To Beat the Devil

by M. K. Gibson

As some of the men advanced on Grimm and me, Grimm began a slow chant. I quickly snapped my hand toward him.

  “Stop!” I said in a harsh whisper through gritted teeth. “Just follow my lead.” Grimm eyed me warily but stopped. I turned back toward the oncoming roughnecks and held my arms above my head, then slowly brought them down, grasping my forearms in my hands. The men stopped immediately. They eyed one another then gave me a nod.

  “What do you want?” the lead roughneck asked.

  “I am looking for an old friend of mine. RM. Is he here?” I asked. The lead bruiser gestured toward an old-fashioned prefab trailer, which served as the foreman’s office. “Thanks ‘Brothers,’” I said to the men. They waved and went back to work.

  “What was all that?” Grimm asked.

  “Back in the day, this was a railroad station that ran out of Virginia Beach. The Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers was a union that operated the railways. After G-Day, people still needed goods. In peacetime and war. The BLE were the guys who got it there. Their symbol is the forearm clasp. Both a sign of brotherhood and a symbol for the couplings of two railway cars. The BLE is one of the last remaining human-only organizations left in the world. RM is an old buddy of mine. If anyone can help smuggle us into an unused pod and back to our district, it’s him.”

  “What is the downside?”

  “He hasn’t seen me in about 30 years. I think he is going to notice a few things.”

  “Can we trust him?” Grimm asked.

  “Who are you, Leia? The dude isn’t Lando. And let’s ignore the fact that my contact was about to learn that I don’t age.”

  Grimm just gave me his stare.

  “We should be able to trust him,” I relented. “I saved his life a couple of times.”

  “Good,” Grimm said.

  “Of course, I did used to fuck his sister.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Let the Burn Ignite Old Memories

  RM sat in his chair behind a desk as he moved the holographic icons floating in midair. The icons were train cars and pods that needed to be lined up for their destinations. He moved with a grace that belied his age, and reminded me of an old poker dealer. Every movement was precise and crisp. For a man in his mid-60s, he was sharp. Grimm and I came into the trailer, but he didn’t look up from his work. I politely cleared my throat to get his attention. He ignored it. Oldheads. Not big on polite.

  “Hey asshole!” I announced.

  “In a second.” RM continued working.

  “Goddamn it RM, I’m in a hurry here!” That got the old goat’s attention. He looked up. A moment of confused recognition passed in his eyes.

  “Winston?” he asked.

  “Uhhh, hi,” I said, not sure how to respond. I figured non-committal was my best route for now.

  “No, you can’t be Winston. Damn, are you his boy?” RM asked. He looked shocked and happy at the same time. He started to get up from his chair, but first placed a hold on his holo-program.

  “Winston?” Grimm whispered to me.

  “Later,” I told him. Now wasn’t the time for my various aliases.

  RM came over to me and took my hand in his and clasped his meaty hand on my shoulder. RM wasn’t a small man, and years of the train yard had given him rough, strong calloused hands and the forearms only gained from a lifetime of hard work with steel in your hands.

  Up until that point I wasn’t sure how I was going to play this. I really wasn’t. But over thirty years ago, RM was a very good friend. If he only knew the truth about our beginnings.

  He was a big brother type that grew into a quasi uncle figure. Sure, I was older than he was. But the thing is, when you are immortal, there is no rush to grow up. When your years are finite, you gain experience and wisdom at an accelerated rate. He always assumed I was younger and up to no good. He was half right. But he looked out for me, passed wisdom when he could, and looked the other way when I needed a lift on the rails. He accepted my money, sure. At first because he needed it, and I was some punk kid to him. Later he took it because it would have offended me if he didn’t. He usually bought beers for the crew with it anyway.

  When I needed advice, I came to RM. When I was in trouble, I came to RM. When I had extra credits, I always made sure RM and his family was taken care of. You know he still sent old-fashioned cards? For no reason at all—just to let people know he was thinking about them? I mean, there hasn’t been an official post office since G-Day years. But you pay someone enough and you get anything done.

  Seeing him now, old, brought back too many memories. The look he had, with those big glasses, never wanting corrective procedures. His smell of old smoke, coal, and books. It was too much. And for a split moment a lump was in my throat, and my eyes were stinging from holding back tears.

  “My name is Salem, and ol’ Dad always said if I needed a ride, that RM was the man to see,” I told him, hoping to hell my voice didn’t crack.

  RM eyed me skeptically. But he eventually nodded. I could see his wheels turning.

  “Uh-huh. Yeah, that is true. Now, let me ask you son, do you have any smokes? I’m out,” he said.

  I reached into my coat pocket and took out my pack, offering him one and then taking one for myself. I lit his, then lit mine. He offered Grimm and me a seat and we took it. He opened his desk drawer and pulled out an ashtray and a bottle of cheap merlot. He took a belt off it and offered it to us. Grimm waved his hand in declination and I accepted it. I took a long swig. It was too much like old times. My chest was starting to hurt from all the memories and feelings coming back.

  “Where you two fellas headed?” RM asked.

  “Old Baltimore district, Razor Bay,” I said, trying to keep my voice in check.

  “And I am guessing you are looking to get there with little notice?”

  “Yes sir,” I said.

  “Cargo?”

  “Two of us, an Outrider vehicle and two bikes.”

  RM thought about it for a moment, then moved his holo-display around a bit. He smoked his cigarette and took another pull from the wine bottle. As he worked, he hummed a bit. No real song, just a melody. Even that brought back memories.

  “So, how’s your daddy?” RM asked.

  “Long gone, sir,” I said. Which, in essence, was true. It was several decades ago when I used to go by that name. “Winston” had served his time, and was no more.

  “Sorry to hear that. Your dad was a good man. We had a lot of laughs even if we had that falling out. That was the last time I ever saw him. He ever tell you about it?”

  “Not too much, sir,” I said. I had to select my words carefully. “He only said it was matters of the heart.”

  “Heh. That what he said? Well, I don’t want to spoil memories of your daddy, but what he did was screw my little sister and leave her pregnant. After she lost the baby, she killed herself. Not straight away, mind you. The grief was so bad she was drinking herself into an early grave. The bullet to her head did the rest. I cursed your daddy’s name for many years.”

  Oh, fuck me.

  I’d never known that.

  In reality, I had loved her for several years. But I broke her heart on purpose. It had to be rough enough that he wouldn’t look for me if I just vanished. I needed to break it off between us because it was becoming apparent that they were aging and I was not. And I couldn’t explain it for long. The curse of the immortal life—friends were temporary at best. But I had never known about the aftermath of my leaving. My heart was hammering. I turned my head away for a moment, pretending to stifle a cough, but I was just trying to get my head straight. I noticed Grimm looking at me.

  When I turned back, RM was smiling. I hadn’t expected that.

  Then, RM began laughing.

  An honest to God, red-faced belly laugh. His old self-satisfied laugh that made his eyes squint with the compulsory rubbing of his hands and fingers.

  “Boy, do you think I’m stupid? You think I didn’t notice that you never aged? That you
drank and smoked yourself regularly and were always getting cut up in some fight, but never had a scar? I figured you for something special, even back then.”

  “So your sister…?”

  “Is 59 years old, and feisty as hell. She would probably give you another ride if you wanted,” RM said, laughing.

  “So, that story was complete bullshit?”

  “Pretty much. I did curse your name for a bunch of years. But I eventually figured it out. I figured you thought we wouldn’t understand. That you had to run off.” RM shook his head as he took another pull off the cheap red wine. “Oh, next time you go digging up an old timer from your past, don’t wear the same coat, have the same haircut and smoke old-world cigarettes.”

  Well . . . I’m an idiot.

  “So, what did ya do that you need covert transport?” RM asked.

  “Honestly, I don’t know this time. Some demon hit squad is after us, and I am not sure why.”

  “Yeah, I bet you don’t. Well, you’re in luck,” RM said as he moved around a few more holographic icons. “I can have ya on an outbound in 20 minutes, as long as you don’t mind riding in a cargo pod.”

  “Have I ever?” I asked.

  RM smiled. “Just do me one favor.”

  “Sure, what?”

  “When you’re clear of the trouble you’re in, come visit me for dinner. I’m old, I’ve earned the company. I know Cara would love to see you again. Well, after she stops screaming and throwing shit at your head.”

  I felt oddly warm. Excited. Almost giddy. I smiled and tried to hide it. “Can do. You should know, I’m older than you,” I said as RM came over for a handshake and hug.

  “Then act your fucking age.” He laughed and hugged me hard.

  “Why start now?” I replied, and hugged him harder.

  “Goddamn it, I missed you boy,” he whispered in my ear.

  “Me too,” I sniffed.

  ********

  Exactly twenty minutes later, Grimm and I were in a cargo pod with our gear, rocketing back toward Razor Bay. The Magna-Rail provided a smooth and event-free undercover ride. I leaned against the wall of the pod and closed my eyes, zoning out.

  I opened one eye and caught Grimm looking at me.

  “Yeah?” I asked, acknowledging the look.

  “Tell me about Winston,” he said.

  I half shrugged. “Not much to tell. It was my life before this one.”

  “Indulge me. Please.”

  I lit a smoke and pulled a flask of a knockoff blue-label scotch Taylor had given me. I took a sip and let the burn ignite old memories. Funny how alcohol does that.

  “When I was Winston, my life really wasn’t much different. I was still a lightrunner. I just had a different set of friends, except Ricky. Ricky was there since almost the beginning. But, like each of my lives, I eventually had to re-invent myself when it became obvious I wasn’t aging and they were. You had to have done the same thing,” I said.

  “Yes, I have. Many times. But I asked you about Winston. Something occurred in your eyes, seeing RM. Tell me about that.”

  “What’s your deal? Why do you always ask about my feelings about pointless bullshit?” I asked.

  “Pointless?” Grimm asked. “I ask because those emotions are the essence of humanity. That ‘bullshit,’ as you say, reminds me of being a simple man again, while simultaneously reinforcing the lessons I have been trying to drive home in you.”

  “Lessons?”

  “You need to recall what it means to care. You need to care about humanity again, and you have been doing well. The people of Midheim were an excellent start.”

  I was about to say something angry and hurtful. But his words hit something in me. I recalled my outburst on his torture rack. I remembered fighting alongside the people of Midheim. And of course, seeing RM, I’d felt a stirring deep inside. I was feeling again. And it angered and excited me. I had shut that part of me down for so long, I thought it gone.

  I reflected for a moment, thinking back on my recent life. I had been content to just live day in and day out, bland and pointless. Like a bad marriage, where neither person will leave the other. Then this crazy son of a bitch came into my life.

  “RM,” I began, “was a kid when we first met, but he doesn’t recall that. And I’m not ready to go into that story. Not yet. Let’s just start when we met again later when he was a man. He was a guy I would bribe at first. After a while, we struck up a friendship. He thought he was older than I was, and I allowed him to keep on thinking that. In time, he became, I dunno, something more. He was always looking out for me, and it meant something.”

  “His sister?” Grimm asked.

  “Cara. God, she was beautiful. She was always flirting with me, and I vowed to never allow it to happen. So, of course we fell in love. But the time eventually came. RM had made a few jokes too many about how young I looked. I had to leave. I needed Cara and RM to hate me and feel betrayed. That way, he wouldn’t go looking for me. Word would pass that Winston had died in a shootout during a deal gone bad.”

  “What did you do to get her to hate you?”

  “Slept with her friend. Let myself get caught.”

  I took a long pull off the scotch. And then, I started to shudder a little. It was the involuntary shake when you feel on the verge of tears. My throat swelled a bit. I fought it back. Hell. Thinking of leaving my friends over and over. Never having a life or a purpose was weighing on me. God, I felt so alone. I punched the wall of the pod and put my hand over my face to hide my shame.

  Grimm moved silently to sit next to me. Without speaking, he put his arm around me. He took the scotch and took a sip. He didn’t say anything, but I felt free to cry, and I did so silently. The remainder of the trip back to our district was quiet and we didn’t speak. Just drank and smoked and cried. After the torture rack, the battle at Midheim, and now, I felt like I had been reborn three times over. I felt alive again, and my purpose, if there is such a thing, was becoming clearer.

  The train began to decelerate. We were reaching our district. I hopped into the Outrider and Grimm took the driver’s seat.

  “Home, Jeeves,” I said.

  “Kiss my ancient ass.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Always Absent the Light of Living

  You ever have those awkward moments? I was in the middle of one. There we were: Grimm, Maz, T, the holo-projections of my parents, and myself. Two cyborgs, two avatars, a demon, and an eldritch immortal. We sat at my work table recreating “The Night Owl.” Someone should have made a black velvet painting and hung it in a motel.

  I’d rather be back on the torture rack, I thought.

  I figured drinks were the best way to break the ice. Hmm. Only three of us had working mouths. OK, more for me. I began to wonder if I had a drinking problem. Then I realized that even if I did, that wasn’t going to stop me.

  Everyone just stared at one another, not talking. Yeah, a drink while on the torture rack. There was the occasional slurp from Maz, though. The Gluttony demon was on his second steak while we all sat there.

  “Nice place, bud,” he said with a mouth full of food. “And these holograms are great servants.”

  “Parents.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Can we get on with it?” Grimm asked.

  “OK, so, cards on the table,” I said. “I’m a cyborg immortal. These are my parents. Their real bodies are floating in viscous vats of nutria-fluid wet-wired into supercomputers that map their brain functions. They are partially dead, partially alive with the help of dad’s stasis tech. Their minds are constantly mapped and programmed into the compound’s computer system. They can appear all over the lair as well as transmit directly into my neural net via Tachyon burst transmission. Any questions so far?”

  “Got any chips?” Maz asked. I just rubbed my temple and nodded and pointed to the pantry. He obviously knew the way.

  “You look familiar, Elena,” Grimm said to my mother.

  “Perhaps
we met when I was alive?” my mother said.

  “Da, have question,” T said. “Where you get idea for this procedure? Preserved brain function via electro-phase current?” T asked, gesturing toward my parents.

  “I am a little embarrassed, but I got it from you, sir,” my father answered. “Back in the mid-1980s I bought some very old research notes of yours. Collector’s items. It was about some doomsday weapon, but I noted the verbal pattern had a hidden cypher. It led me to look for other notes. And through years of collecting and, embarrassingly, eBay, I was able to get a hold of one of your last, lost manuscripts. The combined texts completed your cipher, spelling out the theory.”

  “Very Dan Brown, Dad.”

  “Indeed,” my father replied.

  “Da. Is good. You make good adjustments. As you see, am myself in portable version. But I wanted to know. Make sure I get full credit.” T chuckled through his speakers.

  “Cyborg eh?” Maz asked, ignoring the nerdy tech talk.

  I could see this was going to be an interesting conversation. I turned to the holo projection of my mom and dad.

  “Hey guys, you mind giving T another lap around your lab and library? Maybe y’all could come up with a plan to retrieve T and Grimm’s gear from their old HQ.”

  “It was a pleasure to meet you both,” Grimm said, staring at my mother and partially ignoring my father. “I do hope we may speak again in the near future.”

  “It has been lovely talking to you, Mr. Grimm. I would very much like to speak to you again and pick through your brain,” my mother said.

  “I’m right here,” my dad said jokingly to my mom. “Can you flirt another time?”

  “I seem to recall the vow was until death do us part,” my mom joked. She always had a messed-up sense of humor. Must be where I got it from. “Besides, he is so handsome.”

  “OK, that’s pleasantly disturbing. T, do you mind?” I asked as I rubbed my face, trying to ignore that my dead-ish, holographic mother was flirting with the oldest man on the planet.

  “Da, let us go,” T said to my parents. “Big boys need talky time.” The short mech preservation tank waddled off as my parental projections skipped ahead. As they walked away I heard T asking my dad what he thought of a plan involving an army of mechanized ants and tunneling. After they left I turned back to Maz and his question for me.