The Forever Man: A Near-Future Thriller (26 page)

A great city glides by below in black and white. Wooden skyscrapers thrust up, topped by all manner of ornaments. An orchestra plays solemnly. At street level, a child’s sled rests atop a lifetime of flotsam. A laborer’s hands reach out and grasp its runners and carry it to the maw of a giant furnace. In it goes. The flames lick eagerly at its spruce topside. The varnish boils and bubbles across the signage, the timeless provenance.

ROSEBUD
.

The blaze completely consumes the sled. It rises as black smoke up a stone chimney and forms a twisting column that dissipates into a dreary sky. So marks the end of Xanadu.

Citizen Kane
concludes. The recessed lights come up in the theater room in Zed’s residence atop Mount Tabor. He and Autumn sit in adjustable chairs with a table between them holding wineglasses and hors d’oeuvres. Both bask in the glow of reclaimed youth. Skin clear and smooth. Eyes bright and alert. Spines straight. Musculature toned and supple. Hair lustrous. Lips full and sensuous.

Zed turns from the screen to face Autumn. “Did you like it?” he asks.

“It’s sad.”

“Yet beautiful.”

“Yes, I suppose it is,” she sighs.

“Have you seen it before?”

“Maybe I did. I’m not sure. I saw so many things.”

Zed looks over to the far wall, which is covered by a mural of cinematic history, from Muybridge on. “But some things endure. They’re memorable. And this is one of them.”

“If you say so.”

“I’m not asking you to defer to me. I’ve never asked that.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“Then why are you keeping so much distance between us? I don’t understand.”

“It’s like you want me to be grateful for what you’ve done.” Her eyes are perfect, clear and cool, as she says it. “Am I supposed to be obligated to you?”

Zed flashes just a hint of exasperation before he collects himself. “No, I don’t expect gratitude. After all, you never asked. You only received.”

“Then what do you expect?”

“Right now, all I ask is a little patience. Look at me. I’ve already closed most of the distance between us.”

Autumn stares at the new Zed, the renovated Zed. His skin glows in the recessed lighting that lines the ceiling. He’s become a novelty, and novelties have little intrinsic value.

“Think of it,” Zed continues. “Our experience is absolutely unique. No one else can share what we’ll have together.”

“I don’t think you know at all what we’ll share. You only think you do.”

“Then tell me the truth of it. I want to know.”

Autumn stares out to where the green foothills gather beneath the rock and snow. “I’m sorry. I’m not strong enough. Not anymore.”

Zed looks at the blank video screen. “We all have our Rosebud. What’s yours?”

“I was a little girl, maybe seven or eight. There was a pond nearby, one I could walk to. It was a warm day, probably early spring, and I saw a pair of Canada geese floating within a few feet of the shore. They looked huge in that tiny pond, and they scared me a little, but I moved to the edge of the water and stared at them. They couldn’t have been more than a few feet way. They floated almost motionless and stared back at me. I was close enough to take in every detail: their long black necks, dark brown eyes, and a band of white that wrapped under their throats. And they could see all of me. The difference was, they weren’t impressed, while I was in awe. I don’t know how long it went on. Just me and them and the buzz from all the bugs. And then they turned like two tugboats and paddled off around a bend in the rushes. And that was that. The beauty and innocence of it has never left me.”

“I appreciate that you shared that with me.” Zed grasps the stem of his wineglass. “It helps me understand you a little better.” He waves his hand over a sensing device and the windows go from opaque to clear, revealing the city below.

“Were there others before me?” She quietly trains her eyes on his.

“What do you mean?”

“What happened to them?”

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

“I think you do.”

“Yes, there were others. The outcomes were less than positive.”

“Did they suffer, did they die?”

“There was no suffering. We made sure of that.”

“Did they die?”

“In a sense, they were already dead. You know that. And for a moment, they stood on the precipice of a salvation they could never have imagined.”

“But then they fell.”

“As I said, they had already fallen. We put out a net to try to catch them, but unfortunately, we failed.”

Autumn closes her eyes. “How long are we going to go on like this? What’s the point of it?”

“It’s time. I’m nearly ready to be with you.”

“And then what?”

“You won’t be alone. We can rebuild. Together. Only this time, we can draw upon all that we’ve learned over so many years.”

“So many years,” Autumn repeats. “Can you feel the weight of them?

“Yes, I can, and that’s the point of all this. To shed the weight, to fly once again.”

“And what if something goes wrong?”

“I don’t see failure as an option. But if somehow something does go wrong during my treatment, I’ve made provisions that you’ll be taken care of for the rest of your life.”

“Which life?”

“You need to develop a more positive attitude. The potential here is tremendous. All you have to do is accept the possibility of a life without end.”

Autumn rises. “I have to go.”

Zed stands, but keeps his distance. “Just hang on a little longer. That’s all I ask. You need to give us a chance.” His voice assumes a soft urgency. “You have so much to gain and so little to lose.”

Autumn turns and heads toward the door. “I’m going now.”

From his living room window, Zed looks down on Autumn, who has just boarded the chartered air hop, which rests in the abandoned reservoir below.

It would be easier to build his case if he knew more about her. But in fact, no one knows much about her. That’s one of the reasons she was chosen.

He’s sent investigators back to learn more, but they’ve uncovered little. She’s slipped almost completely out of living memory. Only matters of public record remain.

Autumn West. Born in Elkton, Nebraska, in 1922 to a Gerard and Trudy West. Another child of the timeless plains.

Zed watches the helicopter’s rotors come up to speed and the navigation lights wink on the fuselage. He reaches back and recalls 1922. The Roaring Twenties were revving up, and he roamed the globe, assembling an anonymous empire.

Outside, the chopper rises out of the reservoir. A furious little storm of stray leaves spins in the wake of its rotors.

Autumn West. Attended Jefferson Grade School in Elkton and graduated from Midland High School in 1941. Her yearbook picture showed a pretty young woman with hair done in the soft curls of the time.

The helicopter clears the lip of the reservoir and rotates about its axis. It nods forward in assent to the late afternoon sun. Zed watches it gain altitude for its trip back to Pinecrest.

She was married in 1943 to a John Miller. The announcement in the
Elkton Gazette
showed the archetypal radiant bride, staring out into a great beyond filled with domestic bliss.

She worked for the local school district, but a fire destroyed her personnel records in 1952. Her husband died in 1965. There was no record of any children.

Zed lingers at the window as the helicopter becomes a small speck in the sky above the hills to the west. After 1965, Autumn West fell away into a great void. No documents, either public or private, tracked her journey through the decades to come. No witnesses survived to give illuminating accounts of her character.

The aircraft disappears from view, but Zed remains stationary in the window. He recalls that day he walked through the snow on the edge of Central Park. Behind him, his wife and young son slept the perfect sleep of the innocent. Could Autumn understand this shameful act of desertion? Had she done something similar during those long decades of anonymity? Could they exchange forgiveness and move on to mutual redemption?

Right now, he can only speculate, and it causes a great fatigue to invade the very center of his bones.

***

Lane stands on the balcony of his house and looks out toward the front of his property in Pinecrest. A hundred feet of expert landscaping flows out to the main road, which is hidden from view, even from his elevated position. He closes his eyes and returns to Elkton, Nebraska, and tries to visualize Autumn West walking those dusty streets so long ago. It doesn’t work. It’s time to get a firsthand account from Autumn herself, along with an explanation of how it all relates to Mount Tabor and his brother.

He pulls out his handheld and punches up the interface.

The Surgeon holds no degree, no license, no sanction from any regulatory body anywhere. Rather, his legitimacy comes solely from the unfettered play of market forces across the global sphere of commerce. For the Surgeon, it’s not about the money; it’s about performance, process, and flawless execution. He relishes his work and has achieved a level of proficiency envied by
his peers, who know him only by his product. He can say with certainty that if he’d entered the medical mainstream, he would have rapidly ascended to the top tier of surgeons worldwide. His success rate is 100 percent, all the way from pre-op consulting to completed procedure.

Even the guard at the Pinecrest gate notices the fluid grace of the Surgeon’s hands as the man signs the clearance form after having his lobe scanned. The pen flows in beautiful cursive strokes, as if guided by an angel.

“Will that do it, then?” the Surgeon asks the guard, with a tiny crust of arrogance coating the words.

“Not quite,” the guard says. “We’ll need to scan your crew and take a look in the back. It’s standard procedure here.”

“Very well, then,” the Surgeon says impatiently. “Let’s get it done.”

The Surgeon and the guard walk toward the ambulance, a big, boxy vehicle parked in a holding area just outside the gate into Pinecrest. Ambulance traffic is a routine part of life at the gate. Although the community has a well-equipped medical center with two operating rooms, the aging population often requires highly specialized treatments at one of the big facilities up at the Medplex. As always, this ambulance and its crew have been precleared through the security database; but still, the procedures manual mandates a personal inspection.

“So who’s this Allen Durbin?” the guard asks as they approach the ambulance. “He must be new here. I don’t recognize the name.”

“I believe he is,” the Surgeon says. “Probably just moved in.”

“Well, I guess it didn’t do much for his health,” the guard comments as he pulls out his lobe scanner.

“I guess not,” the Surgeon responds as they stop at the driver’s window, which is rolled down to reveal a wiry, middle-aged man dressed in paramedic coveralls. The man manages a faint smile as the guard reaches up, scans his lobe, and checks the reading.

“This is a pretty big rig you’ve got here,” the guard comments as they move to the rear to open the double doors.

“We need to be prepared for every possible contingency,” the Surgeon explains as he opens the doors.

“Jesus!” the guard exclaims. “Looks like you could perform a whole operation in here.” He’s seen the interior of a lot of ambulances, but never one this richly appointed with technology and tools. A female paramedic comes forward. She seems pleasant enough, and cooperates with the scanning process.

“Okay, you’re cleared,” the guard announces to the Surgeon while the paramedic climbs back in and shuts the doors. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” the Surgeon says with a smile, and then watches the guard depart. They’re
done. There’ll be no further inspection on the way out. The security people have learned through costly litigation that it’s not a good idea to delay the departure of ambulances holding potential medical emergencies.

Once they’re inside the gate, the Surgeon ignores the amenities of Pinecrest. The general population here is too old and presents very little product potential. The subject, Allen Durbin, is an exception. He’s middle-aged and apparently in exceptionally good health. Better yet, the referring party is waiving the referral fee, which increases his profit on the job. The Surgeon goes to his computer, with its encrypted wireless link to the subnets. He travels quickly to a heavily protected location, a commodity exchange.

The global market for human organs.

He quickly scans the columns, checking the bid and ask prices on a variety of items. Any given organ is listed several times to represent different levels of quality determined by sophisticated factoring systems that assess age, disease history, et cetera. The Surgeon is pleased with what he sees. Livers are continuing an upward trend, as are kidneys. The Whole Body Index, which is the composite price of an entire body of A-grade organs, is just below its all-time high.

Mr. Durbin should fetch a nice price.

Betty and Anita are on a roll.

As Betty’s big sedan cruises out of the air terminal at Pinecrest, Anita regales her with a long-ago college story. Seems there was this guy with a little tiny brain and a great big dick, and one thing led to another and another. At each inflection point in the tale, they laugh uproariously and Betty slaps the steering wheel so hard that the heads-up navigation display jiggles and bounces. Anita pounds her knees and spills cigarette ashes on the carpet, leaving telltale evidence of smoking that will probably put Betty’s husband, Bill, in a great big snit, but that’s okay. At least for now.

Sometime way back, Anita was assistant HR director at FiberBlaze before it was acquired and her options went platinum. That was the same year her third husband got cashed out in a technology swap that had something to do with communications satellites, although Anita never quite understood the significance of it. Betty, on the other hand, was a marketing wiz, and had kept putting together these promotion packages that always left the target audience salivating for more. Her husband, a third-tier accountant, was simply along for the ride because he made such a pretty trophy boy. Both couples moved to Pinecrest about the same time, and it didn’t take long for the two women to form an ad hoc affinity group.