The Immortality Virus

by Christine Amsden

  “Sam was kind enough to come work for me a few weeks ago,” Matt said. “When I told him what I needed, he said he knew just the person, and so here we are.”

  “Here I am,” Grace echoed. “But of course, you had me checked out first.”

  “Of course.”

  “Then why–?”

  Matt raised a hand to stop her question. He opened the diary and spoke into it. “Play entry one.”

  A deep, tired male voice began speaking as if he were dictating a letter.

  My Dearest Margaret, it’s January 3, 2050,

  I won’t be able to see you as much as I used to. I begin my new job at Medicorp today. Now don’t judge me. I know I said I wouldn’t work for that evil corporation that lives to make a profit off of people’s pain but I’m afraid even I have my price. You. You see, I’m working on a cure for Alzheimer’s. Well, not really. They want me to work on a preventative, but that doesn’t do you any good now, does it? I’m going to fix this, Margaret. I swear to you that somehow I’ll make you right.

  Ethan and Kevin promised they’d come by to see you more often since I won’t be home as much. Kevin’s such a sweet boy. I’m not sure what Ethan’s ulterior motive is, but at least he’ll be there for you. Who knows? Maybe he’s finally learned that there are things more important than money. I won’t hold my breath, but maybe.

  I have to head off to my first day on the job now. I’ll carry you with me in my heart.

  I love you,

  Jordan

  She could tell from his voice that Jordan, whoever he was, was old when he had recorded the message. She could not imagine what this recording had to do with her, but there was something about it that got to her–the raw pain in Jordan’s voice. The man seemed near tears over the fate of his wife. Grace did not look at Sam as she wondered at the capacity of a man to love a woman so much.

  “What am I listening for, exactly?” Grace asked. “He was an employee here, I see. I’ve never heard of the illness he was working on.”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to have heard of it,” Matt said. “It was one of many old age diseases that virtually disappeared in the latter half of the twenty-first century.”

  “All right,” Grace began, still not sure what this was about, “So he was working on a cure for his wife four centuries ago. What’s that got to do with now?”

  “Everything,” Matt said. “Haven’t you been paying attention? He found his cure. Alzheimer’s was virtually eliminated at the end of the twenty-first century.”

  “Yeah, because the human race stopped…” Grace’s eyes widened. “You don’t think he’s the guy who caused all this, do you?”

  “I think you’ll agree, once you’ve listened to the rest of this diary.” Matt tapped one thick finger on the top of the diary.

  For once, Grace couldn’t think of anything to say. She just stared at the diary, a small rectangle that purportedly held the key to four centuries of human history. And Matt was offering to let her listen to the rest of it, to hear it for herself. If. If what? That was the key.

  Grace risked a glance at Sam. He was staring at her, but she couldn’t read anything in his face. She turned back to Matt. “What do you want, exactly?”

  “Find Jordan.”

  “Find Jordan?” The words echoed dully around the room. It was impossible and Matt had to know that. Jordan probably wasn’t alive. Old timers were relatively rare and usually somewhat wealthy. Old age wasn’t the only thing that could kill someone, and four hundred years was a lot of time for everything else to catch up with a person. Besides, Jordan had already been an antique, judging from the sound of his voice.

  Matt cleared his throat. “This won’t be an easy job. I have very few leads. Records indicate that Jordan left the company’s employ shortly after the last entry he made four hundred years ago. His last known address is four hundred years old.”

  “If this is all you’ve got then I can just about guarantee he isn’t alive,” Grace said. “How old was he when he made that entry?”

  “Seventy-six.”

  “So how did he survive, do you think? Your father was one of a very few antiques who managed it for so long.”

  Matt’s face fell into a deep frown, and Grace corrected herself for her rudeness. “I’m sorry. I mean very few people who were older than sixty or so managed to survive. The aging they’d already gone through was enough to get most of them within a century.”

  “We do have a more recent record,” Matt said. “I know he was alive two months ago.”

  Matt sub-vocalized something, and an instant later, a holoset in the corner of the room began showing them images from a surveillance camera in the lobby just outside the office. The camera clearly showed a very old man, escorted by an ageless security guard, striding with purpose across the lobby towards the office door. The secretary–not Lucas–didn’t even blink an eye so Jordan must have been welcomed. He wasn’t distinctive in any way except, of course, that he was old. He did seem to have a remarkable amount of energy for a man who had been in his late seventies when The Change began.

  “So what did he do, just disappear for four hundred years and suddenly show up two months ago?” Grace asked. “What happened four hundred years ago to make him disappear?”

  Matt cleared his throat. “He was on the run from the law.”

  “Oh?” Grace raised an eyebrow.

  “He allegedly killed a few coworkers. He ran before they could even question him about it and was never heard from again.”

  Grace stared at the diary, a part of her more eager than ever to find out what was on the rest of it. “But he just walked back in here two months ago as if that never happened. What was he doing here? Why would your father see him? Did your father know where he was?”

  Matt shrugged. “I wish I could help you.”

  “Did he do it?” Grace asked. “Kill his coworkers, I mean?”

  Again, Matt shrugged. “Who can know for sure? But if you get a chance to listen to the rest of that diary, you may form an opinion for yourself.”

  “This just doesn’t add up,” Grace said, mostly to herself. She glanced down at the diary. “How many entries are there?”

  “Just a couple of month’s worth,” Matt replied. “I know there’s a lot of mystery here, but I also know that there’s a good chance Jordan is still alive. He was two months ago.”

  “Yes, and he apparently had dealings with your father,” Grace said, more to herself than to him. “Your father doesn’t have any other records? Maybe an address or vidphone channel?”

  “If it were that easy, would I have called you?” Matt asked. “The only lead I really have is that diary. In it, he mentions a favorite grandson, Alexander Lacklin, who is still alive. You may want to try to track him down.”

  With a few words, Grace recorded the name in her portable and then used the break in conversation to try to sort through things in her mind.

  The potential mysteries to uncover here had her curiosity on overdrive, but she knew this would be risky. If anyone caught wind of what she was after... She shuddered. Death would only come after the type of interrogation she didn’t want to think about.

  It was crazy. She couldn’t do it. She opened her mouth to say so, but the wrong words escaped. “If I take the job, what’s on the rest of the diary?”

  Matt took a sip of water. “You’ll have to listen to it to find out.”

  And I’ll have to take the job to listen to it, she finished for him. She glanced over at Sam again, who had remained the silent observer throughout. He flashed her another one of those winning smiles, the kind that made small dimples appear on his cheeks.

  Grace shook her head slowly. “I don’t want to get on The Establishment’s radar again.” She glanced at Matt. “I’m sure you know that.”

  “I know that The Establishment has better things to do than watch what you’re doing.”

  Grace felt her cheeks burn a little.

  “They have no idea that yo
u’re here,” Matt said. “They have no idea who Jordan is or why he’s important. So there’s no reason for them to get involved, is there?”

  Somehow, Matt’s assurances didn’t make her feel any better.

  “Come on, Grace, it’s an adventure,” Sam said through his dimpled smile. “Do you remember back in school when I tried to convince you to take up chemistry?”

  “Yeah,” Grace muttered, not quite looking at him.

  “You told me there was no romance, no excitement. I believe your exact words were, ‘Who would want to live forever?’ Do you remember saying that?”

  “So you think finding some antiqued killer is an adventure?” Grace asked. But she knew what the adventure was–it was in the potential knowledge. She had never been active in natural life (and certainly not in pro-death) but only because there was nothing she could do. But this was her chance to do something, or at least to learn something.

  “We hope he’s alive and locatable,” Matt said. “Ultimately, of course, we’re looking for a cure.”

  Grace looked around the room, half expecting people to melt out of the walls.

  “You’ll be well compensated whether you find him alive or dead,” Matt continued. “But if you find him alive and bring him back here, you’ll get double.”

  Matt slid a piece of paper over to Grace. She picked it up, scanned it, and then read it more closely. She tried not to show any emotion, though she was certain she had given something away with her initial reaction.

  “Double if I get him alive?” Grace said, trying to sound casual about the exorbitant sum. It was even more than she had imagined when Matt had first contacted her that morning. It was enough to make her suspect he had no intention of letting her refuse the offer. One way or another.

  “I want to make sure you focus on this case,” Matt said. “There should be no need to have other clients for a while.”

  “I need double,” Grace said, pushing the paper back and trying to sound nonchalant. It was an insane amount of money, of course, more than she would make in twenty good years, but she needed to test her theory.

  “That’s a lot of money.”

  “Yes, it is.” Grace met his gaze levelly.

  “All right, then, the offer is doubled.”

  That was too fast, especially for such an outrageous sum of money. Matt either wanted to make absolutely certain she took the job or he had a reasonable suspicion that she would not survive it. Or both.

  He would have her killed if she refused the offer, of course. She really should not have come. Her mother was right about the curiosity.

  “I need half up front,” Grace said.

  Matt raised an eyebrow. “How do I know you won’t just run off with it?”

  “For the same reason you knew I’d take the job,” Grace said.

  Matt nodded and opened a desk drawer. He pulled out a bank draft, filled it out, and handed it to Grace–half up front.

  Chapter 2

  All she wanted to do after the meeting ended was get out of there without running into Sam. She had enough to think about without rehashing old memories of long lost love. It had taken a couple of decades to get over him, and while she didn’t think she still loved him, she couldn’t quite keep her heart still in her chest.

  He caught up with her as she waited for the elevator.

  “Why are you in such a hurry?” Sam asked. “It’s got to be, what, sixty years? How are you doing?”

  “Great,” Grace said, glancing impatiently at the elevator and avoiding eye contact.

  “When I last saw you, you were living in that one room apartment with the public toilet down the hall. I hear you’re established now.”

  “I’ve got my own toilet,” Grace said.

  “But you never had children,” Sam said.

  Grace cringed. She would not start this with him again, not today, not ever again. She had made her choices clear up front. He was the one who had spent fifty years hoping she would change her mind.

  “Sorry,” Sam said. “I know it’s too late, but you would have made a great mother.”

  Grace bit her tongue. She would not have made a great mother, or even a good one. The mere act of bringing a child into this godforsaken world would have made her bad. This was no world for children, and she wasn’t fond of hypocrites.

  “What are you doing working here?” Grace asked by way of changing the subject. “I thought you loved academia.”

  “It didn’t love me,” Sam said. “I proposed a controversial study of new nutrition alternatives in conjunction with someone in the sociology department. The next day we both had pink slips.”

  Grace tried not to show her anger at The Establishment for forbidding such research. They were not interested in improving the world for humanity, only for themselves. Some even espoused the theory that if the food supplies ran short, it would serve as a means of controlling the population.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Grace said, carefully controlling her tone. Years ago, she would have asked for more details about the research, engaged him in conversation and commiseration, but today she needed to get out of his presence.

  “Matt asked me to come work for him when he took over the company. I’m really doing it, Grace. I’m looking for a cure.”

  Grace looked around, afraid someone might have heard him, but not even Lucas was there to listen. “Keep your voice down.”

  “It’s okay,” Sam said. “We’ve got a team, handpicked by Matt.”

  “They don’t know about me, do they?” Grace asked. She had a sudden vision of a dozen people–any of whom might betray them–knowing she was participating in a search for a cure. The vision ended with a scene of Grace, imprisoned in shackles, being tortured for more information.

  “Of course not. I didn’t tell anyone who didn’t need to know.” Sam looked more hurt than she’d thought he would. Perhaps she had forgotten quite a bit about his character, or perhaps she was being rationally cautious about a man she had not known for so long. Sixty years could more than change a person. She wondered at his easy trust of her. What made him think she hadn’t decided she liked being alive at one hundred and thirty, as so many others did? Naturalism was for the young, she’d often heard people say.

  “Listen, Sam, I need to get started. I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me.”

  Sam opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something else, but in the end he must have decided better of it because he just smiled and walked away.

  Once in the relative privacy of the elevator, Grace closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. A long time ago she would have wanted nothing more than to get reacquainted with Sam and maybe try for another shot at forever. She knew better now.

  Grace shook off her thoughts long enough to put on her thermal coat, designed to protect her from the cold January winds. It was big enough to cover her small backpack, keeping it from questing fingers. A slit in the front made sure her sidearm remained readily accessible–just in case. She pressed a button in the inside cuff to turn on the thermal lining.

  Medicorp security did not care who left the building–only who came in. Their location in the heart of downtown Kansas City made them a temptation for the vagrants living in the park across the street. Thousands of people without work, food, or hope would love their chance at even an hour inside the warm building with free, clean water pouring out of spouts in the bathrooms.

  It was a testament to how good Medicorp’s security really was that most of the vagrants kept their distance. It was a testament to the vagrants’ desperation when one of them rushed the door as Grace walked out and felt the first blast of January air on her face.

  The man in the tattered coat was heading straight for her. Grace jumped out of the way, not because she thought the man would hurt her but because she thought Medicorp’s security would shoot through her to keep the man at bay. Sure enough, an instant later, he was back on the sidewalk, blood staining the pathetic garment he had used to block the cold. />
  Grace glanced over her shoulder in time to see a security guard holster his disruptor. She shuddered, but not from the cold. She tried not to think about the man who had lost his life in such a foolish manner, telling herself he had deserved death for being stupid enough to rush a well-guarded building. Yes, his coat was ragged, but there were enough warm bodies around to keep him from freezing to death.

  As Grace walked away, the vultures began rushing in, swooping down on the dead man’s body. One man with an even thinner and more ragged coat than the dead one thought he had found a treasure. He nearly knocked Grace over as he ran with it, followed by a small crowd that seemed intent on taking the filthy, bloodstained rag from him.

  How had someone broken in last month? Grace found herself wondering. It wasn’t her business or her job, but it had to have been an inside job. No one would have gotten through those front doors unless they had been invited.

  Even with lethal force at their disposal and no compunction against using it, the security guards at Medicorp only managed to clear a twenty-foot area in front of the entranceway. Soon, Grace was pushing against the crowd in the streets, using her elbows, arms, knees, and feet to push, pull, or kick people out of the way. There was a rhythm to the movement, if she could find the right wave to ride, but it took a lot of jostling to find that wave. Finally, she found a stream of people moving towards the rail stop she needed. Once she wriggled her way in, she no longer needed to exert any of her own effort. She just rode the wave, letting their movement pull her along.

  As always, insanity reigned downtown. Even knowing how to ride the waves, Grace could do little to keep people from touching or groping. She kept them from picking her pockets by not having anything in her pockets and by keeping her bag under her coat, but personal space did not exist in the wave. As if to remind her, someone beside her brushed a hand against her breasts. Whether on accident or on purpose, she would never know and she frankly did not care. Within seconds the groper drifted away, and they would likely never meet again.

  Grace moved one arm to the bulge at her side where she kept her disruptor. It would be difficult to get to it in this crowd, perhaps impossible to get to it in time. On the other hand, if someone started shooting the crowd at random, the sheer number of people surrounding her would give her some protection. If someone set off a bomb...well, very few lived forever. Matthew Stanton Sr. had been in the running, but even he had lost in the end.