Immortal

  ‘Yes, immediately.’

  ‘Globenet assistance,’ she heard a voice. ‘What can I do for you, Miss Quinn?’

  ‘I would like to enable all Mortal globesites and networks on my account, please,’ she said.

  There was a longish pause on the other side of the line.

  ‘I can of course do this for you, Miss Quinn,’ the operator finally said. ‘However, I am obliged to warn you that the content of Mortal sites is an extremely unreliable source of information. You will find incredible discrepancies between the official, verified information available on Immortal sites, and that on their Mortal equivalents. You see…’

  ‘Just do it,’ she interrupted him.

  ‘I was just about to explain how those discrepancies occur,’ the man continued. ‘Mortal sites are not subject to the verification process by the Commission for Reliable Sources of Information…’

  ‘Just do it!’ Amaranthine yelled.

  ‘As you wish,’ said the operator, his voice void of all the previous superficial politeness.

  The very first search that she did confirmed everything that Daniel Collins had said.

  It was a long article in one of the top Mortal news networks, giving not only details of the difficulties that the team working on the engine had stumbled upon, and how a little-known Mortal engineer saved the day, but also his picture with the research team in their lab, shaking hands with Amar Gray. Amari looked closely at the picture – she recognized the lab, and the Immortal scientists from all the Immortal reports she read on the event. The only element missing from the Immortal sources was the man who made it all happen. Strangely, he also looked faintly familiar to her. She didn’t understand why.

  Then she looked at the names at the bottom of the photograph: Amar Gray and Mark Collins.

  She read the article a few times, then moved on to others which contained other details and more photographs. She couldn’t believe her own eyes. How is this possible? How can two versions of the same story exist and no one brings it up? What other lies have we been led to believe? How many other facts and stories that we take for solid facts have a double bottom?

  She decided to check it. First, she found a list of the most profound inventions of the last few decades. Milestones of technology, medicine, chemistry, mathematics, physics, genetics, cosmology. Achievements that furthered space shuttle design and allowed people to explore the universe beyond imagination. New compounds, substances and materials that solved the biggest problems of humanity, and let them preserve the environment. Everything that made headlines in the last fifty years.

  One by one, she uncovered the underlying stories of the Mortals’ involvement in scientific research. The scenario she already knew from the hovering engine creation repeated itself a few times – in the case of plastglass, artificial gravity for space shuttles, protection from cosmic radiation, breaking down the genetic make-up of germs that were found on Titan in 2092, and finding a way to neutralize them before they wiped out Earth’s population... And finally, creating mind-reading computers and idatrons…

  Some Mortal and Immortal versions were nearly perfect carbon copies of the same story, except for the names of Mortal scientists that mysteriously disappeared from the ‘official and verified’ Immortal media. After an hour of reading, she knew the story template by heart: A research team with a massive budget, and even bigger pressure to perform, suddenly comes to a standstill and cannot move forward for months on end. Then, when everything seems lost, a young, bright Mortal emerges, and provides the missing piece of the puzzle, an innovative solution, or figures out the error in the primary data. The research is promptly finalized, results published in the limelight, and put into practice. But somehow, somewhere in the process, the Mortal contributor becomes anonymous, and disappears into thin air. At least from all of the Immortal reports.

  How can all of this be possible? And why is everyone taking part in this cover-up? This is a huge, and impossible nightmare. She felt like she was in the middle of a massive maze without an exit. She desperately tried to find a way out, to make sense of it all. But every turn, instead of providing answers, gave her more and more questions.

  I can’t stay in this house alone for another day, she thought. I have to speak to someone, someone who has at least some answers, or I’ll go crazy. Or even someone who doesn’t have the answers, but will distract me from this vortex of chaos and confusion.

  Trouble was, there were very few people she could even begin to consider contacting. She didn’t want to get anyone from work involved, so both Perenelle and Ambrose were out of the question. Phoenix wouldn’t understand. There was no one she was close enough with, to suddenly unload this sort of baggage on them.

  There was only one place she could go to now. Sunny Oaks, the orphanage up in Duchess County in which she grew up. She knew it, but she tried with all her might to push this thought away. There must be someone else I can talk to, surely. But deep down she knew there wasn’t. When she finally accepted the fact, she got up and headed for the bathroom to get ready.

  I wonder what the house looks like now. Will I recognize it? Maybe everything has changed and going there now is a very bad idea. And what will they think when they see me? My foster parents, Samuel and Dorothy, whom I haven’t seen for over ten years. Will they be happy I came to visit? Or maybe they will feel that we have nothing in common any more, after all those years? But despite all her doubts, she decided to go ahead with it anyway. They were the only people whom she could turn to now. They were the only ones she could remotely refer to as family.

  She was ready within half an hour. Her hovermobile was waiting right outside the portal, getting soaked in the tenacious March rain.

  As she approached the house, she recalled the time she spent in Sunny Oaks. She was placed there at the age of three and a half, after her parents’ death, and left the day she turned eighteen. Not because it was a bad place. She was looked after well and Samuel and Dorothy were good people – a couple who, unable to have their own kids, decided to run a foster care home – but she never quite felt like she belonged there. The house was always full of kids that came and went. Some grew up and went their own way, some were adopted. Few of them were there since a young age like herself – most still remembered their real families who had died or abandoned them. You never knew who would stay, and who would go. Amaranthine very quickly learned that it wasn’t worth getting attached to anyone, because before you knew it, they disappeared from your life. She always hated the temporariness of the relationships, the lack of stability. Samuel and Dorothy did their best to ease things up and prepare their children for the constant changes, but even with their best intentions and efforts, their time was far too limited to give each of the kids the amount of attention they needed. Amaranthine left to have her own life, in which things would change only when she decided so.

  She visited very rarely and gradually grew so far apart, that she stopped coming altogether. She had her own life, which was so different from her childhood, that she felt like she was a completely different person now. Samuel and Dorothy kept in touch from time to time, but since she rarely replied, they eventually stopped.

  When she was five minutes away, she decided to call them. She didn’t want to go into the house and meet all the kids. She just wanted to speak with Samuel and Dorothy. If they had the same routine that she remembered, they should have some spare time on their hands at this time of day. Sunday afternoons were for everyone to do their own thing.

  Samuel’s reaction to her call reassured her that coming here wasn’t a huge mistake. He was as happy to hear her voice as always. She asked him to meet her outside in ten minutes and go for a walk. It wasn’t raining here, though it was just as depressingly gray as it was in New York.

  The house stood at the foot of a hill. The trees and bushes that would contrast with the red brick walls in full sunshine, today seemed to cover and overwhelm the house. As soon as she touched down, a man’s figure appe
ared in the main door. By the time she got out of her vehicle, he was right by it. Naturally, he looked exactly the same as when she saw him the last time over ten years ago, and the same he was all her life. Around forty-five years old.

  ‘I forgot how quiet it is down here,’ she said, smiling faintly. ‘It hasn’t changed one bit, you know?’

  ‘Amari, you are breaking my heart,’ he smiled back. ‘We’ve worked so hard on the new fence and you didn’t even notice.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, it has changed a little bit, then. There is a new fence.’

  ‘That’s better. Good girl.’

  He gave her a big warm hug. She hadn’t realized how much she needed that.

  They walked out through the main gate towards the fields. She’s always loved strolling along the narrow balks dividing fields of different crops. It was always windy there, but she liked the wind. It gave her a feeling of freedom and independence.

  ‘How many kids have you got at the moment?’ she asked to start the conversation somehow.

  ‘Eleven.’

  She raised her eyebrows, surprised. She had expected the number of foster kids to decrease over the years, but it had remained stable. When she lived in Sunny Oaks, there were always around ten others staying there.

  ‘Are there still that many accidents happening at Mortal communities?’ she asked. It seemed the only reasonable explanation to her – after all, even though Mortals didn’t have access to the Cure or its derivatives, they enjoyed decent medical care, which meant they could live in good health all their lives. They rarely died early from cancer, heart disease, flu or any other illness. They just died out of old age. But by then not only their children, but also grandchildren were adults. The only way a child could become an orphan these days was if their parents died suddenly in an accident. Just like hers.

  ‘Actually,’ Samuel said, ‘Not all of our children are orphans. Not strictly speaking, anyway. And they don’t all have Mortal parents.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We find babies on our doorstep every so often,’ he explained. ‘Occasionally, one or both parents are identified. Particularly after the recent Population Report, authorities make sure all biometric databases are checked, and show me an Immortal in this world who is not in at least one.’

  She wasn’t quite understanding what he was saying.

  ‘Immortals have kids and then leave them on your doorstep?’ she asked. ‘Why?’

  ‘In most cases, one of the parents changes their mind, once the child is born, and abandon their partner, who in turns deems it unfair that they should raise the child alone and give up their immortality,’ he explained. ‘But some never intend to keep the child.’

  ‘So why do they have it in the first place?’

  ‘They say they want to have a child even if they cannot bring it up themselves. Some observe the kids from a distance, some are satisfied knowing that their offspring exist and live somewhere safe.’

  ‘Quite selfish of them, don’t you think? What happens with a kid when the parents are found?’

  ‘Depends. Some parents take it as a blessing, fight to get the child back and happily give up immortality. Others take each other to court over who can remain immortal... It can get quite nasty. We try to keep the kids out of it.’

  Amaranthine remained silent.

  ‘But tell me about you, we so wondered how you were, and what you were doing these days,’ Samuel said, changing the subject.

  ‘Oh, I’m still in PR,’ she said. ‘But I may think of a change some time soon, who knows.’

  ‘That sounds exciting! What were you thinking of?’

  ‘Nothing specific just yet. I just fancy a change, that’s all.’

  They walked in silence for a long while, but it didn’t seem to bother Samuel and she didn’t feel uncomfortable. He has always been a good listener. The trouble was she didn’t have a clue where to start, how to articulate the events of the last few days. It was such a new thing for her – she never asked anyone for advice or consolation. The world of Immortals was an individual world, where everyone was fully independent and responsible for their own life. If you needed help with your next career choice or any other move in your life, you ran a simulation or options report on your mind reading computer. It provided solid, reliable and objective analysis of your circumstances and suggested the most optimal solutions. Eiko had been great for Amaranthine and her professional success proved that it was the best way to make crucial decisions. But this situation, this dilemma she had now was not something she wanted analyzed by Eiko. There was a dimension to it that even a machine as advanced as Eiko could not take into account.

  They kept walking in silence. Samuel didn’t ask why she suddenly decided to turn up after so many years, and she was glad he didn’t. Just being there was soothing, it was enough. She would just figure it out for herself.

  She asked him about some insignificant aspects of their life, the petty things that were a part of running the orphanage – suppliers, new state regulations that affected them, maintenance of the house. He didn’t show surprise that she should ask him these questions now, not having seen him for over a decade. He spoke, making a few jokes and funny comments, though he must have noticed how absent-minded she was, that she hardly listened to his stories.

  They reached the river and stopped on the little stone bridge that Amaranthine remembered so clearly. She used to come here and stare at the little fish and the carpet of polished stones covering the bottom of the stream. Here too, hardly anything had changed, despite the passage of time. She listened to the whisper of the current below their feet, and smiled to her memories as she recalled her childhood. Water, its constant movement, always running forward as if it were in a hurry to run some important errands, always gave her the motivation to be active, to do things, to achieve goals. I can’t remember the last time I saw a river in the real world, she suddenly realized. She was always too busy.

  They slowly started their journey back to the house. It was dinner time soon, so Samuel had to return to help Dorothy. Amaranthine looked back at the bridge and felt a strange, overwhelming sadness. She didn’t understand why.

  When they reached the house, Samuel stopped and looked at her.

  ‘Please join us for dinner, Amari. The kids would love it,’ he said.

  ‘No, I’d better not,’ she said quickly and firmly, to discourage him from insisting. She couldn’t face it – she knew the kids would be excited and impressed by her, would ask her questions about her life in the city, and would be fascinated with her being ‘a real Immortal’. Before the Cure was invented, kids dreamt of becoming an adult. In the Era of Immortality, they all dreamt of becoming an Immortal. She remembered that very clearly from her own childhood. Any other time, she would be happy to tell them some stories to make them look forward to that moment even more. But not tonight. Not after what happened with Daniel, not after her immortal values, and way of thinking, let her down so badly.

  ‘I’m quite tired, and have an early start tomorrow,’ she explained softly, spotting the disappointment in Samuel’s eyes. ‘Thank you for the invite, though,’ she added. ‘I’ll take a rain check on it. I’d just like to say hi to Dorothy before I go. Could you ask her to come outside, please?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Come into the hall, though, it’s too cold to stand outside.’

  Amaranthine hesitated. He noticed it.

  ‘Everyone will be in the dining room already,’ he said.

  ‘Ok, then.’

  They stepped inside and Samuel went to fetch Dorothy. Amaranthine looked around the hall. The big grandfather clock was still there. She remembered how she used to count its strikes, lying in her bed when she couldn’t sleep. She could hear raised voices coming from the dining room, then quick steps.

  ‘Can you give us just one minute, please, Amari,’ Samuel said in passing. ‘I need to fetch one of the girls, so all the kids can sit down for dinner. Dorothy will be right wit
h you.’

  ‘No problem, take your time,’ she said. He ran upstairs, calling.

  ‘Sarah! Sarah! Dinner’s on the table, you can come out of your room now!’

  After about 30 seconds he ran back down again.

  ‘Amari, sorry about that, could you wait a couple of minutes by the fireplace, one of the girls is missing, we’ll have to find her,’ he said, heading for the dining room.

  ‘Ok.’

  She walked over to the room with the fireplace, next to the hall. She sat on the sofa, again immersed in memories. It was the room where Samuel and Dorothy would receive guests. Kids were not allowed to play there, so naturally they were always fascinated by it. She hadn’t been an exception. Even now, when she was a guest herself, and was allowed to be here, she felt a strange respect for this place.

  She could hear the residents running around the house, looking for the missing girl. She stared at the fire, the flames jumping from one log of wood to another.

  Suddenly her right eye caught a slight movement in the corner of the room. She looked in that direction, but didn’t see anything at first. Then, as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she noticed two huge, bright eyes staring right at her. They belonged to a little girl, cringed and squeezed into a corner. Her arms embraced a big doll. She couldn’t be more than eight years old.

  ‘Hey,’ Amaranthine said. ‘What are you doing here?’

  The girl didn’t respond. She just looked at her with sheepish eyes.

  ‘Are you Sarah? Everyone is looking for you. Why are you hiding?’

  The girl remained silent again.

  ‘Why are you hiding?’ Amari repeated.

  ‘Please don’t tell them you found me,’ the girl finally whispered.

  ‘If I promise I won’t, will you tell me why you’re hiding?’

  The girl crawled out of the corner and perched at her feet.

  ‘I found my doll,’ she said.

  ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I can’t play with it anymore.’

  ‘Why not? It is your doll, isn’t it?’ she asked. ‘You didn’t steal it from another girl, did you?’ she scrutinized the child.