No More Time

“So what is the pod supposed to do?”

The old man in the corduroy vest taps a finger against his chin. “Let's see – Sorry, the technical explanation goes over most people's heads. Have you heard of cryonics?”

The large box in the center of his cozy lab is covered in strips of interwoven black metal, creating a hard and bumpy shell with a scaly crisscross pattern. A single porthole on the front looks in, though the material is smoky gray and opaque from a distance. Perhaps a small submarine, or a freezer built large enough to hold a person standing within.

“Is that like cryogenics? Freezing people?”

“Indeed!” He walks closer to the box, gesturing for you to follow. “Inside the pod, we can fix space so that, for all intents and purposes, time is prevented from passing. We call it a stasis field.” Pulling at the side, he opens the front door on whining hinges to reveal the interior. “You might say it is exactly like being frozen, but much easier to un-thaw because there are no in-between phases.”

Inside the box is a plain and mostly empty space. No straps, no harness, no handrails, not even a chair. The walls are a bright white material, a dully reflective metal or plastic. Panels high up in the corners appear to have small speakers or vents.

You glance at the old man. “And I'll be the first human test for that unfreezing part.”

He grins. “The first whole human.” Lifting up his hand, he shows off a silvery cyberthetic finger which begins at the knuckle. “When the stasis field tests were smaller, I tried sticking a finger in and turning the field on. The meat and bone separated like they got in the way of a sharp knife. It didn't hurt until I pulled away.” His hand drops back and clutches against the box's door, opening the aperture a bit wider as he steps aside. “And when we turned the field off, my finger - it had been floating in the air like if it was encased in glass, but then it fell to the table. The surgeon who tried reattaching it said it was perfectly preserved, but -” He stops and stares down at his hand. “That felt like a good opportunity for something more moddable. Chips and tags, the usual.”

“Uh huh.” Stepping forward, you ease into the confines of the box. “Well, here goes.” The air inside doesn't feel different immediately …

But for every second you remain, the sense of something oppressive and heavy grows, coming from the shiny walls on all sides and the similar inner surface of the door. Something behind them is beating like a thick and swollen heart. The mechanics of this box? The blood pounding in your head? You hear the dull thuds as clear as anything.

“Thank you once again for volunteering on this groundbreaking experiment.” The old man starts to close the door. “Watch your fingers. Little joke.”

Without really meaning to, your arm barrels forward and holds the door just wide enough to see the old man's face – Partly because of the way he said you were volunteering, and mostly because a question just occurred to you.

“What really happened when you tried reattaching your finger?”

His smile fades as he looks down at his hand again. “Nothing.”

“Come on, that’s not right. My uncle once cut off his finger by accident, but they reattached it.”

“No, nothing is the truth – nothing happened. The surgeon did everything right, I'm sure, but – afterwards I couldn't move or feel it.” He looks up and meets your gaze with a shrug. “It was like the finger wasn't there.”

“Wait. Then will that happen to me, for my whole body?”

“No,” he assures you with a calmer smile. “The problem was that my finger got separated by the field's raw edge, but you will be entirely within the field. And like I said, my finger was perfectly fine afterwards. As you will be.” Nodding, he glances around inside the box, then back to you. “Ready?”

The question is absurd, as he must know. How can you be ready for the unknown? So what he’s really asking is whether you are mentally prepared to face that great mystery.

You want to shake your head. But you checked and double checked the fine print. This is the only way.

Nodding, you pull back your hand.

The door whines closed and shuts with a heavy thump. All is silent inside the box for a time. Will there be any way to know when the stasis field is activated?

Bending closer and staring out through the foggy porthole, you see the old man is now standing at a control panel built into a desk. He presses a button and you wince. Then a crackle of static comes from the upper corner behind you.

“We're going to start nice and simple,” he explains with his voice both distant and near. “A quick three-second test.” His hand moves across the panel, turning dials and adjusting knobs. “For you, it should be like the world has jumped ahead, almost like a dreamless sleep. And if you – I mean, you don't have to do anything special, but – maybe try to focus on what it feels like? At the very least, the moments immediately before and after.” While pushing a lever upwards, the static buzz from the speaker increases. “Although if you dream or anything else interesting happens, I want to know!”

His optimism is both impressive and maddening. You breathe in and out, standing back within the center of the box, trying to hold still and stay calm. But the pounding continues, growing louder.

“Alright, are we ready? Set? Good n