The Immortality Game

Marcus nodded and grinned.

“What?”

“I was thinking this day was like some of the action vids I’ve seen, but then no one ever talks about such things. Heroes never need to pee, I guess.”

Zoya gave a wan smile and rubbed a sleeve across her smoke-blackened brow. “Heroes, huh? Is that what you imagine we are?”

“Oh no, not me. I meant you.”

“Ha! Not a hero,” Zoya said. “I’ve…‌I’ve done terrible things…‌become a murderer.”

“Don’t say that! You didn’t choose for any of this to happen, did you? You could be dead by now if you hadn’t killed that man.”

Zoya’s face paled even beneath the grime. “I killed another man at my friend’s apartment.”

Marcus didn’t know what to say.

“And I was glad that I did it,” Zoya continued, staring down at the floor. “I’ve hated violence my whole life, but now all I want to do is find and kill the rest of these—pardon my language—these bastards.”

It struck Marcus as funny that in such a situation Zoya would still worry about the words she used. At the same time, he was chilled by the matter-of-fact expression on her face as she spoke. “You want to hunt them down? These guys are coldhearted killers.”

She turned her lovely gaze on Marcus and it was all he could do not to look away. “They took everything from me. I have nothing left. I’m going to return the favor, if I can.”

The door to the smartwaiter slid open.

“Yes,” Marcus cried and leaped to his feet. There was nothing but a yellow plastic pitcher on a tray. Marcus snatched it and turned to Zoya. “Food must not be ready yet.”

“Is that the water? I’m dying for a drink.”

Marcus turned the pitcher upside-down. “I asked for this so I could, uh, relieve myself.”

“Good thinking. You go first.”

Marcus moved to a spot where the pile of bags granted a small amount of privacy, then looked back at Zoya. “Can you, umm…”

“Of course.” Zoya turned away from him.

Despite the awkward situation, nothing had ever felt so good in his life as relieving the incredible pressure. Afterward, Marcus moved to the far side of the room to give Zoya as much privacy as possible. When Zoya indicated she was finished, Marcus returned. He noticed she had left the pitcher in the corner behind the bags. He considered putting it back on the smartwaiter, but decided it probably wasn’t a good idea.

“Marcus?”

He looked at Zoya. “Hmm?”

“If it’s so hard for your type of citizen to marry, how did your parents manage?”

Marcus was taken aback for a moment. He assumed everyone used history chips and knew at least the basics of what had happened during the Dark Times and the aftermath. “Well, it was a completely different world back then.” He mentally did the math to the year his parents met and placed it around 2112. “Pieces of the country were reforming under various warlords from the Dark Times. America West had no capital at that point, and the Mormons were just like the rest of us. The Web was dead then, so there was no Meshing. Father was conducting tests on his sentry code in order to revive the Web. Slot interfaces were new—clunky things that were visible outside the skin, and with no Web all they were good for were things like education, monetary transactions, entertainment, and such.”

The smartwaiter door slid open again and this time it had their food and drink. Zoya leapt up and grabbed the bottle of water.

“I’m so thirsty!” She drained the bottle in one long swig.

Marcus was disappointed with his pizza. Rather than pepperoni, there was some sort of salami on it. “You don’t know what pepperoni is in Russia?” he said, and with a sigh he picked up his plate and the cup of Pepsi and returned to his seat of bags. “And no ice! What good is Pepsi without ice?”

Zoya gathered the cheese, roll of salami, and baton of bread and sat near Marcus. “I should have asked for a knife,” she said and took a bite of bread.

“I should have thought of that myself,” Marcus said. He took a bite of pizza. It wasn’t great, but it was better than he had thought it would be.

“You didn’t tell me how they met,” Zoya said.

Marcus finished chewing. “Well, my mother’s family had been in Phoenix for ages. Father was a refugee from California and—”

“Refugees like ours?” Zoya said. “From the plague?”

“The swine flu pandemic?” Marcus said. “I imagine that played a role, but in California it was a combination of the rising ocean levels and the two huge earthquakes that really did it. Phoenix was already the largest city by size in the country, and it grew by almost half from all the refugees. I remember Papa saying drinking water was heavily rationed. So he was working in a university lab and my mother was—”

«Marcus! »

«Papa?»

«Building security has started checking door to door down the corridor. You need to move now!»

Marcus slapped his forehead. «Okay, lead the way.»

«Damn! They’re moving fast. You may not have time to get out unnoticed now. Is there any place to hide in here?»

Marcus looked around the room, though he already knew there was no sufficient hiding spot.

“What’s wrong?” Zoya said.