MIKEL J. WISLER

“No! You’re absolutely crazy!” Jocelyn said through tears.

​

“Maybe,” Saanvi shrugged. “Dying makes you a little crazy.”

 

The two women stood out on the edge of the ancient rock wall that bordered the ocean. Behind them loomed the stone edifice that was Fort Warren. Out across the water some distance away, stood Boston Light, the aging but still operating lighthouse on Boston Harbor. The spring sea air was crisp, but the sunshine felt warm. They’d taken one of the boats out to the island where the fort remained as a tourist site and picnic spot.

 

Jocelyn wiped her eyes and stared at her former professor. Saanvi was short and round and always had bright eyes filled with life that matched her clear voice that had rung out over classrooms and lecture halls at Tufts. Saanvi’s voice was softer now, her head covered in a beautiful scarf in leu of the flowing rich black hair she’d once had.

 

“I want to go on my own terms,” Saanvi said, softly. “And I’ve always wanted to see the future.”

 

“But what if it doesn’t work?” Jocelyn pleaded again.

 

“What if it does?” Saanvi’s eyes lit up.

 

“Come one, be serious,” Jocelyn begged.

 

“Okay, let’s think this through just like we would think any problem through in class.”

 

“But this isn’t physics,” Jocelyn protested.

 

Saanvi bobbed her head left and right slightly. “Well, not exclusively physics. It’s mostly chemistry. But we can be logical about this. Treatments aren’t working for me. So my options are to just hang around and experience a slow and agonizing death, which will be painful not just for me but for everyone I love. Or I can be part of something big.”

 

Saanvi waited with a broad smile. Jocelyn laughed through tears.

 

“And what am I going to do without you?” Jocelyn asked her mentor.

​

#

​

Jocelyn pushed back a strand of dyed red hair from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear along with the rest of her brunette hair. She stared at the magazine in her hands, not really seeing it. Bright sunlight poured into the large windows that overlooked the Charles River. She looked up and took in the sight of the red, orange, and yellow leaves on the trees and ground, the Prudential and Hancock buildings across the water.

​

She couldn’t believe she was back here. And yet, why not? Why not be back here? Where else should she be? She thought back to her first visit just a week ago. She’d been sitting a little further away from the window and there had been other people in the waiting room with her. But it had been morning then.

 

“Thank you for your patience,” a young man in slacks and a stripped dress shirt had said to her. “One of the stations is now open. You can fill out your application.”

 

“Oh, excellent,” Jocelyn had responded, popping up to her feet.

 

“Right this way,” the young man had gestured.

 

She had followed him through a door and down a bright hall. He led her to an application room. Inside the small and rather sterile room had been a single chair, a small desk, and a tablet.

 

“Have a seat, you can fill out the application on the tablet,” the young man explained. “Take all the time you need. Make sure to fill it out completely. When you’re finished, you can hit submit. Your application will be entered in our system and will be reviewed by our staff psychologist. If we determine you are eligible for an interview, we will contact you to schedule one.”

 

“Cool,” Jocelyn said, eyes locked dubiously on the tablet.

 

“Would you like water or a soda?”

 

“I’m good. Thanks.”

 

The young man had closed the door and scuttled away. Jocelyn took a deep breath and sat. It only took her a couple of minutes to realize that this was most definitely going to be the weirdest application she ever filled out—and she’d once filled out an application to be part of a scientific study that collected her sweat. She had stared down at the tablet for a long time before diving in.

 

That had been last week. Now she sat here, unsure if she was amused or excited that her application had managed to get past initial review and that they had granted her an interview. She tried not to think about having to meet with a psychologist for her interview, but that was part of the process. She eyed the door, a sudden urge to get up and walk out rising in her. This was a crazy idea. Why was she really doing this? Maybe it was sheer curiosity that brought her here and brought her back again for this second phase of the application process. Was she really just curious? Was this a desperate attempt to still feel connected to Saanvi?

 

"Miss Rose," said the receptionist, "we are ready for your interview."

 

He stood by the door in black pants and a pink dress shirt. In his hand he held something white and round. As Jocelyn stood and approached him she saw that what he held appeared to be an electronic bracelet with a glowing display and the round HeriTech Corp logo. The receptionist saw her looking at the bracelet. 

 

"Yes, you'll need to wear this on your arm. Make sure it's snug, it needs to make contact with your skin all the way around. This is to measure your vitals during the interview."

 

He handed her the bracelet and Jocelyn placed it snuggly on her left forearm. "Why do you need my vitals during the interview?"

 

"We designed the interview to elicit a wide range of emotional responses, and we need to have as complete of a picture as possible of what those responses involve. Now, if you'll follow me," he gestured to the open door.

 

Jocelyn stepped through the door and headed down the hall. The receptionist followed her, his dress shoes clicking on the grey and white title floor. Her flats made very little noise on the floor as she walked. Jocelyn wondered if she should have dressed up more for the interview. She had tossed on the best dress she owned, but looking in the mirror she felt that a dress was too formal and weird. This was a tech company in Cambridge. Most of these places were rather casual, though HeriTech seemed a little different. She’d settled on dark wash jeans, a v-neck red top, and a grey blazer. Her hair was loose and had its one streak of red-orange she’d put in a couple of weeks ago. Now that she was walking down the hall, Jocelyn wondered if she should have worn the dress. I’m going to an interview, not a club, she told herself. Wrong dress. This will have to do. It was this or my Starbucks barista uniform.

​

The receptionist stopped by a door and smiled to her. He didn’t open the door, however. She stopped, wondering what they expected her to do.

​

“This is the processing room,” he said cheerfully. “You will meet with our junior staff psychologist, Emma Singer. We synchronize the bracelet you have on to this room. Once you walk through this door, the timer begins. You’ll have twenty minutes for your interview. Miss Singer is going to walk you through a few preliminary questions and the interview will officially start.”

 

“Okay,” Jocelyn swallowed.

 

“Don’t worry. It’s fun,” he smiled and walked back the way they had come.

 

Jocelyn glanced over her shoulder at the departing receptionist. Fun, huh? Did they strap some vitals bracelet to you and make you see a psychologist when you interviewed for this job? Turning to the door, she took a deep breath and twisted the knob.

 

The door swung open, and she stepped inside. But almost immediately, she stopped. Her eyes were confronted with an unexpected sight. Sure, the receptionist has said she was doing her interview with the junior psychologist at the company, but still her mind had defaulted to the image of a stuffy older woman with glasses and wrinkles fanning out from a perpetual frown. Instead, leaning casually against a sleek glass desk was a much younger woman, tall and fit, sporting an elegant suit and dress shirt. Her blond hair was pulled back into a neat bun and her eyes looked up from her tablet and lit up as Jocelyn entered. She smiled, and Jocelyn marveled at the radiance of that smile, those eyes.

 

“Welcome, Miss Rose,” said the junior psychologist. “Before we begin, I must warn you of the conditions of this interview. The questions and answers matter less than where they may lead. You must always answer honestly and quickly. If at any point you wish to withdraw your candidacy for the project, please say the word ‘underground.’ Should you do so, the interview will be concluded and you will be free to leave.”

 

Caught off guard, Jocelyn let out a slight laugh and spoke without thinking, “There’s a safe word?”

 

“Miss Rose,” said the woman without missing a beat, “do you agree to these terms? If so, please say, ‘I do’.”

 

“Wow, slow down. We just met. I’m not sure I’m ready for a safe word, let alone to say ‘I do’.”

 

A very slight smirk formed on the junior psychologists lips. “Miss Rose, do you agree to these terms?”

 

Jocelyn blinked and realized she needed to get her shit together. “Yes, I do.”

 

A loud beep emitted from some unseen speaker somewhere above them and the door behind her swung shut on its own and latched with the unmistakable sound of a door that was being locked. Jocelyn glanced back at it in surprise. Did they just lock me in this room for an interview? What the hell is that about?

“Okay,” she managed, “that’s not weird at all.”

 

“The door locks automatically for twenty minutes. When it opens, the interview is over,” said Miss Singer as she approached Jocelyn and stuck out her hand. “My name is Emma Singer, I’ll be conducting your interview for HeriTech.”

 

Turning back from the door, it surprised Jocelyn to find Miss Emma Singer standing before her. With a slight start she laughed, “Sorry, this is all just so weird. And that name, HeriTech, what the hell, right?”

 

“Heri is Latin for yesterday,” Emma said, lowering her hand.

 

“Ah, yeah. Sorry, nerves. Jocelyn Rose,” she said, extending her hand and then realizing that Emma had already lowered hers. Oh my god, what is going on with me? Get your shit together, girl!

 

“It’s okay,” Emma waived her off with a warm smile, “It’s pretty odd name. I’ve worked her for three years and I’m not sure I’m used to it.”

 

Jocelyn let out a nervous laugh, “HeriTech. Man, nerds, right? Might as well have called it BushTech. Or BeaverTech. ‘Cuz, you know that’s what they were really thinking about.”

 

As soon as the words came out of Jocelyn’s mouth, she felt her entire body go still with fear. Emma stood there as a facade of polite amusement, but nothing more. Way to start your interview with an inappropriate joke, Jocelyn. She was nervous. And when she was nervous, she babbled. She needed to get on with the interview. She needed to stop this train wreck right now! But everything from the very reason she was here to the woman interviewing her was conspiring to throw her into a major tailspin.

 

“But then,” Jocelyn said, her voice softer as she tried to backpedal her joke, “people might think you guys make dams.”

 

“Yeah, dams,” Emma nodded slowly. “Miss Rose, please have a seat.”

 

Emma gestured to an open chair in front of the desk and turned to walk around the desk and take her seat across from Jocelyn. As Jocelyn sank into her seat, she couldn’t resist one last attempt to smooth things over, to explain herself to Emma.

 

“This is all so… intense,” she said. “And that application… that has to be the weirdest application I’ve ever filled out.”

 

Emma smiled, “We have to be quite thorough when screening our subjects.”

 

On her tablet, Emma scrolled through what Jocelyn assumed was her application. Emma’s eyes widened, and she looked up at Jocelyn.

 

“Shark farmer?”

 

Remembering what she’d put down for a question about what kind of job she hoped to have, Jocelyn laughed, “Oh yeah. I didn’t know for sure what people would even need, you know? So I thought: what’s the coolest, most badass thing I could do?”

 

“Fair enough,” Emma said.

 

“Though, now that I think about it,” Jocelyn continued, “maybe Shark Herder is better. Or Asteroid Field Explorer. Yeah! Can I change my answer to Asteroid Field Explorer?”

 

“I’ll make note of that,” Emma said with controlled amusement.

 

From a folder, she produced a printed copy of Jocelyn’s application and laid it before her. She also brought out a notepad and pen and started scribbling something. As she did so, Jocelyn watched, scolding herself for still babbling on this way. She needed to focus. But part of her wanted to see the way Emma’s lips curled up slightly with amusement again.

 

As Emma wrote, Jocelyn looked around the sparse desk. Near the edge was a small plant and two photos. One was of an older couple. The other was a photo of Emma and a handsome man with a broad smile. Well shit, Jocelyn lamented. 

 

When Emma finished writing, she looked up and said, “Jocelyn, my job is to assess every applicant for our project. I’m going to ask you a lot of questions. I need you to be completely honest with me.”

 

“Honesty,” Jocelyn nodded. “Cool.”

 

“This is a hard copy of your application, which you signed after filling out the application last week,” Emma said, sliding the application across the desk to Jocelyn. “It is here in case you need to refer to anything on you application during this interview.”

 

“Okay,” Jocelyn gave Emma a double thumbs-up and then immediately felt incredibly stupid.

 

Emma charged ahead, clearly on a mission. “Why do you feel you are a suitable candidate for the Longevity Prime Project?”

 

“Well, I’m adventurous and I’m ready for a total change in scenery.”

 

“Why?” Emma asked, even as she scribbled something on the notepad.

 

Jocelyn watched, not quite able to make out what she was writing.

 

“Why are you ready for a total change in scenery?” Emma asked again, looking up.

 

“Oh,” Jocelyn shrugged, “You know… I just want to start over. Don’t you ever wish you could just start over?”

 

“Can you be specific?” Emma probed.

 

“I doh’t know,” Jocelyn shrugged again, “I just feel like I don’t belong here. Like I was born at the wrong time.”

 

“What do you mean by ‘born at the wrong time’?”

 

“There’s just a lot of things that are so screwed up with the world. I think things will get better. They have to, right?”

 

Emma made note of this on her pad and then asked, “What about your life now?”

 

“What about it?” Jocelyn retorted casually and immediately regretted how flippant it sounded.

 

“You’re willing to leave everything?”

 

“Absolutely,” Jocelyn nodded with enthusiasm.

 

“You understand that this is a one-way ticket?” Emma said, her eyes searching Jocelyn’s “There is no return.”

 

Jocelyn looked off, lost in a swirl of thoughts. A loud buzzer made her nearly jump to her feet.

 

“What the hell?” Jocelyn said, looking about.

 

“Please ignore the buzzer,” Emma said casually as she made another note.

 

“Wait, what are you writing down?” Jocelyn couldn’t resist asking.

 

“Notes. Nothing.” Emma said without looking up.

 

“Oh, come on,” Jocelyn leaned forward, “It can’t be both notes and nothing. Notes are something. And something can’t be nothing. Isn’t there some law of logic that says so?”

 

Emma looked up with that smirk of amusement and said, “The law of non-contradiction.”

 

Jocelyn snapped her fingers as she said, “That’s it! So which is it? Notes or nothing?” Even as she said this, Jocelyn told herself she needed to stop flirting. These were pretty pathetic attempts at flirting, anyway. Just do the interview and get out of here.

 

“Notes,” Emma said. “You showed hesitation at the mention that there is no return.”

 

Jocelyn put her hands up, “You make it sound like a such big deal.”

 

“Well,” Emma raised her well-manicured eyebrows, “there is no bigger deal, I’m afraid. There are very real risks involved with the project.”

​

“Risks?” Jocelyn said, only vaguely recalling all the legal documents she’d signed already in the application process. “Like what?”

 

“Death,” Emma said flatly, “for one.”

 

“Oh, death,” Jocelyn rolled her eyes. “There’s always a risk of death. I could have been hit by a bus walking here today. Big deal.”

 

Emma returned to her notepad and began writing. Dammit, I’m being flippant again, Jocelyn cringed. She was starting to sweat.

 

“But it’s not like I’m suicidal or anything,” Jocelyn reached out a hand on the desk to get Emma’s attention even as she felt sweat beading up on her forehead. Was she that nervous or had they turned off the AC?

 

“So you’re prepared to give up your current life?” Emma pressed on, “Completely?”

 

“Yeah,” Jocelyn nodded. “I mean, it’s nothing special.”

 

Emma made more notes. Jocelyn felt sure she knew what she was writing.

 

“I mean,” Jocelyn jumped in, “I like life. I just… don’t really like this life.”

 

Emma looked up with a warm smile, “You don’t need to justify yourself to me. Everyone wants to hit the reset button at some point.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“Can you tell me about your life?” Emma asked.

 

“Like, my whole life story?” Jocelyn laughed. “Boring!”

 

“What makes you who you are, Jocelyn?”

 

Jocelyn had to search her mind, trying to select what to say. She felt a sudden rush of anxiety, like this was a date and she needed put her best foot forward, represent herself in the best light possible. Don’t be weird!

“I love animals,” she said.

 

The buzzer sounded again, making her jump.

 

“Please continue,” Emma said before Jocelyn could protest.

 

“I love music,” Jocelyn said. “Art. That’s about it.”

 

The buzzer sounded again.

 

“That’s not wrong,” Jocelyn protested.

 

“It’s just measuring jumps in your heart rate.”

 

“Yeah, well, my heart rate jumps every time that buzzer goes off.”

 

“Your current job is as a barista at Starbucks,” Emma said, looking back at the tablet.

 

“Yeah, it’s okay. I mean, the job’s okay. Some of the customers are nuts. And it’s not really what I pictured doing at this point in life.”

 

“What did you picture doing?”

 

“I don’t know,” Jocelyn said. “I’m not one of those five-year plan people. I guess I’m still trying to figure out what to do with my life.”

 

“So you don’t see yourself as the type of person who plans ahead?” Emma asked.

 

“Well, not exactly. Sort of. I just mean, I haven’t figured out what I’m doing with my life.”

 

“That’s fine,” Emma said, making a note.

 

“Of course, now that I say that, I can’t help but note the irony of not being a five-year-plan person sitting here talking to you about a two-hundred-year-plan.”

 

Emma smiled, “Well, that’s good self-awareness at least. Is this why you dropped out of college?”

 

Jocelyn blinked. The buzzer went off. “I needed some time to think. To figure some things out, I guess.”

 

Emma nodded and noted. “What about your family?”

 

“Oh.” Jocelyn shrugged, “No family.”

 

The buzzer blasted again, Jocelyn flinching angrily and nearly swearing out loud.

 

“I moved out when I was eighteen,” Jocelyn said, figuring she better get on with explaining this part of her story. “We don’t talk much. Or at all, really.”

 

“Why is that?”

 

Jocelyn looked off, unsure of what to say or whether she even wanted to say anything. But, eventually, this interview was going to end up dredging up the past, it seemed. But why? Why did they need to go digging through all of this? Why couldn’t someone willing to be part of the project just be part of the project?

 

“Jocelyn,” Emma said, her voice soft and kind, “I need to understand your personal history in order to recommend you for the program.”

 

Jocelyn looked back at Emma, seeing the genuine way in which she looked at her, inviting her to tell her story.

 

“My parents,” Jocelyn said hesitantly, “they’re from another century. They…”

 

The buzzer went off again as the lump in Jocelyn’s throat grew bigger.

 

“My parents totally lost it when I came out,” Jocelyn spat out. “They threw me out. They… got rid of me!”

 

There, she’d made it through that part. She watched Emma, who raised her eyebrows and kept her eyes locked on Jocelyn’s. Emma tilted her head in thought before nodding slightly.

 

“I guess that explains your beaver fixation, huh?” Emma said.

 

But as soon as the words came out of her mouth, Emma’s eyes changed, becoming wide and fearful, like she was surprised to hear herself speak. Jocelyn felt her own eyes widen and her jaw drop.

 

“Really?” Jocelyn said with bewilderment.

 

Emma cleared her throat, “I’m so sorry.”

 

“Let me guess,” Jocelyn laughed, “you don’t talk to lesbians much, do you?”

 

Emma shook her head slightly. “I didn’t mean to offend. I just…”

 

“Oh my god, stop!” Jocelyn cut her off. “I’m okay with who I am. I just wish the rest of the world was okay with who I am.” Jocelyn looked up at the ceiling, waiting. Silence. “See,” she said, “no buzzer.”

 

“When did you know?” Emma asked, though she still seemed thrown off her by her blunder.

 

“High school.”

 

The buzzer blared!

 

“Goddamit,” Jocelyn roller her eyes. “I had my suspicions in middle school.”

​

The buzzer sounded again.

 

“Fuck me, geez!” Jocelyn frowned at the ceiling. “I had my first real crush in seventh grade and it was on this girl, Julie, who was pretty popular but was also really down to earth. We got to do a science project together, and I found myself thinking about how much I wanted to spend time with her. And I slowly realized how much I really wanted more than just to spend time with her. You know? Wait, what am I saying? Of course you don’t know. But I mean, like how other girls started talking about boys and how they would kiss boys and do other things. I thought about that with her.”

 

“Was that your first relationship?”

 

Jocelyn laughed, “Oh god, no. Julie is super straight. She started going out with one of the basketball players that year. She dated a lot of guys in high school. I’m pretty sure she has like six kids now.”

 

“When was your first relationship?”

 

“High school. But I kept it a secret. My parents would have flipped. It lasted a couple years, but then we just went different directions in life.”

 

“Are you in a relationship now?”

 

“Obviously not,” Jocelyn laugher. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here. Signing up for this would be a pretty shitty thing to do to someone. ‘Hey babe, I know we’re going out and all, but I’m going to sort of disappear for two hundred years. Don’t wait up.’”

 

Emma laughed a little, then said, “Yeah, I guess that would. How many sexual partners have you had?”

 

“Whoa,” Jocelyn frowned. “A little personal, don’t you think?”

 

“In your health history,” Emma indicated the tablet, “you checked that you are sexually active.”

 

“Yeah, so? Why does it matter?”

 

“Well, for one thing, you’ll have to be screened for sexually transmitted diseases. We have to have a full medical diagnostic of our qualified candidates before proceeding in case there are any red flags.”

 

“Oh,” was all Jocelyn managed.

 

“Plus, we need to know more about the type of relationships our applicants get involved in. This helps us evaluate your psychological history to better understand your mental health and stability.”

 

“Who the hell is stable these days?” Jocelyn scoffed, feeling her irritation take over at being mentally probed by all these questions. “It’s easy for you to sit there in your stupid Ann Taylor suit looking all pretty and judge me, but I can see from a mile away you’ve got skeletons in your…”

 

Jocelyn trailed off, regretting her loss of composure. 

 

“Closet?” Emma leaned closer.

 

“No, I came out, remember? Seriously, it’s so hot in here,” Jocelyn said, trying to adjust in the seat so her blazer could be more open.

 

“The expression is ‘skeletons in your closet,” Emma explained. “Do you have something against saying it?”

 

“Oh, come on,” Jocelyn protested. “Don’t get all analytical on me. You gonna pick apart every word I say or don’t say, like some stupid shrink?”

 

Jocelyn immediately regretted those words. Emma’s eyebrows rose for a moment before she dropped her gaze to the notepad and scrawled some observation or another. Jocelyn watched this unfold before her with a sinking feeling. Everything was going south so quickly.

 

“You’re writing down I hate shrinks?” Jocelyn said. “Well, okay, fine. I hate shrinks.”

 

“Why?” Emma asked without missing a beat.

 

Jocelyn pressed her lips together and stared off. Did she have to talk about this? This? Emma watched her for a moment.

 

“Jocelyn, please,” Emma said softly. “Why do you hate shrinks? Don’t think, just answer.”

 

Jocelyn shook her head ever so slightly. The buzzer blared, causing her to flinch.

 

“My parents sent me to this shrink,” Jocelyn relented, her voice wavering slightly. “They thought I had issues.”

 

“Because you’re gay?”

 

“They thought someone had done this to me,” Jocelyn sighed.

 

Emma blinked, her mouth dropping open ever so slightly. In a soft voice, Emma asked, “Jocelyn, were you sexually abused?”

 

“No,” Jocelyn shot back with surprising force. “That’s the whole point. This isn’t something someone did to me. This is just me!”

 

Emma nodded. “There’s no need to be defensive.”

 

“Oh, but there is. I’m sick of the fact that my whole family treats me like I’m broken. Like I’m a damaged person. Like I if I just wanted to badly enough I could fix myself. I could be normal.”

 

Jocelyn looked away, fighting for what little control she might regain. She wished she could will the tears welling up in her eyes to evaporate. She didn’t want to raise her hands and wipe them away, as if the gesture might be some acknowledgement of defeat.

 

“I understand,” Emma said.

 

“Really?” Jocelyn glared back at her in bewilderment. “You understand? You’ve got a nice job for some big science company, a nice office, and a husband to go home to,” Jocelyn indicated the pictures on the desk. “I’m sure you know exactly what I’m going through. You, with your prissy perfect little life.”

 

Emma’s jaw dropped open. For a split second, Jocelyn could see real pain flash across Emma’s eyes before she blinked and swallowed hard. Jocelyn could feel her heart thundering in her chest. She suddenly realized she’d crossed some unknown line with Emma. Despite Emma’s incredible poise, Jocelyn had succeeded in cutting her with her words. Now, seeing how hurt Emma was, Jocelyn knew she had overcompensated for how drawn to Emma she felt. I’m so stupid, Jocelyn screamed internally.

 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “This was a mistake. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking when I applied.”

 

Jocelyn shot to her feet and headed for the door. Only when she reached it and tried the knob did she recall that it was locked.

 

“You need to say the word,” Emma said, rising from her chair and moving around the desk, her eyes locked on Jocelyn.

 

Jocelyn stared at the door, her mouth poised to say the word. But for some reason she didn’t.

 

“Jocelyn,” Emma said, her tone soft and unfairly kind, “One thing this job has taught me is that everyone’s life is tough.”

 

Jocelyn let her hand drop from the knob. She turned to face Emma.

 

“Is this real?” She asked. “The Longevity Prime Project?”

 

“Yeah, it’s real.”

 

“Like, actually real?” Jocelyn pressed, hoping to shift the conversation.

 

“Well, it can’t be both real and not real, right?” Emma said with a knowing smirk.

 

Surprised, Jocelyn smiled slightly. “Right. Law of non-contradiction. But, freezing people and then waking them up two hundred years from now? You guys really do that?”

 

“It’s not technically freezing. It’s called vitrification. It’s an ice-free process that doesn’t destroy living tissue at low temperatures the way normal freezing does.”

 

“Whatever,” Jocelyn shrugged. “As long as it gets me out of this life.”

 

“What’s wrong with this life, Jocelyn?” Emma insisted even as the kindness remained in her voice and eyes.

 

Jocelyn felt the tears come rushing back to her eyes with renewed eagerness and her throat grew tight. The damn buzzer went off again.

 

“I hate it,” Jocelyn choked out. “I’m alone. And I hate that I’m alone. I hate that…”

 

The buzzer blared again. Tears flowed down her cheeks now.

 

“That my Saanvi died,” Jocelyn managed.

 

“Saanvi?” Emma took a step closer as if she might have about to reach out and hold Jocelyn, but she stopped and kept those large concerned eyes locked on her.

 

“She was a professor of mine,” Jocelyn worked to get the words out, “More than that. She was like the mom I wish I had. And then she got cancer. And she joined Longevity Prime. Now, no one else is left. No one would miss me.”

 

Emma’s eyes wavered at this. She shook her head slightly. “You would be missed.”

 

“How would you know?” Jocelyn retorted as she wiped tears from her eyes.

 

“That’s not my husband in that picture,” Emma raised her open hands in a gesture of surrender. She turned and moved to the desk where she leaned against it. Her eyes, no longer locked on Jocelyn, looked off into some long-lost life as she continued.

 

#

​

Hear heart racing, mouth dry, Emma took in a slow breath to steady herself. She could just end the interview right now. But she didn’t.

​

“That was my brother,” Emma said, wondering why she was letting these words slip past her lips. “He died about a year ago in a plane crash.”

 

Emma could feel Jocelyn’s eyes see her shoulder droop slightly with regret. But how could she have known? Emma could just leave it at that, let Jocelyn feel the sting of her misplaced assumptions. But a growing pressure inside Emma’s chest threatened to choke the life from her heart. It had been growing there for the past several minutes. No, that wasn’t true. It had been growing in there silently for as long as she could remember. It was like a quiet little smoldering fire. And in walked this woman she’d never met before, who carelessly poured a gallon on gas on this tiny flame. And now Emma wasn’t sure she could contain it.

 

“He was,” Emma pressed forward, ready to finally let out the pressure, “my best friend. He was always the impulsive one, I’m the cautious one. He made a sudden trip to go surfing in Australia. He wanted me to go with him. But I don’t surf. Like so many other things I don’t do.”

 

She tilted her head back and let the tears slip out of her eyes. She took a deep breath before continuing, not daring to look at Jocelyn lest she lose her nerve.

 

“I keep getting questions from all my friends about when I’m going to find a husband, or at least a boyfriend. My mom’s always bugging me about it. But I keep telling everyone I’m focused on my career,” Emma laughed. “Some career this is. I get paid to figure out who’s psychologically fit to become a two-hundred-year-old Popsicle.”

 

Emma closed her eyes and took a deep breath before she continued. “Meanwhile, I’ve ignored the fact that it’s not a… boyfriend I want.” She allowed herself to look at Jocelyn, watching to see if the meaning of her words found their target. Jocelyn’s lips parted slightly and a fresh tear slipped down her left cheek. “But I’m too scared of telling anyone how I really feel. So, instead I sit here most days dreaming up the trips to Iceland my brother and I were supposed to take together sometime. But I might as well be signing myself up to be frozen for two hundred years, because maybe when I wake up I might be able to stop ignoring who I really am.”

 

The silence felt like a roaring waterfall in Emma’s ears. Finally, Jocelyn said, “I thought it was vitrification.”

 

Emma smiled, “Right.”

 

“I’m sorry about your brother,” Jocelyn said, taking a tentative step closer. “Was he the only one that knew?”

 

Fresh tears rose in Emma’s eyes as she nodded. “My mother would… I don’t know what she’d do. I wish I had your courage.”

 

“Courage?” Jocelyn scoffed. “I’m here trying to escape.”

 

“But maybe that’s the right call,” Emma shrugged. “Maybe things will be better in two hundred years.”

 

“Or, maybe it’s all the same shit,” Jocelyn shook her head. “Humanity has a way of repeating its mistakes. Or maybe you guys screw things up and you can’t thaw me out. And you know what sucks,” Jocelyn closed her eyes, and she took in a breath. “There’s a little part of me that’s okay with that.”

 

Jocelyn sighed and wiped tears from her eyes. Emma watched her, still finding it hard to breathe from the exertion of speaking words she thought she might never say out loud. But the raging fire, the wild pressure, seemed to ease a little, replaced bit by bit by a general sense that the ground spun beneath her feet.

 

“Forget I said your outfit’s stupid,” Jocelyn smiled, looking off in genuine embarrassment. “I didn’t mean that.”

 

Before she could even take stock of how this made her feel, Emma’s lips parted, and she spoke, “Should I also forget you said I look pretty?”

 

Jocelyn looked at Emma with wide eyes, and slowly a smile visited her lips. “I’m sure most interviews don’t go like this.”

 

Emma shook her head, “No. They really don’t. But then,” she soaked in Jocelyn’s gaze. “I never met anyone like you before.”

​

Emma could feel an electrical buzz coursing through her whole body and she gripped the desk to help her remain steady. Was this really happening? Was she really speaking this way? In earnest? Or was this just a dream?

 

A beep emitted from an unseen speaker, and the door unlocked automatically. On my gosh, has it been twenty minutes? Emma looked away. The interview was over. With the unlocking of the door came back the pressure around her heart. It was as if for a moment she’d managed to stand at the center of a raging storm and have a glimpse of serenity. But now the eye of the storm was passing. Serenity was about to be washed away by the usual crashing waves of her life’s demands, slowly eroding her to nothing.

 

“I guess the interview is over,” Emma managed as she stood up straight. “I’ll need the wristband back.”

 

Jocelyn nodded. She pulled the bracelet off and stepped closer to hand it back. Emma put out her hand and Jocelyn dropped the bracelet into her open palm.

 

“You know,” Jocelyn said, “maybe when you’re done with work, we could get a bite to eat. There’s this great sandwich shop two blocks from here. Hank’s. You know it?”

 

Emma nodded, unable to speak. Jocelyn smiled.

 

“Maybe you can tell me why you want to go to Iceland?” She said, her voice soft but her eyes glowing.

 

But Emma’s eye wandered away. How could she tell her? The futility of their situation caved in on her, and Emma had to fight to form words.

 

“I…”

 

The glow in Jocelyn’s eyes faded, as did her hopeful smile. “Baaaaaa!” She imitated the buzzer with a forced smile.

 

Jocelyn turned and headed for the door. Emma wanted to call out to her, to tell her to come back, to stop her from leaving. Why had the door had to open so soon?

 

Jocelyn stopped at the door and glanced back. “What’s the likelihood you’ll recommend me for this cryonics program?”

 

Emma knew what she should say in such a situation. She knew what was expected of her. But the words that came out of her mouth once again surprised her.

 

“That depends. I’m not allowed to go out with applicants.”

 

Jocelyn stared back at her, that fire returning to her eyes. She looked at the door, then back to Emma, a smile taking over her face. She suddenly moved toward Emma with purpose. She reached for the printed version of her application and held it in her hands as she stood close to Emma. 

 

“And if I’m not an applicant?” Jocelyn whispered.

 

Emma smiled. “I get off work in about an hour.”

 

Jocelyn beamed at her, their eyes locked, as she ripped the signed application down the middle. The sound of the rending paper seemed to go on for minutes. Emma could feel her heart racing as Jocelyn handed the ripped papers over to her. Their hands touched for the first time as Emma took the application, their skin transmitting an electricity, a warmth, a hope.

 

“Underground,” Jocelyn uttered.

 

She turned and walked to the door. Emma watched her walking away, still holding the torn application. At the door, Jocelyn took one last glance, her eyes aglow, before walking out.

 

Emma let out a gasp and leaned back against the desk. Her hands dropped to her side, her grip vanishing. The torn pages of the application rained to the floor. Emma tilted her head back and laughed even as a flood of new tears rose to the surface of her eyes, tears which had waited in the wings for years longing but not daring to hope they would someday be called upon the take the stage. She could hear the voice in her head insisting that she was actually in real trouble now. Everything is going to change now, the scared voice cried out to her. But she pushed back. Yeah. You’re right. Everything is going to change now. Finally.