Immortal

  She stood in front of the door for a few moments, but nothing happened. Then she remembered that you had to press some buttons to summon the elevator down and then press more to program it to go to the floor you wanted. She looked around and finally noticed one button, with an arrow pointing up, on the right side of the door. Apprehensive to touch anything, she grabbed the hem of her coat and pressed it through the material. The button lit up and she heard a swooshing noise that became louder as the panel above the door counted down. Finally the door opened with a clink.

  She stepped in carefully, feeling entrapped as the door swished shut behind her. She looked at the row of buttons with the floor numbers and realized she had no idea which floor she was going to.

  ‘Fuck!’ she shouted in helpless rage. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck!’

  She pulled the idatron from her bag and brought up Collins’ spec, cursing the waste of time. She scrolled down to the bottom where the contact details were listed. Tenth floor.

  She pressed the button through the material of her coat again and the elevator finally moved. The initial sensation was very unnerving, as if the floor was pushing itself on her knees and making her stomach lower itself under the pressure. She impatiently watched the panel count the floors up.

  She didn’t get as far as the fourth floor when she got an opposite sensation in her stomach. It now got lifted as the elevator suddenly stopped and the door, giving the same clinking sound, opened.

  Amaranthine backed off into the furthest corner of her prison at the sight of the people entering it.

  The woman was mortal, it was obvious from the first glance. Amaranthine looked at her face, marked with visible wrinkles around the eyes, mouth and on the forehead. Her hair was short and messy, as if she hasn’t had it styled for days. But that wasn’t the worst thing about that woman. Amari stared in horror at the Mortal’s two children.

  One of them was very young, probably unable to walk yet. It sat on the woman’s left hip as she squinted her posture to provide support for it. She held it with her left arm, carrying a heavy-looking bag in her right. With that same arm, she tried to hold the other child – an older one, a boy of maybe three or four, who didn’t seem to care much about his mother’s attempts to keep him close to her. Taking advantage of her full hands, he freed himself from her grip and dived to the ground, got on all fours and crawled between her legs. The woman put the bag down, pressed the button for the twelfth floor and turned around to grab the boy again.

  At this moment the baby’s eyes landed on Amaranthine’s horrified face. The effect was immediate. Its eyes turned into huge round saucers and filled up with tears. Its mouth opened wide, took a big gulp of air and immediately turned it into a piercing squeak.

  The woman gave up trying to get a grip of the boy and turned to the baby, wiping its face and trying to calm it down. The boy immediately took advantage of her preoccupation and sneaked up behind her back to the elevator buttons. Before the woman could react, he pressed every single one on the panel that he could reach.

  ‘Stop it this instant, Colin, do you hear me?!’ the mother shouted when she spotted what he was doing. At that, the baby took another deep breath and started screaming in earnest, its face turning blue.

  Amaranthine remained frozen to her corner of the elevator, unable to react. Even if she could, she wasn’t sure she’d know what to do. What do you do with people who act like this? Who in the right mind would condemn themselves to dealing with this? Give up their immortality for it? The Mortals really are insane, she thought.

  The elevator stopped at each floor now, making Amari nauseas. The woman kept struggling with her offspring, the baby still crying its eyes out and the boy, in full tantrum now, flexing on the ground like a fish pulled out of the river. Amaranthine, crammed in her corner, tried to stay beyond the range of his kicking legs. Before she knew it, the door opened and closed on her floor, and she was still stuck inside the elevator.

  Finally, they arrived at the twelfth floor, and the woman dragged the boy out, somehow managing to hold her bag in the same arm as the crying baby. When the door closed behind them, Amaranthine was still unable to move for a few seconds. Then she finally managed to press her floor button again.

  She only got down to the eleventh floor when the elevator stopped. She braced herself for another encounter with an insane mortal family, determined not to let them make her any later than she already was.

  This time it was someone quite different, though. Supporting himself on a thick, wooden cane, a very old man limped inside. His hair, eyebrows, moustache and beard were completely gray, his face so wrinkled, it barely looked human. She looked at his stooping shoulders and back, at the slowness of his movement and his gnarled hands and she felt repulsed. Then he turned slightly and looked at her.

  ‘Oh, hello, miss,’ he mumbled with his toothless gums. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there. How’s your day so far?’

  ‘This is my floor,’ she managed to utter, fighting nausea.

  She stepped out of the elevator and took a deep breath. I can’t do this, she thought. I can’t work with these sort of people for a day, never mind a year. It will kill me.

  Then she remembered why she was here. That guy Collins wanted to humiliate her. He won’t live to see that day. She wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction.

  She raised her head high, straightened up and headed along the corridor.

  The glass sliding doors opened and closed behind her noiselessly. She looked around the room for a few seconds, not making her presence known to the five people inside. Two men and two women sat on both sides of a big, rectangular table, listening attentively to a tall man who stood at the other end of the room with his back turned to her. He pointed at images beaming onto a white screen from a very old-type looking idatron. She couldn’t tell the make and model from the distance, but it looked very much like the one she used at least three years ago.

  I really have travelled back in time, she thought.

  ‘... Los Angeles will be our last concert in North America,’ the tall man said, pin-pointing the city on a world map with his laser indicator. His voice sounded vaguely familiar. ‘We’ll then move over to Japan, China, Australia, India, Middle East, Europe and finally South America. Ah, Miss Quinn, thank you for joining us.’

  ‘I’m sorry for being late,’ she said coldly, not showing how peeved she was at having to apologize in her first sentence. ‘My hovercar wasn’t configured for this area. You must be Mr. Collins.’

  ‘Indeed,’ he said, making his way across the room to shake her hand. She fought with herself not to frown as she noticed his informal attire, dark blue jeans and a purplish shirt, with no tie. Clearly, a lack of professionalism demonstrated itself amongst the Mortals not only in document design, but also in physical appearance. Her worst fears of what this cooperation would look like, were becoming a reality.

  She stretched her arm as far out as she could to shake his hand, trying to prevent him from coming any closer. She glanced up at this face, keeping all the emotions that filled her from showing in her expression.

  Every detail of his appearance and manner offended her esthetic sense. His gait, too casual. His foreign accent, too strong. His hair, too long and disheveled. His face, too angular, covered with two-day stubble. His eyebrows, too irregular. His mouth with one corner going higher that the other when he spoke and smiled. Indeed, the only thing about his face that was straight and regular were his teeth, white and stubby. And yet, she found herself unable to make that first glance as brief and dismissive as she had intended. Where have I seen him before? His eyes, intensely blue, had a strange, magnetic power that forced her to look into them against her will.

  It was then that she recognized him. The engineer who came to The Universe on its opening night and fixed the sound system and demanded an endorsement instead of money as a payment. She completely forgot about that odd incident, and didn’t know if he’d followed up on his request or not. She assumed tha
t either her office dealt with it or Collins gave up his payment after the Paramonos scandal broke out. It really didn’t matter now.

  ‘It’s great to see you again, Amaranthine,’ he said. She didn’t reciprocate, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. She couldn’t place his accent. Scottish or Irish, she guessed. Two of the Carpe Diem members were Scottish, so maybe he was, too. ‘Please meet my team. This is Tom, Angela, Maddie and Frankie,’ he pointed at each of them, going clockwise. Now she also recognized Frankie, the second sound engineer. They smiled at her, equally excited and intimidated by her presence. Well, three of them did. The fourth one, Angela, remained serious, giving Amaranthine a short, shallow nod. It didn’t slip her attention. She gave the woman a longer, appraising look. Angela was visibly older than the rest of them, including Collins, who looked mid-thirties. She wore a shapeless sweater, a scarf, and glasses connected with a silverish strap. She looked like an early twentieth-century museum piece.

  ‘Everyone, this is Amaranthine Quinn from Elixir Vitae Communications. As you know, she will work with us on advertising and promoting Carpe Diem.’

  Great, Amaranthine thought, feeling their looks on her. Three kids, one old, bitter hag, and one blithe, clueless amateur, to work with for the next year.

  ‘Take a seat, Amaranthine,’ Collins said. ‘Let me start again...’

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ she interrupted him brusquely. ‘I am familiar with the proposed route. I’d suggest a few changes. Concerts mustn’t overlap with established festivals like the Rio Carnival. Timing is crucial for a launch of a new band. If, of course, you really want them to make it big.’

  All heads jerked up, five pairs of eyes piercing her.

  ‘We certainly do. Thank you for your input. We’ll adjust the calendar…’

  ‘There’s no need to waste time,’ Amari interrupted him. ‘I’ve already done that. I’ll send you a copy.’

  ‘I see you came prepared,’ Collins said casually, but the barely noticeable delay in his response acknowledged her icy tone.

  ‘I take my job seriously, Mr. Collins,’ she retorted immediately, stressing the title.

  There was a longish pause. The three youngsters’ jaws dropped, Angela’s face expressed clear outrage and hatred, which she didn’t even try to hide. Amaranthine felt satisfaction.

  ‘Which is precisely the reason we asked for your cooperation,’ Collins answered, finally losing his annoying, casual tone. He couldn’t pretend any more that he didn’t notice her attitude. Very good, she thought. There’s going to be none of this nicey-nicey rubbish here, and the sooner they get used to it, the better.

  ‘Let’s move on to the technical requirements for each destination,’ he resumed when Amari sat down. ‘Frankie and I will be in charge of this, but I want all of you to have a general idea of what’s needed. The venues marked in green are standard, everything we need is in place. The ones marked in orange will need some equipment and software configuration. The biggest challenge will be the red dots – we’ll either need to hire and transport the stuff, or, for those venues that are wishing to invest and equip themselves with brand new gear – we’ll assist them with it and, of course, configure the software for our needs. Proposals have already been submitted to all of the red venues and we are expecting their decisions by the end of next week. Any questions at this stage?’

  Nobody signaled that they had a question.

  ‘Good. Next thing, travelling practicalities – ’ he paused, rustling through a pile of papers in front of him. Finally, he pulled out a sheet of yellow paper. ‘Ah, yes. Hotels, catering, transport and security – who’s up for it?’

  Amari couldn’t believe her ears. Is this the way he runs his team? Who’s up for it? This is a joke.

  Maddie, a girl in her mid-twenties, by Amaranthine’s judgment, raised her hand.

  ‘I can do security,’ she said.

  ‘Cool,’ Collins said, scribbling on the bit of paper.

  ‘Oh, and transport, too,’ the girl added.

  ‘Excellent,’ Collins scribbled again.

  ‘I’ll do hotels and catering,’ Frankie said.

  ‘Great, thanks, Frankie. ‘You wanna speak to the guys, get to know them a bit, find out what they like for breakfast, that sort of thing.’

  ‘No worries.’

  ‘Next thing, budgets – ’

  ‘I’m on it,’ Angela said. ‘Do you also want me to take care of the visas, permits and insurance?’

  ‘Yeah, that would be great. Thanks, Ange,’ he scribbled again, having found a white piece of paper this time. Amaranthine cringed in her seat, hardly believing her eyes. Is this how all Mortals do business? Just let any random employee volunteer for whatever parts of the project they fancy doing?

  ‘Ok, so far so good, guys, that’s nearly everything,’ he said, ‘Tom’s creating the globesite for the tour, and will be managing all its content and ticket sales. Myself and Miss Quinn will cooperate with him closely in terms of PR, promotion and advertising, covering the Mortal and Immortal side of things, respectively. Any questions?’

  Again, no one signaled a need to ask a question.

  ‘Ok, cool, if you need me, I’m here for you any time as you know. Off you go then. Miss Quinn, I’d like to discuss some details with you if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Certainly,’ she said in the same icy tone as before.

  The team picked up their things and left, murmuring a goodbye to her.

  ‘I’m very happy our paths have crossed again, Miss Quinn,’ he started as soon as the glass door slid closed behind them. ‘I’ve looked forward to working with you for some time now.’

  She looked at him suspiciously. What is he up to? Why is he playing this nicey-nicey guy again? Didn’t he get the message? Or is this some sort of introduction to what he really wants to say? If he mentions The Universe, I’m quitting this job no matter what, she thought. I’m not having some mortal nobody mock me in my face.

  ‘I have prepared a list of potential advertisers and media, based on the spec you provided,’ she said, dismissing his introduction. ‘You’ll forgive me the shortness of it, Mr. Collins, but the description of the product leaves a lot to be desired. I will need more details about the type of entertainment that you are offering, to be able to convince my clients to get involved in this.’

  She handed him a chip. He accepted it in silence, looked at her lengthily. She stared him out.

  ‘Certainly,’ he said, finally abandoning his superficial friendliness. ‘What information do you need?’

  ‘I listed my questions and remarks on my spec,’ she explained in a tone ending discussion. ‘My PA converted it into a few file formats, so as to make sure you can open it. You’ll forgive me for taking the liberty of editing the concert calendar, and other details quite substantially. It was absolutely necessary. I’d appreciate it if you e-mailed my PA the answers at your earliest convenience.’

  ‘I will do that,’ he said.

  ‘Great. And another thing, if you don’t mind. I’d suggest a more appropriate division of duties.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ he said calmly.

  ‘It’s of course none of my business who you choose to work with, and how you manage your team, Mr. Collins,’ she said. ‘But from my experience, tasks and responsibilities should be assigned to individuals who are best qualified to perform them, and not dished out randomly to whoever raises their hand. You understand, Mr. Collins, that smooth organization of the tour is one of the crucial elements for the success of this project.’

  ‘Thank you for sharing your view with me, Miss Quinn,’ his eyes narrowed slightly. ‘But I must assure you the team I picked for Carpe Diem’s world tour are committed, trustworthy and enthusiastic people. I would personally vouch for each of them.’

  ‘I wouldn’t vouch too readily if I were you,’ she said. ‘Apart from commitment and enthusiasm, people I select to work with are highly qualified and experienced in their specific fields. I’m sorry,
but judging from the age of your team members alone, I fear they may lack these crucial assets, which, as far as I’m concerned, are the only guarantee that they will deliver the expected results.’

  ‘There are no guarantees in life, Miss Quinn,’ he said calmly.

  Amaranthine froze. Was that a dig at The Universe? She was ready to give him a piece of her mind. But fortunately for him, he didn’t take it any further.

  ‘Please rest assured that my team are perfectly capable of fulfilling all the responsibilities that were assigned to them,’ he said.

  ‘I hope you are right, Mr. Collins. I am not sure of it, though, and I’ll tell you why. It doesn’t seem to me that you yourself know what your team members can contribute. If you did know, you’d simply delegate the tasks, and not let them pick and choose what they wanted to do.’

  ‘You’ll forgive me, Miss Quinn, but I think it’s better to allow my team to volunteer for whatever they feel they are strongest at, and will enjoy the most, rather than impose things on them. I find workers are more committed to tasks they choose themselves.’

  ‘Business is not about enjoyment, Mr. Collins. It’s about delivering results. But, as I said, the technical and practical organization of the tour is your part, and therefore your responsibility, should anything go wrong. I have a clear conscience that I’ve warned you. I will not comment on this any further or interfere, as long as everything goes smoothly.’

  ‘I can assure you it will.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear that. If that’s all for now, I’d like to return to my office and get down to work.’

  ‘As you wish.’

  ‘Goodbye then, Mr. Collins.’

  ‘Goodbye, Miss Quinn.’

  She turned around and headed for the door, relieved that this encounter was behind her. Then she froze, hearing his voice again.

  ‘Miss Quinn!’

  ‘Yes, Mr. Collins.’ She turned around again. He walked over to her and brought up a screen on his idatron. It was a list of files.

  ‘I prepared this for you. I thought it may be useful,’ he said.

  ‘What is it?’