The Fly House (The UtopYA Collection) by Misty Provencher Page A
Authors: Misty Provencher
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he'd climbed out of his tomb, he'd seen that the freezers stretched out in the underground cavern a lot further than he was willing to venture.
It brought up a hazy memory of the day he and his wife had been led down to what was then a well-lit show floor. The tiles were large white squares that shone like they'd been buffed with oil, the walls a serene beige, the white ceiling lit by long fluorescents.
Steven and his wife, Chloe, had followed their salesman, Clive, down a curtained hall which gave privacy to the other chamber occupants, already suspended. When they reached the chambers they'd purchased, Steven peeked around the curtain separating them from the rest of the room. There was enough empty space beyond to accommodate the assembly of a naval destroyer.
"Business slow?" Steven had joked.
"Hardly," Clive had laughed. "We're just awaiting the next shipment of chambers. Honestly, the spaces are selling so quickly, I don't know what we'll do once this warehouse is filled."
Steven and Chloe, dressed in the soft Archive jammies, took cookies and spiked herbal tea from a man dressed up as butler. It was like they were at some elite sleep over. They'd laughed like wealthy people do, with Clive, about rising like swamp monsters when they woke in a few decades. The details of the waking weren't crystal clear, except that Clive had reiterated how the Archive staff would be standing by, ready to assist.
"What if the surface hasn't been stabilized?" Chloe had asked.
"Simple. If the outer doors to the Supply room are sealed, it means we stay at the party down here a little longer. Remember the luxury suites I showed you? The two of you have a suite and access to all the amenities: the pool room, the spa, the five-star movie theater. You can make meals in your suite or join us in the dining room for your choice of gourmet dishes from our menu. It's a damn sad thing that the scientists are on the verge of a working atmosphere patch now, isn't it? Who wouldn't want a couple weeks lazing around in the Archive's lap of luxury? Gourmet meals, the massage parlor and sauna, billiards, bowling, a five-star theater...sounds downright miserable, doesn't it?"
Clive had winked at Chloe, with a soft elbow nudge.
"Awful," Chloe had giggled. Steven looked away.
"But what about going back up? It will be 17 years from now. Things change."
"Steve-o!" Clive delivered a mock punch to Steven's shoulder. "Relax! The Archive's services are there to make sure that you and your loved ones will have the smoothest transition possible, back into everyday living. Remember, your assets and accounts will continue to be monitored and invested by the Archive's finest financial advisors, with your executor always acting as an overseer. With the investors we have on staff, some Archivers are probably going to wake up trillionaires in 2030."
Clive radiated such confidence in his product that Chloe had developed an unshakeable faith in the system. Steven knew his wife had impeccable sense and a shrewd eye for detail, but the reason why he went along with the whole Archive idea, was that he couldn't say no. She had the purse strings and he had no prospects. Although their marriage had dried up to a passionless routine, it was still safe. He preferred safety to risk and convinced himself that plodding through a predictable life was enough for him.
After their snack, Dr. Welson had joined them. He administered three shots. One stung like a rusty thumb tack.
Steven had kissed Chloe the same way they'd always kissed goodnight. Chastely. She'd gone first, gingerly stepping from the short platform they wheeled in front of her chamber, into the silver box, and smiling at him as the doctor had adhered monitoring wires to her. She'd joked about how he could kiss her like Sleeping Beauty if he woke first and then, bam. She was asleep.
Any worries he had were put to rest with Chloe in
It brought up a hazy memory of the day he and his wife had been led down to what was then a well-lit show floor. The tiles were large white squares that shone like they'd been buffed with oil, the walls a serene beige, the white ceiling lit by long fluorescents.
Steven and his wife, Chloe, had followed their salesman, Clive, down a curtained hall which gave privacy to the other chamber occupants, already suspended. When they reached the chambers they'd purchased, Steven peeked around the curtain separating them from the rest of the room. There was enough empty space beyond to accommodate the assembly of a naval destroyer.
"Business slow?" Steven had joked.
"Hardly," Clive had laughed. "We're just awaiting the next shipment of chambers. Honestly, the spaces are selling so quickly, I don't know what we'll do once this warehouse is filled."
Steven and Chloe, dressed in the soft Archive jammies, took cookies and spiked herbal tea from a man dressed up as butler. It was like they were at some elite sleep over. They'd laughed like wealthy people do, with Clive, about rising like swamp monsters when they woke in a few decades. The details of the waking weren't crystal clear, except that Clive had reiterated how the Archive staff would be standing by, ready to assist.
"What if the surface hasn't been stabilized?" Chloe had asked.
"Simple. If the outer doors to the Supply room are sealed, it means we stay at the party down here a little longer. Remember the luxury suites I showed you? The two of you have a suite and access to all the amenities: the pool room, the spa, the five-star movie theater. You can make meals in your suite or join us in the dining room for your choice of gourmet dishes from our menu. It's a damn sad thing that the scientists are on the verge of a working atmosphere patch now, isn't it? Who wouldn't want a couple weeks lazing around in the Archive's lap of luxury? Gourmet meals, the massage parlor and sauna, billiards, bowling, a five-star theater...sounds downright miserable, doesn't it?"
Clive had winked at Chloe, with a soft elbow nudge.
"Awful," Chloe had giggled. Steven looked away.
"But what about going back up? It will be 17 years from now. Things change."
"Steve-o!" Clive delivered a mock punch to Steven's shoulder. "Relax! The Archive's services are there to make sure that you and your loved ones will have the smoothest transition possible, back into everyday living. Remember, your assets and accounts will continue to be monitored and invested by the Archive's finest financial advisors, with your executor always acting as an overseer. With the investors we have on staff, some Archivers are probably going to wake up trillionaires in 2030."
Clive radiated such confidence in his product that Chloe had developed an unshakeable faith in the system. Steven knew his wife had impeccable sense and a shrewd eye for detail, but the reason why he went along with the whole Archive idea, was that he couldn't say no. She had the purse strings and he had no prospects. Although their marriage had dried up to a passionless routine, it was still safe. He preferred safety to risk and convinced himself that plodding through a predictable life was enough for him.
After their snack, Dr. Welson had joined them. He administered three shots. One stung like a rusty thumb tack.
Steven had kissed Chloe the same way they'd always kissed goodnight. Chastely. She'd gone first, gingerly stepping from the short platform they wheeled in front of her chamber, into the silver box, and smiling at him as the doctor had adhered monitoring wires to her. She'd joked about how he could kiss her like Sleeping Beauty if he woke first and then, bam. She was asleep.
Any worries he had were put to rest with Chloe in
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