Stealing Endeavour: Book 1 of the Forever Endeavour, Amen Trilogy

by Martin Tays

  “The two are not exclusive.” Moses shrugged her off and started walking again.

  “No. No, they’re not.” Ami hurried to catch up, then continued.“Oh, God, Moses. I’m so sorry. I should never have talked you into taking us up there. Us kids. We screwed everything up for you.” She stopped abruptly. “I screwed everything up.”

  Moses couldn’t look her in the eyes. He took two more steps, looking down at the ground, lost in thought. Finally, he stopped and turned back to speak.

  There was no one there.

  ☼

  It was an autobar. That suited Moses fine. No human waiters, no warmth of contact, no humanity at all. Just serious people getting down to the serious business of drinking. Moses sat at a table in the rear of the nearly empty room and ordered a rum and coke from the blessedly nonverbal service bot.

  He sat and stared at the quietly fizzing drink. After a long time, he keyed his pcomp out and tabbed through to the med section. Moses stared at it for a long time before entering a series of commands he had never used.

  Almost immediately he got that weird ‘ants on your skin’ feeling as the nanobots went whistling off to work. Then his headache abated and the queasiness went away. His vision was crisp, the nausea gone, even the sand seemed to have been magically whisked from its customary position in the back of his eye sockets.

  “Huh.” Moses actually started to feel vaguely human. He looked at the pcomp, held in front of him in a hand that, remarkably, shook not at all. He pocketing it, reached out, and picked up the rum and coke.

  He lifted it to his lips.

  And after an eternity he set it back down again, untouched. Moses stared at the drink, reached out, and tapped it softly with a fingernail. The transparent container obligingly went ‘tink’.

  He abruptly pushed the drink away and stood. Cursing, he ran off to find Ami.

  “I was talking to my Father the night he died. He told me stories of his army days, his time on the road, the book he never finished, a dog he loved as a child.

  He was dying, dying of nothing more than just being old, and he wanted… well, he wanted to live. Naturally. But failing that, he wanted to know that somehow, in some way, his story would go on.

  I thought about how much history, how much humanity, was behind those eyes that were fading even as I watched. I thought about what a horrible, evil waste this was.

  And I thought ‘Something’s got to be done’.”

  Joclyn Singh, Nanobiology Nobel Laureate, from “My Father’s Gift”

  “It was not a magic pill. It was never a magic pill, or a Fountain of Youth, or a Philosopher’s Stone.

  It was ten thousand men and women, in a thousand labs, making tiny and painstaking, micron by micron advances. In the dark, against overwhelming odds and an enemy who’d never been defeated. Never.

  It was the most brilliant campaign ever conducted, by the most intelligent people in existence and coordinated by what’s possibly the single most remarkable woman who ever lived, and all for those who had not yet been born.

  It was glorious.”

  J C Harringer, from “A Brief History Of Immortality”

  Chapter 6

  “No man is ever old enough to know better.”

  Holbrook Jackson

  Mattie was standing square in the doorway of Moses’ apartment when he arrived.

  The place had been provided for him as part of his new job. Ami had a room back at the hotel, but had not actually, technically, darkened its doorway in the last couple of weeks. Moses looked past the determined girl at the resolutely shut door, then back. She stared at him levelly.

  Finally, he nodded cautiously. “Mattie.”

  She returned the nod, her face betraying nothing. “Moses.”

  Moses stood there for a moment, hands in his pockets, then pointed toward the apartment with his chin. “I, um, I live here, you know.”

  Mattie shrugged. “Yeah. And your point?”

  “Nothing.” He hesitated a moment, then broke eye contact and stared down at his shoes before continuing. “Making conversation.”

  He cleared his throat, looked back down the hallway, and then turned to the girl. “Hey.”

  Mattie cocked an eyebrow. He stared over her shoulder toward the door. “Ami is in there, right?”

  Mattie looked grim. “Yeah.”

  “Okay. Good.”

  “But.” She continued, shaking her head. “You do not want to go in there right now.”

  “Oh?” He replied, uncertain. “Why not?”

  “Because if you do, I’ll hit you.”

  “Ah.” Moses turned away to stare blankly off into the distance.

  “You know she’s packing, don’t you?” She said flatly. With his back toward her, Mattie couldn’t see the expression on his face. But she could see how the comment hit home by the way his shoulders slumped.

  “Son of a…” Moses turned abruptly and walked over to Mattie. He leaned in, nose to nose, and spoke quietly. “I love her. You know that, right?”

  “Well, duh.” Mattie returned his look for a long moment, then reached out and grabbed both sides of his head. “Moses... sweetie…” She pulled him close and kissed him on the forehead, then continued while shaking his head like a recalcitrant martini. “Has anyone ever told you what an unmitigated ass you are?”

  “Well, yes, and surprisingly recently. You need to get together with Rafe… you both seem have the same lines.”

  “Okay, now, pay attention… you will be graded on your response.” She gave his head one last shake, then pushed him away to prod him in the chest with an admonishing finger. “Have. You. Told. Her?”

  “No.” Almost unheard.

  Mattie shook her own head and looked away down the corridor. She turned to search Moses’ face, then jerked her arm up to point back over her shoulder with her thumb. “Next to No, that girl in there is my best friend. We grew up together. I’ve held her hand through every stupid Godawful crush she's ever had, from that idiot Billie Chu Burkett back in grade school all the way through to… well, to you.”

  She paused, then stared at Moses with an intent expression on her face. “I can’t bear the thought of her in pain. And I will take steps — do you hear me? — steps, to keep that from happening.” Mattie lowered her voice, leaning in to purr the last line. “Got that?”

  “Yeah.” He shut his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ll go now.”

  “Horseshit. You…” Before he could move she grabbed his shirtfront, moved away from the doorway, triggered it and neatly flung him through. “… are going to march your sorry butt in there and tell her.” He recovered himself and turned toward her as she finished. “Got it?” A ghost of a wry grin crossed her face as she let the door slide shut on his startled expression.

  Moses stared at the back of the door. “You see, now?” He finally said, in a conversational tone of voice. “That’s what I hate about these doors. You can’t slam ‘em. Bad design work.”

  He leaned forward and rested his forehead against the cool, smooth surface of the door. “I love you. I love you. I love you… ‘kay. Not so hard.”

  Turning, he faced toward the bedroom and drew in a deep breath. He then spun abruptly and keyed the door open, again.

  Mattie, still standing in the doorway, just stared at him. She was tapping her foot.

  Moses cleared his throat. “Hey. Just, um, I needed to… you know… thing?”

  Mattie said nothing. She just raised her arm and pointed back down the hallway behind him.

  He sighed. “I know, I know.” He slid the door shut, keyed it back open again, and looked her in the eyes. “Thanks.”

  “Quit stalling.”

  “Damn.” This time she palmed the controls, locking them. Moses turned and looked back
toward the rear of the apartment. Faintly, very faintly, he could hear music. After a moment, a voice came in ― the sad, smoky voice of Billie Holliday:

  “With love to lead the way,

  I’ve found more clouds of gray,

  Than any Russian play

  Could guarantee…”

  Ami was standing in the bedroom, facing away from him, wearing only a shirt that ended at her midriff. She was singing along quietly. He was momentarily distracted by the sight.

  Looking up from her quite shapely and quite bare rear end, he saw that she was staring down into her half packed bag. Forgotten items of clothing hung from her hands. She looked… spent.

  “I know that love’s a game,

  I’m puzzled, just the same.

  Was I the moth or flame?

  I’m all at sea...”

  Moses closed his eyes briefly, savoring the dark, haunted voice, then opened them to speak. “You know, I’ve always believed that Linda Ronstadt’s version was better. Well, it had to be. She had Nelson Riddle to back her up.”

  Ami stiffened when he began speaking, but didn’t turn. After a moment, she replied. “You’ve obviously never heard the Stan Fenton version. Twenty one… something something. Part of that whole Deco Nuevo revival.”

  She finally looked over her shoulder, eyes moist. “I wanted to marry him, once.”

  “Fenton? Really? Isn’t he dead?”

  “Well, that was the problem with that.” She finally turned to face him, then followed his eyes. She looked down at the clothes in her hands and then past them. “Oh…” Ami blushed and started to cover herself.

  “I was wondering about that.”

  She shrugged and let her hands fall back by her sides. “I… this is going to sound… um… my underwear reminded me of you.”

  Moses finally smiled. “That may be the most goofily romantic thing I have ever heard.”

  “Thanks.” She paused. “No, wait. Yeah… thanks. I think.”

  Moses walked over and took the clothing from her unresisting hands. He reached out and grabbed just her fingertips in his own slightly clammy ones, then looked into her eyes for a long moment. Dropping her hands, he turned away and began speaking softly.

  “I am four hundred and eighty seven years old. Do you understand what that means?”

  Ami nodded, realized he couldn’t see her, and then spoke quietly. “Yes. At least, I think so.”

  “No you don’t.” Moses snorted. “Not really, anyway. Hell, I’m not completely certain what it means.”

  He turned to face her. “I’m over ten times older than you. Ten. Times. I’ve had hundreds of lovers. More.” Moses grinned crookedly. “Some of them frighteningly memorable. I’ve been married four times to women fool enough to want to marry me and smart enough to head for the hills later with most of their dignity and all of my money.

  “I drink…” He hesitated, then shrugged. “… I drank, maybe… a lot.” Her eyes widened. He held up a hand, warding off whatever comment she was going to make. “Don’t say it. I’m vain, selfish, arrogant and lazy.”

  Ami nodded solemnly. “And you eat crackers in bed.”

  “With cheese.”

  Ami reached out and placed her hand on his face. Softly ― Moses could barely feel the touch. “Plus, you’re an underachiever.”

  He raised his finger. “With good hygiene, though.”

  “Noted.”

  “I’m old, I’m tired, I’m cynical. Ask Mattie.” He leaned into the hand on his face. “Anyone who’d get involved with me is a complete and utter fool.”

  “Yep.”

  Moses sank abruptly to sit on the carpeted floor. Ami looked down at him for a moment. Then she gracefully folded herself up to sit, tailor fashion, opposite.

  He looked over at her, then looked down at her bare lap. “You know, as much as I appreciate the continuing proof that collar and cuffs match, that’s still highly distracting.” He said, dryly.

  Ami looked down and blushed again. The blush was, if possible, even more distracting. “Oh, right, yeah, sorry.” She grabbed a shirt from the pile beside her, pulling it over into her lap. “Better?”

  “Not really. I have a photographic memory.” Moses looked off, ostentatiously shutting his eyes. “Yep. Photographic.”

  She grabbed a pair of pants from the pile and heaved it at him, grinning. “Quit it.”

  Moses looked back over. “Quit what?”

  “Quit being… you. Damn it, damn it, damn it.” She slumped, then jerked her head back up to look him in the eyes. “I didn’t mean that, you know. Don’t quit being you. I like you.”

  “Yeah. I know. You really need to get out more.”

  “Shut up.” She leaned forward to poke him in the chest. “I’m opening up my heart to you, you twee. Shut up and listen. I am forty two years old. I am nearly ten times younger than you. I’ve had four lovers before you, none memorable at all. I’ve never been married, I’ve never been swept away in a rush of passion, I’ve never been. In. Love.” Each point was emphasized with another poke of the finger.

  Moses looked down at her hand, amazed. Rubbing his chest, he spoke softly. “Till now?”

  “Yeah.” She dropped her hand back into her lap. “Till now.”

  “Damn. Maybe you do know what you’re getting into. Are you sure you’re just forty two?”

  Ami nodded jerkily. “And four months. And sixteen days.”

  Moses smiled. “And four months, and sixteen days. I own shirts older than you.”

  “That reminds me.” She replied, smiling in return. “I want to take you shopping, sometime.”

  “Hey!” Moses grumped. “I like my shirts, thank you very much.”

  “The gray one? Please.”

  “Fine, okay, yeah. Maybe the gray one. And what the hell are we talking about shirts for?”

  “You started it.”

  “Did not. And I can’t believe I just said that. Sorry.” Moses grinned again, wryly. “Obviously, you make me feel young, again.”

  “Then my work here…” Ami smiled. “Is done.”

  “No, it’s not.” He reached out and grabbed the hand that lay, finger still extended, in her lap. “At least, I hope not.”

  Ami looked down at his hand, up at his searching face, then around at the room. She stared at her half filled bag, then turned back to Moses. “So.”

  He followed her glance. “So?”

  “You want to help me unpack?”

  “Depends.” Moses glanced down. “Are you going to put on any more clothes?”

  “Probably not.”

  He stood and pulled her to her feet. “Then yes. I’d love to.”

  ☼

  Sandar’s ears popped as the crewman at the hatch equalized pressure across the airlock. She snorted. That was a sign of a sloppily maintained ship. Not that she’d needed a reminder of that fact. It had been a long, slow trip out from Earth.

  Work, any kind of work, had been eluding her for four months after she had walked out of the control room at Arecibo. It hadn’t been hungry months… that just didn’t really happen, anymore… but it had been long, fruitless, joyless ones.

  Everywhere she went, every person she talked to, was the same. Her reputation had preceded her ― she was the ‘pi lady’.

  “Oh, yeah. You’re that Brillerman. Talked to any Martians, lately?” It had been a cold, humiliating, and pointless process. Every office, every interview. Finally, just as she was ready to give up, salvation had arrived. A strange, anonymous salvation, but salvation none the less. There were no instruction in the message she’d received, just a ticket confirmation. Sandar had considered ignoring it.

  Finally, though, staring around at the tiny, bland, efficiency apartment and �
� by extension ― the entire planet, she realized that she had nothing to lose.

  The ticket was for a mixed load freighter ― the next one out of the system. It was cheap, it was leaving immediately, and it was moderately safe.

  It would do.

  And, after all, other than that initial trip from Camelot to Earth, she’d never traveled. Maybe she’d have an adventure. Maybe she’d find romance. And maybe, eventually, she’d be able to travel far enough to get ahead of the gossip.

  And if not, if worst came to worst, she could always go back to her parents. Her doting, technophobic Mothers who would make a specific point of not saying “I told you so.”

  Sandar shuddered.

  Overhead the public address system chimed importantly, dragging her out of her reverie. “Attention, disembarking passengers of the United Earth Mail Ship President Chang. The transfer tunnel is in place, and the hatch has now been opened.”

  Technically, this was untrue, but even as Sandar looked over the tech put his shoulder into the hatch and swung it out of the way. There was brief gust of air out of the opening. Air that didn’t smell like fourteen weeks in a ship with an overtaxed, overdue for maintenance, life support system. Sandar and the other passengers waiting to disembark took deep, grateful breaths.

  The announcement continued. “Customs and Immigration personnel for Haven are waiting at the end of the passageway. Please have your Declaration Forms Double Zed Seven Stroke Nine ready for them to access. I would like to take this opportunity to thank you for traveling Inman Interstellar, and we hope you have a pleasant stay on Haven.”

  Looking down at the pcomp hanging around her neck, Sandar grimaced. She activated it and quickly finished filling in the information, then poked the ‘done’ sphere floating at the bottom of the form. The little unit bleeped in a satisfied way as it digested her information, then transferred it to the authorities. She sighed and moved forward to join the throng of low-rent travelers crowding into the tubeway.