Immortal

by Nick M Lloyd

  ‘Can you push me, please?’ she asked, feigning shaking hands.

  Charlie walked up behind the wheelchair, and they carried on down the corridor.

  After fifteen minutes a set of red lights flared as they reached the end of the corridor, and another door.

  This one had a simple handle and no obvious lock, mechanical or electronic. People clearly only got this far if they were meant to.

  Charlie opened the door, again using a half-shuffle to keep an eye on Sam.

  The room had simple concrete walls, a few chairs, and no windows. There were narrow horizontal slits high up the walls on three sides. Plus two doors: a closed one in front of them and an open one to the left, revealing another long narrow corridor beyond.

  ‘I glad you didn’t kill Tim,’ said Sam.

  ‘Life is sacred,’ said Charlie.

  Sam wasn’t sure. ‘What’s your plan for us, Charlie?’

  Charlie didn’t answer. He’d put a chair next to the closed door and climbed up on it so that he could see through one of the horizontal slits.

  ‘Charlie?’

  Charlie turned and shushed Sam.

  A noise emanated from one of the horizontal slits.

  Sam surmised some type of machinery had started in the next room.

  Voices, urgent and scared, drifted through.

  Computerised voice: enter decontamination area

  Male Welsh accent: I’ve been scanned already

  Spanish accent: repeat measurement needed

  Male Welsh accent: but my wife is missing

  A pause

  Spanish accent: Mr Brewer, she is already in the secure environment

  Male Welsh accent: Are you sure?

  Spanish accent: Rachele Maxine Brewer, processed one hour ago

  The rest of the exchange was mumbling and incoherent.

  ‘Charlie!’ whispered Sam. He continued to ignore her.

  She wheeled herself towards the closed door.

  As she did, the noise of the machinery behind it got louder for a few seconds and then was quiet again.

  Charlie jumped down and grabbed one of her chair handles. ‘We live in a computer simulation.’

  ‘That’s your belief,’ said Sam. ‘I believe in a real God.’

  ‘Our creator is a machine,’ said Charlie. ‘You can still keep your God, or whoever made the first sentient being that made that first computer. But we’re deep inside the cycle.’

  ‘You have proof?’ asked Sam.

  Charlie’s eyes blazed. ‘I have faith.’

  Sam took a breath. ‘You want us to join the Ankor?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Charlie. ‘You’ll be free of pain.’

  There was the phrase again. Alluring, and yet historically only ever used before another disappointment. She’d had three major operations, and so many minor procedures. She’d never reached anywhere close to pain-free.

  ‘When it’s done,’ said Charlie. ‘You’ll love me as much as I love you.’

  When she’d initially hooked up with Charlie eighteen months previously, it had been entirely unplanned. She’d just recovered from one of her more successful operations and was feeling confident. Early in the evening of her welcome back party, she’d made a move on Tim – not always easy from a wheelchair. He’d gently knocked her back. She was sure she’d seen a yes in his eyes. But the words that came out of his mouth had been I can’t.

  So she’d accepted Charlie, and been treated well by him, and convinced herself it was mutual love. But it was all a one-way street. He loved her. Not bad, but not enough.

  Charlie reached out and gently stroked her face. ‘You’re perfect.’

  Sam noticed the path of his hand traced the faint scar where she’d gone headfirst through the windscreen.

  Sam slapped his hand away. ‘Fuck off, Charlie.’

  Charlie flinched and took a step backwards and returned his attention to the door that concealed the rumbling machinery.

  What do the Ankor want?

  Again, Sam knew she should ask outright, but the dread forming in her stomach stopped her. She was to be some type of sacrifice.

  After listening for a few moments, Charlie opened the door.

  The first thing to hit Sam was the stench – a mixture of disinfectant and dead flesh. The second thing she noticed were the six industrial units that dominated the room. Each had the start of a conveyor belt which led into the machinery and, probably, through into the next room.

  Charlie went to a large box at the side of the room and pulled out two neck-braces.

  He took off his shirt and Sam saw the entirety of the bandage around his neck.

  He unwound it before removing the other two from his arms.

  Faint scarring ran up his arms, and around his neck.

  Looking more closely, Sam could see that he had wires implanted under the skin. ‘What’s that for?’

  ‘They’re electromagnetic inductors,’ said Charlie. ‘They’re helping to prepare my brain for transition, and, if you’re with me, they’ll protect yours too.’

  Charlie clipped the neck brace on, handing the second one to Sam.

  She took it but made no effort to put it on. ‘I’m not doing anything, Charlie, until you explain what the hell happens in there.’

  Charlie looked at peace. ‘We each lie on a slab. The conveyor takes us into the machinery which sedates us. When we wake, we are joined with the Ankor.’

  ‘Why do the Ankor want us to join them?’

  ‘They need us,’ said Charlie. ‘They’re flesh and blood like us. But they are not operating at full potential. Many of their pods have been put into suspension until the coming of the Blessed can reawaken them.’

  Sam remained silent.

  ‘Have faith. We’re the Blessed. We’ll join with the Ankor – be part of them and help them grow.’ Charlie paused. ‘They’re magnificent creatures: biological brains melded with technology to give them every conceivable advantage. No pain. No deprivation. Enormously long lives.’

  ‘What about those people we heard before? Are they the Blessed too? Haven’t they died?’

  ‘The Blessed don’t die,’ said Charlie. ‘The brain is removed from a fragile human body and transferred into an Ankor pod where it is assimilated and becomes part of the whole.’

  Brain removed … What the fuck?

  ‘Do individuals remember who they are?’ asked Sam.

  Charlie’s brows furrowed and his fingers traced the wire implants in his neck. ‘These will help me, and for those with true strength of character, some sense of self does remain.’ He passed. ‘But, mostly one gives oneself to the Ankor.’

  A slight blast of warm air carrying an unpleasant smell emanated from one of the machines. Instinctively, Sam wheeled herself a little way back from the opening.

  ‘As for the Blessed before us,’ said Charlie. ‘I do regret that they did not have it all explained to them. I couldn’t convince MacKenzie to allow me to do it. We were forced to use chemical means to calm them.’

  Charlie took a few pills out of his pocket. ‘Being at peace will greatly improve the journey.’

  ‘Are you taking one?’ she asked.

  ‘I have my faith,’ said Charlie. ‘I don’t need anything.’

  Pity.

  Another blast of warm air from the machine doused Sam in the smell again. Dead flesh.

  Relaxing her shoulders, Sam took the pill and pretended to swallow it – something she was very practised at from her stays in certain hospitals that believed patients should be seen and not heard.

  ‘Free from pain,’ she said, reaching out for a hug.

  Charlie, now smiling, bent down, and embraced her.

  Holding Charlie with her left arm, Sam reached under her chair with her right. ‘I need my stronger pills,’ she said, caressing Charlie’s ear with her lips. ‘I want to start the journey totally relaxed.’

  ‘I understand,’ he whispered back.

  If Charlie registered a slight tension i
n her body, Sam assumed he would put it down to her muscles stabilising her body when twisting, to minimise the pain.

  In a sense it was pain; phantom pain she felt in advance of the act.

  Sam drove the eight-inch hunting knife up and under Charlie’s ribs.

  At the last moment, Charlie sensed something. He moved sideways and the knife, which should have gone deep under the rib cage, was deflected, and simply lodged in his abdomen.

  Still, the wound went deep.

  Charlie slipped backwards and fell on the floor, his hands reflexively grabbing hold of the handle – unable to let it go, but also unable to draw it out.

  Sam looked around the room for cameras. Had she been seen?

  Either way, it didn’t matter. She still had no time to lose.

  Ignoring Charlie’s groans, Sam wheeled herself back towards the door they’d come through. If she could get back to Tim, perhaps they could both escape.

  Halfway to the door, Sam heard a louder groan and a shuffle of movement behind her.

  She turned, imagining Charlie stumbling towards her with the knife … or the gun.

  Fuck! I forgot the gun!

  Charlie, on his hands and knees, was attempting to climb up onto the conveyor. The knife still protruded from his stomach.

  Sam watched as he clawed at the side of the machinery, and fell back down, only turning at the last second to take the fall on his back and not drive the knife deeper into his stomach.

  His eyes locked onto Sam.

  The door clicked open.

  CHAPTER 29

  SpaceOp

  Tim had no idea how long he’d been unconscious.

  He stifled a groan as he rolled onto his side, terrified that he would attract undue attention from Leafers. He clearly remembered being tied up and led into the corridor, then as far as he could surmise Charlie had smashed him on the back of the head.

  With his head throbbing, and his hands firmly tied behind his back, Tim manoeuvred himself onto his knees by pushing his head and neck against the wall.

  After wriggling his hands for a few minutes, he managed to get free of Charlie’s inexpertly tied knots.

  The corridor, like others in MacKenzie’s underground network, was lined with dim red lighting. Tim checked his watch. He’d been out of action a little under thirty minutes.

  Taking off his shoes to muffle his footsteps, Tim slipped back through the side door into the main corridor. His assumption was that Charlie was going deeper into the complex, so Tim followed.

  He inched forward, listening carefully as he went.

  I’ll save you, Sam.

  The thought had jumped up unbidden, and Tim almost stopped in embarrassment at its presumptuousness: she may save herself, she may not need saving, or she may not want saving.

  No … she was kidnapped … for fuck’s sake … another thing to feel guilty about.

  Tim could see no more than twenty metres down the corridor into the gloom, but it was enough to see each successive set of faint red lights.

  As he passed the lights, they flared gently, but nothing more.

  He kept going.

  At the end of the corridor was another door. Tim went through it into a room with two exits. Looking through the open left door, Tim simply saw a long corridor. In front of him was a closed door. Tim put his ear to it. Rescue mission this may be, but there was no point charging into the barrel of a gun. He could hear a faint rumbling.

  Could just be the bang on my head?

  Opening the door just a crack, he looked through.

  ‘Tim!’ gasped Sam.

  Charlie lay on the floor, a knife hilt protruding from his stomach. His eyes were open. He was alive, but he was clearly in a bad way. Tim checked that Charlie wasn’t holding the gun. He wasn’t.

  ‘Sam!’ cried Tim and took a step towards her.

  Whether he threw himself to the ground or his legs buckled, he wasn’t sure, but a moment later they were hugging. Sam took Tim’s face in her hands and pulled him gently away. ‘We have to go!’

  ‘Tim,’ croaked Charlie.

  Moving over to Charlie, Tim settled himself close by on the ground. It could be a trap, but the chances of Charlie pulling a knife out of his stomach and stabbing Tim with it were slim.

  Although, technically, neither have I ever been in a situation where it was more likely …

  ‘Please,’ said Charlie. ‘Let me go.’ He eyed the conveyor belt.

  ‘The machines here remove people’s heads,’ said Sam, wheeling herself towards Tim. ‘And their brains are sent to the Ankor.

  ‘The Blessed don’t die,’ said Charlie. ‘They join with the Ankor, the pains and troubles of their corporeal burdens all taken away.’

  ‘You were going to do this to Sam?’ said Tim. ‘Sacrifice her?’

  ‘I was going with her. Our heads would be removed together and almost instantly flooded with a chemical that stops brain cell degeneration. Then, we would be cooled, and sent to join with the Ankor.’ Charlie removed one hand from the knife hilt and pointed to the neck brace he was wearing which had wires attached leading under his skin. ‘Plus, as Sam was going to be pair-bonded with me, she would have additional protection from cellular degeneration.’

  Tim looked at Sam. Her face showed a mixture of disgust and sadness. He turned back to Charlie. ‘Why do the Ankor need human brains?’

  Charlie laboured for breath and a dribble of blood leaked from the corner of his mouth. ‘They struggle … to reproduce brain material … So, they take it.’

  ‘If they needed brain power,’ said Sam, ‘why not just build artificial intelligence and merge with that?’

  ‘They can’t. They tried,’ said Charlie. ‘They’re hundreds of thousands of years old, but they can’t program true individual consciousness.’

  Tim remembered the difficulty he and Charlie had had ten years ago when they’d tried to write the high-level specification for a program that could mimic consciousness. It was very hard to define abstract feelings. ‘Strength of will …’

  ‘When they tried to create artificial intelligence with the computational complexity and power to sustain consciousness …’ Again, Charlie’s strength started to fade. ‘There was always one of two outcomes. Either the machine turned psychotic and tried to attack them, or it simply … turned itself off.’

  Tim could understand that. ‘Existential angst.’

  ‘The biological will to survive is so hard to replicate whilst maintaining sociability,’ said Charlie. ‘Killing machines or suicidal maniacs.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Tim. ‘So, why do they need any type of additional brain power.’

  ‘Their goal is to amass sufficient processing power to launch their own full universe simulation,’ said Charlie. ‘In this way they can fully worship our own Creators.’

  ‘Creators?’ asked Tim.

  ‘The Ankor believe in Simulation Theory,’ said Sam.

  Charlie didn’t respond. He was struggling to move his weight onto his left-hand side to relieve some internal pressure on the knife wound.

  Tim bent down and helped him.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Charlie. ‘Creators. The beings that wrote the program we live inside.’

  ‘But that would mean these Creators do know how to program a fully functioning brain,’ said Sam.

  ‘No,’ said Charlie, shaking his head. ‘It’s not intelligent design. They set up the correct parameters and launch a Big Bang, then wait for stars and planets to form. Then watch as molecules are synthesised. And then life …’

  ‘So, the Ankor will do the same and then just watch static for billions of years,’ said Sam.

  Tim interjected. ‘I guess they can jack up the frame rate and skip to the interesting bits?’

  Charlie, clearly severely weakening, simply nodded.

  ‘The Ankor steal brains to get enough processing power to make their own universe,’ said Tim. ‘How close are they to having this capability?’

  ‘Tens of thousand
s of years away. First … they need all three hundred and forty-three pods hot, running at full power. That’s just to work out the initial maths to build the computer required to run the simulation.’

  Tim could see that Charlie was unlikely to remain conscious for much longer. ‘Is this it for Earth? Or are they coming back?’

  ‘Five more similar trips over the next hundred years. Each trip, they source and absorb the Blessed, assimilate them over a twenty-year period, and then come back for more.’

  Sam bristled. ‘They won’t find Earth so accommodating next time.’

  Charlie shook his head. ‘The Ankor can bombard Earth with nuclear charges and remain untouchable. They chose subterfuge to keep collateral damage to a minimum. Next time …’ He drifted to silence.

  Tim understood the fundamental equation.

  Fifty thousand heads or one hundred million disintegrations.

  ‘You said life is sacred,’ said Sam.

  ‘That is part of the Ankor faith,’ said Charlie, his expression hardening.

  ‘Some people really died,’ said Tim, frowning. ‘The radiation and the bombs.’

  ‘Tragically,’ said Charlie. ‘The Ankor did all they could to minimise the fatalities. Most of the deaths were unavoidable and necessary.’

  ‘Most?’ asked Tim.

  ‘There is a small faction within the Ankor that is … not so pure.’

  ‘The Transcenders advocated nuclear bombardment from the first day.’ Charlie paused, a look of distaste mixing with pain. ‘That’s why I decided to leave now. There were new plans created after the Chinese blew up RL2. The Transcenders don’t get any Blessed in this launch. I couldn’t face becoming part of them.’ Charlie coughed, and a spasm of pain swept over his face. ‘Please put me in the machine. Please … you’ve nothing to lose.’

  Tim took a step forward and leant over him.

  ‘Put me onto the conveyor. Then turn that dial clockwise and pull that lever,’ said Charlie, pointing at the control panel. ‘Once I’m gone, turn it back as far as it will go. That will disengage the drive system. It’s all mechanical.’

  Tim nodded. ‘I will.’

  Charlie’s shoulders relaxed and he turned his head towards Sam. Now, his face was a picture of religious rapture – it seemed as if his eyes actually shone. ‘Please come with me. We would become the Blessed, transformed into the purest form possible in our universe. Free from the prisons of our bodies. Made anew in the image of our Creator.’