The Immortality Game

Tyoma nodded with satisfaction at the large conference room wall screen. The code he’d slipped into General Andreykin’s slot interface via his wireless had succeeded in burrowing through his firewall. Tyoma set the computer to capture all data passing through the general’s slot, and to pass it securely to Tyoma’s apartment computer as well.

The wall speaker beeped for an incoming call.

“Answer,” Tyoma said, and the screen full of code vanished, replaced by an image of Volodya Glek. It took all of Tyoma’s strength to keep a grimace from his face.

“Ah, someone is still there. Good!” Volodya said.

“What do you want? Do you have news of the guard?”

Volodya waved a hand dismissively. “No, no. Could you please do me a favor? Bring one of the cards to me?”

This gave Tyoma pause, and he searched Volodya’s face for a clue to what could cause him to so casually break one of the strongest rules of the compound—never allow any of the data cards outside except under the most exceptional circumstances. Other than looking a little distracted—and being more polite than usual—there was nothing suspicious on Volodya’s face.

Volodya read Tyoma’s pause and nodded. “I know, I know, but there’s an excellent reason. Please, just bring it and I’ll explain everything.”

Tyoma realized his mouth was hanging open. He shut it and shook his head. “You’re going to have to do better than that. We already lost two cards. Taking another off compound is begging for trouble. You must explain—”

“Please, Tyoma!” Now sweat glistened on Volodya’s forehead, and he glanced sideways away from the screen. “I—”

A hand holding a gun thrust itself into view in front of Volodya’s face, followed by the head of a man Tyoma had never before seen. Brown hair in tangled curls, an unshaven face, and eyes that bulged slightly; the man grinned and pointed the gun at the screen. “You’re gonna want to be bringing it along now, old man. You don’t want your friend here to have an accident, do you?”

“What’s this? Are you working with the guard to steal our data? Why—”

“I don’t have to answer your questions, fuckface. Just bring the fucking card!”

Tyoma threw up his hands. “You have one already! What do you need another one for?”

The man used the tip of the gun’s barrel to scratch his cheek. “Ah, well. We had a little setback, let’s say. The chips went missing, and we’re having trouble finding them. We’re done messing around, so do what you’re told. We’ll be waiting for you near the statue of Yuri Dolgoruki. Don’t do anything stupid. Try to involve the fucking police or the military, and you’ll be in for a surprise.”

Tyoma was about to respond but the call terminated. He sat for a minute, breathing steadily to calm his nerves. He smiled as he considered ignoring the problem and letting Volodya get his comeuppance, but despite his intense dislike for the arrogant son-of-a-bitch, he could never wish actual harm on the man. He sighed and rose from the table to walk to the storage room. After passing security and opening the drawer with the most recent data cards, he paused to consider the situation. How much do these people know? They seemed content to have whatever the guard was able to snatch. Hell, they could’ve had him grab everything he found, but he didn’t, which means they even wanted him to try to be circumspect, if possible.

He flipped through the combat chips until he found one of the older versions. He took it, then after a moment’s hesitation also added one of the latest. If they know I’m giving them a bad one they may kill us. He nearly shut the drawer, but paused again and pulled out one of the mind recordings. The label told him it was a recording of the Dane Anders Thomsen. Tyoma put each card into a different pocket, willing himself to remember which card went where. He chewed his lip and tried to picture how the meeting near the statue of the old Tsar Yuri Longarms might go down. Every scenario he imagined went badly. He secured the room and headed for his air car.

Moscow

Sunday, June 8, 2138

4:20 p.m. MSK

Marcus had recognized the woman from the portrait instantly, even with her hair cut short. One moment he’d thought he was about to have his brains plastered to the dingy corridor wall, and the next he had caught a flash of movement in the corner of his eye and turned his head to see her sprinting down the hallway with a crazed expression on her face.