The Problem With Immortality Ch. 05

No, this had all been a mistake. It was time to try something else.

********

"You suggested it to her?"

Anson was incredulous.

"Yes, Dad," said the holoimage of Judy. "You don't know how depressed she was after you left her!"

"She could have died, Judy! That was totally irresponsible of you!" Anson raged.

"I researched this, Dad. The death rate at Death Incorporated is only .2% That's safer than driving an air car!"

"Judy, two people died during our little one week trial."

"Two people?" Judy was startled.

"And your mother took the maximum of risks. She did a trapeze act and had them lay down spikes over half the entire area."

"That's crazy!" said Judy. "I never intended for her to do that!"

"This was a terrible idea," said Anson.

Judy blinked rapidly, processed this quickly. "You're right. You're right, Dad. I'm sorry I suggested it."

"She won't even talk to me, Judy. You have to keep an eye on her. Make sure she doesn't go on the Weed or into the Dreamscape."

"Mom would never do that!" said Judy.

"After seeing how she recklessly risked her life, she's capable of anything. Promise me you'll keep an eye on her, dear. She's your mother. She still listens to you. It would kill me if anything happened to her," said Anson.

"All right, Dad, I will," said Judy. "I love you."

"I love you too."

Her image faded.

"I could have waited outside if you wanted to have a private talk," said Jessica, sitting on a couch.

"No, you already are fully aware of what's going on," said Anson. "You know all my secrets."

"Not all, apparently. What are these secret techniques you learned from the monks at Ju Chi?"

"Later. For now, let's get down to crunching some numbers."

********

They scheduled an appointment with Robert Klobuchar, the CEO of Death, Incorporated, two days later.

"So, Mr. Ford, did you enjoy your experience?"

"It was... an eye opener," said Anson.

"I'll say!" said Klobuchar. "Atmospheric surfing, wrestling with crocodiles, swinging over metal spikes... what more could you ask for? So, will you be recommending this to Mr. Odour?"

"I'm afraid not."

Klobuchar frowned. "Why not?"

"Because you're about to go out of business."

"I assure you Mr. Ford, that is not the case," said Klobuchar.

"Oh, but it is," said Anson. "My assistant Jessica and I spent the past two days analyzing some numbers. Your client base is confidential, but we have been able to piece together a list of several hundred of your clients from the past ten years, a large enough pool to be able to draw some data points."

"Such as?"

"Such as the average net worth of your clients is four million credits. But the average net worth of clients who die at Death, Incorporated is 200 billion credits. What are the odds of that?"

"Oh, Mr. Ford, do you know anything about statistics?"

"More than you, sir."

"Then you know that only a tiny number of people have died here. With such a small number, their net worth, or anything about them, is statistically insignificant."

"Then perhaps you will be willing to release a full list of your client base, and a list of all casualties since you opened for business, so I can generate a more complete statistical analysis?"

"Alas, Mr. Ford, I would love to, but that information is proprietary."

"Kayla Anbinder's cable didn't snap, did it? You ordered Henri to weaken the bonds on her cable so it would look like an accident."

"Really, Mr. Ford, why would I do that?"

"So you could inherit her 500 billion credits. She was the sole heir to the Anbinder fortune. Remember those temporary wills you made us sign? That's how you make your money."

"Really, Mr. Ford. What imagination! If what you say is true, are you also accusing me of the murder of Shelley Sanduval?"

"No. Shelley Sanduval killed herself, while trying to kill her husband. Which I also suspect you knew about," said Ford.

"Me?"

"Garrick signed one of those temporary wills. If he died, all his money would go to you. Unless... you and Shelly had worked out an arrangement in advance."

"Really, Mr. Ford! You have quite an overworked imagination!"

"There's only one thing I don't understand," said Anson. "If you didn't cause these deaths, you still could be fabulously wealthy. There's no need to murder your richest clients. Why would you do this?"

"Since I didn't murder anyone, it's a hypothetical question. But would you like a hypothetical answer, to a hypothetical question?"

"Why not?"

"Suppose someone had experienced a near death experience at the hands of terrorists."

"As you did, when you were almost killed during the terrorist attack on the White House, some centuries ago?"

"You have done your homework, Mr. Ford, I commend you," Klobuchar grinned. "But we were speaking of hypotheticals, not me. Suppose someone had nearly died at the hands of terrorists. And suppose that person learned that that terrorist attack was extremely preventable. Suppose that person learned that the government could have prevented the attack if it had taken the most basic precautions to secure its own airspace. Before the massive attack on the White House and the US Congress, we had a number of terrorist attacks that were attributable to foreign terrorists from Ramada. The government did nothing to tighten security."

"How are wealthy people to blame for this?"

"Everyone is to blame for this, Mr. Ford," said Klobuchar, staring at him with dark eyes. "The entire society, which for election after election puts the very same bureaucrats back into power, show a striking disregard for human life. All they want are their government handouts, their government Weed. They care nothing about the security of their fellow man."

Suddenly, it began to make sense to Anson. "And so, someone who starts a company which gives people near death experiences might be less interested in helping them appreciate life..."

"And more interested in seeing them suffer, and seeing the most prominent of them die horrible deaths," said Klobuchar, his eyes gleaming. "Speaking purely hypothetically of course."

"Of course," said Anson. He shifted uncomfortably, suddenly aware he and Jessica were sitting in the room with an unbalanced maniac. "You must feel sad to be going out of business, then."

"My dear Mr. Ford, I am not going anywhere. I am going to keep having clients, and keep providing them with near death experiences, and for a few, for a select few, actual deaths. It's what the public wants."

"Not from you," said Ford.

"Mr. Ford, you have no evidence against me. Merely statistical inferences."

"Statistical inferences which I am going to release to the public."

"I'll sue you for slander!"

"Great. That will give me even more publicity. Then I can subpoena your records. You wouldn't mind that, would you? In any event, once word gets out that only the richest of the rich die in your little ghastly theme park, you'll be out of business for good."

Klobuchar took a deep breath. "Maybe... it is time to put a break on the work. To reexamine our core principals."

"Starting today. And never restarting again."

"You make convincing points, Mr. Ford."

"I'm glad we've arrived at an amicable meeting of minds," said Ford, getting up. "Oh, and if Ms. Dhomes and I suddenly fall down and die any time soon, be aware that the information I've gathered will be on store at the International Council of Fixers, as well as one or two other unnamed places. I say this because, given your expertise in giving near death experiences, I wouldn't want you to be tempted to give me and Ms. Dhomes another free sample of your fine work."

"I thank you for your consideration," said Klobuchar, as sincerely as he could muster.

As they left the building, Jessica turned to Anson. "So... I guess we're not recommending this to Odour after all?"