The Reincarnation

Dr. Persey had not slept well. The combination of his excitement over the leopard and his concerns about the other doctors had conspired to rob him of rest. Regardless, he rose. Today was the day to meet the press.

Grabbing the phone in his room, he punched in the numbers that brought him in contact with the Media Lab. As the extension rang, he wondered if they would go through with his request, or if they would stall and double check that he was telling them the truth about Bishop requesting the independent media as well as them.

“Media.”

“Hello. This is Dr. John Persey from the MCA Cryonics Lab. I’d like to request some press.”

“Event?”

“As you may know, things are really picking up here at Cryonics – remember we had you folks in here last week? Well, we have a new event, one that I’m sure you’ll be interested in –”

“Event?”

“Yes, the event. Well, I’ve – we’ve – brought back an extinct animal, one that no one has seen alive for decades, and I thought –”

“Time?”

“Ralph Bishop will be here soon, so –”

“Time?”

“This afternoon.”

“We’ll be there.” The extension went dead.

Dr. Persey held the phone away from his ear like it was a snake that might sink its venomous fangs into his cheek. Damned media, he thought, could they be any more impersonal?

Now he was faced with a decision he didn’t want to make. He had planned to talk with Media and get them to call the independent press. He knew they had done it before for another Lab, but he didn’t know how – not that he had been given any opportunity to present the question.

He pulled a magazine from his lab coat pocket and unrolled it. It was the one he had learned that the leopard was extinct from. It had a picture of Ralph Bishop on the cover. It wasn’t a picture, though, it was a caricature. Ralph Bishop was drawn as the devil. Instead of arms and legs, he had tentacles. His suction cup encrusted limbs were wrapped around the world, squeezing it. Blood dripped from the suffocating Earth into a beaker. The gradations drawn on the side of the beaker were marked with dollar signs. The headline read:

YOUR WORST DREAM/NIGHTMARE COME TO LIFE

HIS LIFE STORY

WHAT IT MEANS TO YOU AND I

They need a proofreader, Dr. Persey thought. That should have read “YOU AND ME.” He turned back the cover. Realizing there were a few Constitutional rights the Church hadn’t been able to overturn yet – freedom of the press among them – he saw the phone number for the editorial offices of the magazine.

Jack, he told himself, this is where you are crossing over a line. One you promised the Church you wouldn’t. But what about Bishop? another part of his mind countered. He was certainly bending the rules. Eating meat. God, calling the independent media was a trifling compared to that. Surely he wouldn’t be damned for such a minor infraction. This other part of his mind prevailed, and his fingers went to the keypad on the phone. They dialed.

“In These Times. How can I help you?”

That’s much better, Dr. Persey thought, much better indeed. How friendly they sounded. How absolutely courteous.

“Hello. I can’t tell you my name, but I want to let you know about a miracle that has taken place...”