Mortal Immortal
By Andrea Pinkos
Copyright 2012 Andrea Pinkos
***
Mortal Immortal
Philip wakes to the sounds of the rainforest around him. He props himself on his elbows and looks at the lush greenery. His head cocks to the sound of birds calling in the distance. So beautiful. It’s one of his favourite programs. He remembers when the rainforests actually looked like this, hundreds of years ago, teeming with life. It will take hundreds more to become like that again; just another problem on a long list for his kind to fix.
He lays there a few more moments, absorbing the calm when the door chime rings, snapping him back to reality.
Breakfast.
Philip sighs, then reaches over and pushes a button on the bedside table. The rainforest disappears leaving only the four white, sterile walls of his hospital room.
The door chime rings again.
“Come in, Arnold.” Philip pulls the sheet aside and climbs out of bed, his bare feet insensitive to the cold of the white tiled floor. He stands there, pale skin covered in red pyjamas, the only colour in this lifeless room. The door whisks open and Arnold walks in carrying a silver cylinder. As Arnold crosses the threshold a panel to the left of the door lights up and displays his current medical status.
Philip walks over and studies the readings—heart rate steady, body temperature normal, no risk identified.
“Good morning, Arnold. On time and healthy as usual I see.”
“Good morning, sir.” Arnold taps the screen with his right index finger changing the image to Philip’s last scan. “I see you’re still dead; sir, that’s a good sign.” He hands the cylinder to Philip.
“Thank you.” Philip walks over to a small table and two chairs in the corner of the room. “How many times a day do you get scanned?”
“Every time I walk through a doorway.”
Philip takes a seat and motions for Arnold to join him. “Have you ever had a bad scan?” Holding the cold cylinder as Arnold sits down, Philip imagines lunging across the table and tearing into Arnold’s neck, sharp teeth piercing the jugular. He can almost feel Arnold’s life pulsing into him, the flavour dancing on his tongue. How long has it been since he was allowed to do that? Instead, he pushes a small button on the side of the container releasing the seal.
“No sir. I wouldn’t be here if I did.” Arnold gestures to the cylinder, “Only the best is served for hospital guests.”
“Well then,” Philip raises the container to his lips, “bottoms up.” As Philip is about to drink, he notices the confused look on Arnold’s face. “It’s a saying from well before your time.” Arnold nods his acceptance and watches Philip drain the contents of the cylinder.
“Thank you Arnold,” Philip hands the empty container back, “That was most refreshing. I guess I will see you at lunchtime then?”
“Yes sir,” Arnold rises to leave, “I’m on your service the rest of the week.”
As Arnold crosses the room an automated female voice sounds:
Code alpha, room 302, code alpha, room 302.
Philip stands up and joins Arnold by the door, “That’s Malcolm’s room. Is it what I think?”
“Yes sir. It means Malcolm has accelerated. I’m sorry. I should see if they need help.” Arnold waits to be released.
“Of course, of course, I’ll see you later.” Arnold turns to the door and it slides aside for him to pass, closing behind him. Philip paces the room. He’s known Malcolm for centuries.
***
Surrounded by doctors and nurses, Malcolm feels on display. An overhead light shines down on him giving his onlookers a better view of the changes already beginning to take place. He hears the door activate and looks up to see Arnold enter. Malcolm’s gaze holds on Arnold for a moment, lingering on Arnold’s pink skin, looking for temptation. Nothing. He nods to Arnold then goes back to observing his observers.
“His heartbeat is steady.” Salvador reads from the bioscanner’s wall display. “Trudy”, he addresses one of the nurses, “get a blood sample immediately and program the computer for further samples every hour to be delivered STAT to Cedric.” Turning away from the display, Salvador squeezes through his colleagues to Malcolm’s bedside. “Give him some space everyone. I know this is the first case many of you have seen but it won’t be the last. A little respect please.” The group murmurs apologies and backs away, but stay in the room.
“How do you feel Malcolm?” Salvador sits on the edge of the bed and places a cool hand on Malcolm’s cheek.
Looking up at Salvador, Malcolm takes a moment to consider the question.
“I believe I am hungry,” he says, “Real hunger, not the thirst.”
“Of course,” Salvador removes his hand from Malcolm, “your metabolism is functioning at an astronomical rate.” Salvador looks about the room, his eyes landing on Arnold. “Arnold, Malcolm needs food. Please find him something quickly. Nothing fancy, but the higher in calories the better.” Arnold nods and disappears through the doorway.
Salvador turns back to Malcolm, “Do you need anything else right now?”
Malcolm watches the doctors and nurses looking back at him, studying him, “How long do I have?”
Salvador hesitates, adjusts his position on the bed, “Based on the few cases we’ve seen, you will age approximately ten years per day. Given the age of your mortal body was forty four, I expect six or seven days, maybe a little longer.”
Malcolm’s jaw clenches as he tries to maintain his composure. “Good. Thank you, doctor.” Tears well up in his eyes, his chin begins to tremble. “Nine hundred and one years was long enough.”
Salvador squeezes Malcolm’s hand then stands up, “Alright, everyone out, give the man some peace.” Salvador herds his colleagues out the door and returns to Malcolm’s side. “Arnold will be back shortly with food. That should help you feel better. The bioscanner is monitoring you at all times so I will know instantly if you need me.”
Malcolm nods and wipes a stray tear from his cheek.
“From what I understand, this process you are going through is not painful but if you need anything at all to be more comfortable, let me know.”
Malcolm nods again then watches Salvador walk out, leaving him alone with the unfamiliar sound of his own breathing.
***
Philip is at the door when Arnold arrives with his lunch. “How is he?”
Arnold hands the cylinder to Philip. “Salvador expects he won’t last much more than a week.”
“Is that normal?” Philip nervously taps the cylinder against his thigh.
“I don’t know, sir.”
“You saw him though? Did he look...different?”
“A little older...less ashen.”
Philip sits on the edge of his bed, still fidgeting with the container, “Can I ask you something Arnold?”
“Of course.”
Philip rolls the cylinder from hand to hand, “What’s it like?”
Arnold takes a step towards the bed, “Sir?”
Philip grasps the cylinder in his left hand and looks at Arnold standing before him, “Knowing you’re going to die.”
Arnold rocks back on his heels. “That’s not an easy question.” He gestures to one of the chairs in the corner. Philip nods and Arnold pulls the chair over and sits.
“I always expected that if I was to die it would be violently, in a war or a lynching. Then began the Time of Serenity—no war, no violence. So this,” Philip looks around his hospital room, “I don’t know how to feel.”
Arnold takes a deep breath, “Well, I guess I’ve never really thought about it,” he pauses, “It’s inevitable. It’s...comforting.”
/> Philip raises an eyebrow.
Arnold leans forward, putting his elbows on his knees, “Where is the peace in living forever?”
“What makes you think there’s peace in dying?”
“Not in the dying sir, but in death.” Arnold leans back, “At least then there is an end.”
Philip studies the cylinder in his hand, “What if I’m not ready to ‘end’? I have overcome so much to get this far. I don’t know if I’m ready to be beaten.” He opens the cylinder and takes a sip.
“They might find a cure.”
“They will. Eventually,” Philip drinks the rest of his lunch, “But soon enough for me?” He closes the cylinder and hands it back to Arnold. “I am a year older than Malcolm. It should’ve happened to me already.”
“Maybe it won’t get you.” Arnold stands and puts the chair back by the table.
“I don’t think it works that way Arnold, but thank you for the thought,” Philip motions Arnold toward the door, “That will be all.”
***
Cedric enters the Chief of Medicine’s office just as Salvador is finishing a communication. A holographic woman in a lab coat is saying her goodbyes.
“Thank you. I will inform my team. Good day.” The image terminates and Salvador turns to Cedric.
“You wanted to see me sir?” Cedric asks.
“Cedric, yes, please sit down.” Cedric enters the office and sits across from Salvador’s desk. “That was Fatima at our facility in Uruguay. They had an acceleration last night. She is sending you all the information she has on their case. Please send her ours on Malcolm.”
“Yes sir. How old is the accelerated?”
“Nine hundred and one.”
“The age threshold is consistent then. No one under nine hundred has accelerated and no one has made it to nine hundred and three. That must mean something.”
“I agree.” Salvador shakes his head, “I just have no idea what. In the meantime, perhaps it gives us a starting point.”
Cedric rises and begins to leave but stops at the door.
“Something wrong Cedric?” Salvador asks.
Cedric turns back to face Salvador. “How can you sit there so calmly? It may take years, decades, to find a cure. We don’t even know what’s causing it. I wouldn’t have become an Immortal if I knew I was going to die anyway.”
Salvador tries to quell the anger rising in his subordinate, “It is certainly not what we expected but an extra eight hundred years of life isn’t a bad trade off.”
Cedric shakes his head, “But eight hundred is not forever.”
Salvador leans forward, his hands loosely clasped together on his desk, “How old are you?”
“Three hundred and forty seven.”
“Then you have five hundred and fifty three years to figure this out.” He points a finger at Cedric, “You will be okay. Think of the one’s that need us now that we can’t treat. Malcolm has days left, we must comfort him as best we can. Philip will be next. The majority of us have hundreds of years before we will be affected, if at all. Malcolm and Philip have no choice. The other elders have no choice. Try thinking about what you can do for them while you work to save yourself.”
Cedric’s mouth drops open, “Yes sir. Of course.”
***
“Remember when we first met?” Malcolm sits on his bed, his back against the wall. “You were going to tear me apart for being in your territory.”
Philip sits in a metal chair, his legs crossed at the ankle, “Mid 1600s wasn’t it? English Civil War?” he looks at his friend who has aged twenty-five years in two days, “I miss those days. You were a good match for me. I was livid you got away. Of course if I’d killed you we wouldn’t have had the 1900s together.”
Malcolm smiles, “New York City.”
“Vegas.”
“And everywhere in between. Remember Angelica? She would’ve done anything for you, even without using the charm.”
Philip waves off the compliment, “I told her I was two thousand years old. That was usually enough to keep people curious.”
Malcolm laughs, “Who of us didn’t lie about our age? If you’re not going to turn yourself into a legend, who’ll do it for you?”
“That’s true,” Philip says. “You know,” he smirks, studying his friend, “maybe this acceleration works for you.” He points at Malcolm’s temple, “Silver hair gives you something of a distinguished look.”
Malcolm considers the comment then leans conspiratorially closer to Philip, “There is something you need to know Philip,” he pauses, drawing in a deep breath, “I have always been better looking than you. You’ve just been too self absorbed to notice.” He leans back against the wall, “My being sick isn’t going to change either of those things.”
Philip looks at his friend with uncertainty then lets out a chuckle, “You’re probably right on both counts.” They laugh together then settle into a comfortable silence.
“Why did it have to end?” Malcolm asks after a moment, “Why did we take over?”
“The whole planet would be gone by now if we let the mortals stay in charge. You know that. We had to think more long term than they did.”
“Yes, I know, but everything and everyone became so boring and complacent. This so-called Time of Serenity is more like the Time of Dull and Dreary. Is this really what we wanted? Not allowed to hunt, no one hunting us? Taking care of the mortals?” Malcolm sighs, “One last war would have been nice; a buffet of beating hearts!”
Philip nods.
“The last three hundred years there has been nothing to fight over—nothing to motivate. We got lazy. Who wants to exist like that?” Malcolm tilts his head back, looking to the ceiling, “When I heard of the other elders dying I wanted to die too, to get out of this miserable world.”
“And now?” Philip asks.
Malcolm smiles and lowers his gaze to his friend, “Philip, I felt my heart jump in my chest, my lungs scream for air and I felt joy. I shed tears of joy for the first time in my existence. If this hadn’t come along...well, this saves me from setting myself on fire.”
Philip retreats in his chair.
“As if you’ve never thought about it,” Malcolm accuses.
“I suppose I have,” Philip reflects, easing forward again, “not seriously though. You really would have ended yourself?”
“I don’t know how much longer I could’ve lasted.”
“With no one to interfere, I thought we would go on forever.”
“So did we all. We, the mortal Immortals. For all our experience, we are naive.” Malcolm clears his throat, “I had forgotten how much I like real food,” he pats his stomach. “I’m glad to have had the chance to appreciate it again.”
“Does it hurt?” Philip gestures to Malcolm’s aging body.
“Getting old?” Malcolm looks thoughtfully at his friend, “Only if you let it.”
***
“Anything come up in the blood work, Cedric?” Salvador walks into the lab, stopping by Cedric’s side, a three dimensional holographic image of a red blood cell floats above his workstation.
“I can’t find anything to suggest why this is happening. His blood is exactly the same before and after his acceleration. It’s the same situation with the samples from Uruguay. I have run every test we have, right down to the micro-cellular level.” Frustrated, Cedric hits the console on his desk, abruptly terminating the holograph. “Is it possible there is no cause? That it’s just...spontaneous?”
Salvador leans over and taps the console, retrieving Cedric’s findings, “We have nearly eradicated every human ailment so far in existence.”
“We haven’t stopped them from dying naturally.” Cedric steps out of Salvador’s way.
“We haven’t tried.” Salvador activates the holographic imager. A strand of DNA appears before them. “We have prolonged their lives and for the most part allowed them to live illness free. In ev
ery case, it was a matter of finding the cause.” He magnifies and rotates the image, “Now we need to do the same for us. There is always a cause Cedric,” he straightens back up and studies the image, “we just have to keep looking.”
“What if we don’t find it?” Cedric asks.
Salvador pats Cedric’s back to reassure him, “We will.”
***
Philip listens to the air wheezing in and out of Malcolm’s withered body. Six days ago a man in his mid-forties lay here. Now, he sees an elderly human, skin wrinkled and saggy, hair thinned to a few wisps that won’t let go. Had Malcolm lived a mortal life, Philip would have guessed him to be about one hundred and twenty now.
Though he struggles to breathe, Malcolm looks relaxed in a way that Philip has never seen. No tension, no stress, just peace. Has Philip ever known such quiet?
He watches his friend sleep for several hours, mesmerized by the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, keeping a vigil until the end comes. At the beginning of Malcolm’s seventh day of mortality, Philip feels his friend’s heart stop pumping. He listens to the blood settle in Malcolm’s veins. Somewhere off in the distance, the automated voice alerts the hospital staff to Malcolm’s condition.
The room door slides open.
“Philip?” Cedric is the first to arrive.
Keeping his gaze locked on Malcolm, Philip does not respond. Instead, he takes Malcolm’s hand in his own and kisses it. He gently places it back by Malcolm’s side, then walks past Cedric and out the door.
***
Philip sits on his bed looking at the streets of New York. Taxicabs drive by, horns honk, people bustle along the sidewalk. Malcolm was right, he thought, the world was much more fun before we took over. Before people became willing cattle. Before you could transport yourself to another reality without ever leaving your room. As much as he tries to escape, he knows the end is near. The thoughts will not leave him. He is going to die. He tries to imagine himself as an old man like Malcolm. To feel his strength diminish, his body decline. Malcolm looked happy. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all. What is there, really, to be afraid of? Arnold is ready for it. It’s out of his scope to imagine life without end. Do all humans feel this way? Did he feel this way before he was turned? Too long ago to remember. Another car horn blares. There is no such thing as an Immortal.
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