The Reincarnation

David woke up. It was Monday morning. Thinking back to the night before, he felt that the press conference had gone well. Now, when can I get out of here? he thought.

Dr. Persey came in, ever anxious.

“Bravo, my son. We hit all the major satellites last night. That’ll reel ’m in for sure. You’re a superstar.”

“Thanks Jack, just doin’ my job. I owe it all to you anyway – and more.” David paused, realizing what Dr. Persey said. “Reel who in?”

“Uh,” Dr. Persey paused awkwardly, raising his eyes to the ceiling briefly, then leveling them directly at David. “Why, the funders of course,” he said with renewed enthusiasm. “A little publicity goes a long way in this business. How’s your memory coming along?”

“Good, good. More comes back all the time.”

“Do you remember anything from right before you were vitrified yet?”

“My mind seems to come to a blank right then. I’ll keep trying though.”

“Don’t strain yourself, Dave. It’s not that important.”

Dr. Persey started to leave, paused, began turning in David’s direction, mumbled something to himself, then quickly left. The door snicked closed behind him.

David was perplexed by what the doctor said. David could swear he heard him say, “reel him in,” but shook it off, picked up the headgear, and continued with the films.

Finishing the next eight films that day, he was amazed at how well the technology he was using filled his brain. It was remarkably interactive. When David saw a topic he wanted to explore, he simply pointed with his gloved hand. He could go as deeply into a topic as he wanted, as far back into history as he wanted. As far into the future as the predictions embedded within it would take him. It was overwhelming. And exhausting.

Deciding that he could finish the rest tomorrow and be completely up to speed, he again picked up Rolling Stone. He read an article about a group calling themselves “Eco-Assassins,” people who made it their job to assassinate what they called “environmental enemies.” They had taken out four Chief Executive Officers of large companies – all old men with gray hair and a knack for peddling toxins, David mused, looking at their pictures – and the crews of twenty-seven whaling ships so far. There were thumbprint-size sketches of what they thought the Eco-Assassins looked like. David wondered if they were still around.

Laura walked into his room. She seemed guarded, and it showed. She stopped halfway between the door and David’s bed.

“What’s the matter, Laura?” David looked up from the magazine.

“Do you trust me, Dave?” Her hands were clasped together in a knot in front of her.

“Trust you? Why sure. What’s not to trust? Everyone here is taking great care of me.”

Laura turned her head and mumbled something under her breath that sounded to David like “not everyone.”

“Good,” she said aloud, again facing him. “I’m glad to hear it. I want you to remember that you trust me. I want to be your friend.”

She then left, giving David the same perplexed feeling he had when the doctor had left earlier. It put him on edge, making him a little nervous.

“Who am I kidding?” he said, relaxing and scratching Hannibal’s cheeks with his fingertips. “I’ve got it made here.”