"Oh! For Chrissakes! Not another one!"
"Don't moan at me, Bob, ain't my fault."
"How many more were found in that crypt, Dave?"
"I don't count 'em, I just deliver 'em." Dave said with a shrug as he wheeled the dolly forward into the crowded medical facility. "Where do you want this frozen Pop?"
"Oh, funny, hilarious, what a riot!" Bob grumbled as he quickly typed another entry into his computer console.
He should have taken his alternate assignment. What had their ancestors done? Had it become a religion? So many cryogenically frozen ancients. What idiot on the Global Council had passed this asinine bill? He'd be stuck here for years, cataloguing, coding, passing on those who could be revived and those that could not.
"Well? Where do you want him?"
"Shit, Dave! Be careful!" Bob shouted, but it was too late, the canister fell over, cracking open like an egg on the hard plasteel floor.
"Oh - oh!" Dave winced as he looked at the bits of broken, frozen human, escaping from the canister. "What we gonna do?"
"No problem. I've got it covered."
Bob smiled in
satisfaction
as he entered:
"Serial number: A517450382.
Cause of Death: Broken Heart."Copyright © 1999 Genevieve Brown
