The Immortality Virus

by Christine Amsden

  “Is there a difference?” Grace asked.

  Alex chuckled. “I’m told there is. All right, are you Establishment?”

  Grace managed a chuckle. “I’m on their blacklist, if you must know.”

  “I can check on that,” Alex said. “I have Establishment connections.”

  “You’re Establishment?”

  Alex shrugged. “I have some money and obey a lot of their rules, but it’s not like there are membership cards. I can still check on you.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “What did you do to get blacklisted?” Alex asked.

  If he could check on her status, he could check on the reason–at least their version. She decided to be honest about it. “I killed a rich boy who was trying to rape a woman.”

  “Yeah, that’ll get you on their bad side. Why didn’t they kill you?”

  “It’s a long story,” Grace said. “So, why do you think I’m looking for your grandfather?”

  “Are you pro-death?” Alex continued his line of questioning as if she hadn’t spoken.

  This time, Grace hesitated. She wasn’t in the organization, but she was definitely out looking for a road back for humans. “No.”

  Alex didn’t miss the pause. “You hesitated. So, pro-death has finally snapped and decided the best way to get humans back to the way they once were is to kill as many as possible? That doesn’t seem logical.”

  “What?” Grace was genuinely confused. “I mean, pro-death was never exactly logical, but what makes you think I’m looking to kill people?” In a way she was, but not in the way Alex seemed to be suggesting.

  “So you are pro-death.”

  “No.”

  “Look, there are a lot of terrorist groups out there I could name. I don’t know which you’re in, maybe it’s another pro-death not related to the one I know about, but either way, I’m not going to help you kill people. Even if I knew where my grandfather was, which I don’t, I wouldn’t tell you where he is.”

  “Kill people?” Grace asked. She was suddenly feeling a bit angry with this pompous man. People died every day in this hell hole and his grandfather had done that. He even knew it, and could smugly sit there and lecture Grace about killing people.

  “Yeah, kill people,” Alex shot back. “But you’re wasting your time. My grandfather probably died ages ago and took the details of his bioweapons research to the grave with him.”

  Grace’s mouth formed a tiny “o” of surprise. She knew about his biowarfare past, of course, but would not have considered it a reason to hunt him down.

  “That’s not why you’re here, is it?” Alex said. “You couldn’t fake that look.”

  “Probably not,” Grace said. “I’m not sure why people would come looking for him for that, anyway. I’m sure there are lots of people who could manufacture a new super bug if they wanted to. Some think The Establishment already has–the 2247 influenza outbreak wiped out about one-third of the population. Only trouble was, it killed plenty Establishment too, albeit in lower percentages, so I think they were keen not to let that happen again. Really, you’d have to be plain nuts to take that road to population control. You just can’t control who it’s going to kill. Even the rebels and revolutionaries want to end up on top when this is all over. Tough to do when you’re dead.”

  Grace realized she was babbling and shut down her speech. She wasn’t sure where to go next, anyway.

  “I figured sooner or later this world would drive someone nuts enough,” Alex said in a low voice. His frown returned, and he gave Grace a penetrating look. “Probably not The Establishment, of course, and as they’re the only ones who could fund new research…”

  “You thought someone would come after some old research,” Grace finished for him.

  They sat in silence for a while, not quite looking at one another. Grace no longer believed Alex thought she was there to get a bioweapon and kill people, but he also knew she wasn’t there looking for relatives.

  Someone started pounding on the door. Alex stood to unlock it and let in his sister, carrying a tray of tea and cakes, along with a dark-haired man with a subtly lined face.

  “This is our cousin, Carl,” Margaret said by way of introduction. “Carl, this is Grace. She thinks we may be related.”

  “That’s what you said.” Carl stared at Grace with dark, impenetrable brown eyes. He looked nothing like his cousins, who were both fairer in skin and hair. He was also taller–much taller. She didn’t get that from his picture. He had to be at least six feet six inches tall, an intimidating height made only slightly less awesome by his willowy frame.

  “Help yourself,” Margaret said, passing around the four teacups.

  For a while, they busied themselves pouring, drinking, and eating. Alex did not give Grace away, but he scarcely took his eyes off her. Neither, for that matter, did Carl.

  Grace and Margaret chatted for a while. Margaret wanted to know all about Grace’s life and childhood, which she filled in with as much truth as possible so she did not get caught in a lie.

  Finally, Carl cut across them. “So, you’re looking for our grandfather?”

  “I—er—I’m looking for family,” Grace said. “Margaret already said you didn’t know where your grandfather was.”

  “That’s right,” Carl said. “Will you excuse me for a minute?” He stepped out of the room, leaving Grace a little perplexed.

  Margaret took it in stride. “He’s always rude. It’s nothing personal.”

  “Look,” Grace said, “I’ve definitely taken too much of your time here. I should go.” Besides, she knew she would not get Jordan Lacklin’s location from them. She needed to move on.

  “Nonsense,” Margaret said. “Alex is just waiting for his plants to grow, and I won’t have that much to inventory until planting season starts again. Even Carl doesn’t have as much to do as he likes to pretend–he’s always looking to move up in the world.”

  “No, really, I—”

  “Alex can tell you all about his plants,” Margaret interrupted. “He’s making hybrids to help feed more people with less food. He’s been working on it for centuries, with some success, although if you ask me, he spends way too much time with his plants and not enough with people.”

  “Mags,” Alex began.

  “You know, he was actually offered a spot on a colony ship and he turned it down?”

  “Really?” Grace looked at Alex with renewed interest. What kind of man turned down a spot on a colony ship? It was their ticket off this hell hole. It was supposed to be a great honor and a great hope for humanity.

  “What good is a colony ship that can spirit away a thousand people at a time?” Alex asked. “People need me here.”

  “How sentimental,” Margaret said with a playful smile. “I would have gone in a second.”

  “What about you?” Alex asked, his eyes on Grace. “Would you have deserted this planet?”

  “They wouldn’t ask me,” Grace said. “I’m not a scientist or a teacher or a politician with too much influence.”

  Alex chuckled. “What are you, exactly?”

  She hesitated, not sure how to answer. She thought of the horrible redhead at the bank and was about to say she worked there when the door to Margaret’s office suddenly slammed open.

  It took less than half a second for Grace to register several armed men at the doorway. They could only come in one at a time, which was her only advantage as she flung herself behind her chair and drew out her own sidearm in one fluid motion. From somewhere across the office, Alex and Margaret were yelling something, but Grace couldn’t make out the words.

  She aimed and fired at the first farmer through the door. She hit him squarely in the chest, but it didn’t slow him down. She ducked back behind the chair as his blast nearly hit her–a stunning charge. She could tell from the golden hue of the light.

  There was no time to think. The man was obviously wearing some kind of armor across his chest, so she aimed for his leg and fired
again. This time, she blew his leg out from under him, and he fell to the ground with a loud scream.

  Grace ducked back behind her chair as a second farmer fired at her–a red hue this time. He wasn’t out to stun anymore.

  There were three of them in the room now. She couldn’t take them all, but she had no choice but to try. She ducked out from behind the chair again, but they were too close. One of them kicked the weapon out of her hand. He stepped on her arm, and she heard a loud CRACK!

  She saw a farmer hovering above her, his weapon trained on her chest, a smile playing on his face. A split second later, he fired. Then everything went black.

  Chapter 11

  Grace awoke to a rush of sensations ranging from uncomfortable to agonizing. Her right arm called out more loudly than any other part of her body, demanding deliverance she could not provide. It had to be broken, but a stunner didn’t usually break bones. If well aimed, a stunner would send a jolt through the nervous system that could knock someone unconscious for as long as twelve hours. That meant someone had decided to break her arm out of sheer spite. She had a vague recollection of a leering face, a boot landing on her arm, and a loud crack, but it almost seemed as if it had happened to someone else.

  Beneath her she felt cool metal pressing against the bare flesh of her chest and stomach. Nakedness did not bother her nearly as much as the absence of the portable from her wrist. They couldn’t remove the ID chip, ear bud, or vocal recognition chip without effort, but the loss of the CPU rendered the rest meaningless.

  Something on her back, just above her shoulder blade, stung as well, but not like the arm and not like the knowledge of her capture. She had heard humans on farms were often tattooed–branded by the owners as a way of claiming them.

  She opened her eyes slightly, but could see little in the dimly lit room. A man with his back to her stood silhouetted a few feet away, intent on his own purposes and blissfully unaware of her freshly wakened state.

  From somewhere in the room, behind her and off to the left, she heard a door open. Quickly, she shut her eyes and pressed her cheek into the table as it had been, feigning unconsciousness.

  The newcomer spoke in a hard-edged, feminine voice. “Dale will be all right, but his knee may take months to heal.” She paused before adding, “I’d have waited until she was awake to put that tattoo on her back. You almost done, Jim?”

  “Mr. Lacklin wanted this taken care of as soon as possible,” responded the man she had seen earlier only in silhouette. “Can you help me with the bone-setter, Barb?”

  Barb made a noise like a scowl. “Bone-setter? What the hell do you need a bone-setter for?”

  “Mr. Lacklin’s orders.”

  “Who the hell does Mr. Lacklin think he is all of a sudden? I don’t take orders from him. I’m the warden here and no slave on my watch is getting a damned bone-setter.”

  “I know you and Dale were close, but Alex Lacklin and Mr. Cooper have been close lately. I wouldn’t want to cross him. Now, give me a hand.”

  Barb breathed heavily for a moment, then footfalls approached the metal table.

  “Mr. Cooper hasn’t been doing well lately. His son doesn’t like Alex at all.”

  Jim didn’t answer. Grace’s mind began to race. Alex Lacklin had ordered the bone-setter. Alex? Had Alex also ordered them to take her?

  “She smells like lavender soap,” Barb said.

  “Smells like sweat to me,” Jim replied. He fingered Grace’s arm, and she willed herself not to flinch.

  “No, I mean something’s weird here. What’s Lacklin playing at? She wasn’t here begging for a job; she was having tea with Margaret.”

  “Maybe she refused to sleep with him.” Jim lifted her broken arm and placed it in an insulated cylinder. “Hold her arm straight.”

  Barb’s hands twisted around the arm with more force than necessary. Grace fought to continue her ruse of unconsciousness

  “She coulda set to stun,” Barb said. “We had stunners on.”

  “The 721 doesn’t have stun capability,” Jim replied. “Most city folk don’t have a reason to stun and don’t pay extra for it.”

  Barb grunted. “That’s still a nice gun for a street slum, don’t you think?”

  “They don’t pay me to think. I just mark her and clean her up.” Jim hesitated and added, “They never had me bone-set a slave before, though. That’s kinda weird.”

  “I still don’t like it. Carl got Robbie Cooper to give the order to take her in. Mr. Cooper won’t like that when he finds out. I feel trouble coming.”

  It hadn’t been Alex. The thought brought a strange sense of relief to Grace.

  “Yeah,” Jim said. “I know what you mean.”

  “This bone-setter won’t go over too well when we drop her in the barracks.” Barb stopped suddenly. “I’m still allowed to run my farm, right? Nobody ordered her into any particular clan?”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Thirty-seven.”

  “Barb!”

  “What? It’s my work force. I can put her wherever I please.”

  Jim locked the long, cylindrical bone-setter in place, surrounding Grace’s arm in the foam. She had never worn a bone-setter before, but she could already feel the tingles that meant it was doing its work. Her bone would heal in a few days.

  “I wonder if Alex will see it like that if she dies,” Jim muttered. “I don’t think he asked me to fix her bone so you could–”

  “I’m not doing anything.” Barb dropped Grace’s arm. It slammed against the table and sent a jolt of pain through Grace’s body, making her gasp.

  “Wonder how long she’s been awake,” Jim muttered.

  There was no point pretending any longer. Grace blinked open her eyes and tried to get them to adjust to this dimly lit room. She couldn’t see much of anything.

  “Get dressed,” Barb said. Grace felt a pile of cloth tossed onto her back.

  Slowly, Grace sat up and began to put the clothing on. It was loose, gray, and drab but it did cover her nakedness. When she finished, Barb threw a pair of nondescript gray shoes at her that must have had at least twelve owners to date.

  “The Lacklins can’t seem to decide if you’re a prisoner or a guest,” Barb said. “I don’t know what you did to piss them off, but I do know what you did to piss me off. Dale’s a good friend of mine and he’s going to be messed up for a while. So as far as I’m concerned, you are a prisoner here. You won’t get any special treatment from me or any of the farmers, and I imagine it won’t take long for the fresh-from-the-shower scent to disappear.”

  From the sounds of it, Grace would get special treatment–especially bad treatment, at any rate. It also sounded like she’d be better off walking around with her arm half-hanging off than wearing the bone-setter. Grace put a shabby coat on over the gray uniform and tried to cover the bone-setter with the sleeve, but it wasn’t quite long enough. After a few attempts, she gave up and looked into Barb’s eyes for some sign of what she should do next.

  To her surprise, Barb slapped her. Grace touched her stinging cheek with her good hand, but remained silent, sure anything she said would provoke further violence.

  “At least you know when to shut up,” Barb said. “Don’t look at me. Slaves keep their eyes down at all times.”

  Grace did not answer, and Barb did not seem to expect her to.

  “Let’s move,” Barb said. She pulled out a disruptor and motioned for Grace to walk in front of her.

  The room they left was clearly in the basement. The ceiling above them was laced with piping and electrical conduit. The carpet down here had a musty sort of smell as if it had been underwater at one point. Grace tried to memorize her path through a series of twists and turns, but gave up after a short time because she didn’t even think it would benefit her. She never wanted to return to the basement again.

  Barb breathed heavily behind her but did not say anything except to bark out sharp orders. “Left!” or “Right!” Grace tried
not to think about the woman’s plans for her. At least she knew Barb would not kill her outright. She seemed to think Grace wouldn’t escape what was coming, but as long as she still breathed, there was always hope.

  She couldn’t blame Barb entirely. Her motivations made sense. Grace had hurt someone close to her and while in many ways Barb was as powerless as anyone in this world, she did have absolute power over one tiny fiefdom. The idea of someone telling her what to do in that world had to be a blow.

  Carl, on the other hand, made much less sense. What could be served by throwing her on a farm to work the fields?

  There was definitely something strange going on here; maybe even something bigger than Grace knew about. She had one small piece of the puzzle but had no idea who held the rest. Maybe no one person.

  Whoever it was, she had to find them. And to do that, she had to get off this farm.

  “Up!” Barb ordered as they reached a set of stairs. At the top, Grace saw a thick wooden door and heard merciless winds beating against it.

  * * *

  The slaves’ barracks were a group of one hundred small cabins, arranged in a ten by ten grid about half a kilometer from the plantation house. The flimsy coat that came with the drab gray slave uniform did nothing to block the cold January winds as Barb led Grace across the open space. Barb, in her thermal coat, had no trouble. Grace wondered what they had done with her coat and backpack.

  Then she remembered the diary–still in her pack. Who would find it? Would they play it? What would they think?

  “Move!” Barb ordered.

  With difficulty, Grace picked up the pace. If she could just get to the relative shelter of the buildings, the wind might not be so bad, but the night would be deadly if she had to stay out in it for too long. For the first time in her life, she envied the city street dwellers for the warmth of numbers.

  They headed into the thick of the buildings, but if anything, the wind became worse. The spaces between the buildings seemed to create a sort of wind tunnel. Up three buildings and over seven, they reached barracks thirty-seven not a moment too soon.