," said Miles.
"Not much head room," Tenbury agreed. "But you're past sitting up suddenly by the time you arrive in it. I've often wondered if folks would retain any memory of their time in these, but the revives I've met all say not." He slid the drawer closed and gave it a fond thump to seat the latch.
"You just go to sleep, and then wake up in a future somebody else picked for you. No dreams," Miles agreed. "Blink out, blink back in. Like anesthesia, but longer." An intimate preview of death, and doubtless a lot less traumatic when the blink out part wasn't accomplished by a needle-grenade blowing out one's chest, Miles had to allow. He spread his palm on the drawer-front. "What happens to all the poor frozen people"-or frozen poor people-"if this place is discovered by the authorities?"
A brief, humorless grin ruffled the beard-thatch. "Well, they can't just let us thaw and rot, then bury us. That's illegal."
"Murder?"
"Of a sort. One of the grades of murder, anyway."
So this place was not as futile an effort as Miles had first guessed. Somebody was thinking ahead. How far? Who might find the future legal responsibility for these frozen souls on their hands? The municipality of Northbridge? Some unwitting entrepreneur, buying the rediscovered property for back taxes without inspecting it first? Cheating death, indeed. "Illegal at the moment, then. What happens if the law changes?"
Tenbury shrugged. "Then several thousand people will have died calmly and without pain, in hope and not despair. And won't know the difference." He added after a thoughtful pause, "That would be an ugly sort of world to wake up in anyway."
"Mm, I don't suppose the authorities would go to the trouble and expense of reviving folks just to let them die again immediately. Blink out, and…?stay blinked." There were worse ways to arrive at an identical fate. Miles had seen many of them.
"Well, I need to get back to work," Tenbury hinted away his uninvited visitor. "I hope this helped you."
"Yes, yes it did. Thank you." Miles let Tenbury shepherd him back through the shop to the first corridor. "I suppose I'd better go feed Jin's pets. I did promise the boy I would."
"Odd kid, that. I had hopes for a bit he might apprentice to me, but he's more interested in animals than machinery." Tenbury sighed, whether in regret or bafflement Miles was not quite sure.
"Um…" said Miles, staring up the darkened corridor.
"First door on your left," said Tenbury, and thoughtfully held his office door wide to light the way till Miles had found it in the gloom. The stair rail and a careful count of the turns guided Miles after that. He emerged again in the basement near the cafeteria, and from there found his way back up to Jin's roof via the interior stairs.
Emerging into the daylight and greeted by milling chickens, he thought, Damn, but I hope the boy makes it back here soon.
?
The big downtown tube-tram transfer station was just as confusing going back as forward, Jin found when he'd taken his second wrong turn. The crowd made him nervous, and it was only going to get worse as the time edged toward rush hour. He needed to get out of here. Scowling, he turned around a couple of times, reoriented himself, and made his way upstream through an entry corridor, bumping a lot of folks going the other way.
What was in that big thick envelope Counsel Vorlynkin had handed to him? It crackled against his skin. Entering the second-level rotunda, he dodged out of the way of a woman with a pram, then leaned his shoulders against a pillar and fished out the letter. To his disappointment, it wasn't sealed with a bloody thumbprint, but it was certainly sealed. No peeking. He sighed and thrust it back inside his shirt.
He finally found the right escalator, and rode it up two flights to the top-level gallery. He was worried about his animals. Would Miles-san take proper care of them? You never could tell, with adults. They pretended to take you seriously, but then laughed behind your back at the things that were important to you. Or said that because you were just a kid, you would forget it all soon. But Miles-san had seemed to genuinely like Jin's rats, letting Jinni sit on his shoulder and nibble at his hair without flinching. Jin could tell when grownups didn't really appreciate how sleek and funny and friendly rats could be, and they didn't bite hard at all unless they were accidentally squeezed, and who could blame them for that?
The squeeze on Jin's shoulder made him jump and yelp. If he'd been equipped for it, he might have bitten the hand as well, but all he could do was twist and stare upward. Straight into the face of his worst nightmare.
Brown hair, a pleasant smile, the blue uniform of municipal security. Not just a tube-tram safety officer; their uniforms were green. A real policewoman, the sort who'd come for his mother.
"What's your name, child?" The voice was friendly, but the undertone steely.
Jin opened his mouth: "Jin…" Oh, no, that wouldn't do. Lying to grownups made him scared inside, but he managed, "Jin, um, Vorkson."
She blinked. "What kind of name is that?"
"My Dad was a galactic. But he's dead now," Jin added with hasty prudence. And half truth, for that matter. He tried not to think about the funeral.
"Does your mother let you come downtown alone? It's school hours, you know."
"Um, yes. She sent me on an errand for her."
"Let's call her, then."
Jin held out his skinny wrists. His stomach felt cold and quivery. "I don't have a wristcom, ma'am."
"That's all right. You can come along to the security booth, and we can call her from there."
"No!" In a panic now, Jin tried to wrench away. Somehow, he found his arm cranked up behind his back, hurting. His shirt tail came loose, and the envelope dropped to the pavement with a loud slap. "No, wait!" He tried to dive for it. Without releasing his arm, the woman scooped it up first, staring at it with a deepening frown.
She murmured to her own wristcom, "Code Six, Dan. Level One."
In moments, another policeman loomed. "What ho, Michiko? Catch us a little shoplifter?"