There was a “ringing” tone, musical and repetitive. Then a connecting sound.
“Hello, Mr De Leon.”
“Hello, Samuel. Please, call me Carlos - we’ve known each other long enough, all that time I spent with Abe - with your father. Thanks for this. Means a lot.”
“Ah, Carlos, OK. Ah, um - no problem at all. It’s no problem to talk to one of Father’s friends. I do remember you, in his study, when he was working on one of his books. And, er - at the ceremony? I don’t think we spoke.”
“No. I’m sorry - I wasn’t at the wake. Personal matter.”
“Ah, that’s ok. So, um - what is it I can do for you, Carlos? Your message wasn’t completely clear to me - you want to access Father’s biomonitoring logs for some kind of article? Also, ah… would it - would it be possible to use telepresence, or at least video for this? I’m not sure when I last spoke voice only, and I’m finding it a bit unsettling.”
“Sorry again - I don’t have the hardware for presence.”
“Oh! I didn’t think, I’m sorry, I-”
“Don’t worry about it. I’d prefer to stick to voice - lets me work with my hands whilst we talk. Yes, I want to see Abraham’s logs. You’re his next of kin, so your permission would go some way to unlocking those. I would appreciate it.”
“I’m, ah, afraid I don’t really understand - it’s his medical records and vital signs you want? What is this project?”
“I want to know how he died.”
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A silence.
“I… I can tell you that, Carlos. His heart gave out. A sudden ventricular tachycardia, to use technical language.”
Another silence. An exhalation.
“Why, Samuel?”
“I - I’m not sure I understand.”
“No, I’m not sure you do. Why, Samuel? Why a ‘sudden ventricular tachycardia’, a giving-out heart, why? If it was really that, just an old heart, giving up.”
“I’m not sure why. Does it matter?”
An explosion.
“Of course it matters! Of course it matters, boy! You may not fucking… we were made a promise, you, you all, we were promised that even though we couldn’t join, we couldn’t stop it, we would see death coming! I haven’t been reading charts, wearing these bloody things for my health, yes? How can you.. I .. and so if they do work, why the hell did he die without telling us? For a fucking joke? Haha, dead before you, you fucking chumps? Or, or, it was something he didn’t see - Something unexpected. I don’t know, he swallowed too much fucking toothpaste. Or something weird, I can feel it, or not, but I have to know, Samuel. I have to.”
“....”
“Listen, Samuel. You are first generation. You’ve seen death - your mother, Abraham, uncles, all the older people. But it’s different for us. You can only do so much, and I have to bloody do this.”
“I -
“Look, just let me have the logs. I’ll look at them, harder than anyone else damn will. If there’s something there, I’ll find it. Abraham’s dead already - what will he care? And then I’ll be gone and it’ll be like you never shared them.”
“Now -”
“I’m not going to publish them, anything I find, I’ll come to you first. Or are you going to wonder forever? Wonder if I’m right? Come on, let me have them. This is something I care about, rather than swanning off and spending the time I’ve got doing arse-all. I’m a worker, like Abe was. Come on, Samuel.”
“...”
A sigh.
“Ok, Mr De Leon. I assume you have a form, or something?”
“I’ve got a letter drafted, just needs you to read over it and add a signature. There is a form as well, for the company. I’ll send you both now.”
“Ok, I’ll get them back to you.”
“Thank you Samuel. I’m sorry for getting loud. I get passionate. This means a lot.”
“I.. I know. It’s ok. It means a lot to me too. Just - in a different way.”
“That's fair, Samuel. I’ve sent you the forms. Let me know if you have problems.”
“I will do. Ok - I’ll do these soon. Ah, bye for now then… Carlos.”
“Goodbye. Thanks again.”
A sound marks the call’s end, and the programme is closed.