[A man walks into the Mess wearing a flightsuit and a leather jacket. He goes to the kitchen, retrieves his cybercase and pulls out a warm bottle of Guiness and a cold bottle of Harp. He gets a large mug and pours both beers into it, making a classic "Black and Tan." He enters the common area and waits for his friends to gather round.]
As you know, outside of cyberspace, in the dimension we call "Reality," I am a paramedic. A few years ago, probably about a decade or so, I was on duty when another crew was dispatched to a cardiac arrest. They were gone from the station an unusual amount of time and when they returned they had stunned looks on their faces.
Apparently, this victim, a man in his early 40s, had experienced what is called Sudden Cardiac Death....the only warning he got was when his heart stopped. His family called 911 and my friends were dispatched. They worked the resuscitation by the book (as they always do - they're both VERY good) and as they were pulling into the hospital driveway, they restarted the man's heart and he regained a pulse. He regained spontaneous breathing a few minutes later in the Emergency Department.
As the crew went through the usual post-run routine of report writing and restocking of supplies, the doctor came to the EMS room and said, "There's somebody who wants to talk to you. Come with me." So they went to the room where their patient was. He was now sitting up, fully conscious and alert. The endotracheal tube that they had inserted to provide breathing for him had been removed. None of this was surprising. It is what we are trained to do. What he said, however, was shocking.
"Hey! Rick and Paul! You were the ones who were there. I remember you two." The ER staff had never mentioned the medics' names, nor were our first names on our nameplates. He went on to describe, in vivid detail, the events that transpired in his living room. He knew exactly how many times he was defibrillated and at what energy levels, even though he didn't know what a 'joule' was. He knew what drugs he was given and which nurse answered the notification call to the hospital. He knew that Paul had dropped his bandage shears in the house, a fact that Paul was unaware of until that very moment. And he even knew what color Rick's handkerchief was...it was a hot night and he apparently used it to wipe his brow while en route to the hospital.
It was just like the stories that you read. He viewed the whole thing very peacefully from an overhead view. And he remembered every detail. There was no bright light or tunnel or any beckoning by deceased loved ones, just a seat on the 50 yard line, about three rows up.
The room was silent, with the nurses and medics staring in disbelief and the doctor shaking his head in wonder. All present at that very moment were certain - absolutely, positively certain - that there was an afterlife. Rick was religious before the incident, and this was as close as possible to proof of God as he needed. Paul, while not going as far as that, certainly had his cage rattled by it. Before, he had been, by some standards, a carouser; by others, a womanizer. After, he became far more settled in his ways, and was married within 18 months. He has two kids and one on the way.
So did Andrew hear real cicadas? Did he really play chess with Jose? I don't know for sure, one way or the other. But one thing is sure: I won't rule it out.
[The man stands and walks to the kitchen where he deposits his mug. He then walks to the bunkroom with a tranquil look on his face.]