The Immortality Game

by Ted Cross

  The repetition of his name suddenly reminded him of another mantra he felt he had recently been repeating—When you wake, it may be in a new body. Thinking this brought back more memories. He was a scientist. The mantra was something he practiced each time he lay down for a mind recording. Could it be…?

  No. It’s not possible. This body doesn’t feel like mine at all, even at a younger age. And I’d be in a crèche with lots of tubes sticking out of me. Tyoma tried to open his eyes, but they felt as if they had been welded shut. He focused on his right hand, tried to open and shut it, and found that it too felt all wrong. His hands had always been slender and agile, while this hand felt as meaty and thick as his alien tongue.

  “Urgh.” The sound came from his mouth as he breathed out, yet the rumble was much too deep to be his own voice. What the hell has happened to me?

  It struck him that the pain had lessened, if only a little. The worst was his head, where it felt as if someone were bludgeoning him with a mallet. He would never say that the pain was bearable, yet it was slowly receding.

  Images flashed through his mind of chimps in the lab where they conducted the tests. When they writhed in their cages, was this what they were going through? He’d always known the testing had to be painful, though of course it was necessary if science were to advance, but was it truly this horrific?

  There were faint sounds, voices, somewhere nearby but he couldn’t concentrate enough on them to understand anything.

  He tried his eyes again, and this time with great effort he managed to open them. Painful light made him squeeze them shut again. He spent what felt like hours but was probably only minutes blinking shallowly to allow his eyes to adjust to the light. When he could keep his eyes open at last, everything was blurry. He saw colors and vague shapes, but he had no idea what he was seeing.

  The pain had receded further, except for the pounding headache. He tried to lift an arm, felt it twitch and jerk several times before he managed to bring it up and drop the hand down onto his face. Not his hand. The hand. Because this hand felt about twice the size of his own. The process of lifting the arm taught him another lesson about this body. Despite the weakness he felt through the waves of pain, this body was also very strong. Many times stronger than he had ever been during his life.

  With great effort, Tyoma lifted the hand from his face and stared at it. The hand was absolutely not his. It was the hand of a giant, calloused and hard where his own hands had always been pale and soft.

  The pain in most of his body—the body, he corrected himself—had subsided to a dull throb, though his headache continued to pound inside his skull. He dropped the hand back onto his face and rubbed the thick fingers hard into his forehead. This can’t be, he thought. Nearly every test they had ever run using the mind data cards had indicated that the layering of data and reconfiguration and reconstitution of the mind synapses could only succeed in a true clone. He couldn’t possibly have awoken in someone else’s body. The contradiction between the thousands of tests he had conducted over the years and what he was experiencing now was nearly as painful as the damned headache that was making it so difficult to order his thoughts. Nearly every test… The one time a test succeeded, the chimp had been one with severe mental issues.

  Sit up, he told himself. His arms flopped outwards, each movement uncoordinated and jerky. Lack of muscle memory, Tyoma thought. That was something he had specifically programmed for, knowing that even in a cloned body the muscles would be different from the original body’s. Finally he got his hands positioned correctly and strained hard to shove himself up to a sitting position.

  Somewhere behind him he heard a cry—a female cry— and then, “This is like a bad vid. You just won’t stay down, will you?”

  Tyoma slowly turned his head, forcing the neck muscles to obey his commands, and managed to catch a fleeting glimpse of a slight young dark-haired woman vanishing through a doorway across a large dimly-lit room. Plastic chairs were scattered around as if a tsunami had blown through. Several meters away lay the body of a man with dirty blond hair and a black solar coat.

  Boy, I’m really in trouble, Tyoma thought. What the hell is happening?

  Ever so slowly he managed to get to his hands and knees and then used the wall to help himself stand upright. His knees wobbled for a moment until he felt strength flood back through his new body. Looking down from a much greater height than he was used to, Tyoma took in his enormous chest and even larger belly, all covered in black clothing and a gray solar coat identical in cut to that of the man on the floor, though much larger.

  Tyoma took some comfort in knowing what had to be going on inside this body. He’d done most of the coding himself after all. Assuming an injector card had been used, some of the code installed in his new slot would be reprogramming nanobots to help his brain assimilate with this body’s unfamiliar muscles. He’d have to move slowly for a while, but the out-of-body queasiness he was feeling should stop before too long.

  He probed at his own thoughts, searching for traces of the brain’s previous owner. He’d always wondered what happened with the chimps when they used the injectors on them—were the original personalities destroyed, or were they still in there somewhere, hidden away, waiting for a chance to bubble up to the surface?

  He took three deep breaths and then inched his feet around until he could get his back to the wall. Sweat dripped down his face from the effort. He wondered what the hell he was smelling, then realized it was himself. This guy didn’t wash much.

  He looked around the room and saw nothing to help him understand where he was. The door the woman had gone through was open a crack and dim light filtered down onto the carpet. I should get outside. Figure out what to do. Maybe go home…‌oh crap! As soon as he thought of his apartment he realized he was in trouble. Everything he owned, everywhere he had access, his work, his air car, all the money in his accounts, it all ran off the biometrics of his original body. He wouldn’t be able to do anything. He slid down the wall into a squat and breathed deeply to fight back the desire to retch. Wait…‌wait, he thought. You programmed the recording to copy the contact database over from the old slot. You can call up Kostya. He can help set things straight.

  He was steeling himself to try the call when the man on the floor let out a pitiful groan.

  Tyoma took a deep breath and wobbled forward several steps before dropping to his knees next to the man in black. He winced when he saw the man’s face. Women had probably found it attractive once, but now the nose was mashed flat and blood dribbled down the man’s cheeks to pool on the carpet. Tyoma felt like a baby trying to say its first word. His tongue still felt like it filled up his mouth, and he couldn’t seem to form it into the necessary shapes to form vowels and consonants. He forced some air through his windpipe but all that came out was, “Khuh…‌khuh.” Slobber dripped down to mix with the blood on the man’s cheek.

  The man groaned again and opened one eye, then snapped both of them open wide. “B-Bunny?! Fuck! Nothing can kill you.”

  Bunny? That’s who once owned this body? Must have been an associate of this man. I wish this damned tongue would work.

  “Stop drooling on me, would you? Help me up.”

  Tyoma wasn’t sure he could stand up himself without the aid of a wall, but he grasped the man’s proffered hand anyhow, got one knee up, and slowly pulled himself upright, bringing the man up with him.

  “Ow, my face! My ribs!” the man said. “That cunt really fucked me up. And you! You practically broke my fucking forehead! If my brains weren’t hurting so much, I’d blow your ugly head off.” He put a hand to his mouth. “Shit, my front teeth are loose. You got a handkerchief or something?”

  Tyoma instinctively dropped his hands down to pat his coat pockets and felt a lump in one of them. It took a minute to worm his huge hand into the pocket. Inside he felt something very strange, both soft and lumpy at the same time. He grasped the fuzzy object and slid it out of his
pocket.

  “Shit,” the man said, chuckling despite the pain. “I forgot about that.”

  I really must be in some insane dream, Tyoma thought. Dangling from his thick fingers was a scrawny—and quite dead—gray and white cat.

  Letting the door swing closed behind her, Zoya gasped when she saw the beauty of the sunset, the skyscrapers across the river limned with red. Stop it, she thought. All you need is for that big bastard to catch you gawking at the skyline.

  The parking lot was empty except for the sky cycle, and that was useless without Pyotr. She assumed he was dead, another victim of this damnable day. To her left she saw the dark silhouette of The Pyramid in the near distance. I’m coming for you, you bastards, she thought and began walking toward the sidewalk in the direction of the mobster base.

  “Zoya!” came a hiss from the bushes that ran along the side of the clinic. In the shadows she saw two figures. “It’s me, Marcus.”

  Zoya took a step forward and peered at the couple. The other figure was her friend Ira. She forced herself to talk through the pain in her jaw. “What are you two still doing here? Are you that stupid? You want to die? I told—”

  “We were afraid to leave you,” Marcus said, waving at her to join them in the bushes. “I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving you there with Tavik.”

  She shook her head. “Let’s stop talking and get out of here.” She didn’t wait for a response but simply stalked off in the direction of The Pyramid.

  “Wait,” Marcus said, jogging after her. “You’re not still going off to get yourself killed in that place, are you? You’re really hurt.”

  Zoya kept her eyes focused on her destination. “It’s none of your business what I do.”

  “How can you say that after what we’ve been through?”

  “We?” Now Zoya stopped and thrust her face up into Marcus’s. “I’m the one who’s had the day from hell. You’ve just been following me around for some crazy reason. Now call up your father and—”

  “Zoya, why are you acting this way?” Ira said, throwing her arms around Zoya’s shoulders. “I’m your best friend and you’re acting like you don’t even know me. So you’ve had a rough day. We care about—”

  “Stop talking!” Zoya shouted, wincing at the pain lancing through her jaw. “None of this matters right now. We can’t stay here. That big bastard Bunny is awake and is going to come out that door any moment now. I’m not sticking around to greet him.” She shoved Ira’s arms away and trotted toward the sidewalk again.

  Marcus and Ira caught up with her. “I thought I’d killed him,” Marcus said.

  “Well, you didn’t. Good job. Can you please just have your father get you a cab now?”

  “I already called him. He’s sending something for Irina. I’m going with you.”

  “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

  “You’re committing suicide and I’m the idiot? Fine. Just know that I’m going to be killed right along with you.”

  “Will you two stop it?” Ira said, struggling for breath due to the fast pace. “I don’t want either of you to die. Why don’t we all just calm down and get in the taxi when it gets here? We can talk things over out at the dacha.”

  “Ira, I have to do this,” Zoya said. “I have to do this, and if I don’t go right this moment I’ll never be able to. I don’t want you involved.”

  “It’s a little late for that,” Ira said.

  “Since when have you ever done anything more dangerous than get a pedicure?”

  “Stop being rude,” Ira said. “I don’t want to help you get yourself killed. You said if you stopped to consider your actions you’d never go through with this, well that’s exactly what you should be doing right now—pausing to think about what you’re doing. You’ve lost loved ones and that’s a terrible tragedy. I’ll do anything to help you through that. But you won’t help anything by running off to die yourself.”

  Zoya didn’t respond, just picked up her pace. Ira jogged to catch up, Marcus trailing behind her.

  “Tell me,” Ira said, “what is your plan? Do you have one? Just announce your presence at the door and say, ‘Here I am, please shoot me now’? Did you forget that I watched them kill Pyotr? You aren’t going to teach men like these any lessons. They aren’t the type who can learn. Will you please stop ignoring me!”

  Zoya grabbed the collar of Ira’s coat and dragged her through the doorway of a crumbling, deserted building. The small entryway smelled of alcohol and urine, and by the trash scattered about it had clearly been lived in by several desperate people. Marcus lingered in the doorway behind them.

  “You have no idea what I’ve seen today,” Zoya hissed, thrusting Ira up against the wall. “I began the day with a family and friends, and now you’re the only one I have left. Go to your dacha and be with your family. Live your life. I’ve made my decision and I’m sorry if that upsets you. At least if I know you are safe I can be content with my choice.”

  “You want to confront a bunch of butchers,” Ira said, tears streaming from her eyes. “To what end? You don’t have a plan at all, do you?”

  “Maybe if the two of you would leave me alone I’d have time to think of something.”

  “The cab’s here,” Marcus said. “Just down the street. I’m telling my father to send it on.”

  “Please, Zoya,” Ira pleaded. “Put this out of your mind for now. Get in the taxi with us. I’m begging you.”

  Zoya stared into Ira’s eyes for a moment. In a whisper she said, “Do you know what happened to Oksana? Because I cannot put that out of my mind, not now, not ever.” She held up a zip-cable. “I’d show you exactly what I saw, but I love you too much to do that to you. You must trust me. I owe Oksana for what they did to her.”

  Ira slid down the wall, weeping.

  “Go on, Irina,” Marcus said. “The car’s here. I’ll go with Zoya and do what I can.”

  Ira wiped her eyes with her sleeve and peered up at Marcus, then her mouth dropped open as her gaze jerked to the doorway.

  Zoya whirled around to see a skinny man in a black track suit holding a gun on them. She recognized him as the mobster who’d been driving the sky cycle during the chase earlier. In the narrow entryway she didn’t see any way she could get the drop on him, even with the help of the combat card.

  “What is this?” Marcus cried. “We called for a taxi.”

  “Your father sends his regrets,” the man said in a raspy voice. “Says you’re to be delivered safely to your apartment.” He pointed the gun at Ira. “I don’t know nothing about you, babe.”

  “Don’t you dare hurt her,” Zoya said.

  “I don’t give a fuck about her. You two,” he said, nodding toward Marcus and Irina, “stand up against the wall. And you, lady, don’t you move at all or I’ll shoot. I know all about the little toy in your head. In fact, reach up very slowly and eject it…‌now.”

  “How about you take me to your boss at The Pyramid?” Zoya said.

  The man grinned. “Looks like we all want the same thing for a change. That’s exactly where I’m gonna take you, okay? Now do as I said.”

  Zoya inched her hand up and pressed the tiny button to eject the card. The red glow vanished from around the mobster, along with the green glows from her friends. She felt naked.

  Keeping the gun on her, the man held his other hand toward Zoya. “Now hand it to your girlfriend there. She’ll pass it along to me. Drop it and I’ll cap your knee.”

  Zoya did as he said, handing the card to Ira, who then gave it—with a wildly trembling hand—to the man, who slipped it into a coat pocket.

  “Good,” he said, grinning. He stepped up behind Marcus and Irina and, never taking his eyes—or gun—from Zoya, he expertly patted them down. “Stay right where you are,” he said to them when he had finished. “Now you.” He waved the gun at Zoya. “Turn around and stand still while I search you.”

  She did as he asked. He stepp
ed up behind her and quickly felt around her waistband, then skimmed his hand up and down and between her legs.

  “Someone sure did a job on your face. Bunny?”

  Zoya remained silent.

  Straightening, the man felt beneath her left breast and then cupped the right one. Zoya’s sense of outrage and desperation had been growing, and this was the last straw. She smashed her elbow into his stomach, then she whirled and kicked him in the balls. The gun clattered to the ground and the man stumbled against the wall, groaning and cradling his groin. Zoya kicked the man in the face and he screamed.

  Faintly she heard Ira yell, “Zoya! What are you doing?”

  “Here, I’ve got him!” Marcus was suddenly there, pinning the man’s arms from behind. “Hurry! He’s stronger than I am.”

  Zoya stooped and picked up the gun, then held it to the man’s temple. The mobster was wailing in pain, his eyes squeezed shut. She looked up at Ira. “Get in the car. You don’t want to see this.”

  Ira was weeping again. “Stop this. They’re going to kill us all.”

  “Marcus, let him go. Get Ira into the car.”

  “You…‌you sure?”

  Zoya glared at him.

  Marcus stood and backed away from the groaning mobster. He clutched at Ira’s arm.

  “The car, I said!”

  The two just stood there, mouths open.

  Zoya blew out her breath and shot the mobster in the head. The shot was loud in the crumbling corridor, but then silence fell.

  “What…‌what did you do?” Ira bawled as she screamed it.

  “I told you to go,” Zoya said, her voice flat.

  “This isn’t like you, Zoya.” Ira looked like she would collapse until Marcus put an arm around her shoulders.