The End of Forever

The Arrival

There are some events in your life that you intuitively know are so significant, that even as they are happening you can almost feel yourself looking back on them from the future. You know that for a period of time, from then onwards, whatever happens will change you, and maybe even what you believe. That’s how it was that first day as the limousine took me past the high, grey-rendered security walls to the big, black, iron gates. There were no logos or names to identify the organisation that was headquartered there. It was deliberately unremarkable.

As with anything there had been precursory meetings, legal contracts, confidentiality agreements and an agreement on a more than satisfactory remuneration. For all this, however, I knew almost nothing of why I was there or what I was to do. I could think of a hundred people better and more widely recognised than me in my field of corporate relations. This only served to add to the mystery … no, the intrigue of that first meeting at “The Facility”, as they called it.

The countless security cameras seemed to have alerted them to our arrival and the impressively heavy gates slowly rolled open. Being chauffeur-driven in what was apparently the CEO’s car meant that we did not stop at the security gate but continued straight to the entrance that was somehow grand and austere at the same time.

As the driver opened my door he simply requested that I continue inside, and he would have my luggage taken to my suite. A mandatory part of taking this job was to spend one month onsite at The Facility for what they called “enculturation and training”. Everything that had been said to me so far somehow seemed to have a weight of meaning that I had not experienced in any of my other engagements with enterprise, or even defence. While they would not tell me what type of organisation it was, they did tell me that it was not a defence or an intelligence agency. Welcome words indeed given my past experiences, though somehow lacking in complete comfort given the secrecy. My mind had concocted a thousand different scenarios of intrigue and illicit contraband, but then, if that were the case, they would most likely not need someone like me to tell the world about their work.

Upon entering there were, of course, the obligatory identity checks and the requirement to surrender my license and even my passport, until I was “cleared to leave”. I had been assured that once the first briefing had taken place, I would have a chance to give my final word on whether I would accept the role and stay, or leave with no obligation other than complete confidentiality, which I was assured they took absolutely seriously. If I left immediately, I would receive six months’ salary and benefits. I remember thinking, ‘what could I lose by just playing along for the first stage anyway’. Yet even as I had thought so, I somehow knew, that was their carrot, and I was the willing donkey. Nonetheless, after all the interviews and tests and profiling evaluations I had undertaken in such a short period, I thought that six months’ salary may have been just about right, given the inconvenience and “intrusions”.

Security and identity formalities completed, I was shown to a room that I could only describe as a ‘library’ and was told that the CEO would send for me shortly. While the proliferation of books caused me to think of it as a library, it was much more than that. The amazing collection of books on medicine, biology, exploration, history, space, space-travel and religion demonstrated some sort of bias that was hard to work out. As I surveyed the room my eyes moved from the books to the baby grand piano in the corner beside the collection of spirits in the glass fronted bookcase that was surrounded by the accoutrements of a cosy personal bar.

The mixture of ultra-modern and antique was intriguing, but somehow it worked. It had been designed with a purpose and sense of style that succeeded, despite any preconceptions of interior design one may have had. It was so, ‘intentional’.

I had just nestled comfortably into a chesterfield in preference to a Queen Ann chair when an extremely attractive woman entered the room. It was very difficult to estimate her age from across the room. “Ms Troutier?” she asked.

“Yes, Audrey Troutier,” I clarified as I rose to my feet, hoping that my scanning of every inch of her from head to toe went unnoticed. She was wearing a tailored jacket with a knee length skirt, silk blouse and elegant green, patent leather shoes with the gold buckles suspended on the outer side by a thin leather strap. Her gold, half-rimmed glasses were elegant and added a learned character to her face. Up close she seemed in her early- to mid-fifties but her skin was so clear and free of lines that she looked much younger and was by any measure an attractive woman both physically and in her manner. Her jewellery was sparse but beautiful.

“Yes, of course, Ms Troutier. My name is Geneviève Magie. But everyone calls me “Genie”. Please feel free to do so as well. I think they believe it brings the hope of me being able to solve their problems with a nod.”

We chuckled at the thought, yet somehow her competent style enticed me to believe it to be true. She had already moved to the door and simply said, “Mr Robinson is ready to meet with you. Please come with me.” With that, we took a short walk down the corridor towards the CEO’s office.

As we walked, she continued by asking, “Troutier is a very esteemed name in journalism. Any relation?”

“Well yes” I replied. “John Troutier was my father. Oh, and please call me Audrey” I said.

“Well, Ms Troutier, let’s see if you decide to stay before we get to second base” she smiled. “Although, Mr Robinson is an impeccable judge of character and suitability. I’m sure we will be on more familiar terms soon.” “But I have not met him,” I replied.

“Oh Ms Troutier, believe me, he has done his research very well. You would not be here if he was not convinced you are the right person for the job.” She stated this with complete confidence.

“Oh, I see … Well then, perhaps you should call me Audrey” I said, and we both smiled.

We had reached the door of ‘Joel Robinson, CEO’. She opened the door and announced me. “Ms Audrey Troutier, Mr Robinson. But she believes we should call her Audrey if you have done your homework well enough.” There was a knowing smile between Mr Robinson and his assistant, and I felt more than a little awkward at my earlier smart aleck comment.

I scanned him as well and as they say, ‘first impressions’ … He was a mature and attractive man that just seemed to exude integrity, honesty and a level of commitment to his mission uncommon in this day and age. His bespoke tailored suit was from a beautiful fabric with a subtle pin-stripe, blue shirt and perfectly tied blue and gold silk tie.

“Please take a seat Ms Troutier,” he said as his outstretched arm gestured towards the seats around his conference table. His office was unusually large and as eclectically appointed as the Library where I had waited moments before.

“And Ms Magie, could you please send in Mr Abrams?” he requested as she was leaving the room.

“Of course, Mr Robinson. Right away.” she replied.

Mr Robinson was a man in control of all in his domain. One of those people who probably never needed to raise his voice to make a point. He had true power but also seemed well aware of his responsibility to use it wisely, and that power be mixed with kindness as appropriate.

“So, Ms Troutier, no doubt you have a great many questions about The Facility, our work, why we have asked you to join us for the next six months, and even about me. Please feel free to ask any questions you have, and I will do my best to answer them all,” he said as we sat down at the conference table.

Now that the offer of questions had come there was an uncomfortable silence as I struggled momentarily with which question to ask first. Just as I said, “Well, Mr Robinson …” there were two firm taps on the door and a gentleman entered the room and strode towards me with hand outstretched. He shook my hand with the handshake you give to a lady when you know how. It was just firm enough to indicate confidence and purpose, but not uncomfortably firm.

“Ah Ms Troutier, Benjamin Abrams, COO. Pleased to meet you in person,” he said as he joined us at the table with his little wad of manila folders.

“I am pleased to finally meet you as well Mr Abrams” I replied. “Especially after our phone calls and the many meetings with your staff.”

“Oh, they were not my staff, Ms Troutier. We exclusively use an intermediary agency for our sourcing and negotiations for reasons of confidentiality. It will all become quite logical in this meeting”, he clarified.

All I could think to myself was that, at last I would get information; answers to my questions, and hopefully, clarity on those things that mattered to me doing my work, whatever that was going to be …

Mr Robinson turned to me while simultaneously reaching out to Mr Abrams who handed him one of the manila folders.

“Before we begin, Ms Troutier, I have a revised Confidentiality Agreement I would like you to sign. This one is more stringent than the last. Essentially, when it comes to our requirements for confidentiality it removes all your rights and gives you no recourse. It requires my written permission for any information to be passed to a third party outside of our organisation. Take a few moments to read it, it’s quite short.”

Having read many such agreements before I scanned through the standard clauses and then read in detail the new conditions which were exactly as Mr Robinson had described them. I quickly went through the scenarios in my head regarding my refusal to sign, my loss of rights, ‘what if … ‘. There was no need to ask questions. I would either sign the new agreement or exercise my option to leave. While it would normally be completely out of character for me to sign such a document, it did not ask anything I was not prepared to do anyway, so I picked up the pen and signed it, in a somewhat precocious manner as if to call a bluff. I slid the paperwork back across the table to Mr Robinson who looked again at Mr Abrams and requested, “Benjamin, will you do the honours?”

Mr Abrams reached across the table and started to tear up the signed document to my astonishment.

“The agreement you have already signed with the assent of your lawyers is quite sufficient, Ms Troutier”, he said. “It was, if you like, a final test of your attitude to the utmost concern we place on these matters. The document is relatively meaningless and probably not even legally binding in this situation but your honest preparedness to act in the way we requested is sufficient for our needs. And now, Ms Troutier, let us proceed with the disclosure of all you need to know.”

The Disclosure

At this point, Mr Robinson rose from his seat, strode slowly and deliberately to the front of his desk and then sat on the corner of it with one arm folded across his chest and with the other, he rested his elbow on top of his folded arm, placed his hand on his chin with index finger and thumb following the jawline. He remained pensive for a moment and then stood up, looked me directly in the eyes and asked, “Tell me, Ms Troutier, what do you know about cryonics?”

I half stuttered at what seemed to be a question out of place and replied, “It’s when they freeze people, isn’t it?”

“Yes, at its most basic level, that is correct”, he said. “But there is a great deal more to it than that.”

As he said these words I began to understand that this was not a random test of my knowledge. It had something to do with my role here. No sooner had I thought this when Mr Robinson continued.

“It is what we do here, Ms Troutier”, he pronounced with a sense of gravity and importance and paused briefly to give me time to process those words. He then continued, “Let me paint the picture a little more clearly for you … The people who decide to enter a cryonics program are not ordinary people. They are wealthy enough to be able to afford it. They are often powerful people with powerful families. They want to extend their lives beyond the timeframe of whatever terminal illness they have contracted. They have ‘unfinished business’ with the world. Some of them may even wish to live forever, but mostly, they want to conquer the illness that would otherwise have robbed them of their time.

“For our part, we have a contract with very specific requirements and responsibilities. We are bound to ensure that when all conditions have been met, that they are ‘reanimated’ and receive the proper medical cure that will enable them to continue their lives. While contractually we cannot guarantee their good health and cure, we are legally bound to provide them the very best medical experts and facilities and whatever other care they may need. We have a very clear duty of care for our residents.”

No doubt he saw the puzzled look on my face as he used the word ‘residents’ to describe people that lay frozen in The Facility. “You seem to be having difficulty with the term ‘residents’”, Mr Robinson commented.

“Well I had not thought of what term should be used and the idea of, shall we say, frozen people being residents took me by surprise”, I said.

“You wouldn’t be the first”, he said reassuringly. “That term, like everything else in our organisation and The Facility, has been carefully chosen. Benjamin has higher degrees in finance, law and engineering. I will let him explain.”

I had almost forgotten that Mr Abrams was sitting with us because my attention had been so focused on what Mr Robinson had been saying.

“Thank you Joel”, he said and seemed to be excited at the very thought of sharing something that crossed his multiple domains of interest and expertise. “On the one hand Ms Troutier, it’s quite simple, but at the same time, the use of an inappropriate term could create both a legal and ethical minefield.

“The people who have been cryonically treated here are not dead, they are alive. Our program does not take dead people and hope to bring them back to life. They are frozen prior to death. They are alive. That is the whole point.”

Mr Abrams' voice was becoming more emphatic to ensure I understood the significance of these issues. He continued, “One can accurately say, they are living here, and on that basis, they are indeed residents, albeit immobile ones. When the time comes, we are required to ‘reanimate’ a resident in accordance with the terms of the contract and provide them the medical care they require. We most certainly do not, ‘bring them back to life’! We are not, and can never afford to be perceived as, making decisions as if we had some deified capability concerning life and death.”

“Yes, I see”, I interjected. “So, you want someone to give the appropriate messages to the public regarding your work here.”

“Oh no, Ms Troutier!” exclaimed Mr Abrams. “It is a matter of far greater significance than that.”

“I think I will take it from here,” Mr Robinson said quietly but authoritatively. “For the most part we have no real need of public relations. We tend to fly under the radar as best we can. People who need us tend to find us. It’s all business as usual. If we are asked for some comment or a journalist comes hunting for a story, Mr Abrams and I are well able to respond to any normal queries they may have.”

Noticing my increasing bewilderment as to why they would need me at all given the picture they just painted, Mr Robinson now sat once more on the corner of his desk adopting his thoughtful pose but with an expression of deep concern on his face. He paused for what seemed to be a long time, but I felt it was not the right time for me to say anything.

“You see, Ms Troutier, the required conditions have been met for us to reanimate one of our residents; the first one”, he said with a sombre tone in his voice that made the weight of his concerns palpable. “For all the reasons we have shared so far, and many more we still have to discuss, this is a matter that requires the utmost care. We believe you are the right person to provide that care. To provide our organisation with a pathway through a minefield of potential problems. We have assembled the ideal team of experts of all fields to undertake all aspects of this project. So, before we continue, are there any things you need to know to be able to make your decision to join this team or not?”

I paused for a while to gather my thoughts … “Mr Robinson, I have no experience in this field. Why me?”

Mr Robinson smiled, “No one has experience in this field.”