"Scream."
Peterson blinked. His vision cleared just a bit. He was situated inside a giant circular vat. Directly across from him, on the other side of the glassy surface, he saw the cylindrical containers. His heart seized up.
He forced himself to be calm. Shifting his head, he stared over his shoulder. A small platform stood just behind the vat. A couple of tables sat on top of it. Computers rested on their surfaces. They appeared to connect to the vat as well as various electrical outlets.
"I don't understand," he said.
Holly appeared on the edge of the platform. She sat down and crossed her legs, dangling them just inches from his face. "I want you to scream."
"Why?"
"Because the only way you're getting out of here is if someone hears you."
His face contorted. "Help me!"
"You can do better than that."
"Help me!" he yelled.
"Try again," she urged.
He reared back and screamed at the top of his lungs. But his voice died at the walls.
"No one can hear you." A smile danced across her lips. "We're deep underground with plenty of concrete between us and Kirby. Plus, Rupert spent a lot of time preparing this room. He lined the surfaces with a special compound. It converts sound into heat. He also added a layer of sheetrock panels, in effect creating a false ceiling. It captures and traps sound. Plus, he did a bunch of little things like caulking over the gaps and cracks. I'd say this room is as close to soundproof as we could possibly manage given the circumstances."
Peterson inhaled, exhaled. His mind felt like mush. He tried to steel it, to push it into something he could manage. But it oozed past his grasp. "Let me go, you crazy bitch."
Her smile faded. "That's not very nice."
"Neither is holding someone against their will."
"You didn't give me much of a choice." She gave him a curious look. "How'd you find this place anyway?"
"Bad luck."
"Maybe for you. But good luck for me."
"What are you talking about?"
She regarded him for a moment. "Are you a religious man?"
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"Please answer the question."
He stopped struggling long enough to stare at her. "Yeah, I guess so."
"What religion do you practice?"
"Catholicism."
"Are you serious about it?"
"I go to services if that's what you mean."
"Do you believe in life after death?"
"Who doesn't?"
"Me."
Peterson snapped to attention. "Why not?"
"This is a little above your head so I'll simplify it for you. God doesn't exist. Thanks to advances in neuroscience, we know this for a fact. And without God, there's no afterlife."
"So, what happens when we die?"
"Eternal oblivion."
Goosebumps appeared on his arms. "A lot of people would disagree with you."
"Popular opinion is meaningless unless backed up by science. Think about all the theories that have been disproven over time. People used to think the Earth was flat. Others thought the Sun revolved around the Earth. Still others believed light waves propagated through the ether."
"You're going to kill me, aren't you?"
"No, no. Quite the opposite."
"Just let me go. I promise I won't tell anyone about this place."
Holly stood up. She walked to a computer. "Mankind is born with a natural survival instinct. And yet, only a small fraction of science is devoted to life extension technologies. Personally, I blame religion. It gives people false hope. It keeps them from doing everything possible to extend life."
Tears welled up in Peterson's eyes. "Please."
"The U.S. government funnels billions of dollars into science. They spend money on all sorts of odd projects, ranging from the mating habits of beetles to observing how people ride bikes. And yet, very little of that money is spent on life extension technologies." She shook her head. "Astounding, isn't it? We know death is the end. And yet, we're barely investing in ways to overcome it."
"Don't do this. Please don't do this."
"We should be treating this like the Manhattan Project. We should be investing every conceivable dollar in ways to conquer death." Her face darkened. "To do otherwise is tantamount to mass murder."
Peterson fought to control his emotions. "You don't have to kill me. We can make a deal."
"Haven't you been paying attention? I don't want to kill you. I want to give you eternal life and not the false kind promised by religions. Unfortunately, life extension technologies aren't here yet. That's where cryonics comes in."
"Cryonics?"
"It's the practice of preserving life via low temperatures. In other words, I'm going to freeze you, Jim." She tied her hair in a ponytail. "I'm going to place you on ice. Then I'll drain out your blood and replace it with a special cryoprotectant. This will reduce the risk of ice crystal formation within your cells. Afterward, I'll move you to one of my cryocontainers and immerse you in liquid nitrogen. Your temperature will drop to negative one hundred and ninety-six degrees Celsius."
"You're insane."
Holly typed commands on a keyboard.
Peterson yanked his arms, his legs. But the cuffs held fast.
Icy water touched his bare feet. A sudden surge of coldness swept over him. The water quickly covered the ground. Then it started to rise.
He shivered. His shoulders started to tremble. He kept waiting for his body to adjust to the temperature. But it didn't happen.
Icy water swept over his ankles. It moved to his thighs. His breathing turned into rasps. His struggles quieted down. His eyelids started to close.
Peterson fought to keep them open. He knew what would happen if he fell asleep. But the frigid water was too much for him to handle.
Holly watched his eyes shut for the last time. She hated death, hated it with all of her heart. Every time she saw someone die or even heard about it, a small part of her died as well. She could never kill someone.
And that's why Peterson wasn't dead. She had every intention of reviving him someday, once technology had progressed that far. In the meantime, however, he'd make an excellent experimental subject.
She climbed off the platform and swept across the room. She passed by several stacks of crates. Due to the nature of their work, she and Rupert needed to import sensitive materials and resources on a regular basis.
Five shiny cylindrical cryocontainers stood on end against the west wall. They were made of metal and rose roughly seven feet into the air. A table, covered with computers, stood off to one side. The monitors flickered gently in the dim light. Numerous other pieces of machinery were situated about the area.
An old-fashioned diesel generator took up the southwest corner. Canisters of diesel fuel sat nearby. Cables sprouted out of the generator. They snaked across the ground, connecting to the computers, machines, and cryocontainers. The generator was an absolute necessity, especially since Kirby was subject to periodic blackouts. A total loss of electricity would be catastrophic to her work.
A sense of calm came over her as she stopped in front of the middle cryocontainer. It was propped up on four wheels and towered above her. She reached out and touched the stainless steel surface. It felt cold, yet surprisingly warm.
The cryocontainer consisted of two cylinders, with the smaller one encased inside the larger one. This allowed it to operate like a vacuum flask, preventing heat transfer by conduction or convection. The result was a well-insulated container, not all that different from a coffee thermos.
Liquid nitrogen flowed through the cryocontainer. The excellent insulation kept the interior at the proper temperature.
It was Holly's personal design and almost entirely self-sufficient. It merely required a small amount of electricity as well as a weekly dose of liquid nitrogen. Her next design would eliminate the need for electricity. Unfortunately, she'd still have to deal with replenishing the liquid nitrogen reserves.