The Prisoner - Carlos J. Cortes [99]
“I agree; the previous setup wasn’t economically feasible,” Laurel said.
“Economic viability was only part of the problem. The fact is, the old system didn’t fulfill any of the goals it set out to do.”
“Was the old system better?”
“No, and the question has been debated to exhaustion. I’m just saying there are still flaws in hibernation, but there will be no return to the old system.”
“Why not?”
“In itself, hibernation is a strong deterrent because of fear. Prisons weren’t scary enough.”
“No wonder.” She darted a glance toward Russo, and it suddenly dawned on her that he couldn’t have changed much in eight years. “Has he aged?”
“Patients in hibernation age differently, but we all age.”
“He’s supposed to have aged only slightly. Isn’t that right?” She looked at Russo again.
“Yes, only slightly, but you must factor disbalance in.”
“I’ve never heard that term. Did you make it up?”
“Not at all. Disbalance is one of the paradoxes of hibernation. Slowed-down metabolisms arrest aging but not completely.”
“From what I’ve heard of hibernation, decay progresses but at ten percent of the normal rate. A prisoner can do a century and return with a body only ten years older.”
“That’s the theory. But reality is different. Disbalance is the phenomenon of differently aged cells sharing the same organism. Some of the cells in a living body continue to work regardless of temperature or metabolic speed. I’m referring not only to the nervous system but also to the respiratory, digestive, circulatory, and endocrine systems. After prolonged periods of torpor, the body hosts a weird mix of free radicals and other antioxidants that serve cells with different lineages—I mean cells that have evolved at different rates. This may trigger the immune system to act unpredictably.” Floyd turned toward Russo and nodded. “That’s one of the problems with him.”
“Will he pull through?” Laurel asked.
Floyd moved his hands to form a sphere in midair and then peered into his imaginary crystal ball. “Some contend the future can be known and anything short of accepting predictable doom is denial. Others contend the future has not yet unfolded and may harbor untold possibilities.”
“How can you be witty in our situation?”
He lowered his hands. “Because I don’t know what to say, except that miracles sometimes happen.”
Laurel shook her head, suddenly weary beyond description. A miracle?
“Wa … ter—”
Laurel and Floyd jerked their heads toward Russo’s bed, where suddenly a miracle had occurred.
chapter 34
22:45
Still no word from Nikola.
Odelle Marino kicked her shoes off and closed the penthouse door with her foot without turning around. She laid her briefcase and the file she’d been reading in the back of her official car on one of the matching sideboards flanking the entrance. During the forty-minute drive from DHS headquarters to Chesapeake Bay, she’d studied Hypnos’s breakdown for the next fiscal year—including a hike of more than seven percent in the fees the corporation charged the American taxpayer per inmate and day.
She darted a quick glance around and sniffed, her unconscious routine when arriving home. Right temperature, right smell, and right order. The Venezuelan couple caring for the gardening and house keeping were inching toward their green cards. After a quick detour to the kitchen to gather a tub of raspberry mousse and a spoon, she climbed to the upper floor.
The vast bedroom walls had been decorated by Greek artisans to resemble the houses dotting the Aegean Sea islands, in rustic and rough plaster finished in blinding white with several coats of whitewash. On the ceiling, scores of triangles crafted from stout ivory canvas and held tight by ropes overlapped to cover most of the surface. Fluffy clouds in an azure sky peeked from places where