The Immortality Game

The lowest classes were an abstraction for Tyoma, something to be discussed at a dinner party with a furrowed brow and empathy dripping from every word. His skin crawled at the thought of mingling with them. He was certain they would see him for one of the privileged sky-dwellers; they would rob him or beat him or perhaps even murder him. I should have hired some guards to accompany me. What’s the use of having so much money stashed away if I don’t use it when I need it?

The autodriver beeped to indicate it had arrived at the specified destination. Tyoma had ordered it not to park. He wanted a chance to scout the area before moving in. He knew from history vids that the statue of Yuri Dolgoruki had once been on Tverskaya Street, but during the reconstruction of the city center in the latter part of the last century, it had been relocated to Repin Park.

The air car hovered ten meters above the rubble of what had once been the Tretyakov Gallery. Tyoma could see the footbridge across the canal to Repin Park from here and the statue of Moscow’s founder standing across a gravel clearing from the statue of the painter Ilya Repin. Several people milled about in the park, but Tyoma couldn’t pick out Volodya or his captors.

He tapped the windshield and said, “Magnify this point here ten times.”

The view in the window enlarged and focused on the two statues. An elderly lady sat on a bench watching three young girls playing some game in a flower patch nearby, but there was no sign of Volodya. Tyoma scratched his head, unsure what to do next.

The area around the park was a no-fly zone, so he’d have to approach on foot. He looked at some of the pedestrians passing by on the street. They didn’t look so dangerous. A young man who had paused to look up at Tyoma’s car wore a thin suit made from clearly inferior material, but it was well kept nonetheless. Tyoma suddenly felt ridiculous about his earlier thoughts. It was a lovely sunny day out, with poplar fluff floating on a mild breeze, and everyone he could see looked to be simply enjoying the weather. Even the drably dressed kiosk vendors moved with an alacrity that Tyoma would never have imagined. Other than the rubble of the famous art museum, he couldn’t understand why ground level was called The Muck.

“Drop me off at the edge of the road here, then hover at the edge of the zone until I call you,” Tyoma said to the car.

The air car drifted down until it nearly touched the ground, and the door slid open. Tyoma climbed out and paused to think a moment. He fished in one of his coat pockets and examined the chip he withdrew to be certain it was the correct one, then hid it in a small pocket inside the liner of his coat.

“Go on,” he said. The door shut and the car hummed as it rose into the sky.

Tyoma took a deep breath and surveyed his surroundings, still half certain he would be attacked. No one seemed to be paying him any attention. He sighed and set off slowly in the direction of the park.

Are they watching me already? he wondered. Will they kill Volodya and me once they have the chips? He doubted anyone would do anything to stop an attack, and there was no sign of police anywhere about. What choice do I have? I can’t abandon Volodya.

He slowed some more as he neared the footbridge over the canal. The bridge was famous as a site where newlyweds had once come and placed locks on the small trees for luck, but this was clearly no longer the case. There were no small trees and no sign of locks.

Do people still get married? Tyoma tried to remember the last time he had been to a wedding. He scratched his goatee until he remembered: the wedding of Little Dima just after the turn of the century. It was a topic usually avoided by sky-dwellers, but virtual mates had all but killed off marriages among the wealthy. Did it affect the Muckers the same way? He knew many of the poor still clung to Orthodoxy, and the religious frowned heavily on substituting virtual reality for a true spouse.

Tyoma was about to step onto the bridge when he saw Volodya, leaning against a tree not far from Dolgoruki’s statue. Only two other men were near him, but neither of them was the man Tyoma had seen pointing a gun to Volodya’s head. They must be here somewhere.

A poplar seed floated into his eye, and Tyoma picked it out of his eyelash and set off across the bridge. Volodya stood up from the tree and raised a hand in greeting. Tyoma continued scanning the area as he approached.

“Where are they?” he said.

“Close enough,” Volodya said. “They didn’t want to scare you off.”

“It’s all I can do not to piss my pants.”

Volodya smiled wanly. “Look at us. When’s the last time we had a civilized conversation?”