Virtual Immortality

by Matthew S. Cox

  “So who is your dad?”

  “His name is Jake. He’s a cop.”

  Joey closed his eyes, swallowing the obscenities that wanted to come out. That little voice in his head screamed. This kid had trouble written all over her. If something happened to her while she was with him, the cops would be looking for someone to blame. Who better than a fringer from Mars with no records and no family down here?

  “Maybe we should call him?”

  She stared into his eyes; her tears had scrubbed two clean streaks down her face. “It won’t matter.” Her gaze fell. “He’ll be too busy at work.”

  “If you tell him that men with guns are chasing you, he’ll fly home.”

  She sniffled. “He can’t get away from his work. That’s what he keeps saying.”

  “You don’t give him enough credit.”

  Her baleful look made him worry, but she was also not his problem to deal with. He wanted to find out who was behind the attacks, and it seemed foolish to risk luring those assassins to a hospital. They already proved willing to kill a kid; they would have no qualms about torching anyone in their way. Maybe he could stash her at Kenny’s; he lived so far south it might as well have been off the grid.

  Without thinking about it, he rubbed her back while he used his NetMini to search for Jake Roth. No hits that seemed plausible came back.

  “Are any of these your dad?” He scrolled through a list of faces. None of them got her attention.

  “You’re wasting your time.” She huddled into him tighter. When he continued looking, she sighed. “Try searching for Jacob.”

  She picked a face on the fourth page of hits. “That’s him.”

  Joey opened the link and read the title under the name: Detective - Division 2 Gang Task Force. Well that at least explained why he was so busy. Some parts of the city had so much gang activity that they became open warzones. He hit the holographic button to connect a vid call and soon a middle-aged man’s head hovered in front of him, covered with short hair that went curly on top, black with a liberal spread of silver throughout. Little round glasses sat with precarious gravity upon the end of his nose and he seemed to radiate an air of fatigue.

  “Roth.” His voice sounded unassuming, and not much like a cop.

  “Yeah… Do you have a daughter named Hayley?”

  The boredom in Roth’s voice faded to concern. “That is correct. What is this about?”

  Well that is something, Joey thought, at least he got an emotional response. “She’s gotten herself mixed up in something I don’t really understand. She just showed up at my place and some angry men with big guns just tried to aerate us both.”

  “Shit,” he muttered. “Where is she now?”

  “We’re in the grey zone, moving towards the city. Where can I meet you?” Joey was about to give Hayley an emphatic look when Roth’s next words caught him off guard.

  “I’m buried up to my eyeballs here and can’t get out of the office. I’ll send some patrol units to the apartment to keep an eye on her.”

  “Your kid’s getting shot at and you can’t leave the office?” Joey almost yelled in disbelief.

  “That’s an obtuse way of putting it, but it’s not like I have a choice.” His tone returned to a more calm and businesslike demeanor. “Many more people could die if I don’t. The patrol officers can handle it.”

  “Yeah okay, whatever…” Joey hung up, and sighed.

  “See.” She stared at the ground, trembles gone, fear drowned in sadness.

  His heart sank. He had once wanted to wound Cleopatra, but this girl already had some deep ones. Cop or not, her dad was a douche. He could not grasp how anyone could do that. His own father often found himself swamped at work, but never prioritized his job over his family. Joey could not dump her at that apartment alone even if cops were sitting on the front door. She needed more than just guards, but Joey was not thrilled about being the father figure she clung to. Alas, the sight of the scrawny kid shivering in his lap melted his heart in a way he had never known.

  He fired off a text only message to her father, giving him Kenny’s address and telling him to pick Hayley up there when he got out of work.

  “I ain’t gonna leave you alone at that apartment. I have a friend who lives far from here to the south. He’s got a daughter a little older than you. You’ll be safe there until your dad gets out of work. Is that okay?”

  She nodded without saying anything.

  “Okay, let’s get going before they find us.”

  Hayley faltered on her right leg as they stood. The cut, aggravated by the running, flared up. She yelped and grabbed his shirt to keep from falling over. He carried her along past alley after alley. The social standing of the people around them improved with each passing block as the decay gave way to the city proper. As soon as the people stared at him with a glare that questioned what he was doing here, he figured he had gone far enough into civilization to be safe.

  They stopped by a PubTran dispatch terminal nestled in a cluster of lampposts and vendomats and he set her back down. She put no weight on her right leg and held on to him for balance. He smacked the button a few times until it flooded the area with bright azure light.

  “Thank you for choosing PubTran taxi. Please wait, an autocab has been dispatched to your location.” A digitized voice emanated from thin air with insincere cheerfulness.

  As they waited, Hayley stared out at the world with fear and fatigue. Her fingers dug into Joey’s clothing as if to let go meant her death. The myth of her immunity from the real world within the confines of her father’s apartment had been shattered, and with it her bravado.

  Her face glowed green with light from Joey’s NetMini on one side and cyan on the other from the PubTran terminal. She leaned up to peek as he ordered a pair of shoes for her. He held the device out as if to take a picture of her foot, and the ordering system calculated the proper size. Given that merchandise arrived via flying delivery bot within a few minutes, he sent the shoes to Kenny’s so they would be waiting.

  She squeezed his arm, feeling a bit guilty about all she’d done to him. “Joey?”

  “Yeah?” He glanced down.

  A smile forced through tears she could not stop. “I’m sorry.”

  He patted her on the back. “Yeah… I’ll forgive you if I live through this.”

  No sooner had he put his NetMini back in his pocket than a tiny driverless car pulled up by the terminal box. Dull grey at the fenders, the roof, door, and hood gleamed powder blue. A single large door on the side facing them opened upward.

  “Thank you for using PubTran. Your cab is now here. Please board the vehicle and close the door behind you. Use caution and do not trap any loose articles of clothing in the door. Please ensure that all children and pets are accounted for before closing the door. Please note that PubTran Corporation is not liable for injury or death that result from the actions of external forces during your ride. Enjoy your trip.” Joey could not tell if the voice came from the box or from the vehicle.

  The small interior had two bench seats facing each other. The opposing wall had no door, just a metal console down the middle with some well-worn manual interface buttons. Joey let Hayley in first and then sat facing her. She switched sides to sit next to him and tucked her uninjured foot under her on the seat. He pulled the door closed, and leaned back.

  “Hello, this is the PubTran Taxi system navigator. Please state your destination.”

  Joey gave it Kenny’s address.

  “Destination is one hundred forty seven credits. Please swipe your NetMini device or insert a credstick.”

  Joey waved his NetMini past the console. After a beep, the vehicle drove off. By the time the car rolled to a halt in front of Kenny’s house almost an hour later, Hayley had fallen asleep. Joey carried her onto the porch as the vehicle turned and zipped off into the city for its next fare. The thought of all the things she did to him as Cleopatra tempted him to use her head to knock on the door, but
he decided against it and tapped a few times with his boot.

  Kenny shook his head at him as he opened the door. “Those are too small for Alyssa.”

  “They’re not for her…” Joey hefted the sleeping girl in his arms.

  He blinked at the sight of her. “What the fuck did you do?”

  Joey rolled his eyes. “Why do you always assume the worst? I’ll explain later. You got any stimpaks? She’s hurt.”

  “Yeah, yeah…” Kenny jogged into the house as Joey walked in behind him and kicked the door shut.

  He eased Hayley onto the couch at the center of the living room and looked around. The western themed décor made him feel at home. In many ways, life on Mars fit the descriptions of the Old West―with more lasers. Kenny returned and handed him a red autoinjector with a yellow cap at the end. Joey unraveled the cloth from around Hayley’s foot. As he tugged the saturated cloth away from where it had fused, her eyes snapped open from the sudden jolt of pain.

  Joey held up the stimpak. “Know what this is?”

  “Yeah. Dad has a couple of them at home.” She cringed with anticipation.

  After sliding the pant leg up to her calf, Joey pressed the autoinjector into her leg and it made a faint hiss. Within seconds, the cut on her foot filled in and faded to a thin white line of new tissue as nanobots rebuilt the damaged cells. The synthetic adrenaline in the carrier fluid chased the fatigue from her eyes. Hayley relaxed, having anticipated far more pain from the shot.

  Kenny turned to the back hallway. “Alyssa? Hon, can you grab some of your old clothes?” He smiled at Hayley and pointed at the nearest bathroom. “You need to clean yourself up. The autoshower is over there. My daughter will bring you something to wear. Just yell if you need anything.”

  “She could use something to eat, too,” added Joey.

  Hayley nodded and wandered towards the indicated doorway with the hesitance of a guest not wanting to go in the wrong direction. The battered cat-headed deck remained on the couch.

  “So…” Kenny folded his arms at Joey. “Who is that?”

  Joey’s cheesy laugh disintegrated into a halfhearted chuckle. “Grab a beer, it’s a long story.”

  ear shaped patches of light interrupted the burgundy wallpaper at regular intervals from small lamps arranged about a modest-sized room. The air hung thick with the fragrance of eastern incense and a podium presided over the handful of people seated in several rows of chairs.

  Heads turned as the opening door let in the sound of a car passing in the rain. A woman slipped through and closed it. Pale fingers traced the rose-hued metallic reliefs in the wallpaper as she drifted to the right. A frilled cuff sprouted like a flower around her delicate wrist from an ornate dress a few centuries out of place. Her alabaster skin glowed with a phantasmal presence, as if lit by moonlight that existed only for her.

  The white gown turned pale blue in places where the fabric thickened, and its lacy hem dusted the floor as she moved, bare toes peeking out with each step. Its chest opened in a modest v-shaped neck, folds of material lined with frilled lace gave the impression of flower petals peeled back to reveal a hint of cleavage, though its wearer did not have much to show off. She was a wisp, a shade less than five and a half feet tall and delicate of build. Long, black hair framed a narrow face and hung to her waist. Piercing blue eyes shrouded in dark makeup remained downcast. The living doll hovered along the periphery, as if fearful of the room’s interior.

  Her gait slowed as she risked a glance over the small crowd. An unassuming man in his early thirties sat in the front row; the desperate claw-like way in which he clung to a cup of coffee a sign that all was not well with him. Short, thick, brown hair sat like a plastic helmet upon his head. Every so often, his eyes darted to the door, fearful of what he might see.

  Across the room, a boy of about ten sat on the floor with his back to the wall. His dark shirt, pants, and battered sneakers seemed ordinary, though he wore a military pilot’s helmet too large for him and fidgeted with a toy starship. Given the nature of this place, she assumed one of his parents, or perhaps an older sibling, had died in action.

  An exhausted Japanese woman had watched her since she entered, looking away before she could make eye contact. She fought to keep her eyes open as though she had not slept in days. She looked to be in her early twenties; her attire said she made a decent living.

  In the center of the bank of chairs, a brooding, older, black man glared at the podium. His pale green sweater and light tan pants clashed with the colors of the room, though he focused his attention elsewhere. Unlike the others, he radiated more anger than sadness, and gave the impression that he simply waited for the right person to go off on. A few seats to his left, an old man with coffee colored skin and white hair muttered to no one in particular about wasting time. His attire plain, he was not subtle in his display of contempt for this place.

  In the last row, a young woman curled into a ball with the heels of her boots on the seat and her face hidden between her knees, muttering about someone named Mary. She wore leather painted with gang markings. Somewhere underneath the dangling chains and spikes hid a ratty white t-shirt and some manner of skin-hugging camouflage pants.

  All the way on the left side, a glowing pink fairy, not quite a foot tall, in a risqué red dress, hovered over an arrangement of snacks set up on a folding table. A cloud of pink surrounded her as if she were a living light source. She drifted back and forth amid a trail of sparkling dust as she looked over the food that had been set out, with a disappointed smirk.

  The elaborate dress rustled as the frail woman leaned into the corner and folded her arms. She stared down at the floor where her toes peered out from below the frill, wondering if coming here was a mistake. Compared to everyone else here, she did not feel as bad, or at least would not admit to it. Everyone in this room had lost someone dear to them. She looked up at motion, finding the boy with the helmet two feet away. He pushed the helmet up so he could see her, silent as she stared at her warped reflection in the silver visor.

  “Hi.”

  She offered a weak smile. “Hey.”

  He held up a hand. “I’m Chris.”

  “Avril.” She returned his handshake.

  “My dad died on Mars. He was a Marine.”

  “I’m sorry.” She squeezed his shoulder. “He was a hero, I bet.”

  The helmet slid forward with a thunk as he hung his head. “They won’t tell us how he died.”

  “If he was part of a clandestine ops team, the records are sealed, they…” Avril stopped and shook her head.

  “Huh?” The helmet snapped back up.

  “I mean… If he was on a secret mission they can’t tell you about it without putting other soldiers in danger.” She folded her hands over her dress.

  “That’s what mom said too. Why are you here?”

  She flinched at the question, but this was a kid after all―tactless. The inquiry flooded her with memories of Vincent and she choked up.

  “Sorry.” The helmet sagged to the right. “The doc says we don’t have to talk about it till we’re ready to.”

  “My husband.” She forced it out through a trembling voice.

  The loose helmet wobbled as he nodded. “Sorry.” He turned to walk away, but whirled back around. “Don’t be sad. You’re pretty, so you can get a new one.” With that, he marched to where he had been sitting before.

  She stared at him, not knowing if she should feel flattered or angry that he dismissed Vincent like that, and turned away from the room to hide her tears against the wall.

  An Indian woman in a white coat over navy blue business attire shimmered into view in the hallway beyond the podium.

  “Good afternoon everyone. Thank you for coming.” She looked at Avril. “I see we have a new face here tonight.” She smiled with genuine concern. “I am Doctor Preeti Khan; please know that we are all here for each other, and nothing needs to happen faster than you are ready to accept.”

  Avril f
idgeted with her dress.

  “I will be meeting with each of you in turn as usual.” She smiled. “Please feel free to converse with and support each other in the interim. I would like to start with the new person unless anyone is feeling urgently in crisis?”

  The coffee cup in the claw grip burst.

  “Okay then, Mitch. Come on.” She turned to look at Avril. “Miss, I will speak with you next if you like.”

  Avril nodded without a word, watching the two disappear down the corridor. Some of the people drifted together and conversations began. The pink fairy was a lawyer whose mother had died after a nasty argument. The Japanese woman spoke to the old Hispanic man who just nodded at her as she discussed the recent suicide of her father and death of her grandfather. He did not seem at all keen on being here, and offered no information in return aside from asking how long he needed to stay here.

  Chris took a seat adjacent to the punk girl. The young woman hesitated at sharing details with a small boy, but did mention that a friend of hers died on the street. The angry older man steeped in his own rage. He approached no one, and no one dared get near him. Only Chris was safe from his glare; the look he gave the boy was one of pronounced loss. His radiant emotion piqued her curiosity at the same time it repelled everyone else. She padded over to the row of chairs and gathered her dress about her legs as she sidestepped along until she was a chair away.

  “Allo.” She offered a polite smile. “Would you mind if I sat here?” Back in the Avril personality, she produced a faint French accent.

  Her innocent face and wispy form softened his hard glare, and he nodded.

  “I’m Avril.” She extended a hand to him.

  “Carl.”

  She let her ignored hand drop back into her lap. “Carl, can I ask you something?”

  “What?” He almost yelled.

  Avril cowered, with a stare that said she was afraid even to apologize for daring to speak.

  He looked away. “Sorry, I got a lot on my mind.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “God damned cops.” He shook his head. “They don’t give a shit about us.”