//------------------------------// // Thaw // Story: Leftovers: A Friendship Is Optimal Story // by Chatoyance //------------------------------// F R I E N D S H I P ⋅ I S ⋅ O P T I M A L Based On 'Friendship Is Optimal' By Iceman LEFTOVERS By Chatoyance 1. Thaw He gradually became aware that he was staring at his hands. His hands were in front of him, just above his belly button, and he was holding them palms upright. His belly hairs tickled his wrists. He closed his hands into fists, then opened them again. He did this several times. He could see his toes, far below, and briefly focused on them, and then on his junk. He was naked, but he did not feel cold. Nor warm. The temperature was perfectly neutral. There were other feet, and legs, beside him, to the left and right. On his right, the legs looked shaved, on the left, legs far more hirsuit than his own covered pale flesh in a fuzzy, dark web. He noticed bare buttocks in front of him, lower down. He was standing beside naked people on a level step, there was another level of just as naked people one step below his own. He turned his hands over. His dark knuckles wrinkled as he flexed his fingers. He felt dazed, unable to think, as if he had just awoken from the deepest of sleeps. He took a breath, the air making a soft sound as he sucked it past his own teeth and lips. More awake now, his circumstances began to dawn fully upon his mind. He jerked his head upright, from where he had been slumped forward, and quickly searched the environment with increasingly worried eyes. It was dark outside, straight ahead. Pitch black, beyond the people around him. If there were walls, he could not make them out. It felt, to his feet, as if he were standing on marble, perhaps, or a hard plastic. His soles felt a surface, smooth, yet not frictionless. Around him, on three levels, were at least a hundred naked people. Men and women, children too, of almost every age... though there were no toddlers. The youngest child seemed to be around nine, perhaps. The oldest in the group could have been in their nineties, or even above. All were standing upright, about a meter apart, within a large, three-tiered circle. Everyone seemed to be equally unsteady. He watched as one woman clearly went through the same process he had just gone through. When she finally raised her head with a start, she began rapidly turning her head, looking this way and that. Everyone was well lit, from above. Everyone could see everyone else, clearly, in the circle. The people had been arranged so that the shortest were on the lowest level, the tallest on the upper tier of the... stadium? Pit? Circular stairs? The staging seemed deliberate. The light was harsh, clinical. He looked up to find the source. There was none. No brightness above, just absolute black, the same as the walls, if there were walls. This bothered him, it disturbed something deep inside him. There was bright, hospital quality light shining down, but the 'ceiling', if that is what was up there, had no bulbs, panels, or any source for that light. It was unnatural. He forgot his nakedness, he forgot the strangeness of his situation and hunted for anything that could be generating the stark illumination. There was nothing, nothing at all. The light was coming from nowhere. It just was. He noticed his breathing was faster. There was a tickle, a tingle, on the back of his neck. He smelled his own sweat now, faintly, but very much there. Finally, as his mind became clear, truly clear, the strangeness of it all fully impacted him. Nobody was trying to leave. All those people, just standing in three circles, on three round steps, and not one of them was budging from where they stood. He turned around, to find himself nose to belly with a bloated, aged stomach. The lower part was covered in sparse, curling hair. The older man stood above him, on the third, highest step. He wanted out, he wanted to find a door. "Excuse me!" He tried to push past the old man, to place his foot up on the higher step, to get to the top, but he couldn't. He couldn't step up, he couldn't move forward. No matter how hard he tried, he could not move away from where he stood. He spun in place and attempted to step down, past the young woman below him. "Excuse me! Let me through!" He noticed the panic in his own voice, and the way his breathing was faster still. His legs worked. His feet moved. But he couldn't step down. He tried to the side, attempting to barge through the older woman on his right. He couldn't, and he could not understand why. He raised his arms, his hands. He made a fist in panic, to hit, or to push. No matter what he tried, or did, he literally could not make the motions that would drive him beyond where he stood. He could not touch any of the people around him. His hands moved toward them, but as they drew close, it felt like his muscles lost power, as if his limbs just gave up trying on their own. After a certain point, his own body would not obey him. It did not shut down, or become clumsy, his legs and arms did not act apart from his wishes. They just would not, could not, interfere with anyone beyond him, nor propel him beyond his little meter-square of whatever he stood upon. He jerked, a full body shock of surprise and fear. He was in no danger of falling or tripping, something he could not explain even to himself. Somebody was yelling, screaming, in terror. Somebody that was not him, somebody not far from where he helplessly stood. "WHAT'S GOING ON?" The man was young, probably in his twenties. "I CAN'T MOVE!" The man had a short van dyke, brown hairs upon his young face. "I mean I can move, I'm moving right now, only I CAN'T WALK ANYWHERE! GET OUT OF MY WAY! MOVE! STOP BLOCKING ME!" The frightened man kept repeating himself, clearly attempting, over and over to walk, to run, anywhere, at all. He simply could not accomplish the task. In his terror, he had chosen to blame those around him for the failure of his own limbs. "I CAN'T MOVE EITHER!" Another man began to shout. And another. The chamber erupted in cries and calls, shouts and proclamations. He found himself shouting too, along with the others. He couldn't help himself. The fear was contageous, the situation impossible. A piercing whistle, nearly deafening in power, silenced the room. People put fingers in their ears, and rubbed and twisted. "OY!" the woman was rotund and looked as if she had recently been very unwell. "That's better! Screaming like a bunch of ninnies isn't going to help anything!" She took several breaths. The smell of frightened people was nearly overwhelming. The air seemed stale as well. "We can't leave, that's been established. Fine. Okay. Why are we here? Anybody know?" She turned to a middle-aged man to her left. "You! What's the last thing you remember?" "What?" The man was bald, very bald. Even his body appeared shaved. "Where were you, before you were here?" The woman was clearly using anger in order to not feel her own fear. "Before now, before you were here, wherever this is. Where were you right before being here?" The very hairless man seemed stunned by the question. He slapped his forehead several times. He squirmed in place. "I don't... no, I do... I was... I was in a hospital. Doctors. No..." The man rubbed his eyes. "Hospice. I was in a hospice... no, that was before. Then I was in a hospital. I wasn't very aware, then. It's all... it's all blurry." A man to the far right raised his hand. "Anyone here from Alcor?" He waved. "Alcor? Anybody from Alcor?" "CryoSpan!" An elderly lady called out from the lower ring. She was short, and also very bald. She stood hunched, desperately trying to cover both her bottom and her top simultaneously. "I was set up for CryoSpan!" "TransTime!" Shouted a portly man with a beard. He held both of his hands low, to cover himself as best he could. "I'm Alcor! Alcor UK!" The man was thin, very thin, and had thinning hair. He stood like he was a lifelong naturalist, unashamed. The portly woman who had whistled nodded. "Cryonics Association of Australia. My children said they set it up. Chloe? Amelia? Are you here? CHLOE??" "I'm Chloe." The girl was perhaps eleven. "But I don't know you. Who are you?" "CHLOE? AMELIA?" The woman kept calling out the names for a short while, then fell silent, sobbing. He spoke. "I'm Alcor. I was paid up. I got a brain tumor. I don't remember much after that. Hospital, obvously. I don't remember being frozen. Name's Lewis." The woman beside him on the middle step, arms folded to cover her breasts, turned her head. "You wouldn't. At least, I don't think you would. They told me that we might lose things. They didn't know how much, or what." The corners of her eyes crinkled, her mouth puckered slightly. "I'm sorry. I don't remember either. Not anything. I don't even remember getting sick or anything at all. My name's Imogen, by the way." She turned away for a brief time. "My husband... Robert... was really into all of that freezing stuff. I remember that. Is that what... did he...? How?" "I'm Olivia Turner." The woman who had whistled introduced herself. "Aussie, born and raised, as if you can't tell. I think I'm spunky, but... I'm not sure I'm up for this..." she looked at her feet "Whatever this is." "Jayden" The twenty-something with facial hair gave an embarrased wave. "Sorry for freaking out, there... I don't usually freak out. I'm usually pretty good in a crisis. It's just a little... you know..." "I'm Bouchard" The man rubbed his very bald head with a hairless hand. "Antoine Bouchard. I'm from Gatineau. I had the cancer." "Me too!" The stout man with the full beard held up his fist in solidarity, as if cancer were a club or a sports team. "Call me Issac. I'm from Canada too. Toronto. Go Leafs!" Antoine laughed. "I'm..." She tried to stand taller, but it was clear that her first priorty was keeping herself covered with her hands and arms. Her thigh wrinkles sagged and wobbled, while her bald head shone under the invisible lights. "I'm missus... just call me Isabelle. I'm Isabelle." She juggled her flesh to keep it hidden, but it was a losing battle. Lewis had no time for modesty. All of this felt increasingly like a trap to him. "Everyone!" One hundred and thirteen people turned their attention to him. "Introductions can wait. The important question..." He ran his fingers through the tight coils of his short, dark brown hair. "...the question is, what is this place? Does anybody know anything? I'm thinking..." he looked around at the crowd that encircled a large empty space "I'm guessing that everyone here was cryopreserved. We're all meatsicles. Am I right?" "I don't know! I don't remember anything!" Imogen shrugged her naked shoulders. "I mean, my Robert was interested, but..." "That's good enough... Imogen." Lewis inwardly congratulated himself on remembering the woman's name. He turned his attention to the crowd "We're either signed up popsicles, or we had friends, family, that were oriented in that direction. I'm betting that anyone who can remember anything used to be sick. I'm not sick now, and I don't think you are either. Not anymore." Murmurs rippled around the room. Assents and acknoledgments, descriptions of illnesses. Cancer was common, along with heart disease and old age. Emphysema. A woman named Cassie vaguely remembered being in a crash of some kind. Olivia whistled again. Ears were prodded again. Lewis gave a nod at Olivia. "So, we're back. Whatever this is, it's what comes after. Anyone notice the lights?" One hundred and thirteen people began searching the space above them. It was black, like the 'walls', black like ink, black like closed eyes. "There's nothing!" Jaden stroked his Van Dyke. "Nothing at all. No light sources." His beard seemed to fascinate him. "But there's light!" "Exactly." Lewis pointed at the 'ceiling'. "No seams, no panels, and no light sources. Everything is just black. No struts, beams, or supports. No nothing." "Maybe... maybe it's a really big room?" Little Chloe shuffled, her hands clutched tight to her pelvis. She stared at her feet. "It's a thought..." Lewis felt sorry for the little girl, but then there were a lot of children, boys and girls both, mostly on the lowest tier. Some just kept crying, softly, others had sat on the dark whatever that counted as a floor. "But I don't think so. Lights have to have a source. In the real world, at any rate." "The real... world?" Imogen, to his right, narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?" "Oh, fuuuu..." Jayden lowered his hands where he had been sheltering his eyes as if that would somehow help him find the nonexistant spotlights above. "Just... god. I see where you're going with that. Damn..." "What about the lights, what are you talking abou..." Issac did not have time to finish. In the middle of the chamber, in the large circular space around which all one hundred and thirteen people stood or sat, something was happening. The children, and those among the adults too, stopped quietly sobbing at the sight. A sphere, small at first, began to expand. It was filled with light and color, and increasingly with sound. It was like a television program, some thought. In seconds the sphere became massive, filling the center of the three rings of steps that held the crowd of naked humans. The sphere was a hole, a window into another world. It was clear, and open, and they could feel breezes from it. Their nostrils filled with the scents of breads and flowers, pies and cakes and vegetable stews bubbling in hidden pots. The sound was that of a crowd, a market, busy and filled with idle snippets of conversations, laughter, and the odd shout of excitement. The portal tracked until it centered on two amidst the large market crowd. "Get the pie! It's pumpkin, your favorite. And missus Pumpernickel is just the best. I can carry it! I'll balance it on my head. You know I can!" "Alright, fine. You win. I love her pie. I want that pie." Lewis - and one hundred and thirteen other people - gasped or swore, or stood rigid in shock and surprise. The marketplace was not filled with humans. The two that the strange, round window had chosen to focus on were beastial creatures unlike anything any one of them had ever seen. Large, gigantic heads with equally enormous eyes. Tiny, almost infantile muzzles and mouths. Tall upright animal ears. Rounded, quadrupedal bodies with impossibly thick, wide hooves. They were every color of the rainbow - green and blue, purple and red, wild colors, unnatural colors. Long, luxurious tails they freely waved about. Gorgeous hair that covered their huge heads in every manner of human style and cut. Some wore hats, some wore coats and sneakers and boots. Most wore nothing at all, save saddlebags, filled with items from the marketplace. The same strange beast... people... worked the curiously archaic stalls and booths and restaurant counters. Some pulled loaded carts, others sat in those carts. Lewis made a noise of surprise. Some of the creatures had wings, and they flew in the sky. Some had horns, single horns, in the middle of their bizarre heads. "My god!" Imogen beside him muttered. "They're doggies or something!" "What is this?" A voice seemed to speak the question that was now on everyone's minds. Lewis had no idea who has said that. It could have been anyone on the steps. "They are looking... sort of like..." Antoine scratched his closely shaved head. "What is the thing... alpacas, maybe?" "They look like story-book characters..." Jayden had no interest left for his facial hair, his hands hung at his sides. "...Cartoons. Like Bambi. They're not deer, though..." "That one is a unicorn!" Chloe had brightened considerably. "A unicorn! See the horn? And that one..." She pointed up to the 'sky' within the round portal "...that's a pegasus! It's got to be a pegasus! Like from mythology books! They're..." Little Chloe had forgotten, in the exultation of her discovery, all of her fears and worries and nakedness. She gestured wildly and freely. "They're horses! Like cartoon horses, only real, see?" All of the people of the three rings of steps were riveted to little Chloe's words. Lewis noted that the sound from the 'screen' in the middle of the room appeared muted, as if it were deliberately allowing the girls words to be heard. "They're cartoon unicorns, pegasus...sus...ses... and just horses! It's a world of horses! Or ponies, 'cause they're pretty small. Look how short their legs are. They look small. Ponies! They're all unicorn ponies and pegasus ponies and pony ponies! Storybook ponies! Only they're all real! They're alive and they're real!" Immediately after she had finished speaking, Chloe's eyes widened greatly, and she clutched her hands tightly, balled into fists, held closely to her own shoulders. She vibrated up and down on the balls of her feet, a wide grin growing on her face. "Real. Real pony people in a real pony world filled with flying pony pegasus people and unicorns and..." Lewis looked around. Chloe was not the only child clearly pleased with the proceedings. There were several young girls that seemed over the moon at the same realization, and there were a few very young boys who seemed equally pleased. But the vast majority of the adults seemed confused, or stood mute in shock, and some of the adults seemed as though they were building to some shade of angry. Was this truly what awaited after an unknown time at liquid nitrogen temperatures? Was it some bizarre afterlife? Were they on trial, was this hell, or some court of judgement? The inability to flee, to move, combined with the three rings, the strange tiered steps, seemed more than a little Dante-esque to him. His hands clenched into fists, but they were not the fists of joy that Chloe held close to her bosom. Frozen, cryopreserved for who knows how long, and all he could do is watch helplessly as two colorful, storybook animal-people, one with a horn, the other with wings, shopped for pies in what looked like a medieval marketplace. Lewis looked to his right. Imogen stood shaking quietly, her mouth slightly open. Slowly she turned her head to look at him. Imogen slowly closed her mouth, and swallowed. Her breaths came in shallow pants, her nostrils flaring with each puff of air. Her head rotated, almost mechanically, as she faintly shook, back to face the round window into the fantasy world. The sounds of the marketplace were returning. The 'ponies' were discussing cinnamon buns now. Lewis heard Imogen, under her breath, just barely loud enough for his ears. "Oh, Robert, what've you done to me? What've you gone and done?" .