Life on Mars

Epilogue

There wasn't another vehicle in sight when Nathan Adler swung his Jaguar into the lab's empty car park. The admin block was situated in a large four-story Victorian building upon a small hill. The smell of pines along the landscaped path was always incredibly uplifting. There had been numerous additional buildings added in the seventies. For some reason, these were semi-buried beneath large grass slopes, and at ground level, the windows made them look like giant staring eyes.

Although the remembrance service was some weeks ago, he'd known there could be no real closure for him until today. Once he completed this final act, then perhaps his sleep would settle down again. Nathan was unsure whether it was illegal or whether any law even covered it. Even if it was a crime, then anyone who might be a victim would be long dead before or if it was ever discovered.

He unlocked the front door and involuntarily checked down the corridor towards the library where some weeks earlier, he'd arrived to find his dearest friend slumped in a chair. Almost as if his dear friend might walk out of that room and bid him good morning. He supposed, metaphorically speaking, he had intended to do that one day, although that would likely be beyond Nathan's lifetime. He started up the wide oak stairway to his right and thought back to the words he'd offered in Vic's memory.

"There are some human beings for whom their ullage writes itself," it was with those words that Nathan had proudly opened.

"Victor Robert Jones will be remembered as a great man in both life and death," he said, projecting his voice towards the packed congregation. "A man who took control of his death in the manner he controlled his life, with absolute certainty and commitment. He chose to leave us because the time was right for him and it was no selfish act on his part." Nathan's voice breaking up as it echoed through the church's towering space. "In his early life, he'd shown great talent as a musician, something he was very humble about." There had been good-natured sniggers from one or two who remembered the song that has brought Vic what might be more notoriety than fame. "This in itself had been a blessing and had allowed Vic to pursue his other passion, physics. Vic's success in business and technology made his company a household name but had never delivered the prize he sought above all else. I believe he hoped to find a way to see his dream a reality. He has provided his company with the remit and finances to pursue light processing technology. His wish to be held in Cryogenic suspension was certainly a measure of that belief and gave him the hope of one day being able to witness that success."

Comforting words to colleagues and relatives, but he knew them to be true. Still, he'd tortured himself that he'd provided the means for his dear friend to do what he did. Being a director of a cryogenics laboratory, Nathan had been enthusiastic about its potential. After it had all happened, he'd never showed anyone the letter but had carried out all his friend's instructions precisely, except this final one.

Nathan's computer fired up and illuminated the dim wood chip walls. As is his habit, he went next door and put the kettle on whilst it slowly booted into life. Returning with a steaming mug of tea, he felt the chill of the room. Running a hand across the bulky Victorian radiator, he felt a hint of warmth, it was early, but the place would heat up soon. He tried sipping his tea, but it burnt his lips and he dropped it down on the desk. Nathan pulled a well-creased piece of paper from deep in his wallet and opened it up on the desk.

 On it was a single word:

'Nova.'

Within a few dozen mouse clicks, he had opened up the cryogenic pod I.D. of his good friend Victor Robert Jones. Then he opened up a file he'd downloaded and the detailed profile of his friend before proceeding to swap one for the other. A moment's pause before he closed the windows and a small box popped up.

'Save changes? - Yes/no/cancel' it said.

Nathan paused before hitting 'yes' and the windows closed.

He snatched the scrap of paper from the table and crushed it in one hand. Standing, he pushed the chair with the back of his knees and walked over to the window. He peered through the steam rising from his cup out towards the main gate. The morning mist was clearing and the sun was struggling through the grey cloud. He could almost make out the lake from here.

'It might well brighten up later,' he thought as he raised the steaming mug to his lips and dropped the crumpled paper in the basket.