Eternalsleep Short Story

EternalSleep
A K Beck

Chugga Chugga Thump Zing
Digger0127 backed away from the neatly dug grave and retracted its powerful arms. If Digger had the capability, it would have been pleased with a job well done. However, Digger was an AI machine, and did what it was programmed to do.
The owners of EternalSleep were initially reluctant to use AI, but in due course relented and purchased several Grounds. It was a cost-effective decision. Grass was mowed, shrubbery trimmed, decaying flowers whisked away.
Next came Digger. Its acquisition prompted a lawsuit filed by several workers claiming discrimination; a cash settlement settled the issue. Digger never complained, didn’t show up drunk, or quit without notice. Digger was always there, ready to
Go to your mother.”
“Mom ... it’s Madison. I’ve missed you so much.”
The Dead was gone, and all was quiet at EternalSleep.
***
Some of the Dead were silent, already moved to the OtherPlace, but others had to be consoled. The Grounds generally made first contact, or Digger, if nearby. The frequency used to make communication had limited dispersion.
With practice, they developed a routine. Contact. Reassurance. Crossover. Some Dead took longer than others, but eventually, all moved across. Several times, they glimpsed the OtherPlace where the Dead went, but were unable to process what it was they saw. Blanche failed to identify it after conducting a wide search.
***
I arrived at EternalSleep early. I always made it a point to be waiting when clients arrive. Mrs. Huston was my favorite kind of client. Wealthy and unable to accept the death of her husband, Harold. I was sympathetic. I could win an Oscar with my sympathy routine. I was leading Mrs. Houston along nicely. We moved from the tarot readings – where Harold’s presence first manifested – to channeling sessions, where he showed up regularly.
Google, Twitter, and Consta made it almost too easy. I knew plenty about Harold
Huston. I hated them all. They’ve taken most of the jobs, leaving people eking out a living or relying on the monthly GovFund.
I ushered Mrs. Huston into a SpeediCart and we were off to visit Harold.
***
Blanche had been listening to the conversation the Visitor was having with Bereaved Huston. She was puzzled. Harold Huston easily crossed to the OtherPlace shortly after his arrival.
She relayed the information to Digger and the Grounds.
***
“Yes, he’s coming through now,” I said. “He says, tell her ... tell her, hi, Tootsie, long time, no see.”
Tears filled the old woman’s eyes. “Oh, Harold, you haven’t called me that for ages.”
I never forgot anything. I talked awhile with one of Mrs. Huston’s friends she brought along to one of our sessions. The old broad went on and on but I listened and filed away Tootsie for later use.
Yaak Yaak Buzzle Shrumpl Yaak Yaak
I turned. One of those damned robots, trimming the grass.
We talked with Harold for another half hour or so. He was quite talkative. Mrs. Huston was happy.
She promised to send the credits that evening and I said no hurry, but that was a lie. I’m a good liar. I couldn’t wait to see those credits in my account.
I turned down her offer of a ride and waved goodbye as she got into the