LifeQuest No. 2

INTRODUCTION TO LIFEQUEST

Lifequest's numbered issues are collections of fictional works about life extension, including suspended animation, elimination of aging and progressive self-transformation. A recurrent theme is that interference is not to be tolerated with regard to an individual's pursuit of life extension, where others are not in any way being victimized or placed at risk as a consequence

Lifequest's stories portray people who desire and work to achieve endless lifespans, via scientific and technological approaches. They frequently encounter conditions where death occurs or seems unavoidable, and struggle against limitations of technology and the complacent acceptance of death by their fellow humans, in an attempt to prevail over that which others regard as inevitable. All the characters and events portrayed in these stories are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

IMPORTANT MESSAGE

Contents of Lifequest are entirely fictional. The stories often portray levels of organizational development which do not presently exist. Readers are cautioned that such tales do not reflect the current state of the art in cryonics, or life extension in general. Readers are advised to evaluate the capabilities, standards, and records of performance, of all organizations, before making arrangements of any kind.

*****

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Return to Main LifeQuest Index Page

1. GRANDPA CHIPPERS, By Linda Chamberlain

2. A PLACE BY THE SEA, By Fred Chamberlain

3. DREAMS OF AN OLD MAN, By Fred Chamberlain

*****

Grampa Chippers and old Joe Wolf sat on their favorite granite boulder, the way they always did, watching the warm, late summer sun drive its chariot across the sky.

This particular sittin' spot was perfect for two old friends. They could see down the west side of the ridge to their cabin nestled in the pine trees. They could also look off to the east, past Tea Cup Lake, and see miles and miles of mountain tops stretching into infinity. They never tired of this particular sittin' spot, or the company.

Joe Wolf had retired to this cabin with his wife, Martha, about 20 years ago. Grampa Chippers wasn't even born, then. Joe and Chippers met just three years ago, after Martha died.

Martha wouldn't allow any of the squirrels or chipmunks to set up housekeeping inside the cabin. But, after Old Joe had Martha frozen, Grampa Chippers moved in and old Joe just never had the heart to throw him out. Before winter turned to spring, Grampa Chippers was helping to fill up part of the big aching hole Old Joe had in his lonesome heart.

They shared most everything, even meals. Joe would supply the fish and the meat, and some vegetables from Martha's garden, and Chippers would bring a few pine nuts. They even shared the big, brass bed that Martha called her pride and joy.

"I found some plumb terrific pine nuts for tonight's stew,” said Chippers.

"Well, my friend, that's mighty good news. We ain't had any of your special nut stew for awhile, and I was a'hankerin' for some." Old Joe smiled down at Grampa Chippers sitting on his knee.

Chippers smiled up at his friend and felt his old, graying chest fill with happiness. He'd had a good life, but the best part of it was when he and Old Joe had become friends.

When Chippers first moved into the cabin, he built himself a little home in one corner, close to the fireplace. One night, when the wind was howlin' and the snow was pouring down out of the sky like a big waterfall, Old Joe saw a shiny black button of a nose poking out of that hole, quivering and smelling the terrific stew sitting atop the rusty, black wood stove. It had been a hard winter and Chipper's store of nuts was scroungy low. The stew bubbling on the stove was more than he could resist.

Old Joe knew that Chippers had become a roommate, but had never seen him before, just the little scraps of paper and shreds of cloth left behind from his nest building. Joe usually left out a nut or two, or maybe some raisins, before he turned in to bed at night. Each morning, they'd be gone. Now, Joe could see that Chippers was attracted to the smell of the stew, and he hoped this might be the right opportunity to make acquaintances. He missed Martha an awful lot, and he was needing a friend.

Joe sat very still in his rocking chair, barely breathing for a long time. Chippers wouldn't come out of his hole, though. He just sat there in his doorway, nose quivering and wishing he could get to the stew without the old man of the house chasing him.

Finally, Joe decided he'd have to take some positive action. He’d make a gesture that would show this little feller that he wasn't to be feared.

Joe stood, slow and quiet as a morning mist rising off a mountain lake, so as not to frighten the chipmunk in the cozy little hole beside the fire. Ladling the steaming hot, irresistible smelling stew into a bowl, Old Joe set it out in the snow for a few minutes to cool, covering it with a towel to keep blowing snow out of it.

Bowl in hand, Joe got down on his belly so he wouldn't look so towering and frightening. Slow as a snail, he crawled to within about four feet of the chipmunk's door. With his woodcuttin' axe he gently pushed the bowl right up to Chipper's door and then eased back and filled himself a big, steaming bowl of that taste bud ticklin' stew.

It was a long test of wills.

Grampa Chippers sitting in the shadows of his little door, nose quivering, and feeling like his belly was scraping on his back bone. And Old Joe just sitting in his rocker, making a point of slurping his stew as loud as a pig at his slough.

Old Joe let out a belch as big as thunder and rubbed his round tummy. "Come on little feller. I ain't goin' to hurt you. Looks like you could use a little supper."

Chippers thought about the nuts and raisins Old Joe had left out for him in the evenings, but he also remembered the broom that Martha used when she'd chase him. Chippers was powerful hungry, though, and seeing how Old Joe was all the way across the room, Chippers felt the odds were definitely in his favor. Maybe he'd just pop out and take a nibble. On the other hand, he juggled, maybe it would be safer to wait until he was sure the old man was asleep.

"I ain't never hurt you when you came out for the nuts and raisins, have I?"

Old Joe kept talking and coaxing until Chippers thought he might faint if he waited any longer. So he screwed up all his courage and rubbed one of his front paws over his graying old whiskers with determination. With his black, cream and rust striped tail held proud and high behind him, he popped out of his door and landed right next to the bowl, keeping a suspicious eye on Old Joe as he took a slurp from the bowl.

Old Joe's round face was so full of wrinkles it looked like a road map, but it was beaming with happiness in the light from the kerosene lamp. "Now, you see. You can trust Old Joe."

It wasn't more than a week of this kind of treatment from Old Joe 'till Chippers lost his suspicions, packed up all his worldly belongings and just moved right in to the main cabin, snuggling up at night with Old Joe under the red and white feather comforter on Martha's great brass bed.

The bumpity clatter of the big blue station wagon winding its way up the dirt road to their cabin pulled Grampa Chippers out of his rememberings. His sparkling old eyes followed the kicked up dust trail as the big, blue Chevy came to a stop in front of their cabin.

"Looks like the kids are here, Chippers. S'pose they'll make their monthly try at talkin' us into movin' into town." Joe cupped his giant hands around Chippers very gently and the softness in his voice told Chippers they would never be apart.

Chippers wiggled his nose back and forth and hopped out of the cup of Joe's fingers and onto the rock. "Well, I guess we'd best not be keepin' our company waiting," said Grampa Chippers as he hopped down off the rock and headed for the cabin. Old Joe followed close behind.

"Howdy!" Old Joe called out happily as he came out of the woods.

"Hi, Old Joe!" screamed little Amy as she bobbed up and down, a jumping jack of excitement. Joe picked her up and whirled her around in the air before giving her a bear hug.

"Amy, don't call your Grandfather that!" said her mother, in the way mothers say such things.

"She can call me Old Joe. All my friends do." Joe kissed Amy on the cheek and set her down to play with Chippers before giving his daughter a big hug. Shaking hands with his son-in-law, Joe smiled and said, "We've got some special stew cookin' up inside, Burt. Chippers and I would be happy if you'd all stay and eat with us."

Chippers, lying on Amy's lap having his tummy rubbed, sat up with his front paws held high and shook his head, confirming Old Joe's invitation to stay for supper.

"Thanks, Dad," said Laura. "We were hoping you two weren't too busy for a drop-in visit by the family." Her eyes twinkled as she smiled up at Old Joe, who had wrapped his arm around her and was walking her into the cabin.

Seeing Chippers run over to the bowl of pine nuts, Old Joe joined him, scooped up another handful of nuts and tossed them into the stew.

After the stew had been devoured and the sun was making its exit behind the mountains, Old Joe put a couple of logs on the fire and joined his family for some after dinner conversation. Chippers was sound asleep in the middle of Amy's warm lap.

"Joe," Burt started, "Laura and I just bought a bigger house. It's right on the edge of town. Even has a little stream through the back yard. I think you'll like it. We were hoping you might come to town for a visit."

"Yeah, Old Joe," Amy burst in. "Mom and Dad said that you might come and live with us! Grampa Chippers, too, of course. “Amy tickled Chipper's tummy playfully.

"I think you just let the cat out of the bag, Lamb," Old Joe grinned at Amy, who was looking a little sheepish. "Mom and Dad wanted to be real sneaky about not letting me know what they were cookin' up."

"Now, Dad," said Laura, "You know how we worry about you up here all alone now that Mom is gone--and not even a telephone."

"I know, Laura," said Old Joe, patting her knee. "But I just ain't a city boy any longer. And I'm sure that Chippers, “Joe pointed toward Amy's lap, "would miss this place, too."

"But what if you were to have an accident?" Burt added. “Or a heart attack?"

"Why, I'm fit as a horse!" exclaimed Old Joe. Chippers started at the boom in Joe's voice and sat up to see what was going on.

"Dad, why don't you and Chippers plan to come down and have Thanksgiving dinner with us," said Laura. "Who knows. You might like the place. You could just stay with us in the winters for awhile, and still spend the summers up here in the cabin. How would that be?"

"What? Winter's the best time!" said Joe, standing and walking over to look out the big picture window at the Aspen trees. "I wouldn't want to miss being here in the winter. No sir. And... and we couldn't be gone during the summer. That's when we put up provisions for the winter." Joe turned back to his family. "Out of the question. We ain't old and creaky, yet. No. No, we ain't ready to move into town. Not for awhile, anyhow."

"But Dad..." Laura's voice trailed off with the sound of defeat. She knew that stubborn look in her father's eye. She knew it was final.

"Joe?" Burt sat forward a little on the couch. "We'd like to have you come for Thanksgiving, anyway." When Old Joe turned a scowl on him, he held up his hands and continued, "Just for dinner. We won't say another word about you moving in. Okay?"

"We'll come for Thanksgiving dinner." Joe's scowl turned to a fatherly smile as he looked over at his daughter. "Laura makes a holiday feast second only to Martha's."

Chipper's shiny black nose and gray whiskers were quivering at the thought of the feast.

When the blue Chevy station wagon finally swallowed up the family and bumped and clattered down the dirt road, Old Joe and Grampa Chippers settled down on the porch swing to enjoy the crisp, clear, alpine evening sky. Not a cloud covered the great Milky Way which splashed stars across the bowl over their heads. “Mighty beautiful, ain't it Chippers?" Old Joe's voice was a whisper of delight.

"Tell me about them space colonies again, Joe," said Chippers.

"I've told you about them a hundred times, Chippers." old Joe smiled down at his little friend. "I get the feeling you'd kinda like to live in one of them there space colonies. Maybe we could get a book from the library, with pictures, when we go to Thanksgiving dinner."

Chippers rolled over on his back holding his graying hind feet with his front paws, looking straight up at the stars overhead. "So long as they have mountains and lakes and plenty of pine trees to make nuts for our stew. Sure. It sounds like a real adventure. Are you sure Martha won't chase me away with her broom?"

"Naw! Martha ain't really so bad, Chippers. Once she gets to know you, she'll probably leave me and run away with you." They both chuckled.

"Joe. We sit down here, lookin' up at the moon. What would we see lookin' out the window of a space colony?"

"Well. I guess we'd see both the moon and this here earth. The moon would be a whole lot bigger, though, 'cause we'd be just about the same distance from each one of them. Wait 'till you see pictures of what the world looks like from out there, Chippers." Joe pointed to the stars.

Thanksgiving arrived, turning the Aspen trees a splendorous gold that shimmied and shook in the wind. The first fluttering of snow flakes was mixing with flaxen colored leaves and swirling in great circles around the clearing outside the front window of the cabin. A fire in the wood stove filled the woods with the scent of burning cedar and spruce.

It was a glorious autumn.

Old Joe and Grampa Chippers sat on the couch looking out at their favorite woods, stuffed full from the family feast and happy to be home again to the peace and quiet of their cabin in the mountains. Chippers was leafing through the pages of his picture book, his gray whiskers quivering with excitement under his sparkling black eyes.

"Joe. Look at this! Woooow! The Earth is more beautiful than..." Chippers looked up at Joe to see him holding his chest. Joe’s wrinkled old face was puffy and red and full of alarm.

"Joe! What's wrong?" Chippers was hopping up and down, scared for his friend. "What's wrong, Joe?"

Jumping up on Joe's shoulder, Chippers pulled Joe's shirt open at the neck, popping two buttons off, trying to help Joe breath. Joe closed his eyes and slumped back on the couch. Joe was still breathing, but Chippers was real scared.

Chippers sat by the couch all night, watching Joe sleep and wondering what he should do. Every now and then, he'd get a wet rag and wring a few drips of water into Joe's mouth. All through the night, Joe remained the same. As the last of the fire winked out in the wood stove, Old Joe stirred just a bit and turned his head h toward Chippers.

"Hello, friend." Joe's voice sounded like a frozen wind pushing crisp leaves through a dry creek bed. "Looks like Laura was right about being up here without a telephone. If we can't call a doctor or those cryonics folks in time, we might miss our train... our trip to the space colony."

Chippers jumped up next to Joe's face and rubbed his cold, wet nose against the old, dry, wrinkled cheek he loved so dearly. “Tell me how to help, Joe. I don't know what to do." His little voice was quiet, and it shook as he tried to sound brave.

Joe didn't answer. He closed his eyes and went back to sleep. Trembling with a feeling of helplessness, Chippers curled up just below Joe's chin. Chippers could feel the faint pulse in Joe's neck and hoped Joe would wake up and be tall and strong again, but feared the faint throb might just stop. Chippers wouldn't close his own frightened eyes for a second.

When the morning sun began to peek up over the tips of the trees, Chippers was just finishing pulling Martha's red and white feather comforter over Old Joe, tucking it under his chin. Then he ran into the hole beside the wood stove that was once his house, and scurried through the crack at the rear and rushed into the woods.

Climbing an old snag of a tree to the hollow about half way up, Chippers called out to his friend, "Hey! Daffodil. Wake up. I need your help."

A young chipmunk with a gold and rust coat poked his head up, rubbing sleep from his round, hazel eyes.

"What's up, Chippers? Even sun's not awake yet?"

"Daffodil. Old Joe is real sick.. Will you help me? I gotta help my friend!" Chippers face was tired and his eyes were as frightened as if he'd seen a hawk hovering overhead.

Daffodil said not a word, but sprang to the top of the old snag and began to chatter.

Another chatter took up in the top of another tree and then another. Before long, chipmunks from trees all over the forest were answering the call for help and scurrying to the old snag to help their friends.

"Thank you all for coming," said Chippers. "We're exposed to owls and hawks, here. Come with me down to my friend's cabin; we’ll be safer there." Chippers could see that the others were not anxious to go into the cabin, so he added, "There's nothing to fear. Old Joe is a friend and wouldn't hurt any one of you." They still hesitated. "Joe is sick. Real sick. He needs help. That's why I asked you to help me."

Daffodil moved to follow his friend. "Come on," he beckoned to the others. Those who had known Chippers and Daffodil for a long time slowly began to follow. Others, though, still hung back, afraid of the cabin where the man lived.

Chippers made one last effort. "There'll be plenty of nuts and raisins for everyone." That got the last of them moving! They followed Chippers into his back door and formed a circle in the middle of the floor while Chippers checked Old Joe and gave him a sip of water.

"What can we do, Chippers?" asked Daffodil. "How can we help Joe?"

"Joe's got a ticket to go visit a space colony," began Chippers. "I gotta see if I can get him to the station." Chippers could see the others didn't understand. "Never mind that. We need to get word to his family in town. I don't know what else to do. But I'm too old for the journey myself. It would take a young, strong chipmunk to make the trip. It will take a couple days, probably."

Daffodil was shaking his head. "That very dangerous, Chippers. Even young chipmunk might not make it alone. It be better if two or three went. Anybody volunteer?" Daffodil and Chippers looked around the circle. All eyes were cast down, not anxious to be picked for such a perilous journey.

Little Yip Yap was smaller than most of her brothers, but she popped forward bravely and offered her idea. "We could relay. First two go little ways. Another two go little farther. And so on and so on until finally, two takes message to Joe’s family in town." Yip Yap stopped to see how the others were reacting, then added, "Could send word ahead by tree-top messages so new teams waiting at meet spots." Yip Yap smiled, hoping the others would like her idea.

The others thought over Yip Yap's idea and then, all at once, a great applause went up around the circle and Yip Yap bowed from the waist and returned to her spot in the circle of her friends.

By the time the sun was higher than the tops of the great Aspen trees, the plan had been worked out, the message was being telegraphed from treetop to treetop, and Grampa Chippers was writing the note that would be carried by twenty teams of chipmunks down the mountain to Old Joe's family.

After the note was written, Chippers drew a map to help the note bearers find the house where Joe's family lived. He made it so small a chipmunk could put it in one of those tiny pockets all chipmunks have, but which people have never discovered. He closed his eyes real tight and made his mind fill up with the picture of playing with Amy in the back yard while the feast was still cookin' inside the stove that could cook without a fire. That stove fascinated Chippers. No wood. No fire. Bet they'd use something like that up in them space colonies. He smiled to himself, then shook his head to bring himself back to the task at hand.

Again he filled his head with the pictures of the house and what it looked like from the back yard; walking, in his head, over to the back fence which was near all the way to the forest itself. What color was the house? Hummmm. Oh, yes, it was the rust of a chipmunk's fur with stripes around the windows the color of the dark stripes on a chipmunk's back. The house on the right--that was the color of the early morning sky--and the house on the left was the color of an old cedar tree.

Carefully he put his pencil to the paper and drew Amy's swing set, remembering its ripe thimbleberry color, the way the stream wiggled through the green grass, and the porch jutting out from the back door. And, Oh Yes! He drew a big cat in the yard to warn the note bearers to look out for the hunter who lived next door.

Then he drew a picture of Amy, with eyes the color of a deep summer lake and hair like the sun. The note bearers must take the message only to Amy; her parents hadn't learned how to talk to chipmunks yet.

Every few hours the stories would come back along the treetop telegraph line telling of the successful passing of the note from one team to the next. The trickiest journey of all would be made by the team who would leave the forest and venture into the house where men lived. The chipmunks who did this would be sung great heroes by their brother chipmunks for many ages to come.

The two who were brave enough for this daredevil attempt were Racer and No feet.

Racer had the most beautiful stripes on his back any chipmunk could boast. He was also swift and fearless. No feet, his good friend since they were pups, could move so silently his name was given to him in honor of this ability. Being robust and in the spring of their lives, they jumped at the chance to make a name for themselves.

Racer and No Feet arrived early at the appointed spot for receiving the note, eager for the adventure which was about to make them heroes. They sat atop a weather worn, graying old snag which was as high as the sky itself and gave them a view of the forest for miles in every direction.

"Look," said Racer, pointing. "I think I see them now!"

They both squinted their keen chipmunk eyes very tight to shut out the bright afternoon sun as they searched the forest floor.

"Yeah! Yeah!" huffed No Feet as he jumped up and down, almost toppling them both from the limb which was holding them. Rebalancing themselves, they raced down the old snag to the forest floor.

Two weary chipmunks trudged laboriously under the load they were carrying. Grampa Chipper's note had been rolled into a paper log and tied with a red string he'd found in Old Joe's pocket. The log note was being carried on the chipmunks’ shoulders, one on the front end and one on the rear of the log. It wasn't so much that the paper roll was too heavy, but it was cumbersome and required the bearers to walk upright--not an easy task for chipmunks.

Racer and No Feet rushed up to the log bearers and helped them lower the note to the ground. Springer and Tip Top sat down on their haunches with a wheeze of relief and smiled.

"Good journey?" asked No Feet.

"Without trouble. Thanks." Tip Top was still breathing hard. "Last team treed by a coyote last night. So we been hurrying to make up time."

"Anybody killed?" Racer's eyes were wide.

"Nope," replied Springer. "When they didn't show at meet place, we got worried. We got gang together and passed note treetop to treetop. The coyote never noticed. Just kept Three Thump and Snap Snap up tree all night. They all right now."

Tip Top took Chipper's map out of his pocket and handed it to Racer.

"Nice drink stream over by hill," said No Feet as he and Racer picked up the note log and hoisted it onto their shoulders. “Good Journey."

"Good Journey. And be special careful. Many cats at houses of mans."

Racer and No Feet started off jauntily across the forest floor as the long shadows of late afternoon reached lazily across their path. Their eyes were adjusting to the near darkness as they stopped at the forest edge to look at Chipper's map one more time.

*****

Chippers sat on the window sill looking out at the soft, white snow flakes settle like feathers outside the window.

The note had been on its way for two days now and was nearing the end of its journey. Earlier this morning, the team of note bearers had gotten below the snow line and Daffodil just brought the message that Tip Top and Springer had turned the note over to Racer and No Feet. The last lap of the relay had begun.

With wonder filling his sad, hazel eyes Chippers thought about the brave note bearers who were part of the second day relay; chipmunks he had never even met. His chest was full of gratefulness to these brothers who would come to his aid without even knowing him. His heart was full of fear that the note would not get to Amy in time. Wearily, he hopped down from the window and went to see how Joe was doing.

Old Joe didn't seem to wake up for short spells like he did the first day and the throb in his throat seemed to get slower and slower. Chippers kept giving him drips of water and some cold stew juice, but he just didn't know what else to do. He felt so powerless, so helpless.

Curled up on Joe's chest, Chippers looked over at the picturebook on the table next to the couch. Tears fell down Chipper's old, gray jowls as he thought about Joe missing out on the space colony he so wanted to see.

And Chippers feared he would never see it either.

*****

Racer and No Feet had lowered the note log onto a ground gaily decorated with red, yellow and brown leaves. Crouching behind a gnarled oak tree, they puffed and huffed and rested while looking at Chipper's map.

"Racer, we been up and down three times. None of them houses looks like the one on this here map."

"We got to figure it out, No Feet." Racer's nose was all wrinkled up and his whiskers twitched back and forth as he looked first at the houses in front of him, and then back at the map which by now was smudged with dirt stains and tattered from much use.

"None of them mans houses is the colors of a chipmunk, Racer. Maybe we lost?"

Racer suddenly sat up on his hind haunches, eyes alert and nose quivering. No Feet caught the scent, too. It was near. Too near.

At the sound of a rustle nearby, they both sprang for the gnarled trunk of the old tree, pushing every muscle past pain, hoping to reach the protective upper branches of the tree--the small, spindly branches which could not hold the weight of a larger animal.

They didn't stop or look down. The bloodcurdling sound of monster claws cutting deep into the bark of the old oak and the intensifying smell of cat, like acid in their noses, told them the powerful hunter was gaining on them.

Stars!.. thought Racer to himself through his wheezing and puffing as he pulled himself higher and higher. Stars! We're safe! We made it!

The skinny, twiggy branches around him were swaying and bobbing under his weight. He couldn't go any higher. Turning, he saw the great, orange-striped cat hunkered down on a lower branch, glaring up at him with deadly eyes; a menacing tongue licked the great, dreadful mouth with a deadly promise.

Racer shuddered, happy to be alive and terrified by the nearly fatal race. Holding tight to a needle of a limb, Racer turned his head left and right, looking for No Feet.

An icy breath settled heavily into his heart. Could the hunter cat have eaten No Feet? He looked back at the orange face of death just a few feet below him, but there was no sign of blood on the hunter's face, his claws, or the tree.

"Racer, help me!"

With a pounding heart, Racer looked up and saw his friend holding with his front paws onto a twig no bigger around than a pine needle. The twig was nearly bent off and No Feet was bobbing up and down, his rear legs gyrating wildly about him.

"I'm coming!" Racer gingerly tried to get to No Feet, but he kept losing his own footing on the springy little branches. Before he had gotten more than a few inches higher up the tree, there was a snap and No Feet was tumbling, reaching, trying to grab another hold.

When No Feet did catch another limb, he was in a neighboring tree, a cedar which had grown very close to the oak. Racer, seeing the possibility of bough hopping from tree to tree for at least three more trees, called to No Feet, "Great catch! Follow me."

First Racer and then No Feet leaped, swung, and tumbled through the upper branches of the trees. Sitting comfortably on a strong branch and feeling very proud of their escape, they smiled smugly at each other.

Hearing the scraping of claws on the trunk of the tree and heavy breathing below them, the smug grins vanished from their round, amber faces. The orange face of death was leering up at them again.

No Feet flicked his tail nervously and hopped back through the tree tops again to the old oak. Without looking back at the face of death, Racer followed his friend. The cat jumped back to the soft cushion of leaves on the forest floor and rejoined the chipmunks at the oak.

"Doesn't get tired easy, does he?" said Racer.

"Racer, look." No Feet was pointing down at the ground where they had abandoned the note. It had been picked up by the breeze and was being blown further and further from where the cat had them treed.

"You make another tree top trip. If cat follows, I'll try to get note," said Racer.

No Feet sprang through the willowy branches atop the trees. The hunter cat, tiring of the game, just sat on the cushion of leaves and watched. No Feet tried returning, then retreating again. The hunter watched with a bored look in his golden eyes. He didn't move.

Chattering to himself, No Feet quivered, not knowing what to do. Time was running out. If they stayed here in the tree tops, the mission would fail. They would have to hang their heads in shame before all chipmunks for all time.

No Feet's eyes began to glow with an idea. His heart pounded as he thought about the risk. If the cat were to think he'd missed catching a branch and might fall close enough to be caught, the cat might just come after him long enough for Racer to get the note.

Staring long at the branch he was aiming for, No feet carefully planned exactly how he would scramble on up into the cedar boughs, hopefully before the sharp, deadly claws reached him. He drew in a very deep breath, hesitated for only the blink of a chipmunk's eye, and then dove bravely from the branch where he had been perched. As he fell, he grappled and grabbed as believably as possible, making quite a show of the missed limb.

The acting was magnificent. The cat sprang to his feet and rushed up the trunk of the tree toward his tumbling prey, eyes flaming in the night.

Racer caught his breath, terrified when he saw No Feet fall. He was split right down the middle. He couldn't move. His mind was telling him to run fetch the note. His heart was telling him to help No Feet. He started toward the note. Hesitated. Then turned to rescue his friend. Even if the mission failed. Even if it meant his own death. He wouldn't leave No Feet to face the deadly hunter alone.

"No, Racer. I'm okay," No Feet yelled, seeing that even Racer had believed his phony fall. "Get the note." Then No Feet turned and sprang higher into the tree top, just escaping the reaching claws.

Racer ran down the great oak's trunk, hopping and skipping after the note log as it was puffed and jerked along from bush to bramble. Trying to lift the note and carry it alone proved to be impossible. Finally, all he could do was jam it into the scrub and hope it would not blow away again while he went back to help No Feet.

Just then, No Feet appeared, springing quickly out of the woods. "Cat called to dinner by man. Went home."

Racer's eyes twinkled in the moonlight with joy. He gave his friend a big, lasting hug. "My heart stopped when you fall, No Feet."

"I fall on purpose, Racer, to draw off cat!" No Feet had a smug grin on his face and his chest was all puffed up with pride. He, too, was happy that his stunt had worked.

"That was very, very brave, No Feet. You be biggest hero ever! Wait 'till I tell brother chipmunks of your deed!"

"But we long way lost," said No Feet. "We never find right mans house, now."

"When we get back to clearing, we climb tree for better see," said Racer, feeling just as desperate as his friend but trying to sound brave and convinced of his own words. "We got to keep looking, No Feet. Brothers counting on us."

Pulling the note from the scrub where Racer had secured it, they hoisted it onto their shoulders. With chipmunk determination in their faces, they padded off toward the mans houses again.

Racer, who was carrying the front of the note log, stopped suddenly. "Look!" He pointed ahead of him. "No Feet, put note down. Let's look see map."

No Feet scrambled to his friend's side and pulled the tattered map from his pocket. Broad smiles spread from jowl to jowl on both furry faces as they looked first at the house before them, then at the map, then at each other. They grabbed each other's front paws and jumped up and down, hopping in a circle of joy, squeaking with excitement. They had found the right house.

With jubilant hearts they hoisted the note back up onto their proud shoulders and padded off toward the fence surrounding Amy’s house.

Racer raised his voice in a happy song. "No Feet a hero. Mighty hero. Never was a Chipmunk so brave. Mighty hero. Mighty hero."

No feet, marching in front, beamed with pride.

As they neared the edge of the forest, they put down the note, secured it with a rock to keep the evening breeze from stealing it, and scampered up a young oak tree to a limb just above the fence. The black shadows would hide them as they approached the house, but shadows hid enemies, too. Both chipmunks squinted long and hard as they looked up and down the row of houses, searching for any sign of dogs or cats or other possible problems.

"Well, Racer, think we safe?"

"You the mighty hero, No Feet, what you say?"

"Me thinks it easier not to be hero; what you say?"

"Well, can't see dangers. Guess should go find little mans girl, Amy."

Despite Racer's brave words, neither of them moved. Silently, they remained crouched in the safety of the tree, hearts pounding. Finally, slowly, Racer stood up with resolution, looking like a giant sequoia rising to meet the sky.

"Well, No Feet, it's now or never." Racer turned and crept down the trunk of the oak tree, No feet close behind. They pushed the note through a knot hole close to the bottom of the fence and then raced up and over the barricade and crouched for another look about before hoisting the note and heading for the house.

Stopping at the little bridge Amy's dad had built over the wiggly creek, No Feet and Racer could see the family sitting at the dinner table. No Feet pulled out the map and unfolded it while Racer scanned the shadows and sniffed the air for enemy scents. Things seemed quiet.

"Which one Amy, Racer?"

"Picture shows a Momma, a Poppa, and a little Amy. See, long hair, color like the sun." Racer pointed at the little girl inside. "Only one could be."

"How we going to get up on window sill, Racer?"

"Don't know," said Racer. "Let's go take closer look see."

No Feet folded the note, put it back into his pocket, and they scampered across the grass, over the patio, and up onto the picnic table. Racer, assessing the difficulty of the long jump from the table to the window sill, marched to the far side of the picnic table, ran toward the house with all of his might and jumped for the window sill like he'd been flung free from a flying trapeze.

No Feet, delighted by Racer's magnificent leap, jumped up and down with glee, holding one paw over his mouth to make sure not a sound popped out. His paw shot up to cover his eyes when Racer missed the edge of the sill, thumping the house as he fell to the patio several feet below.

No Feet jumped off the table and scampered to Racer's side.

"You okay, Racer?" No Feet was terrified and breathless.

"Just wind knocked out of me. I okay, No Feet." Racer looked up into his friend's worried face. Just behind No Feet, Racer saw a rake standing against the house, in the shadows.

"Look!" Racer hopped up and ran to the rake, No Feet following. "A ladder, No Feet. Help me move it over to window."

With No Feet standing on the bottom teeth of the rake to steady it, Racer ran spryly up the rake to the window sill and peeked into the window. When no one but Amy was looking in hid direction, Racer began to hop up and down and wave his arms wildly to catch Amy's attention. The little blue eyes were captured by the dancing chipmunk outside the window and a smile the size of the full moon beamed from Amy's face as she jumped up from the table and ran outside.

*****

Grampa Chippers was awakened by the screaming siren outside the cabin. His sleepy eyes were terrified by the red and blue flashing lights outside the window. The great, solid, log door of the cabin burst open and two men dressed all in white rushed inside, pulling an ambulance stretcher behind them.

Picking up a towel, one of the men snapped it at Chippers, forcing him to jump from Old Joe's chest where he had kept watch over his friend for two long days. The two men felt Joe's pulse, pulled an oxygen mask over his face, and moved him from the couch up onto the stretcher.

As Chippers hopped back up onto the couch, he could see the two men disappearing with Joe out the door.

Being jostled and moved, Old Joe woke up for the first time since the previous night. He seemed to know what was happening and stretched out his weak, wrinkled, dusty gray hand toward Chippers, beckoning to his friend. Only a faint mumble could be heard through the oxygen mask over his mouth.

Chippers sprang from the back of the couch and raced out through the heavy wooden door just before it slammed shut behind the retreating stretcher. Red and blue lights were flashing from the top of a white van. Chippers felt dizzy as painted trees raced in circles around the cabin.

After the two men raised the stretcher into the ambulance, Chippers sprang first to the bumper, then up onto Old Joe's chest where he could see a faint smile on his friend's face under the plastic mask which covered it.

Joe tried to object as Chippers was thrown out the rear door of the ambulance, tumbling over and over across the ground outside. But Joe was weak and his arms had been tied to the stretcher to keep him from falling off, and he was being given an injection to quiet him.

Chippers sat quietly on the porch watching the flashing red and blue lights disappear down the snow covered road. Tears rolled down Chipper's graying jowls. He was happy the note had found its way. He hoped Joe would meet his train.

With a slow, weary movement, Chipper's sad eyes looked up at the stars peeking through the clouds. He imagined he could see one of those great rotating space colonies.

He knew Joe and Martha would be up there one day and the thought made a small, sad smile curl the ends of his mouth.

Raising his hand in a salute and a farewell, Chippers whispered, "Goodbye, Joe. I'm sorry I won't be seeing the future with you."

With slumped shoulders, he went around to the back of the cabin and crawled through the little crack that led to his hole beside the cold, fireless wood stove. Grampa Chippers curled up on the bare wood floor and closed his weary eyes.

The morning sun splashed onto the cabin floor. Chippers opened his eyes, expecting to hear the hustle and bustle of Old Joe getting breakfast. Then he remembered that Joe was gone. Closing his eyes again, he ignored his growling, hungry tummy.

A familiar sound.

Weakly, Chippers cocked his ears. It was the bumpityclatter of the blue Chevy coming up the road. Chippers raised his head and opened his tear filled eyes when he heard the cabin door swing open. Little Amy ran into the cabin.

"Grampa Chippers! Grampa Chippers! Where are you?" Amy rushed around the room, looking first in Martha's big brass bed, then around the couch, then she got down on her knees and peeked inside Chippers little hole. "Grampa Chippers!"

The happiness Chippers felt when he saw Amy's beaming face was as joyful as a summer sunrise. It gave him the strength and the motivation to crawl out to meet her. Moments earlier, he hadn't thought he would ever want to move again.

"Oh! Grampa Chippers," Amy cooed as she picked him up and cuddled him next to her soft, pink, round little face. "You look so tired. And so hungry." Amy stood, rubbing Chipper's nose softly as she cupped him in the nook of her elbow. "Old Joe is okay, Chippers. You saved him. He sent us to get you."

Chipper's old, sad eyes were beginning to shine again. He stood tall on Amy's arm, reaching his front paws all the way up to her little pointed chin. "Amy! I get to go with Joe?" Tears were forming in the corners of his eyes as Amy smiled and nodded her head.

*****

Grampa Chippers and Old Joe were sittin' in the swing on the back porch, watching the sun paint the sky red and gold as it sank behind the oak trees lined up behind the back fence. "Thanks to you, old friend, I've got a few more sunsets.” Joe gently rubbed Chipper's old, white chin.

"Are you happy here, Joe? In town. Away from the cabin?"

"Well, Chippers, the sunsets are nice. And we get to spend the weekends in the cabin, when the family can go with us. That gives us a chance to fill up all the food baskets for your Chipmunk brothers along the way to give 'em thanks for helping."

Chipper's chest swelled with pride for his brothers as his happy, hazel eyes smiled up at Joe.

"Besides, Chippers, this way we're closer to the station when our train takes off. It scared me real bad when I thought they was gonna leave you behind. That won't happen next time, I guarantee you that. The arrangements are all made." Joe lovingly cupped Chippers in his two hands, telling him they'd never be parted again.

While gazing up at the blazing sky, Chippers spotted the first star of the evening. He placed one of his graying paws on top of one of Joe's fingers.

"Joe? You think you and me and Martha will be able to sit out evenings up in them there space colonies and watch the stars?"

Old Joe smiled warmly down at Grandpa Chippers. Then he turned his twinkling eyes toward the night sky.

"I 'spec so, Chippers. I 'spec so."

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Swinging the wide windows open, Sheila let the cool spring air flow past her into the living room. Rich smells of cut grass gave her a delicious picture of the freshly mowed lawn, cuttings still lying in streaks waiting to be raked. Not more than fifty feet away, she imagined, her husband was almost finished. The clatter of blades came and went as he worked his way into the narrow corner by the roses, brief whirrings revealing the tight pattern required to trim the little space. Later this afternoon, Sheila thought, she'd prune the roses, feeling the softness of each bud, each flower in the process. The thorns would still be small this time of year, needle sharp, so she'd be extra careful. If only she could actually see them once more!

"All done, Sheila," said Lloyd as he came in, hot and soaked with perspiration. He passed her on his way to take a shower, the pattern of his footsteps tracing a map in her mind, telling her wordlessly where he was headed. A robotics inventor, Lloyd spend much of his time in a workshop off the garage. Sheila left the intercom open, whenever she was near it, and could almost see by the sounds as Lloyd assembled some of the new, automatic home appliances he was licensing for manufacture in South Korea. The closing of drawers and shutting off of motors told her, about eleven each night, when Lloyd was at a stopping place, and she'd reach over and switch on the electric blanket so his side of the bed would be warm.

For Sheila, sounds and smells were the essence of life. She could still remember the pleasures of vision, but all the doctors told her the blindness was permanent. Permanent? Nothing was permanent, she thought. Sooner or later they're going to learn how to make me see again, and when they do, I'll be ready and waiting!

Lloyd was understanding, but had resigned himself to the idea that Sheila would never regain her sight. That's why he found it incomprehensible, at first, that she would want a place by the sea.

"But the waves would be so exquisite to hear," she'd say each time it came up. "And the sounds of the seagulls, the smell of fresh salt air? It would be heaven!"

Lloyd had promised he'd start looking soon. He marveled at Sheila's capacity for enthusiasm and activity, despite her handicap. The one thing he did not share was her conviction that life would be extended so her blindness would someday be curable.

"Once in a while we get a spontaneous remission," the surgeon had said. "Light seems to start filtering in, and then vision comes back. Maybe three cases out of ten thousand. Otherwise, the condition is totally inoperable. It could be fifty years before we're able to get to that part of the optic nerve safely. I'd advise against any expectation of her ever seeing again."

"They're here, Sheila!" called Lloyd, as he saw the light blue station wagon pull up out front. Once more, he'd made an excuse not to attend the meeting.

"But they're such nice people," Sheila had said repeatedly. “I’m sure you'd like them!"

"Until the medical community endorses it, I wouldn't touch it with a ten foot pole!" Lloyd would say. The very idea of being frozen at death was bizarre and grotesque, to him. He would go along with Sheila's wishes, since it gave her hope, but that was the extent of it! He would only go so far!

Sheila came out, dressed for the meeting, and Lloyd couldn't help thinking she looked absolutely gorgeous. At thirty five, her figure was like that of a twenty year old, and she kept her hair in perfect condition. The thing Lloyd couldn't understand was how she managed makeup so expertly. "It's just a matter of feel," she'd said. "I start out by washing very completely and then only use so much. The people at the clinic helped me understand what the limitations were, and that was absolutely essential!"

"Amazing," he'd said, and Lloyd continued to be amazed at how Sheila took care of herself. His friends would ask if it were a burden of any kind for him, and he'd say, "You've got to be kidding! Sheila looks like a movie star, she's brilliant, and stays informed on things. I can't keep up with her in most of it. There's just this one thing she's convinced of..."

As she left the house, Sheila stopped at the rose bushes and took a perfect bud for her dress. She knew exactly how each thing she wore looked, and what matched, and could do things with her imagination most women couldn't do standing in front of a mirror. She walked carefully down the stairs to the street, and gratefully took the hand that helped her into the car. "My favorite day of the month," she said, as the car moved off.

*****

"Folks, we're all familiar with the problem!" Jay said, as the meeting started. "No one has the slightest idea of what we're up to, and we can't seem to get through. We've grown to almost three hundred members, and it's still the same as when there were only a handful of us. Organ banking is proven on an experimental basis. Why can't people see what we have, and what it would mean to them?"

"Jay, you've been President of this group for a long time,” said Sheila. "I don't see why it's a mystery to you! It's just a matter of credibility! People follow their leaders, watching what they do. They're like sheep; it doesn't have to make any sense. If enough respected political leaders suddenly decided to have their right hands amputated, all of us who'd still have two hands would be regarded as freaks!"

There were chuckles from around the room. "But Sheila, that doesn't help us figure out how to change it!" said Barry, a burly fire fighter. "Every day I see people slipping away, dying, because of this 'follow the leader' thing. I can't even get my folks to come to these meetings. They think we're all crazy!"

"I'm afraid we have to be patient, Barry," Sheila replied, her voice serious. "We think because we've seen this it should be easy, but I think it's just the opposite. If we knew exactly what it took to see cryonics in a positive light, I feel very sure this alone wouldn't solve our problem. It might make it seem even more hopeless!

"Suppose you put me on the deck of the sinking Titanic. I wouldn't be able to see the ship pointing nose down in the water, but I'd be able to tell everyone is upset. Now suddenly suppose I can see! Does that change the condition of the ship? Not at all!" Sheila took a deep breath and continued. "Most people out there are doomed, like dinosaurs going into an ice age. Some of us are more like mammals, and we might survive! We all look pretty much the same on the surface, but underneath, in our minds, there's something that's very different from person to person. If we could see that 'something', we'd have the impression that some of us are dinosaurs, some are mammals, and some..." she smiled, "are insects!"

After the laughter died down, one of the younger women asked, “What about Lloyd, Sheila? You can't seem to get him interested! Does this make him some kind of dinosaur? What do you think Lloyd's hang-ups are?"

Sheila was silent for a moment. Then a tear rolled down her cheek. She dabbed at it carefully, trying not to smear her makeup. Her voice was unsteady as she said, "Susan, Lloyd and I are very close in some ways, and I don't really understand it! It’s so painful I have problems dealing with it. No, I don’t think Lloyd is a 'dinosaur', but I'm afraid someday I'll lose him! I wish I could tell you how that fits in with the dinosaur example!"

*****

The meeting took up business one item after another, and before long it was over. Susan asked Sheila if she'd like to go out to dinner, and the two of them left together.

Later, waiting for their meals to arrive, Susan said, "I really didn't mean to put you on the spot, but I've got the same problem with Larry! I can't just walk away, but I don't know what to do! I'm afraid that if something were to happen to me, I wouldn't even be frozen! He's so antagonistic about it I can't bring the subject up, yet in every other way we're very happy together! He's probably upset I'm not home now, even though I told him I'd have dinner out and would be okay. You seemed to understand this so well I thought maybe you could help!"

Sheila touched her chin for a moment. Her forehead wrinkled slightly in a puzzled way, and her face reflected a mixture of curiosity and humor that was uncommon among even those who had the power of vision. Then she said, hesitantly, "If you wanted to see through a very long, narrow tube, you'd have to have your head in just the right position, wouldn't you?"

"Sure," said Susan, "but..."

"So if your eyes weren't lined up just right, you'd miss it!” continued Sheila. "In my case, after I lost my sight, I became desperate to see again... tranquilizers for almost a year. Finally, it was the hope of living long enough to see again that got me interested in cryonics. What about you, Susan? Is there some kind of special 'lining up' that took place in your life about the time you got involved?"

Susan looked at her hands for a moment, then glanced up at Sheila. There was something at the edge of her mind she could almost put her fingers on, but it seemed to keep slipping away. Then she had it.

"My father died six months before I joined," Susan exclaimed with enlightenment. "He was only fifty six! I went to the cemetery every day for months! He'd slipped away from me and I was very angry about it. Then, without really connecting the two things, I saw a TV interview on cryonics, and that was it! Do you suppose each of us has a similar sort of history?"

"That's hard to say!" said Sheila. "Jay just read Ettinger’s book and was off and running. Did he have some other experience, too? We don't know! But whether it's a special viewpoint or whether it's something that happens to us, it's very rare. How do we get any good out of it? How can we help others see it?"

"Maybe we have to reach out for those special viewpoints in some other way?" said Susan in a wondering tone. "Maybe we have to create situations in people's imaginations that help them understand it without a personal disaster? Suppose we got people to imagine a loss of some kind, very personal, and then brought up cryonics?"

"I don't think so!" said Sheila, shaking her head, smiling. "People protect their feelings too well! They'd smell that and close up like a clam. Maybe it's not too different from ‘dinosaur' and 'mammal', after all?"

"I don't want to leave Larry," said Susan, "but I can't give up my chance to be around to see the future, either! You have the same problem! What are you going to do?"

"I don't know," said Sheila, "but you're right. Eventually, something has to change!" She considered her own situation and was dismayed. Unlike Susan, she was very dependent on her husband. "I'm thirty five, in good health," Sheila said. "For now, I guess I'll have to keep my fingers crossed. I'm sure Lloyd would do what he could to cooperate. He knows it would mean more to me than anything else, if something should happen. I'll just have to live very carefully!"

*****

The months passed, the meetings came and went, and it seemed like the same discussions took place over and over. Sheila's roses bloomed, then withered in the autumn, and bloomed again the next spring. By then, though, they were about to move. Lloyd had found a home on a hill overlooking the ocean, and royalties from the patents made it no trouble at all. After the move, Sheila planted roses and relished the roar of waves below, the delicious smell of sea air, and the cries of birds whirling and diving above the water.

Two things troubled Sheila. The meetings were difficult to attend, and Lloyd seemed to be tiring more easily. He had headaches frequently; his appetite was waning. One evening in bed, in the darkness, Sheila ran her hands over Lloyd's forehead and was shocked to feel a cool moistness. "Are you all right, Lloyd?" she whispered. Lloyd replied he was OK, but Sheila began to worry. Lloyd was not a complainer, and she felt he might be getting ill without realizing it.

"I'm really concerned about him, Susan," she said, after the next meeting. Susan had been making fifty mile round trips to take Sheila to the meetings, and now was even more worried about Sheila being so far away, with someone who might be in danger.

"Isn't there anything we can do to get him interested?" Susan asked. "Do you ever talk about long range things at all?"

"Very seldom," said Sheila. "How I'd love it if we could! But he's always been interested only in his inventions, and they're the kind of things that take just a few months. Sometimes I think he's never looked very much further than that ahead!"

One night, Lloyd was particularly silent. In bed, Sheila had the feeling his breathing was irregular and labored. "Are you sure you're all right, Lloyd?" she asked softly.

"Lloyd? Lloyd?" A choking sound came from Lloyd as he tried to speak, but couldn't. He gasped; Sheila pictured he was trying to sit up but was unable to do so.

Sheila reached out. Lloyd was chilled, trembling, soaked with sweat. "Lloyd!" she cried. "I've got to get help!"

Sheila reached for the phone, but suddenly wasn't sure how to call for help. She dialed Susan's number without thinking, and was startled to hear her voice at the other end.

"Susan! I dialed your number by mistake," Sheila said. "I should have tried to call the fire department, I guess. Something’s wrong with Lloyd! He can't even talk, and doesn't seem to be breathing well! I'm terrified! Can you help call an ambulance or something?"

Susan panicked. "I'll call Jay," she cried. "He'll know what to do!" She hung up and rang Jay's number. "Sheila's husband is having some kind of medical crisis," she blurted. "I know he's not signed up, but we have to do something!"

"Barry's an EMT in the fire department near there," Jay said. "They'd handle this anyway! Let's call him, and then I'm going out there, too! Sheila's blind and under stress! We don't want something happening to her in the midst of this! Hang on, I'm going to do this with a conference call. You'll hear me dial!"

"I'm going too!" said Susan. She noticed, trying to dress, crawling out of bed toward the closet hanging onto the phone, that Larry was stupefied, dumbfounded.

*****

Larry went along, saying he didn't want Susan running off alone in the middle of the night. When they drove up to Lloyd’s and Sheila's place on the bluff overlooking the sea, there were so many cars Larry supposed a party was going on. They parked, hundreds of feet back down the driveway, and walked to the house.

Barry had called in a second rescue unit, and Jay had arrived just after the first unit pulled up. A number of other members had found out what was happening from Jay's wife and weren't going to let Sheila see this through by herself. The house was practically crawling with paramedics and cryonicists, when Larry and Susan walked in. There, in the living room, in the middle of it all, looking much better, was a very astonished Lloyd.

"We'd better take you to the hospital for an exam," said Barry, after things settled down a bit. "It's pretty clear you've had a heart attack, and we want to be sure you're fully over it!"

"Okay," said Lloyd, still pale and weak. "Is somebody going to stay with Sheila?" He looked around the room. "I never knew you had so many friends, Sheila!"

"They're more like family," Sheila said, tears running down her face, "but I'm not staying here! I can go along, can't I, Barry?"

"Of course you can!" said Barry, smiling. "You can ride with Lloyd. I'll bet you're not going to be alone at the hospital while you're waiting, either!"

Lloyd wasn't the only one who was astonished. Sitting in the waiting room at the hospital, Larry was bewildered by all these people who had miraculously appeared in the middle of the night when trouble arose. "If something had happened to me?" he asked Susan later, on the way home.

"It probably wouldn't have been quite the same," Susan said. “We could imagine what it would be like for Sheila, and that's why so many of us rushed out there! But Sheila's right; in many ways, it's like a big family! There's only a few of us, and the rest of the world hasn't the slightest idea of what we're all about! If we don't take care of each other, who will?"

Larry was silent, the rest of the way home. The next day was Saturday, and Susan noticed he was still very distant. Suddenly, Larry got to his feet. "I'm going to see Lloyd," he said. "No, you just stay here, Susan... please! I want to go see him by myself!"

No one knew just what Larry and Lloyd said to each other that afternoon, but they both started coming to meetings after that. Lloyd became a fanatic about health food, and Larry signed up for a paramedic course. It seemed, a year later, as if they'd been members as long as anyone could remember.

*****

Sheila and Susan began to spend more and more time together. One afternoon, waiting for Susan to arrive, Sheila found herself sitting on the patio overlooking the sea, listening to the waves rolling on the beach below, holding a rose in her hand and stroking its soft petals. The happiness in her seemed so intense she felt she would burst. Then she noticed a peculiar sensation, as she raised her head to the sound of the seagulls. It was as if there were more light.

Sheila blinked her eyes furiously, and the intensity of the sensation increased. There was movement in the sensation, and she closed her eyes again and rubbed them, then blinked them open once more. As if by magic, the movement before her eyes resolved into blurry seagulls, then into sharp, white birds sailing lazily against a background of deep blue sky with puffy clouds so bright she could barely stand it. She glanced downward and was giddy with the sensation of endless greenish-blue waves stretching to the horizon. She almost screamed, then clasped her hands to her mouth. It would startle Lloyd, she thought... I've got to just take each second as it comes!

Turning, Sheila saw the door to the patio open. A stylish brunette stepped out of it. Then she realized, it was Susan! Fascinated, Sheila watched as Susan walked daintily down the brick steps, her broad brimmed hat shading her delicate features. She's here to spend another afternoon with me, thought Sheila.

Susan had a strange feeling as she approached Sheila. It was the perceptiveness of Sheila's eyes! "Oh my God!" she cried, as she realized that Sheila was looking at her. Tears began to run down her face. The two of them held each other for minutes, before stepping back to look once more.

"Let's get Lloyd and go down the stairs to the beach!" Sheila finally laughed. "I've never seen it before! I want to go running in the sand! See sand swirling in the water! Come on, Susan, I've never even seen Lloyd's shop since before he started doing robotics, years ago. I can't wait!"

Lloyd heard excited voices outside the workshop door and suddenly Sheila burst in, closely followed by Susan. "What are you so delighted about, Sheila?" he asked. "And why do you have your eyes all squinched shut like that?"

Sheila shook her head, eyes tightly closed, smiling so happily Lloyd found himself smiling also, without even understanding why. Susan was having trouble controlling her laughter, but managed to say, "Lloyd, just for a moment, close your eyes. Sheila wants to show you something!"

Lloyd closed his eyes obediently, still smiling. Then Sheila tiptoed over to him, opened her eyes as widely as she could, and flung her arms around his neck. "Okay, Lloyd, you can look now,” she giggled.

Lloyd opened his eyes. There was Sheila, grinning and staring into his eyes nose to nose, in a focused way. As he fully realized what had happened, Lloyd felt his knees give way underneath him and the two of them collapsed on the floor, hysterically laughing and hugging each other. After a moment they sat up, gasping for breath. Susan sat down on the floor with them, and for what seemed like hours, both Lloyd and Susan looked at Sheila, as she glanced back and forth wordlessly from one to the other, beaming impishly and wiping her eyes.

Gradually, Lloyd's expression became more serious. He stood, took Sheila's hand, and helped her up. Susan rose too, and the three of them walked out onto a deck overlooking the ocean.

Sheila leaned back in Lloyd's arms, the brisk sea wind on her face, and felt her mind asking 'what now'? She sighed, and after a long moment said decidedly, "I've often wondered what I'd do when I could see again. Now I know. There's blindness about death out there which afflicts the whole world. I'm going to end it, once and for all. Don't ask me how, right this minute. I just know this job is mine. Watch out, World! Here I come!"

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RETURN TO TABLE OF CONTENTS

The old man dreamed he was young again, running just behind Annette through the dew covered grass, toward the river. They reached the river bank, Annette turned and he swept her up into his arms. As he stroked her soft, golden hair, she whispered, “David, David, David..."

"David, David, David..." said the old nurse ever more loudly, as she shook his shoulders. Her once blonde hair was tied tightly in a knot and her thin frame wavered as she rocked him back and forth. "It's Annette, David! You've been dreaming again! You'll wake the others!"

In a crowded convalescent hospital, it was hard enough to get them to sleep at all. One noise maker could keep the rest up half the night. Then they were generally crankier the next day.

David peered up from his pillow at the old nurse, squinting at the light from the hallway. "Yes, Annette," he croaked hoarsely. "I was dreaming! Why didn't you let me dream?"

"You're always dreaming," she said. "Even when you're awake, you’re dreaming. You can dream all you want; you have to do it more quietly, that's all!"

David, eighty six years of age, was remarkable, but unable to fully take care of himself. His once muscular frame was shrunken and wasted. His face showed the gauntness that precedes a final decline of aging. One of David's dreams was reaching out to be part of the future, by any means--attempted suspended animation, perhaps! But Annette would not hear of it for herself, and yet--well, Annette was the most joy filled thing in his life; in most of the lives of the others here, too! She could turn a room from dark depression to sparkling lightness with a single, giggling, "Good morning, everyone!"

"Annette," he said, taking her hand, "please go listen to them! I know you'd see things differently if you could hear it from people who knew all the details!"

"C'mon, David, we've talked about this before," Annette laughed softly. "Even if it were completely proven, I'm a long way from needing it anytime soon."

And yet there were times when the work was very tiring. This morning, she'd have to help old Mrs. Bonhard get a shower; then there were two new arrivals to get settled before supervising lunch. She really loved these old people, but at night she frequently just collapsed into bed; the alarm seemed to go off almost immediately. Perhaps she was too old to work here as a full time nurse, Annette thought. Maybe she should just retire and become one of the crowd.

Later that morning, Annette felt dizzy. She sat down for awhile and everything seemed better. Then about midafternoon, after settling a quarrel between two oldsters, the dizziness hit again. She sat down and noticed a little difficulty breathing. There was a pain in her chest, and the dizziness got worse. A young nurse walked by, and she called, "Sarah, I don't feel so well, could you help me get..." and Annette felt herself falling down a deep well, turning and twisting in the dark, where voices could not quite be heard, until after a while the lights came up.

A fuzzy figure wearing a white coat stood over her. Its voice said, "That was a close call, Annette. You'll have to take it easy for at least a couple of weeks, then maybe some light duty for a few months, and, you're going to have to get more sleep. Maybe you should consider retiring!" Then she slept.

David managed to wangle Annette being placed in his room, during her recovery. Annette was better, but was haunted by the terrifying memory of her heart attack--had nightmares about it.

At David's request, members of his cryonics organization came by to talk. "But how could I ever afford it, David?" she asked, after they left.

"I've worked and saved for almost seventy years," David said. “I have no relatives. If you'd go along, just for companionship, I'd be happy to buy the ticket!" Annette protested, but then gave in, gratefully. David wanted more than anything to suggest they get married, but resolved to wait. Just one month, he told himself. Just one month.

When Annette was fully signed up, David arranged for her to be cardiac monitored by a phone link system. Any abnormalities in her sleep would trigger a call to a central monitoring station. The cryonics organization would know immediately, if there were danger.

Annette had been wearing her bracelet for about two weeks when one night, shortly after midnight, she felt a dull pain taking shape in her chest. It grew, yet she hoped even as panic spread that it would go away. She didn't want to alarm David; his health was too fragile! Still the pain increased. Her heart began to pound. She heard some soft clicks as the phone system turned on.

Ten miles away, a sleepy technician looked at a computer screen, when a tone sounded, then actuated a bank of phone alert message devices. Within less than three minutes, two cryonics EMTs were in a rescue vehicle heading for the convalescent hospital. Other people across town were dressing, bound for the same location. Beside David's bed, a phone buzzed insistently. He picked it up and heard a mechanical voice saying "Annette Schaum, number 5149, Oakway Convalescent Hospital, 3342 Broadway, Glendale, severe tachycardia, Rescue Unit and Transport Team 5 respond immediately."

David frantically switched on the light and sprang to Annette’s bed. There was no respiration, no pulse. "Help," he screamed, "Annette needs CPR." He swept the contents off a tray, slid it quickly under her back and went through the initial steps of cardiopulmonary resuscitation before anyone else even entered the room. Two nurses arrived and watched, paralyzed momentarily as the spindly old man gave CPR, exertion making his breathing labored, beads of perspiration breaking out on his forehead.

Then one of them cried, "Oh, Mr. Brungard, let us take over,” and they rushed to help. David let himself be pulled away, pleading, "Be careful, please!" and watched to see if the compressions were right, if the respirations were effective. He was about to jump in again to help, when the door burst open and three men wearing white coats pushed their way through, carrying a heart-lung resuscitator and other equipment.

"I'm Doctor Johnston," the taller of the three said, and moved immediately to Annette's side. "What are the instructions for this patient?"

"Resuscitate, with medications to prevent brain damage," David blurted, before anyone else could speak. "She's a cryonics patient!"

"And I'm a cryonics doctor!" Johnston said pointedly. "She’s fibrillating! Let's try to convert it! Joe, get an IV in place. We may need this HLR!"

Minutes passed. Defibrillation failed, successively, in spite of medication. Consulting physicians arrived and verified condition and prognosis. A gurney was rolled in. Transport was about to take place. "I want to go along," David insisted.

Doctor Johnston considered a moment, looked at David's chart, and examined his bracelet. "We know you're under a lot of stress," he said understandingly. "Will you take a sedative and sleep in the lab's crew quarters?" David nodded eagerly.

After arrival at the suspension facility, Doctor Johnston examined David and got him settled in the crew quarters. He persuaded David to have monitors installed. Then he told him to try to sleep--the procedures would take almost an entire day. When David awoke, Dr. Johnston promised, they'd bring him up to date.

Three hours into Annette's suspension, one of the technicians rushed into the operating room. "David's in trouble," he said urgently. "I've already called Dr. Johnston, and he's on his way back over here."

Shortly, David was under resuscitation. The prognosis was not good. One hour later attempts to resuscitate were abandoned, clinical death was pronounced, and a mobile heart-bypass system was used in a corner of the operating room to stabilize David biologically while awaiting suspension. With full extracorporeal circulation underway, as David's temperature began to drop, one of two technicians attending him turned to the other and said, "With all this metabolic support, isn't it possible he'll just wake up?"

"Not likely!" the other technician answered. "He was sedated to begin with, and now his temperature is dropping. At most, he'd be in a dream state of some kind. You know, he told us all he loved Annette and they were to be married, soon. I guess he wanted to go along--not to be left here without her!"

The old man dreamed he was young again, running just behind Annette beneath a sunset sky, toward the hills. They reached the lower slopes, Annette turned and he swept her up into his arms. As he stroked her soft, golden hair, she whispered "David, David, David..."

David looked down into Annette's smiling, youthful face. Her sparkling eyes, rich with experiences of a long, exciting life, eclipsed even her stunning beauty. Rivers of strength flowed through David's powerful shoulders and arms as he lifted Annette and kissed her, then he noticed the sunset was growing deeper and felt a chill in the air. He held her closer and gently said, "Come on, Annette, we've got a long way to go. Soon it will be dark! Look at the sky--you can already see a few stars! Perhaps we'll go out there and visit them, after we've slept a bit!"

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This is Issue Number Two of LifeQuest, originally published

by Imladris Corporation in November, 1987. It is protected by copyright.

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Fred & Linda Chamberlain

Life Members, Cryonics Institute; link below:

History of our involvement with cryonics