by Faith Hunter
Krys frowned. “Really.” Lavin and Aeterna had been all about secrecy.
“Really. I want the whole world to see Death for who he is.”
The change in her posture shocked Krys. “That will make him famous. He’ll be immortal, too.”
“He’s a killer who wants to be more.” Lavin was already weakening from her momentary rally. She lay back on the divan. “Someone who spent his entire life trying not to be photographed or filmed. And now he worries that he doesn’t exist at all. I’ll fix that.”
Her words rippled against the walls of the room at the Hotel des Bain, even as the sound of a distant motor approached.
“Krys, dear, would you get me a glass of water?”
“Now?” She’d hoped to get a shot of Death coming through the French doors.
“Yes.” Lavin said. Her eyes were on the balcony. “Unless you don’t want to get paid.”
The boat sounded louder. She went to get the water. Maybe Death would give her a ride back to the mainland.
* * *
Krys lingered in the bathroom, trying to get a signal. There was one corner that had a small flicker of hope, in the decrepit shower. She touched the wall over the pipes. The signal grew. Bless Aeterna for getting even the interns satlinks.
Her mentions were packed. People looking for her. Her last footage had been hours ago. Was she okay?
Nothing from Thoth.
Should she let him know what was happening? How much signal did she have? She uploaded the footage she’d taken of her reflection on the water, but the footage of the Hotel des Bains ruins and Lavin would take too much time to upload now.
Krys pulled her hand away from the wall and lost the network.
Shouting, from the room.
Opening the door a crack, she looked out. A man stood on the worn parquet. Lavin had risen and was leaning hard on one of her walker handles. Her robe hung down in folds over her bony shoulders.
“You cannot be serious, Robert.”
“Dead serious, Merienne. When you started this company, it was to track online activity, not make a profit from people’s memories. You warned all of us to stay out of the limelight. What choice do we have now? If we want to buy a home, get a job outside, we need a social presence. I don’t have one. I’m a vampire. No reflection. Doomed to a half-life.”
There was a pause. Death cracked his knuckles. Krys braced for a shot.
“I tried the black market, but no one would credit me. I thought if I could get through to one of your employees—to BethAnn, even, or the AIs—then maybe they’d help me. But no one talks to someone without any history. BethAnn certainly wouldn’t.”
Krys smiled ruefully. That was true. She’d sold baskets of souls cheap as ghost followers for just those reasons. She’d needed the cash, but she still felt a twinge of guilt about selling other people’s memories.
Robert kept talking, turning so that Krys could see his profile. “And then you called with the job. Same old Merienne.”
“Different now,” she coughed. Krys stepped out of the bathroom.
Death––Robert looked at her. “Who are you?”
“Just an intern.”
“They couldn’t even send a manager.”
“No.”
“Because you’re disposable.”
“Maybe so are you.” Krys said it fast, but Death frowned. “You have no past. So no future.”
The assassin nodded. “True.” The way he said it made Krys wonder if he worried about getting paid, too.
She relented. “If you want, I can help you build one. I have a pretty good hand with creating a construct.” She couldn’t build a new BethAnn, but she could help Death. “I just need your face on film.” She held up her camera again. He looked right at her. Captured him.
Merienne glanced at her with a hint of gratitude, but kept the pistol ready.
They had five hours before the company went public.
Death footage. A text message from Thoth.
She went back to the bathroom and put her hand against the pipe. A stream of images. Snippets of BethAnn’s last footage. A grainy low-res of him in the cafe. Not as the silhouetted Death, but as Robert. And again alone on a boat near the popular Venice dive site that BethAnn had visited. Zooming in, Krys saw a satellite phone in his hand. He’d been filming himself near the immortal, too. Maybe trying to surf BethAnn’s mentions later.
Krys sifted through adventure tourists’ footage—some had found enough wifi to upload from Venice’s warren of abandoned upper-floor rooms. She saw Robert again and again, watching BethAnn.
A chill ran up Krys’ arms.
One camera caught a profile and a flash of BethAnn’s dark hair. Talking, in the shadow of a doorway, but not to Robert.
“Got you.” Krys burst out so loudly both Lavin and Robert turned as she emerged from the bathroom. Thoth pinged her. Hard.
Get him to release BethAnn’s personal assistant.
“I’ll clear your name, just release Sali—the PA/AI,” she said. “Give Merienne what she wants.”
“Merienne wants absolution.” Robert said. “A Legacy. Not immortality. They’re different. Sali promised me both if I sequestered her final data.” Robert said. “Plus options.”
That was kind of cheap, Krys thought. “I’ve sent footage to your profile. Enough for a start.” She’d sent him more than that. She’d given him a wideband link.
Death tapped his satphone. “I’ve released them.”
Kryssamit could see it on the network. BethAnn had re-appeared, her final moments burned through her AI’s connections. BethAnn’s last words flooded the networks. “It’s you,” she said. Her face filled Krys’ screen.
She didn’t look scared.
We’re sending the boats from the dive site.
“Thank you, Sali,” Lavin said. But her voice sounded strained. She gazed at the screen.
BethAnn also.
Lavin sputtered. A wave slapped against the hotel balcony.
“I’m back.” BethAnn’s face, with Sali’s assist, all across the networks. Her first whispered words; the birth of immortals, of Aeterna, too.
Lavin’s face transformed, softened. “We did it.” She reached out to touch the screen.
BethAnn smiled too, just like she had in the last frame before she died. That last “it’s you” had bothered Krys so much she’d made a copy.
Sali came online in Krysamit’s ear, private channel. “Hello, Krys.”
I didn’t think you’d mind.
Thoth’s soft echo. BethAnn’s voice saying hello also.
The silence around their greetings echoed, nibbling at Krys’ thoughts.
They were powerful, these AIs and the immortals with them. But they couldn’t go out into the world like Krys could. Or Robert. Or, possibly, even Merienne Lavin.
She narrowed her eyes. It was almost morning in New York. The whole world had just watched the emergence of an immortal. By this afternoon, Aeterna would be public and Lavin would be very rich.
“You don’t pay me nearly enough,” Krys said. She turned the camera to her own face. So that everyone would see her, too. “Not to cover for you.” That “it’s you” hadn’t been Robert. “You killed BethAnn, not Death.”
“It’s true, I don’t pay you enough. I’ll change that once you leave,” Lavin said, lying back on the settee. “I’d like to go in peace.”
“Murder was your marketing plan, and dying your escape clause,” Krys finally said. The first of the boats threw a line up to the balcony.
With a slight incline of her head, Merienne acknowledged it. “Robert spoke to her. Wanted to warn her. The rest of you? You were willing to go along with it. What’s changed?”
“You would have been immortal anyway. Who will run Aeterna now?” Krys asked. “How will you make good on your promises if you’re really dead?”
Lavin frowned and nodded to Krys. “You’ll fix it for me. With Sali and BethAnn. You’re promoted.”
“
What about the mangers? The VPs?”
Lavin waved her hand. “We never had any. Just interns. Kept overhead low. Fewer questions, too.”
Expendable. Overhead. Not low enough, by far. Questions, not enough.
Krys wondered, if she weighed Lavin’s heart, would there be too much guilt, or not enough to move the scale. “Maybe you’ll live instead,” she said.
Lavin’s eyes shut tight against the thought.
“That would be interesting,” Death said, an eyebrow raised in Krys’ direction. He turned to his former employer, smiling. “Consequences are for the living.”
As Merrienne Lavin was carried onto the vaporetto from the balcony, with Robert following, Thoth made a change. Krys’ network flooded with credit, with connections. Her mentions filled with congratulations.
Krys swore. She saw everything now. She let the world see it too.
You did well.
How many memories, how many people, Thoth? Is it worth it?
It’s all data. And this way, the best people never die.
The best. Who judged?
The hearts and souls she’d sold on the black market. That last look from BethAnn. “It’s you.” It was her. All of them. As much as Merienne. It was everyone doing a small job that made the bigger jobs so easy.
“Don’t,” she said aloud. She looked around the abandoned room in the drowning Hotel des Bains. She didn’t want to film it, or share it on the network. She wanted to let it disappear below the waves in all its forgotten glory.
“Some things are best let go.” She could travel. She had the credit. Her back pay. The money in the mattress, too. See some things firsthand.
She wide-banded her last words. Sent them out as vid, as image, as word.
I quit. You can keep your hearts and souls.
Krys closed her connection with Thoth, closed the network. Her mentions went silent as she watched the sun sink into the submerged windows and bridges of Venice.
A SHIFT IN MOOD
Kathryn McBride
“Mum, I have to go now.” Death twirled the telephone cord between his fingers.
“Not until you promise me you’ll get the time off.”
“Yes, I promise, alright? I just have to find someone to cover my shift, but I’ve seriously got to hang up. You know I’m at work.”
“Well, ’til later then. Love you.”
“Ok. Bye.”
“I said, ‘I love you.’”
“Yes, I know.” Frustrated, Death peered over the top of his cubicle and scanned the room. It was an endless maze of gray partitions and modular desks, each workspace dotted in the center with a fleshy bit of humanity not unlike himself. Cupping the receiver for privacy, he whispered, “Love you, too…”
“That’s my boy. Chat soon.”
“Bye, Mum.”
Death hung up and turned to gaze out the skyscraper’s wall of windows. He pulled out the latest Corporate Directory and quickly assessed each possibility. It seemed logical to start with the most likely candidate. Death grabbed his Employee of the Month coffee mug and made his way to the break room.
The overhead fluorescents spotlighted a table in the corner, piled high with a pyramid of coffee filters, sugar packets, tea bags, and boxes of tiny plastic stirrers. Barely visible behind the mound was a balding man with comically large eyes.
“Hey, Greed. How ya’ doin?” Death leaned awkwardly against the wall.
“I’ll be better once Maintenance responds to my request. I’ve asked them to bring me a stepstool.”
“Is there something you need to reach in the upper cabinets? Perhaps I could help.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I emptied those cupboards ages ago. The stepstool is for my personal collection.” Growing impatient, Greed came from around the table and looked Death in the eye. “We both know you’re not one for small talk. Get on with it.”
“Well, let’s just say I have something to give you.”
“Give it already, then. Right here, on top of the pile.” Greed patted the stack of goodies with barely a tremor to the structure.
“It’s not a thing, per se. More of an opportunity. I would like to give you my shift tonight. Now before you say anything, understand that there’s a lot of people who would snatch that offer up in a heartbeat, but I wanted you to have first crack at it, because I know you would be the one to most appreciate it. What do you say?”
Greed scrunched up his face. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Ah, Greed. Why not? It’s the opportunity of a career. A once in a lifetime chance to be Death for a night.”
“You know what I do, don’t you? I collect things.”
“Exactly! Tonight, you could collect an actual human life. Exciting, isn’t it?”
“Perhaps if I could keep it. But I can’t, can I? No, I must hand it over almost immediately. No profit in that.”
“You’re looking at this offer from the wrong angle, my friend. It’s not about the keeping of the soul, but the important part you’ll play in the journey.”
“Downright communist attitude, that is. No matter. I have plans tonight anyway. Maybe Gluttony is free.” Greed motioned to the refrigerator.
Protruding from its gaping doorway was the bottom half of a grotesquely large figure. The other half was immersed head first in the refrigerator, gorging himself on other people’s sack lunches. It happened every day. Death failed to understand why his co-workers kept packing them.
“What do you say, Gluttony? Wanna have a stab at becoming Death tonight?”
Gluttony’s mottled face peeked out of the fridge. A long piece of romaine coated in egg salad dangled from the corner of his mouth. “Quite a nice offer, but no thanks. I got plans.”
“I will leave you two to the rest of your day, then. Have a good one, gents.”
Death backed out of the room, still holding his empty cup.
* * *
As the lift rumbled down to the thirty-seventh floor, Death took the opportunity to tweak his appearance in the mirrored interior. He smoothed out the creases in his trousers and tried with little success to flatten the cowlicks in his dull charcoal hair. He had to pass the Vanities Department on the way to his next destination and he never failed to capture their notice.
As usual, Beauty was the first one to pop out of her cubicle, stepping directly into Death’s path. “I thought that was you, Death. Been a while since you’ve come visiting.” She really was delightful to look at, all fiery red hair and high cheekbones.
“Yes, well, this is more of a professional call. I’m on my way to see Pain and it’s rather important, so if you don’t mind, I’ll just squeeze on by.”
“Please don’t squeeze by anything,” Style yelled from behind his desk. “Go around the long way, through the Character-Building pool. You’ve been here thirty seconds and the air already reeks of sulfur.”
“Now that is just a hurtful stereotype.” Death took a discreet sniff to make sure it wasn’t true. “The longer you sit there and harass me, the longer you’ll keep me in your precious airspace.”
Style swaggered out of his cubby to Beauty’s side. He was a skinny tangle of pointed shoes, pegged trousers, and vest buttons. He tilted his head and with one perfectly manicured finger, swept a lock of blond hair to the side. He gave Death a critical side-eye as he spoke.
“You know I’m only teasing. In fact, there are moments when I think your look is absolutely meta. At times gothic, a little anti-establishment, all in all, highly editorial. With the right resources, you could really take your whole ‘hood and scythe’ vibe to the next level.”
“Style, I appreciate the positive feedback, and I will absolutely keep you in the loop if I decide to, you know, next-level it.” Death emphasized “next level” with air quotes.
“Never mind. I’m over you now. I’m sure Pain can smell your funky Death musk approaching, so don’t keep him waiting.” In a flurry of dismissive hand gestures, Style threw himself down at his modernist desk.
“Yes, alright. Maybe.” Death turned to leave, then looked back. “Are you sure?”
Beauty nodded her head as she shifted her weight from one lovely silk-clad hip to the other, playing with her hair and parting her lips just so. Death could hear Style hissing at her as he walked away.
“I do not get it. What do you see in him anyway?”
“I dunno. Death has that sexy bad boy thing going on. Like it’s probably dangerous to go out with him, you know?”
Death moved through the rest of the Vanities Department with a little spring in his step. Beauty thought he was sexy. Before the promotion, back when he was just wishy-washy old Coma, she never looked twice at him. Hardly anyone did. Try ignoring Death, though. Not so easy. He had more attention than ever, but still not much of an idea about the proper thing to do with it.
* * *
The Unsavories Department was always a bit of a let-down after Vanities. Although the Vanities were undoubtedly taxing on one’s self-esteem, at least they were a lively bunch. Death cut through the gloomy corridors and stained carpet to find Pain, hands massaging his ample forehead, pouring over reports.
“Pain, Pain, Pain, my man, Pain! How are you, Mate?”
Pain jumped up and embraced his old friend. “Look at you! It has been an age since I’ve seen that face.” He took a small step back to take in the full breadth of his visitor. “I thought you might’ve forgotten all about us down here in the trenches. How are you?”
“I’m alright, I guess. Same old, same old. Could be worse, y’know.”
“Oh, I know. Trust me, I know. Just yesterday, assignment comes across my desk for this bus accident. Driver gets flipped out of the cab, and his own bus, out of control, runs over him. Then a second vehicle comes ‘round the bend, shatters both of his femurs, then a third guy in a minivan who witnessed the whole thing decides he needs to stay behind for the accident report—noble thing right? Except when he goes into reverse to park, he misjudges the scene and completely runs this poor bloke over again!”
