The memorandum, delivered by a man in green, made it clear that the accident was unfortunate and the company took the remains to the Hall of Resurrection. A nice gesture, Molly thought, to send a real live person to deliver the news. She called for a taxi and sped to the Hall.

Molly watched the cityscape melt into a blur through the tinted faux-glass. She began to imagine life with a new Roger. Death on the job usually meant retirement with a full pension; they could leave for the lunar cruise as soon as his coordination and muscular function were back. She pondered the possibility of a small cabin on one of the new Aleutians. Perhaps, with the pension and death bonus, they could live their dreams now instead of scrimping and saving for another 15 years.

“Destination achieved,” barked a metal-box voice from the front of the taxi. “Hall of Resurrection.”

Molly slid her fee card, nodded to the robot, and hopped from the cab onto a white platform. The doors of the hall stood 20 yards away — tall, sweeping doors emblazoned with silver imprints of Da Vinci’s “Man.” The slogan, “New Life Now,” arched above the entrance in large, block letters. She smiled at a few people milling about and hurried into the hall.

In the lobby, Molly dodged the great Resurrection Fountain, a stylized sculpture of a man rising from a frothy pool, his hands stretched toward the sky. She sidled to the reception desk and waited while the attendant tapped away on her keypad.

“Name?”

Molly started. “Oh, me? Molly Preutis.”

“No ma’am, name of client?”

Molly’s face stained red. “Sorry, I’ve never,” her eyes floated to the domed ceiling, “well, I’ve never been here before. Roger. Roger Preutis. That’s my husband.”

The attendant nodded. “Yes. Someone will be with you in a moment.”

“Thank you.” Molly stepped away from the desk and scanned the room, fully realizing the beauty of the grand statue. She moved to the edge of the pool and looked into the bubbling water.

“Almost hypnotizing, isn’t it?”

“What?” Molly looked up and found herself face to face with a thin plank of a man with a smudge of black hair and thin glasses. “Oh, yes.”

“You’re Molly?”

“Yes …”

His hand extended and shook hers. “Quinton Boge. I’m a case manager here.”

Molly pulled her hand away, his skin suddenly feeling cold. “There’s been a problem, hasn’t there?”

Quinton’s lips fell into a mocking half-grin. “Well, yes. We’ve had complications with your husband’s case. If you’ll come with me.”

He ushered Molly into a cube of white-washed walls with a simple table in the middle. She’d been wringing her hands since the fountain, and only now, having sat down, did she tuck them in her lap. “Where’s my husband?”

“In a minute.” Quinton sat opposite her. “As I said, we’ve had a problem.”

Molly blinked. “Where’s my husband?”

“Your husband canceled catastrophic recovery six months ago.”

Molly caught herself against the table edge. “No … no …” Six months ago, she thought, we planned our trip ….

“We see this all the time…CR is expensive. We start a regeneration immediately, timing being important to save the brain.” Quinton tapped his temple. “The problem is…well, regeneration stops when such errors are found. The process is entirely automated. No insurance…well.”

Molly’s face bleached as white as the room. “Where is my husband?”

“The brain is intact, I assure you … but ….”

“But?”

Quinton sighed. “This is never easy. Here.” He held a small remote control toward one wall. The wall slid into the ceiling, revealing a glass pane and a parallel room on the opposite side, only the other room didn’t contain a table and chairs. On the floor, something human but half-formed, a limbless torso, squirmed. Molly’s first thought was of a great, hideous worm, but then the thing’s head flashed to the open wall, showing a face the color of raw chicken. Roger’s blue eyes blinked.

Molly stood, covering her mouth. “Oh god ….”

Quinton stepped next to Molly. “Like I said, the brain is still intact. But —”

“You have to fix him. Use the accidental death money … or the pension … from the company.”

Quinton shuffled his feet slightly. “We can’t do that. The regeneration process, once arrested, cannot be restarted. His body — what’s left of it — wouldn’t survive the strain. There would be irreparable brain damage, not to mention the tissue.”

Inside the other room, the thing writhed and flopped toward them.

“Oh god, Roger.” Molly touched the glass.

“He can’t see you, ma’am. It’s a two way mirror.”

She nodded, wiping her damp cheeks.

“Legally, we don’t have to inform the spouse. He’s officially dead.” Quinton held up the remote. “If there’s no next of kin, we simply neutralize. We like to give spouses the option … only if you want to. It tends to help with closure.”

“Option?” Molly shuddered. “There has to be another … what about prosthetics? Can’t he speak?”

“His neuromuscular structure isn’t sufficiently regenerated to support any prosthesis. He doesn’t even have vocal chords at this stage. I’m not sure how he —“

It worked its way across the floor. Quinton stepped to the table, laid down the remote, and moved to the door. “Look, when you’re ready, the blue button.”

He opened the door. “The process is completely painless. If you don’t feel like you want to … well that’s fine, too. Just let the front desk know.”

“You can’t do this to Roger!”

Quinton paused at the door. “Roger no longer exists. He died this afternoon, crushed in one of the die-presses at his job. That thing has no legal rights. I’m sorry.”

Molly slumped to the floor. She pressed her palm against the cool glass, watching as the thing on the other side opened and shut the hole where its mouth should have been. Its blue eyes fluttered against the glass wall.

“Oh,” Quinton held the door open. “Make sure to stop by the receptionist’s desk, either way. There’ll be a few papers to sign.”