David didn’t bother with his usual halted-aging correction. This was not the time, place, or occasion for semantic reprimands. In fact, the time might have arrived to stop altogether. Every day their aging continued to be halted made the shorthand more accurate.
As the only MD among the four Immortal research scientists, David was the group physician. For twenty years, he had been taking tissue samples at their semiannual meetings, then testing and charting the results. Their muscles, fat, connective tissues, bone marrow, nerves, lymph nodes, kidneys, lungs, and liver cells all remained completely normal—for adolescents. They’d actually improved since beginning treatment in their mid-thirties.
Their telomere lengths had rebounded to the point where all the Immortals enjoyed 10,000 active base pairs, versus the 5,000 that would be expected among people in their fifties. Furthermore, none had shown any sign of cancers or other abnormalities. Not once in twenty years. In other words, with 0.0000% degradation, the halt Eos placed on their aging appeared to be permanent. With sterility as the only side effect. If they continued to receive their semiannual injections, it was unlikely that they would ever suffer from cancer, neurodegeneration, or old age.
Of course, as this funeral reminded them, the Immortals could still be killed by external causes.
“Why did he do it?” Allison asked when David kept clinging to the coffin. “I have trouble understanding why anyone would risk their life by skydiving. But someone with an eternity to lose? It’s just beyond me. Why, Eric? Why?”
A third voice joined their conversation. “Some of us need to risk dying in order to feel like we’re living.”
David stood upright at the sound of Ries’s voice. Along with Allison, Ries was the other surviving member of the research team—and an avid rock climber. He was also one of those rare everybody’s-best-friend guys. Always exhibiting a smile, never voicing a cruel word.
“I think that’s crazy talk,” Allison said, her eyes teary. “And if you intend to continue with your reckless hobby after seeing this”—she gestured to the closed casket—“then I think you need a brain scan.”
Ries didn’t reply.
David surely wasn’t going to step into the line of fire. He understood the adventurous impulse, but this was not the time for a left-brain parade.
As the three stood in silence beside their fallen friend, David noted that the other clique was similarly huddled across the chapel. Aria, Lisa, Pierce, Felix, and Camilla. The five-to-four majority the MBAs historically held over the PhDs had just increased by one.
There wasn’t significant tension or even an active rivalry between the corporate coteries, but like tended to attract like—and repel unlike. That was unfortunate. After twenty years, David’s group of four had already been feeling too small. Three was going to feel utterly insufficient, like a triangle where a circle ought to be. Perhaps Eric’s passing would serve to unite the remaining eight.
“I know this isn’t the best time to bring this up,” Allison said. “But I’m going to be scaling back my hours.”
David felt a tremor run from his tonsils to his toes, causing him to cough. If anything, he’d expected Eric’s death to generate the opposite effect. To compel Allison to accomplish more. But he knew his mindset skewed far from the mean.
Among the Eos employees, only he had not altered his research routine after becoming a billionaire Immortal. He’d just switched projects and started anew with the same passion that had driven him before. This time he wanted to replicate the disease-fighting and prevention effects of Eos with a compound that did not halt aging. He wanted to improve life without extending it, thereby preventing suffering without disrupting the natural balance.
Eric and Ries had quickly figured out that Immortals still lived one day at a time, and that money couldn’t buy the unbeatable feeling of flow they got from rewarding work. Both had joined him in the lab, part-time. Allison had also returned within a year, also for just two or three days a week. Now she was going to work part-time of part-time?
David couldn’t complain. Quarter-time still beat what the MBAs were doing. As far as he could tell, they had all settled into lives of pure leisure. How much tennis and golf could a person play? How many cruises could he take? How many fancy dinners could he eat? David struggled to understand. He loved vacations as much as the next guy, but largely for the contrast. If you didn’t have black to make the most of the white, everything was gray.
“Why scale back? What’s come up?”
“Nothing has come up, and that’s the problem. We’ve gotten nowhere in twenty years. I find the constant failure depressing, and there are other things I’d like to do.”
Lisa interrupted before David could inquire about other things. She put a hand on each of their arms. “At least it was quick and painless. The timing is tragic, but he didn’t suffer.”
It was true. When your parachute snarled up, there was no time to worry. You spent your last seconds attempting to untangle the spaghetti. Eric had died trying. One second he was tugging parachute cords, the next he wasn’t anything.
David did not want to discuss the details of his friend’s death, so he changed the subject. “Lisa, could I get you to move up the semiannual meeting to tomorrow? That way we won’t have to come back in a week.”
The former CEO frowned. “I’d love to accommodate you, David, but I’m afraid we need to keep the current calendar. As you’ll recall, we’re going to be joined by a special guest.”
7
The Hook
FOXY’S FAMOUS CHEESEBURGERS were calling Lars as the Sirens had Ulysses, and fate was not on his side. The bastards in the booths on both sides had ordered and received the house specialty, complete with curly fries that still steamed a salty fragrance. And just to rub it in, one had added a milkshake, the other a root beer float.
Having delivered her cargo, the waitress turned her attention to Lars, order pad in hand. “What will you have?”
Lars closed his eyes and pictured himself in the Sexy Stranger role for which he’d just auditioned. “I’ll take the garden salad. No croutons. No dressing.”
“And to drink?” Her tone made it clear she knew what was coming.
“Just a slice of lemon for my water, please.”
She walked away without further acknowledgment. Here in Hollywood, wannabe actors were known to be bad tippers, and Lars had just painted a big black A on his forehead.
No sooner had she walked away, ponytail bobbing, than a man slid onto the cracked red vinyl seat across from Lars. He clearly wasn’t a bum begging for cash or a dealer looking to hook, but beyond that Lars couldn’t read him. Judging by the custom-tailored suit and precisely knotted tie, the man might be an investment banker. His face, by contrast, was straight off the cover of Soldier of Fortune. Chiseled cheekbones and strawberry-blond hair cut short on top and tight on the sides. Then there were his eyes. Pale blue and sparkling with both intensity and intelligence. “Mind if I join you?”
Lars gave a quick glance around the diner to confirm that it was half empty. The request wasn’t the result of overcrowding. And Lars was absolutely certain he hadn’t met this man before. Even accounting for some Hollywood magic, which could radically alter hair and eyes, the cheekbones were too distinctive to forget.
Lars responded with a throwaway line he often used to push peddlers off balance. “I suppose that depends on whether you’re selling or buying?”
The intruder shocked Lars again with his answer. “Buying. Definitely buying.”