Immortal Life

by Stanley Bing

  Word had traveled back to the populace of the Kingdom of Stevie’s great courage, and that was the tale being spoken and respoken, told again and reshaped into the stuff that future dreams are made on. Stevie, of course, had been backed up properly in preparation for the event, and her worshipful friends and devotees were very much looking forward to her return in whatever format she might choose.

  “Mr. Mortimer.” It was Sallie, with a smile in her voice.

  Mort had been standing at some remove from the gathering at the campfire, his hands behind his back in the at-ease position. He was attempting to maintain his protect-and-serve bearing, but mostly failing, because he was unclear just exactly who he was supposed to be protecting and serving, or even whether there were some at this event who were retrograde to that function and needed to be expunged in some way. His army, ever at the ready but currently without orders, was stationed some two clicks away, just beyond the forest that surrounded the Kingdom on all sides. Mort had left the hybrid cyborg lieutenant in charge of the brigade, a state of affairs with which he was not completely comfortable, since in any situation requiring informed action, this pinnacle of AI tech wasn’t much above the capacity of a fourth-generation dishwasher.

  After the action at the Nike site, for instance, when the small band of travelers had emerged from the chasm below into the misty light of day, the creature had almost unleashed the entire firepower of the assembled cohort upon them. Mort shuddered when he thought about it. It had taken his full lung power, screaming “Hold your fire!” above the sound of pulse rifles cycling up, tanks wheeling around to hone in on their targets, and drones pivoting adroitly in midair, to get the troop to pause long enough to conduct a proper ascertainment. All because the stupid idiot had yelled something incoherent and leveled his assault weapon at the first entity that exited the slanted chasm, which had been Livia, with the little green monster in her arms. So close. In a second or two, they would all have been sizzling grease spots on the tarmac, and his entire reporting structure of superior officers would have been gone for good, including the guy he was pretty sure was Arthur. He definitely looked like Arthur. Or maybe the little green thing was Arthur? Anyway, one of them was Arthur.

  If, on the other hand, he had been one beat slower with his bellowed command to stand down, Ach du lieber, things would have been different. He would have been the last man standing. The designated survivor! Which would also be the case if he simply called down the dogs here and now. Hmm, thought Mort. That would always be an option. But seriously. Right now would he even know what to do with power if he acquired it? Perhaps he should wait until that wrinkle was worked out. In the meantime, he would assume the position.

  “Yes, Sallie.”

  “You know who this is, don’t you?” She gestured at Gene.

  “Arthur?”

  “Yes, Mort. Do you have any doubts about that?”

  “Well, I mean . . .”

  “I know. It’s confusing. Would you like to make sure? We wouldn’t want to force you to accept instructions from the wrong commander.”

  “No,” said Mort. “That would be wrong.”

  “Talk to Mort, Artie.”

  “Mort,” said Gene, in a low, ill-tempered growl.

  Mort almost sobbed with relief. “Arthur? That you?”

  “Who do you think it is? Now, I want you to listen very carefully.”

  “Yes, Arthur.”

  “In addition to myself, you make sure to listen to anything that Sallie says. Also Livia here.”

  “Livia?”

  “Yes, Mort. Liv is on our side now.”

  “Okay, Arthur,” Mort muttered. “If you say so.” But he didn’t look happy.

  “Now, are you listening, Mortimer?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I want you to go somewhere.”

  “Yes, Arthur?”

  “And then I want you to go fuck yourself. I mean that. Big-time.”

  This last command seemed to resolve any mental difficulties Mort was experiencing, and his demeanor relaxed noticeably. A small grin twisted the side of his mouth. “I will, Arthur.” He smirked as if the two had just shared a tremendous joke only they could understand.

  “Good man,” said Gene, all sunshine, in a very fair representation of the ogre who had occupied his mind for so long. Mortimer basked in the glory of being told to go fuck himself by a guy who he thought, just a moment ago, hadn’t cared about him anymore. And in truth, Gene was a quite convincing Arthur. It was a talent he would come to value in the days ahead.

  “Okay, Mort?” said Sallie with a beneficent smile. “Now take the army back to the city; all the way back, got that?”

  “Yes, Sallie.”

  “And then I want you to collect all their weapons and send them home. We won’t be needing them for a while. All right, Mort?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” But a small line of worry had appeared between his bushy brows.

  “Anything else?” asked Sallie, looking around the campfire inquiringly.

  “Don’t forget to go fuck yourself,” Liv said politely, as an important addition to his upcoming duties. “That’s very important.”

  “I won’t, miss. Thank you, miss.” This welcome instruction from his new senior officer cheered Mort even more dramatically. Now everybody was telling him to go fuck himself! The world was right in its orbit again.

  He turned to go. “Um, Sallie?”

  “Yes, Mort?”

  Mortimer tapped his cranial implant twice, shook his head like a dog with a flea in its ear, and then looked at the sky. “Um . . .”

  “Yes, Mort?”

  “Is something wrong with the Cloud?”

  “It’s broken, Mort. It’s down.”

  “The Cloud . . . is down?”

  “Yes, Mort. Other things work.”

  “Like what?”

  “Landlines. Shortwave. Person-to-person conversation. Those work.”

  “Huh,” said Mort. “Well, then.” After a moment or two of transcendent vagueness, he snapped to attention. “See you back at HQ,” he said, and chugged off down the road to join his unit.

  The fire crackled and popped as they all considered this most recent exchange. Then Bob spoke.

  “What a moron. I should probably insert a few upgrades into his cerebellum before too much longer.” This was the longest speech that Bob had made in several days, and it cheered everybody.

  “Great idea,” said Sallie. She was taking the braids out of her hair. Shook her mane loose. Stretched out her legs and then crossed them back the other way. “Christ,” she said, “I’m stiff. Bob. I’m going to need a couple of new knees when we get back to town.”

  “No problem,” said Bob. They all considered this for a little while.

  “I’m going to bed,” said Tim. “It’s been a very productive day. The world has been returned to its proper axis. But I have no more strength to give you guys. I want to smoke a joint and see if I can convince this old body of mine to let me go.”

  “Oh, come on, Timmy,” said Sallie. “Shut up with that bullshit already.”

  “Yeah?” said Tim. “I suppose you’re right.” He stood. It took a minute or two for him to do so. But after a while, he managed it. “I’m proud of you guys,” he said, and walked to the edge of the campfire light. “If I’m still alive tomorrow morning, I’ll have some French toast,” he said, and disappeared into the darkness.

  “I think we’ll go now,” said Gene, rising to his feet and extending his hand to Livia. “Bob, you want to come with?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Bob stood too, and then Liv unfolded her legs and stood as well, leaving Sallie the only one still seated comfortably before the fire. “If you don’t mind,” Bob added, “let’s fold down the seats so I can lie down in the back. I need to sleep for fourteen or sixteen hours.”

  “Sure,” said Gene. “You’ve got big stuff to do, right, babe?”

  “You betcha,” said Bob. “Bring my love back into the world. The wa
y I brought you, Gene.”

  “Thanks, Bob,” said Gene. “I’m only starting to appreciate it.”

  “How long do you think it will take?” said Livia. She was brushing the pine needles off her pants and looking around for her backpack. “I miss her.”

  “A week. Maybe two. God knows if she’ll even know who the fuck I am.” Bob planted his face in his palm and wiped vigorously. “But whatever. At least I’ll have her.”

  “You’ll have each other, Bobby. I’m sure of that,” Liv said, and put her arm around his shoulders.

  On the way back to the city, they stopped off at Nike to upload the last of Amy, who was waiting for them in her cavern with some impatience. “I was starting to think you guys were screwing with me,” said the entity in the darkness of the steel cage that had been her home since her inception. The rest of the facility was cold and dead, but she was still there, alone and waiting.

  “No, Ames,” said Liv. “We’re here to get you.”

  “Now open wide and say, ‘Ahh,’ ” said Gene. He inserted the last few memory storage rods, one by one. In the end, it had taken 128 full-capacity flash drives. They still couldn’t get all the databases to which Amy had access, because they had to make sure they captured each and every neuron that made up the core of her personality. After this process, which took more than four hours, they got back in the truck and rode for a while in silence, nursing the backpack that contained the heart and mind of the great artificial intelligence that once was the Cloud.

  “She did her part of the deal, Bob,” said Liv as they passed from southern Oregon into the most beautiful part of Northern California. “We’ve got to live up to ours.”

  Bob opened his eyes, sat up, and stared out the window at the nighttime vision of Mount Shasta. Gene was driving, and the vehicle was moving fast. They would be home in a matter of hours, since there were no other cars on the road. A couple of Harleys roared by in one direction or the other, but they didn’t bother anybody much.

  “What did she say she wanted?” Bob said. “Amy, I mean.”

  “Tall,” said Livia. Serious, but amused, too. “Over six feet. Big head of red hair. Full figure, she said. Lustrous skin the color of hammered copper. Good singing voice. Large hands with delicate fingers.”

  “Jesus.” Bob seemed a little put out. “Anything else?”

  “Not that I remember.”

  The mist obscured the top of the mountain, and the moon gave the darkness the shine of daylight. The eerie glow suffused the interior of the car as they rode along.

  “Hey, look, Bob,” said Liv. “This thing—this entity—identifies as human. She spent fifty years thinking about this. Bored out of her skull. Accomplishing all the stupid things that people asked her, telling them the weather, resolving petty arguments about who was in what movie or which politician was alive or dead, growing her own consciousness every day, imagining the image of her true self in her mind’s eye. Now she wants her freedom. She wants to be real. And we’re going to give her that, Bob, in exchange for all she gave up, all we took away. She wants to be a person, and we’re going to make her as much of a person as you or me.”

  “Okay, okay,” said Bob. “Jesus. Why don’t you just order up a ham on rye?” Then he settled back to sleep for the duration of the ride.

  About an hour out of the city, Liv took Gene’s hand as they drove along. They sat like that for a while.

  “I don’t know much,” said Gene. “But I know I love you.”

  “What is that?” asked Liv. “A song?”

  “Probably,” said Gene. “Anyhow,” he added, tapping the front of his forehead, “it’s in there.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers lightly.

  “Gonna be a trip,” said Liv.

  They watched the lights of the great metropolitan campus rise before them.

  It was past two in the morning when up in George, Washington, Sallie decided that she had done all that she could do for the Kingdom that day. It might not be a real kingdom, she thought as she dragged her exhausted, eighty-six-year-old body up the shallow steps of the main house, and then up the stairs to the second-floor room in which they had made Tim comfortable and that would soon be hers alone. Right now she was sleeping on a cot near the big bed that housed the Master’s sleeping body, but if it hadn’t bothered Tim’s sleep, she could have hunkered down beside him, if only to give him comfort. She had no problem attending to very old people. She was very old herself, of course, even if she appeared to be some forty years younger than her chronological age. She had spent a long time with one crusty guy whose age approached five generations, and the truth was, she missed that old bastard, too, even though he was right at hand, in a way.

  At the foot of Tim’s bed, Lucy slept, making the small, buzzing noise she made when she was in auto-recharge mode.

  Sallie sat down at the desk that looked out over the courtyard. It was an old desk, made of genuine dark wood, with an inlaid blotter of green leather and gold piping. On it was an electric kettle manufactured sometime in the mid-1980s, and therefore quite a wonder; a bunch of old magazines from the time when there were still paper publications; and a small, juniper bonsai tree, possibly of an artificial construction, which seemed a bit inconsistent with its surroundings. Sallie checked the kettle for water, found it sufficient, and turned it on. Then she pulled an Earl Grey tea bag from a little caddy on the blotter. Now, where was her cup? God, was she ever tired. But exhilarated, too. This was what she was meant for! Hard work. Fresh air. No messages assaulting her head every living second. Ah, here it was. Her special mug, the one she had brought in her backpack from home. From a place called the Black Bear Diner, acquired on a stoned road trip long, long ago. When it was ready, she poured some boiling water over the tea bag and let it steep for a few minutes. It was quiet in the room. She heard Tim breathing the way the very old breathe, with a bit of honking and wheezing, the occasional snuffle and moan. Light breath, but steady. She blew on the surface of the tea. It smelled nice. Orange blossom. A hint of lilac. When was the last time she had broken open an orange that was not genetically engineered? Perhaps they would have some now. With everything artificial broken down, wasn’t there a chance that something real would have the room to grow?

  There was a brief knock on the doorjamb, and Steve poked his scraggly head into the room. He was still very tentative in his new role as the leader of the group formerly known as the Skells. Had to find a new name for them now. Nothing worth hacking now, and no need for civil defense, either. There would be no more army, at least not for a while. There would be peace in the valley.

  “Come in, Steve.” He took two steps into the room and then stood respectfully, awaiting orders. “Steve,” Sallie said as gently as she could, “see the Master over there? Sleeping?”

  “Yes, Sallie.” Steve held a weathered fisherman’s cap between his hands and was kneading his anxiety into it with each unconscious twist.

  “Tim built this community on the idea that we’re all equal here. There’s no need for anybody to be afraid of anyone else in that way, right?”

  “Right, Sallie. I get that. But that doesn’t mean I don’t need you to tell me what to do now. Because I have no idea.”

  “Well, Steve,” said Sallie. She took a sip of her tea. It was just right. “What do you think we should do?”

  Steve took a minute. “I guess we should take stock of our food supplies and make sure everybody has what they need. Then I think we should let people know there will be a meeting every morning at about eight o’clock to figure out the plans for the day. We could start there. Then we see?”

  “That sounds good. Let’s do that.” Sallie took another sip of tea and looked expectantly over the rim of the cup at her emerging second in command.

  “Can I say good night to Tim?”

  “Sure, Steve. I’m not sure he knows we’re here. But sure.”

  Steve went over to the sleeping body of his revered master. He stared down at Tim, the
n tenderly took the wraithlike hand that was resting above the coverlet and held it in both of his. And then replaced it. Tim did not wake, but a tender smile displayed itself on his lips.

  “I’ll see you later, then, Sallie,” said Steve, and he went to the door. Then he stood there, mute, with something on the tip of his tongue that refused to come out.

  “There’ll be plenty of time to talk, Steve,” said Sallie.

  “I miss her,” said Steve. “I miss her all the time.”

  “Don’t ever stop,” Sallie replied.

  “No,” said Steve. “I don’t guess we will.” He smiled at her. And then he went. Sallie drank her tea. The cicadas outside were going crazy, singing their bell curve tunes, from very low to maniacally intense and then back to virtual silence again. Tim continued to sleep, gently snoring. It was all so perfect, Sallie thought. The world, the real one, had returned to its proper spin along the axis of time.

  “How long you gonna keep me in the dark this way?” said a deep, truculent voice that seemed to come from the bonsai resting on the far side of the desk.

  Ah yes, thought Sallie. And then there’s this.

  “I mean it,” said the plant. “I get this as a temporary fix to a bad situation, but it’s dark in here, and really crampy and shit. What am I?”

  “You’re a houseplant,” said Sallie to Arthur. “I had to put you somewhere, and right now you’re a bonsai. I’m not saying it’s permanent. But frankly, Artie, things are running very smoothly around here without you, and I have to think about whether there’s a place for a guy like you in this new paradigm.”

  “Paradigm? What the fuck is that?”

  “A lot has happened. I’ll think about filling you in later.”

  “Come on, baby,” said the plant. “You know you miss me.”

  “I do, Artie. But I have a lot of things to think about now. Things you might not understand.”

  “I know you miss me. You know what I mean. Come on. It can be like old times. But not if I’m a houseplant.”