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'Til Death Do Us
by
Gary Cuba
When we lose one we love, our bitterest tears are called forth by the memory of hours when we loved not enough.
—Maurice Maeterlinck, Wisdom and Destiny
A liar should have a good memory.
—Quintilian, De Institutione Oratoria
"Tsk," the reanimation technician said.
Agency rules precluded him from making a more appropriate statement, one closer to the personal disdain he felt. He wished he could construct a properly vilifying arrow of rebuke to shoot at the whimpering cad who sat on the other side of his desk. An arrow whose tip he might have dipped in the rankest dung before he nocked it.
The client, George Conklin, patted his eyes with a soggy handkerchief. "She was the love of my life. My true soul mate. Over the last few weeks, I've come to realize that. I've been so empty, so lost. Oh, to see Maria walk through that door, alive and whole again! Then I can spend the rest of my life making amends to her . . ."
"And so we shall soon make you whole, just as we made her whole, Mr. Conklin." Undoubtedly so, he thought in disgust. He jabbed an icon on his touch-screen display and caused the Atonement Act documents to appear on the client-side monitor. "As well as making you fully expiated. Please approve this closing paperwork for the Clerk of Court."
George held his wrist out and gave a quick series of thumb-to- finger taps to kinesthetically trigger his embed's approval code transmission. "Only four days to spare before the Court-imposed deadline. Cutting it kind of close there, weren't you?"
"The head trauma was severe," the technician said. "The shotgun wound had essentially taken out her entire cranium. We had to access all the way down to level three data from her last Quantum Tomogram. An inordinate amount of nano-knitting had to be done inside Maria's new skull. You know . . . it would have been more thoughtful to everyone involved if you'd used a smaller caliber weapon."
George sniffed and wiped his nose in reply.
"And now if you'll kindly acknowledge fund transfers for the fees and Court fines, and authorize the obligatory post-reanimation care file stream to your embed, we'll bring her on out." The wages of George's sin transmuted themselves into cold, hard pixels on his monitor.
The technician watched George wince slightly as he again tapped out his kinesthetic code, this time much more slowly. "Just remember that Maria will need time to catch up with things. She'll only recall events leading up to her last government-authorized QT, which was seven years ago."
"Ah, our joint pre-marital QT scan. I still remember it fondly. Did I tell you how much in love we were?"
"Right. Well, as I was saying, Mr. Conklin. You'll need to be patient and understanding while she readjusts to the present. And please be watchful for odd behavioral changes. Ah, here she is now . . ."
Maria walked slowly and unsteadily into the office, helped by another technician. George stood and she smiled brightly at him from across the room. "Darling!" she said. He ran to her, and they embraced tightly. Both blubbered and simpered and cooed unintelligible things to each other as they left the office, arm in arm.
The technician sighed and closed the Conklin case e-file. It had gotten quite large—but of course, neither of the Conklins could possibly know that. Six visits now for the mister, and five for the missus. Arranged chronologically in neat interspersed turns, one spouse after the other. If the pattern held, he'd be seeing Maria sitting here in about six months, give or take, with her own Court Order to reanimate George.
It would be too much to hope, he thought, that they could ever manage to murder each other simultaneously.
Gary Cuba lives with his wife and a continuously fluctuating number of dogs and cats near the Congaree National Swamp in South Carolina. His stories have appeared in Jim Baen's Universe, Fictitious Force, The Late Late Show, AlienSkin, and Drabblecast. He unwraps his inner world on his website, thefoggiestnotion.com.
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