The Immortality Virus

by Christine Amsden

  There was something else about this place, too. Grace was nearly through the downtown area when she finally figured out what it was–no vagrants. No street urchins. Everyone had business here and seemed to be making darn sure everyone else knew it.

  That was when Grace saw the farmer. He looked just like the ones she had seen on the news–suspenders, brown slacks, and a red shirt. He had a taser at his side and an eye on the people moving about. When his gaze fell upon Grace, it lingered there until she finally escaped into a nearby drug store.

  “What can I do for you?” asked a woman behind the counter. Her voice was a mix of polite cheer and wary insistence. She expected an answer to her question.

  “I just came in for a–” Grace’s mind went into overdrive, “nutri-bar. I forgot my lunch.”

  “You’re not from around here,” the woman said. The name tag on her shirt read “Agnes.”

  “No, ma’am, I’m just here for the day,” Grace said.

  “What’s your business?”

  “Genealogy,” Grace said without hesitation. “My mom died recently, and I’m looking for my roots. I heard I had some family up here, living at the Cooper Farm.”

  Agnes snorted. “Ain’t no one live at that farm. There’s some who die at that farm and some others who lose their souls there.”

  Grace didn’t doubt that for a second. She shuddered. “Still, it’s all I’ve got.”

  Agnes came out from around the counter and put one arm on Grace’s. “Let me show you to the food section.” She led Grace around to the back of the store where she let her voice fall. “Listen, honey. You seem like a nice girl. You get out of here. We got no jobs and no soft place to fall. Out here it’s the farms, not the cozy city streets. I sent all my kids to the city when they grew up. Didn’t have work for a one of them and didn’t want to end up eating them for breakfast.”

  “That’s just a rumor,” Grace said. “No one’s ever proven it.”

  Agnes snorted. “We got all the proof we can stomach out here. Now two of my girls are living in trash cans and another is sleeping in a one-bedroom apartment with five other girls, but at least they got lives and hope.”

  “I have a job,” Grace said.

  Agnes shrugged. “If you say so.” She picked up a nutri-bar from the shelf. “This what you want?”

  The question seemed to have more than one meaning. Grace shook her head. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

  Agnes gave her a knowing smile and pointed to a bar labeled “Soylent Green.” “That’s the stuff you want.”

  “Er, it is?” Grace said.

  “One hundred percent guaranteed pure fruits and vegetables in there,” Agnes chuckled at her own joke. “Small group of growers up here make them ourselves.”

  “Why do you call it…”

  “Why do they call Iceland ‘Iceland’ and Greenland ‘Greenland’?”

  Grace picked up one of the bars and noted that it cost twice as much as the nutri-bars. Oh well, she decided. Today it was worth it.

  The door opened as Grace followed Agnes to the check-out counter with her Soylent Green. The farmer walked in.

  “Be with you in a minute, Dan,” Agnes said.

  It seemed odd that she knew his name. What kind of world had she stepped into? Something out of the past?

  Then she saw Dan’s unapologetic stare. He had some interest in her, though she didn’t know what. She shuddered and headed for the door.

  Out in the street, Grace noticed the businesslike way people moved. To avoid the farmers? To make sure the farmers knew they had jobs? So many of them, even up here, and not enough jobs for them all.

  Grace patted her sidearm. Then she made her way through the town and down the country lane that led to Cooper Farm.

  Chapter 10

  Long barbed-wire fences sprung up on either end of the lane about half a mile before Grace reached the administration and plantation building. They shot off towards the east and west as far as the eye could see, and then followed the road to the north. Once in the embrace of the fence, she felt like a prisoner and wondered if she would ever get out. She did not usually feel claustrophobic, but she could not shake the feeling that the world was closing in on her.

  The plantation house loomed above her, rising five stories above the rolling Iowa plains. It was relatively new, built within the last hundred years. Grace could see signs of modern architecture that was so rarely implemented because people simply could not afford to update their homes. She had only seen this kind of architecture on a show about mansions of the rich and famous. It even had marble columns, or maybe a realistic looking faux marble.

  Twice Grace had to get out of the way for cars flying down the road. She supposed it would have been smart to find a taxi in town, but she was so used to walking everywhere that it had not occurred to her. Now her legs ached from the long stretch out to the plantation.

  A guardhouse was set just outside the administration building. Two farmers in their red and brown uniforms stood at attention within the little guardhouse, their eyes never wavering from Grace as she made her way up to them.

  “State your name and business,” one of them, the taller of the two, said in a louder-than-necessary voice.

  “Grace Harper. I’m here to see Margaret Lacklin.”

  The guard did not even bother to check his portable. “I have no record of that.”

  “Did you think of checking?” Grace asked.

  He flashed her a grin that showed a lot of teeth. “You’re too pretty and clean to come up here. Head on back to the city and find yourself a nice dumpster to live in. We don’t have any jobs.”

  “I’m not looking for a job,” Grace said, with every bit of dignity she could muster. She wished she still had her police badge and wondered idly if the men she had seen at the train station were still following her. What would they do if she ended up a slave on this farm? Let her rot? Or would they have some vested interest in seeing her free to continue this charade of a case?

  “Not a job, eh?” The man’s smile grew, if possible, even wider. She could practically see his gums. “A husband, then?”

  “Why don’t you just check the schedule and let me see Ms. Lacklin?” Grace asked.

  “Well, now. Maybe I could check the schedule, but I might need a little incentive.” His eyes roamed to chest level, although she couldn’t imagine what he saw there beneath a thick, thermal-lined coat stretched taught by a backpack that made her look slightly humpbacked. With thievery so common, the humpback look wasn’t particularly out of style, but it wasn’t flattering either.

  Off in the distance, she heard the low rumble of a hovercar coming down the road from town. Grace ignored it, and tried to think what to do next.

  “C’mon,” the guard said. “The guardhouse is warm and private. I bet you’re a knockout under those winter clothes.”

  The hovercar drew closer and landed just behind them, causing the guard to snap to attention. The man in the car rolled it up alongside the guardhouse and drew down the tinted window to reveal stunning green eyes and sandy brown hair that did not betray his old timer status. It definitely didn’t show in the lines of his face, which, at that moment, were turned into a frown. She only knew him because she knew that face–Alexander Lacklin. “What’s going on here?”

  “Mr. Lacklin,” the guard said, his face turning slightly red. “No problem at all. This woman was just trying to gain entry to get a job.”

  Alexander. The one she wanted to talk to, but not just yet. Not before she had a chance to work some deceit and possibly some magic on Margaret. She looked steadily into those eyes, though, attempting to look proud and wondering if they could see right through her.

  “I don’t believe you,” Alexander said, “Her clothes are in good condition. She is packing a top of the line disruptor in plain view. And, even if she managed to steal all that, she smells strongly of perfumed soap. Baths are difficult to steal.”

  Grace stared at him for a moment, imp
ressed despite herself with his deductions. He didn’t look at her, but for a moment she found herself hoping he would.

  Then she came to her senses and turned back to the guard, whose face had somehow turned redder. “I–I was just checking her credentials.”

  “I’ll bet,” Alexander said. “I don’t care if your grandfather owns this farm, either. I’m going to report you. And with the number of reports he’s had about you, he may not care that you’re his grandson, either.”

  He was trying to rescue her. Grace had been rescued before–Captain Flint’s face sprung instantly to mind–but not often and she never liked it. It made her feel weak. Besides, she could have handled this. The last thing she needed was to be in Alexander’s debt. She would have to lie to him in a few minutes, something that might be harder to pull off now.

  She did like his tone and attitude, though.

  She glanced at the guard, who seemed to be pleading silently with her not to say anything about him.

  “Was he giving you trouble?”Alexander asked.

  She wasn’t going to lie for him, but she didn’t feel like tattle tale behavior would win her any friends, either. “Why don’t you just give him one more chance? I’m sure he’ll be more courteous to his female visitors next time.”

  The guard held his breath and looked at Alexander for his verdict. After a moment, the latter said. “Fine, one more chance. Don’t waste it.”

  The guard breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Do you need a ride up to the plantation house?” Alexander asked. “Who are you here to see?”

  “Margaret Lacklin,” Grace decided to pretend not to know his name. Better that he not think she knew much about him. “Your cousin?”

  “Sister. I’m Alex Lacklin. Well, get in then.”

  She hurried to the passenger seat and slid inside.

  From the guardhouse, it probably would have been faster to walk to the plantation house, but taking the ride gave her a chance to get the measure of Alex before she had to try to convince him of her lost relative story.

  When she turned to speak to him, though, she found she couldn’t think of anything to say.

  “Don’t judge us all by that jerk,” Alex said. His mouth almost twitched into a smile, but fell short at the last minute.

  “No, of course not.” What a stupid thing to say. What did she really want to know? Who was this man with a streak of intelligence and the willingness to come to her aid? Why would such a man work on a farm?

  “What do you do here?” Grace managed, finally.

  “I’m a biochemist,” Alex said, his face relaxing for the first time since they’d met. “I’m here looking for new ways to feed more people with less food.”

  Grace raised her eyebrows, but did not answer. Her impression of him had been correct–he could get a job anywhere. Why a farm?

  “I’ll take you to my sister’s office,” Alex said as he settled the hovercar in the garage beside a dozen similar models. They stepped out and headed up an elevator to the third floor.

  From the outside, the plantation house looked like a massive fortress. From the inside, it looked like an endless system of crisscrossing corridors. It felt institutional. The walls were a cream color, the carpet pale blue, and the pictures that lined the walls were the sort of impersonal things someone might have ordered at random from a catalog.

  It was hard to believe people lived there, but many did. Not the slaves, of course, they would live in shabbier dwellings on the grounds, but among other things the farms were huge corporations that had many employees working for them–administrators, secretaries, accountants, researchers, and the farmers–the wardens.

  At least Margaret’s office was only two turns from the elevator. Grace thought she could find her way back quickly if she had to–assuming the corridors did not suddenly rotate at odd hours to throw would-be escapees off track.

  The thought made her smile, which helped ease some of the tension she felt as she walked in.

  Margaret’s office was a pleasant contrast to the institutional corridor outside. The walls in here boasted a bright green that managed to be fun rather than blinding. The carpet, a rich brown, almost disappeared under the canvas of furniture–a massive oak desk, a sofa, two comfortable armchairs, and a coffee table in the middle of the sitting group. Covering bits of the green walls were pictures of people–family, Grace presumed. Indeed, she thought she recognized one very old picture of Jordan Lacklin standing next to a smiling woman–Margaret? Jordan’s Margaret, at any rate.

  “You must be Grace,” Margaret said the instant they walked in the door. “And I see you’ve already met my brother. How nice!” Her face split into a warm smile of welcome, making the similarities between her and her brother stand out.

  “See you, Mags,” Alex said as Grace shook Margaret’s hand.

  “Pfft! Why don’t you stay and chat with us?” Margaret asked. “Didn’t Grace tell you we’re family?”

  As Grace suspected, Alex’s green eyes became sharp and inquisitive. “Oh?”

  “She thinks Granddad might have lived long enough to have another child. Wouldn’t that be nice? He was always so hung up on Grandma. I would like to think he lived and found new love.”

  “How old are you?” Alex asked, fixing her with those green eyes for the first time. She wished he would turn them away.

  “One hundred and thirty,” Grace managed.

  “How old was your mom when she had you?” He made her feel like he was cross-examining her.

  “Forty,” Grace said. That much was all true.

  “So you’re suggesting our grandfather was alive one hundred and seventy years ago and had a daughter at something like three hundred years old?”

  “Men can have babies at that age,” Grace told him. Many men eventually went sterile after a century or two, but others had been known to continue producing healthy sperm for hundreds of years.

  “Alex, what’s the matter with you?” Margaret asked. “You know it’s possible for men to do that sometimes. Just because you can’t—”

  Grace did not need to get into the middle of sibling rivalry. That seemed the surest way to blow her cover. “Look, I’m not entirely sure if I’ve found the right Jordan Lacklin. My mom only told me his name and that he was an old timer.”

  “And you thought the most likely place to start would be here?” Alex shook his head.

  Her rescuer of a few minutes ago had suddenly turned against her. She understood his suspicions. After all, she was lying, but she did not understand the raw hostility in his voice.

  “Alex, you’re being rude,” Margaret said. “Why don’t we sit down and have tea and let Grace talk? Then we can decide if she’s found family or a dead end. Either way, we can be civilized.”

  Alex nodded. “Yeah, all right. We can be civilized. Why don’t you go and get us some tea and cakes?”

  Margaret looked tensely between Alex and Grace, but shrugged and left her office. As soon as she was gone, Alex closed the door and locked it with an ominous click.

  “Who are you?” Alex asked without preamble.

  “I told you the truth,” Grace said. “Didn’t you just get through telling that guard why I wasn’t here looking for a job or anything? Why else would I be here?”

  “Exactly. You’re not here looking for a job and you’re not here looking for lost relatives. My grandfather was old before aging began, and he was wanted for murder.”

  Grace fixed her face into a look of surprise. “What?”

  “He didn’t do it,” Alex added quickly, “but he was on the run and unlikely to have survived. Who are you?”

  “Who do you think I am?” Grace didn’t miss a beat with her responses. Hesitation would give away the lie, but her racing heart might do that anyway.

  “I have a theory,” Alex said slowly, “but I want to hear the truth from you. And don’t insult my intelligence again by telling me you’ve already told me the truth.”

  Grace hesitated. D
amn. There went her lie. She just had no idea what to say. She obviously couldn’t tell him the truth, not with The Establishment clamoring for the information.

  “Well, not lying is a start,” Alex said, his features softening somewhat. “Why don’t you take off your coat?”

  Because I want to be able to make a run for it. She took off her coat, hat, gloves, and backpack, though, and set them on the floor beside one of the armchairs.

  Alex stared at her as she removed her clothing and continued to stare until she glared back at him. “What?”

  “You’re not what I expected.”

  “You were expecting someone?” Grace asked. Did that mean he knew where his grandfather was and knew people would be looking for him?

  “To be honest, yes. I’ve been expecting someone to come looking for my granddad for years. I guess I just always thought it would either be some high-powered Establishment people in black ties or else some scum-of-the-earth revolutionaries dealing in more direct forms of human misery. You look pretty normal.”

  “Gee, thanks. Just what every girl wants to hear.” She meant it as a means of lightening the tension, but somehow the words that rang in her ears were all wrong, and she blushed. She didn’t fail to note, however, that Alex already knew about his grandfather’s activities–or at least he suspected.

  “Who are you working for, then?” Alex asked.

  She almost laughed because she didn’t know the answer to that. Who should she say? Mr. Stanton? The Establishment? Matt was part of The Establishment so in reality, it would be the truest thing to say. But she didn’t really plan on telling him either thing. Mostly, she was curious how much Alex knew about his grandfather. Had Jordan shared his information on the virus with his grandson? If so, perhaps short of finding Jordan, Matt could use Alex’s help.

  “Grace? Who do you work for?” Alex repeated.

  “Why do you think I’m looking for your grandfather?” Grace countered.

  Alex sat down on the sofa and beckoned Grace to sit in the armchair across from him. “All right, let’s just try this. Are you a rebel?”

  “No.”

  “I believe you. Are you a revolutionary?” Alex asked.