(FORTUNE Magazine) – The prospect of freezing people and later thawing them out has long factored large in the American imagination. It's a staple of science fiction novels. It's been a plot device in numerous movies, from Woody Allen's Sleeper to Mike Myers' Austin Powers. It's been the subject of countless newspaper and magazine articles.

But is cryonics, as the process is called, a viable business?

Two California companies, Trans Time and CryoSpan, have been plodding along for years in hope that it is. The companies' founders believe that eventually medical science will advance to the point that the frozen bodies of dead people can be thawed out and "reanimated"--cured of the original cause of death, be it disease, disaster, or old age. Until that moment comes, they figure, the least they can do is freeze people.

"Right now the only alternative to oblivion is cryonic suspension," says Dr. Art Quaife, president of Trans Time, which is based in San Leandro. Cryonic suspension doesn't come cheap. CryoSpan's prices for a full-body freeze start at $125,000. Neurosuspension, where only a patient's decapitated head is frozen, costs about $60,000. Giving a new meaning to the term "life insurance," most customers pay by designating their cryonics company as the beneficiary of their policies.

Currently, at Trans Time, CryoSpan, and two not-for-profit cryonics outfits in Michigan and Arizona, there are more than 70 people stored in liquid-nitrogen baths that maintain their body temperature at -320 degrees Fahrenheit as they await a second chance at life. Another 700 or so have arranged to join them when they die. When it's time for them to be suspended, their bodies will be slowly cooled over a 20-day period, during which blood is flushed out of the veins and arteries and replaced with solutions that aid the freezing process. After that, the bodies are stored in capsules (the heads of neurosuspension customers float in pots purchased at restaurant-supply stores) that are a cross between a coffin and a Thermos. "We'd have a problem fitting a basketball player in there, unless he would allow us to cut off his feet," quips Paul Wakfer, president of CryoSpan, which is in Rancho Cucamonga.

Many of those who opt for cryonics have their pets frozen along with them. "If you come back in 150 or 200 years, you're not going to know many people, so it would be nice to have your pet around," explains Wakfer. But while you can have your loved ones frozen with you--one husband-and-wife pair has been suspended for almost 20 years--visits from live relatives are discouraged. With no decorations other than photographs of now-frozen CryoSpan customers and their pets adorning the walls, Wakfer admits his facility isn't too cheerful.

It also isn't too profitable--CryoSpan pulled in less than $10,000 in revenue last year. Most people are simply turned off by cryonics, and even those who are intrigued by the concept doubt that it will ever work. Mainstream scholars are on their side. "Cryonics is a wonderful example of pseudo-science," says Dr. Edward L. Schneider, dean of the University of Southern California's gerontology school.

Yet the cryonicists are confident that eventually their business will prosper. "Every year two million Americans die, and maybe three or four of them get placed in cryonic suspension," says Quaife. "That leaves about one million, nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine thousand, nine-hundred-and-ninety-six people who need our services and aren't getting them. So there's a huge market there. All we have to do is convince people that this is desirable."

--Ed Brown