Bob Nelson

The society already had one body on its hands and no real plan of action.

Like Marie Sweet, Helen Klein had died more or less penniless, leaving no funds to pay for a proper cryonic suspension.

But the truth is, Bob liked these people, and he didn't want to let them down.

And who knew?

Maybe cryonics would be huge, and there'd be money in it someday.

Once again, Bob put the question to the group.

And once again, they all agreed.

Their friend deserved a shot at a second life.

So Helen Klein followed Marie Sweet to a mortuary in the city of Buena Park, where Bob had jerry-rigged a temporary storage container, basically a wooden box lined with polyurethane.

In other words, a giant cooler filled with a lot of dry ice.

The problem was dry ice is expensive, so we made what seemed like a simple decision at the time.

Maintaining the cooler was a big job, but Bob didn't really see an alternative.

Every week or so, he put hundreds of pounds of dry ice in the backseat of his little vintage Porsche and drove two hours from Woodland Hills to the mortuary in Buena Park, where the bodies were stored.

Not in some state-of-the-art permanent facility, remember.

Here's Joe Clockether, the mortician at the facility.

It was in the garage that I had them.

You should have something, kind of a date.

It was at this point, with Bob dodging Joe Clockheather and Joe Clockheather dodging the health department, that a third member of the society died unexpectedly.

Russ Stanley, a man in a position to solve all of Bob's problems.

But had he left that much money?