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The gates of New Horizons greeted them with a strangely warm and inviting feel—ironic, Rachel thought, given the sort of work that went on inside.
First, there was the entrance flanked by a guard shack that looked more like a stylish pool house.
It looked like it might have been designed by Apple.
They were checked in, and the guard didn't seem to even bat an eye when they showed their badges in order to be given access.
Once they were beyond the gates, a long, paved drive led them to a thin strip of asphalt that served as the parking lot.
Rachel could see dense tree coverage beyond the perimeter—a natural barrier that promised additional privacy.
The morning sun caught the security cameras mounted at regular intervals, their presence both obvious and intentional.
This wasn't a place that hid its surveillance; it advertised it.
"Some setup they've got here," Novak said, pulling their Bureau vehicle up to the security checkpoint. The guard booth itself looked like it had been designed by Apple—a seamless blend of brushed metal and curved glass that made standard guard shacks look like relics from another century.
As they followed the curved driveway, the main building revealed itself gradually through breaks in the perfectly maintained landscaping.
The lawn stretched out in emerald waves, broken only by artfully placed native stone formations and clusters of local flora.
The cold temperatures of January gave the large, open space the feel of another planet.
Rachel had seen plenty of modern architecture in her time, but New Horizons looked like something out of a science fiction film.
The structure seemed to defy gravity—a sweeping curve of white composite and electrochromic glass that changed opacity as clouds passed overhead.
The main entrance featured a cantilevered overhang that extended at least forty feet, sheltering a circular drive without visible support columns.
The building itself appeared to float above its foundation, an illusion created by recessed lighting and clever engineering.
To say the building was striking was an understatement.
"Makes you wonder what the electric bill looks like," Rachel said, noting the vast expanse of climate-controlled glass.
But she knew the real energy demands lay beneath the surface, in the preservation systems that promised their clients a chance at a second life—or an extended life, she supposed.
It really all depended on how you looked at it.
The parking area was surprisingly modest—perhaps thirty spaces total—with a separate service entrance visible around the eastern curve of the building.
Each space was covered by an elegant solar array that doubled as a charging station.
Novak found a spot marked for visitors, and they made their way toward the entrance.
Automatic doors whispered open, welcoming them into an atrium that managed to feel both intimate and vast. The ceiling soared three stories up, but clever use of wood paneling and indirect lighting created a warm, almost cozy atmosphere.
A living wall of lush greenery stretched floor to ceiling behind the reception desk, which appeared to be carved from a single piece of white marble.
The air carried a subtle scent—something clean and vaguely botanical that Rachel couldn't quite identify. Maybe eucalyptus.
Water trickled down a geometric sculpture near the seating area, its gentle sound masking conversations and creating acoustic privacy zones. The floor was polished concrete, but inlaid with strips of metal that caught the light, creating subtle pathways that guided visitors through the space.
The receptionist looked up from her curved display screen, her smile practiced but genuine.
Her charcoal blazer matched the building's aesthetic perfectly, as if she'd been chosen to complement the architecture.
She looked to be thirty or so and was somewhere between beautiful and gorgeous.
"Welcome to New Horizons. How may I help you? "
Rachel showed her credentials as she and Novak approached the desk. "Special Agents Rachel Gift and Ethan Novak, FBI. We need to speak with whoever's in charge."
The woman's smile faltered slightly, a crack in the perfect facade.
"Of course. One moment, please." Her fingers moved across the hidden interface of her desk, the surface responding to her touch like ripples in water.
She turned away slightly as she picked up the sleek desk phone.
Within seconds, she says, "Ms. Fenway, you have C-level guests down at the lobby.
" She ended the call and returned her attention to the agents.
“Ms. Fenway will be right with you. Please, make yourselves comfortable. "
“Can I ask what a C-level guest is?” Rachel asked.
“Government or commercial visitors.”
It made Rachel wonder what A-and-B-level visitors were, but she didn't think it mattered. And she honestly didn't feel like getting into it right now. So, with a pained smile, she started walking to the small waiting area to the left of the desk.
The waiting area featured low-slung chairs that looked uncomfortable but proved surprisingly ergonomic.
Smart glass panels lined the walls, displaying a rotating series of calming nature scenes.
Rachel watched as other employees moved through the space—all dressed in variations of business casual that somehow seemed color-coordinated with the building itself.
Everything felt choreographed and precise.
"The place looks cleaner than the inside of a soap box," Novak muttered. "Almost too perfect."
Rachel nodded, understanding what he meant. The facility radiated competence and cutting-edge technology, but there was something almost unsettling about its perfection. Like a smile that showed too many teeth.
Before she could respond, the click of heels on polished concrete announced a new arrival.
Margaret Fenway moved with the confidence of someone who knew exactly how much power they wielded.
Her navy suit was impeccably tailored, and her silver hair was styled in a way that suggested both authority and approachability.
She wore minimal jewelry—just a single platinum pendant that caught the light as she walked.
"Agents," she said, extending her hand. Her grip was firm but not aggressive. "I'm Margaret Fenway, CEO of New Horizons. How can I help you today?"
“We were hoping you could give us some insights into two of your clients,” Rachel said. “Locals, from right here in Charlottesville. I’m afraid they’ve been murdered.”
“Oh...oh my God,” Fenway said with genuine shock. “Can I ask…what happened?”
Rachel noticed the slight tightening around Fenway's eyes as she explained about the murders. The CEO's composure cracked just enough to reveal genuine concern—or at least a convincing facsimile of it.
"This is... disturbing news," Fenway said, her voice lowered. "Though I'm afraid I can't discuss specific client information without—"
"We understand privacy concerns," Rachel cut in, "but I’m sure you know that employee records aren't protected the same way. Given the connection between victims, we need to start with anyone who might have had access to both clients."
Fenway's lips pressed into a thin line as she considered this. Rachel could tell that she wanted to ask more questions, perhaps to even argue. But Rachel also figured that running a place like this, public image was everything. The last place a cryonics facility needed were headlines about how they’d been difficult and uncooperative in the midst of an FBI investigation.
After a moment, Fenway pulled out her phone and typed briefly, giving them a practiced apologetic look. "I've just requested a complete staff roster from HR,” she said seconds later when she pocketed her phone. “We should have that shortly. Ten minutes at most.”
“Thank you,” Rachel said.
“While we wait,” Novak piped up, “could you explain how this place operates?”
She gestured toward a hallway with a proud nod. "Of course. And you can have a look around at the same time, if you wish.”
As they walked, Fenway outlined their process with the precision of someone who had refined their pitch over countless presentations. The hallway curved gently, its walls alternating between smart glass and warm wood paneling. Every fifty feet or so, subtle security cameras tracked their movement.
"Initial contact usually comes through referral or our very choice marketing channels," she explained, leading them past a series of consultation rooms. Each featured the same warm wood and gentle lighting as the lobby, carefully designed to put clients at ease.
"We screen for serious intent—this isn't a service for the merely curious.
Our clients are individuals who understand both the implications and limitations of what we offer. "
And the price tag, I’m sure, Rachel thought.
They passed through a security checkpoint that required Fenway's badge and biometric scan. The hallway beyond felt more clinical, though still carefully designed. The temperature dropped slightly, and Rachel noticed the air had a different quality—more filtered, perhaps. Again, she found herself reflecting back to the time when she’d first read about cryonics…
and hated the defeated and weak way it made her feel.
"Qualified candidates undergo comprehensive medical and psychological evaluation," Fenway continued, her heels clicking against the harder flooring.
"We partner with top specialists in major cities, though many clients prefer to travel here for the full assessment.
The psychological component is particularly crucial—we need to ensure clients have realistic expectations and understand the speculative nature of what we offer. "
Rachel noticed how Fenway emphasized the word "speculative," a careful hedge against any accusations of false promises.
"The medical screening is extensive," Fenway continued, guiding them through another set of secure doors.
"Current health status, genetic predispositions, family history.
We're not just preserving bodies; we're preserving data that might be crucial for future revival.
Each client undergoes full genome sequencing, advanced imaging, and a battery of tests that often identify health issues their regular doctors missed. "
They reached what appeared to be a demonstration room.
One wall featured a cutaway diagram of what Rachel assumed were the preservation pods, though the technical details were carefully obscured.
She had to suppress a chill when she noticed that the design—according to the diagram, anyway—did indeed look like something you might expect to see in a long-distance spaceship from a movie.
The opposite wall displayed a timeline of cryonics research, ending with New Horizons' founding and subsequent breakthroughs.
Rachel was quite impressed to see that New Horizons had partnerships with cutting-edge firms and scientists all over the world.
She fought the urge to look for the names of hospitals, treatment centers, or medical facilities she had spoken with during her battle with her tumor and the subsequent recovery.
"Once approved, clients make their initial deposit and begin the planning process,” Fenway went on.
“This includes everything from legal arrangements to specific preservation protocols based on their medical profile.
The full fee..." Fenway paused, perhaps gauging their reaction, "starts at eight hundred thousand, with additional costs for certain options and services. "
Novak whistled softly. "Quite an investment."
"In potentially unlimited future returns," Fenway replied smoothly.
Her hand moved to touch her platinum pendant briefly—a tell, Rachel noted.
"We currently have one hundred and twenty-six confirmed clients, with another fifty in various stages of evaluation.
Our expansion in Orlando will increase our capacity to fifteen hundred within four years. "
Her phone chimed softly. "Ah, here's the employee list." She glanced at her screen, then back up. Some of the professionalism remained on her face—perhaps from having just given her spiel—but there was also a tightness there as well. She obviously wasn’t happy about handing over the list.
"What email should I send it to?"
Rachel provided her bureau address, watching Fenway's face carefully as the CEO forwarded the information.
The warm, professional demeanor she'd shown earlier had cooled noticeably since being asked to share internal information.
The change was subtle but unmistakable, like a cloud passing over the sun.
"Is there anything else you need?" Fenway asked, her tone making it clear she hoped the answer was no.
"No, thank you," Rachel said. "You've been more than helpful already. Thank you."
“Come on, then,” she said. “I’ll see you out.”
As they followed her back through another biometric checkpoint, Rachel caught Novak's eye.
They were both thinking the same thing: it seemed that Ms. Fenway was not only being hospitable in ushering them to the door, but also a push in a very subtle way.
She wanted to make sure these unannounced agents left, and she wanted to be the one to show them the door.