The Immortality Game

What happened next felt more like a dream than reality, almost like watching an action vid starring Kwon Lee or Bobby Wang. The woman was shorter than he had imagined her, yet she moved with the speed and grace of a leopard, not hesitating even a moment in her vicious attacks on the big man. Her skill was breathtaking to watch, and the man was slumped against the far wall seemingly as fast as the attack had begun.

Now Marcus stared openmouthed as this slight, lovely woman pointed a gun at his kneecap.

“I…” It struck him that he had never spoken face to face with a beautiful woman before. He’d pretty much assumed he would live out his life without ever meeting an attractive woman. His face reddened as he realized what he must look like, his feet splayed out before his abundant belly, his skin pasty from too many years with no sun. “I’m Marcus.”

“A foreigner?” she said. “Why are you here?”

Marcus sighed. This again. “My, uh…‌my father sent me here.” He pointed toward her apartment door. “I’m a diplomat.”

“Diplomat? I would think a diplomat would speak Russian better than that. You German?”

“German? No, I’m from America West.”

The woman nodded like that explained everything. “Mormon. Why did your father send you here?”

Marcus shook his head. “I’m not Mormon. My father thought—”

“How could you be a diplomat then? America West is a hard-line theocracy.”

“No, not really,” Marcus said. “I mean, it is a theocracy now, but it’s not so hard-line. They don’t let us vote or have non-Mormon churches, but we’re left in peace otherwise.”

She looked impatient now and waved the gun in the direction of her apartment. “Get up slowly and move to the door.”

“You don’t want to go in there. Trust me.”

“Trust you? We’ll see about that. Just do what I ask, please.”

Marcus shoved himself upright and edged along the wall until he reached the open door of the apartment. The woman turned and knelt near the unconscious man. She put the gun on the floor and raised her hands to her face. Marcus was surprised when she began to shake. He took a step toward her.

“I’m a doctor, too,” he said. “I could check him, if you like.”

She snatched up the gun again and leapt to her feet, weapon pointed at his chest. Her cheeks were stained with tears, but her eyes were angry. “Stay where you are. No…‌no wait. Come check him, but don’t try anything or…”

She retreated a step for each one he took. When he reached the man, Marcus knelt and felt for a pulse. He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or not that the man still lived. He looked up at the woman. “He’s alive.”

Her face wrinkled up and she covered it with a hand as she broke into fresh sobs. The gun drooped to her side. “This is not me,” she said. “I don’t hurt people.” She reached for her slot interface, then tossed something toward Marcus.

A data card landed on the floor a few feet away. It reminded Marcus of the longer card the man had taken from him, and he looked down to see it on the carpet near the man’s hand. He picked it up and held it out to the woman. “Miss…‌is this yours?”

She stared for a moment through wet eyes before nodding. She plucked the card from his hand. “Where did you find it? Never mind, it’s just good that you did.”

Marcus stood up slowly so she wouldn’t get jumpy and shoot him. So, one or both of these cards may be what Papa is after. He pointed at the unconscious man. “What about him? He might wake up.”

She stared down at the man, looked back at Marcus. “You…‌you tie him up.”

“How?”

She seemed to consider this for a few moments before shaking her head. “I don’t have any rope at home. Maybe we can lock him in the bathroom.”

“He’s awfully big,” Marcus said. “You sure we can move him? What if he wakes up while we’re dragging him?”

She made an exasperated sound and pointed down the corridor. “Pick up that card. It scares me, but it seems it can help.”

While she aimed her gun at the unconscious man, Marcus found the card on the floor and walked back to hand it to her. She stuck both cards in her pocket.

“I’ll get his feet,” she said.

“Miss, shou—”

“Zoya.”

“What?”

“Call me Zoya.”

Marcus took a deep breath and concentrated on getting the pronunciation correct from the translator. “Zoya, shouldn’t you be calling the police?”

“The police were helping these guys earlier.”

“Oh.”

It took a lot of effort for Marcus to push the man away from the wall so he could get his hands under the armpits. His grip slid off the man’s coat, so he grabbed the collar instead and began dragging the man across the carpet. Zoya was doing no good with the man’s feet and moved around to help from Marcus’s end.

“Who is this guy?” Marcus asked. “Sounded like he was with the military.”

“No, he’s a gangster.”

“Really? He asked me if a general sent me.”