Toilet?

Swirling liquid, pushed into a downward vortex around his pectorals, was his second sensation. Reflexively, he inhaled; a torrent of briny fluid burst from his lungs. Bracing himself against the lukewarm Plexiglas, he retched and gasped until he was exhaling only air. Hissing, the ducts above his head forced atmosphere around him until his glassine prison was dry.

A fleeting shadow caught his attention. He strained to see in its direction, but the distortion in the tube’s curvature against the opaline dimness of the space beyond thwarted him. He heard a subdued mechanical whine and his enclosure whispered upward; simultaneously, hand rails and steps materialized. He staggered momentarily and caught his balance. The rush of cool air raised gooseflesh on his extremities. Three halting steps and he stood, wavering, on the dank, rubberized floor. He took in his surroundings. He stood to one side at the end of a long, corridor-like room. Against the faint luminescence from the other end, he made out a jumbled silhouette of abandoned equipment and counted 16 pods, including his. Only two others had been vacated and, judging by the state of their neglect, some time ago. The rest were sealed and pristine.

A distant click. Bluish fluorescence marched down the center of the ceiling toward him. Startled, he shielded his eyes with his hands until his adjusting eyes brought them into focus. Slowly, laughter came until he arched his back and shrieked. He spied a large stainless steel refrigeration unit, doddered to it and shoved its double doors closed. In its brushed surface he could make out the fun-house contours of his naked physique. He stared until his amazement was consumed by a giddiness that made him punch at his reflection.

I’m Adonis! Thank you, God – and glycerol, and liquid nitrogen!

He broke into a makeshift jig that carried him deeper into the room, where he found against the wall what would have been a lab lavatory, with a sink and mirror. After reveling some more at the fine details of his smooth, muscled upper torso, he leaned in and traced with his fingers a barely discolored junction where his neck met the well between his shoulders.

No scarring – must’ve used something besides sutures or staples.

Something bumped his hip. He jerked his head around to see a small, wheeled cart, driven by – what? They both jumped away from the vehicle. What he saw was a slight, emaciated figure in a nondescript, hooded jumpsuit. His – Hers? Its? – skin was sallow and, through a pair of buglike, polarized wraparounds, the eyes were deeply recessed and appeared weak.

“Hey,” the unclothed one started, extending his right hand. The jumpsuit stumbled backward two paces.

“Okay.” He raised both arms, palms up, then slowly pointed at himself. “Name’s David – David Heller.”

No response.

“Don’t ask; biblical – Jewish. I prefer ‘Dave.’” Holding the point, he eased the other hand outward. “You got a name?”

The cart driver struck a wan fist to his sternum. “Rehab!”

“’S’cuse me – ‘Rehab?’”

Again, with the fist. “Rehab!”

“Right. ‘Rehab.’” David gestured. “What is this place? Where are we?”

Rehab jabbed a finger at the cart’s top tray. On it were a pile of clothing and what looked like a rucksack.

“For me?”

No response. David motioned between the goods and himself, and opened his mouth slightly.

Rehab stared.

David picked up the largest article, a seamless off-white bodysuit that showed a metallic, aquamarine sheen when reflecting light. He slid it on, wiggled his fingers into the melded handpieces, and zipped it up. He half-pirouetted for Rehab and grinned.

“Think you could take it out a little in the crotch?”

No response.

David shrugged and picked up the hard-soled booties with uppers made of the same, Kevlar-like material. He leaned against the cart and slipped his feet into them diffidently.

“So, Rehab – did Walt and Ted make it, too?”

Rehab eyed him suspiciously.

“Disney and Williams. See, that’s a little neuro-vitrification humor, right there…”

No response.

He zipped the footwear to the suit’s ankle shanks, stood up, and touched Rehab’s forearm gently. He recoiled.

“N’Awsm!”

David chopped the air with his hands. “Look – help a dude out here, will you? Christ – I’ve been a frozen entrée for God knows how long – well, was – and I have a million questions.”

Diffident, Rehab gathered a helmet and the pack into a hand and jerked the thumb of the other behind him.

“Moo Forr’d!”

“Huh? Uh – “

Seeing no percentage in throttling his only contact, David took the gear and shuffled in the direction given. He turned a corner and found a thin concrete staircase. He looked backward.

Rehab pointed toward the cantilevered door set in at an angle at the top of the shaft.