The Forever Drug

by Lisa Smedman

  I tried to imagine a world in which no one would ever grow old. I supposed that it just might produce the utopia the New Century Party had promised. I'd already seen that the older people got, the less they cared about the environment, about the way the world was going. They knew they only had thirty years, twenty years, ten years left. Why bother trying to make the world a better place if they wouldn't be there to enjoy it? But if they were going to be around for centuries to come, they'd have to deal with the long-term messes their short-term indulgences were creating.

  And imagine the wisdom they'd acquire. I thought of Mareth'riel, building up medical knowledge over the centuries, pushing the envelope of medical research. And what I'd learned over the course of my own life, short though it had been compared to Mareth'riel's. The older I got, the more I knew about the way the world worked, about my own area of expertise: paranormal animal control.

  Longevity was knowledge, and knowledge was power.

  And the Illuminates of the New Dawn wanted it all to themselves.

  "Something went wrong with my research," Mareth'riel said. "The enzyme I was testing had ... unfortunate results. It had an effect I hadn't foreseen."

  Her eyes became sad. "Those poor children. If I'd only had a chance to—"

  "It wasn't your fault," I told her. "Someone tampered with your research. They frigged up the enzyme deliberately."

  Mareth'riel's widened eyes asked a silent question.

  "The dragon Lofwyr," I answered. "He did it to discredit New Dawn, then snapped up the Tír government's quarter-share of the corporation."

  "Ah." Mareth'riel's lips pressed together in a grim line. I could see anger building like a thunderhead behind her eyes. "Of course," she said quietly. "He's as bad as the Illuminates. They wanted to use my research as a means to power, and Lofwyr wanted it as a means to profit. None of them cared about the people my research was supposed to benefit."

  She thought a moment more. "So that's why Galdenistal wanted me to come back to Tír Taimgire and talk to Laverty. So I could convince the council not to sell out to the dragon." She shook her head ruefully. "And I thought it was so Laverty and I could have it out, once and for all."

  "Sean Laverty?" I asked. "Was he one of Dunkelzahn's 'colleagues' as well?"

  "No—at least, I doubt it," Mareth'riel said. "Laverty was pursuing a similar line of research, but he wasn't interested in extending the life span of others, like Dunkelzahn was. He just wanted to know the source of his own longevity. He was fascinated with ... certain elves."

  I filled in the blank: "Spike babies. Laverty was using the Xavier Foundation to study them."

  Mareth'riel raised her eyebrows.

  "Galdenistal told me," I added.

  The eyebrows raised even further. "I'm impressed," Mareth'riel said softly. "Galdenistal is a tough nut to crack."

  I stood a little straighter at that one. I was pretty pleased with that accomplishment, myself. It had been the equivalent of dominating the toughest alpha male in the pack.

  "The Xavier Foundation, however, is history," Mareth'riel said. "Laverty closed the orphanage in the early 1920s. He and I went our separate ways after that. I left on bad terms—I guess you could say he fired me, after I had the audacity to suggest that what we'd learned through our studies at the Xavier Foundation should be shared with other researchers.

  "We also disagreed over the pace at which the research should proceed. Laverty wanted to delay further research until the level of mana had risen to the point where magic was active in the world. He believed in a strictly magical approach—even at that early point in the technological revolution, he was concerned about what he called the 'dehumanizing aspects' of technology.

  "I took the opposite view: the 20th century was a time of miraculous innovation and I was a firm believer in technology. I didn't think magic would ever build to the levels Laverty predicted."

  She smiled. "Needless to say, after the Awakening,

  I had a change of heart. Now I know that any solution to the immortality question will rely upon both magic and technology."

  "You still haven't answered my question," I said. "Is there an immortality drug?"

  "Not yet," she answered. "But I do know what went wrong—what caused the children in the drug trials to start aging at an accelerated rate. I was just about to correct the flaw in the enzyme when I was arrested."

  She sighed. "Four years is a long time for those children to have waited for a cure—too long. I can't., make them young again, but I think I can stop them from aging further. I owe them at least that much."

  "If you go back to Eskwader, won't the Illuminates find you?" I asked. "I thought you said they wanted to keep your research under wraps."

  Jane gave me a strange smile. "I won't be so valuable to them, after I use this." She traced the beam of her flashlight over the hermetic circle on the floor. "Dunkelzahn set it up as a sort of... amplifier... for a spell that allowed him to link minds with those who reported to him. He had us help construct it, so it would bear our astral signatures. Normally the spell is limited to line of sight, but by using this circle and astral projection I can create a long-distance link for the spell.

  "I'm going to use it to reveal the full details of my work to others who are involved in longevity research," she continued. "I'm not sure how many of them I'll be able to reach before the spell drains me. But even if it's only one or two, that will be enough. The Illuminates—or Lofwyr, if he gets to me first— won't be the only ones with the ability to produce my enzyme."

  She paused and cocked her head, as if listening for the storm. The room had grown quieter while we were talking; the thunder seemed to be retreating. Mareth'riel nodded, and held up a cautionary hand.

  "I can't force you to leave," she said. "Although I wish you would. If you do stay, don't break the circle. Whatever happens, I can take care of myself."

  I nodded, then hung my head. "I know."

  Mareth'riel leaned across the circle and kissed me on the lips. "Sielle, Romulus," she whispered. "Imo herme, od imo raeint sa. Be well, and be true to yourself."

  I looked up, startled. My breath was caught somewhere between my lips and my lungs, and my lips themselves were on fire. I felt a warm flush spreading up through my body.

  Embarrassed, I shifted to wolf form.

  By the time I remembered how to breathe again, Jane was seated, cross-legged, in the center of the circle. She set the flashlight down beside her, then turned it off. I switched to astral vision just in time to see the circle begin to glow. In that same moment I heard the whir of machinery working overhead. The half-arch roof slid back, revealing a clear night sky that was bright with moonlight.

  Suddenly, the air grew stiflingly hot. The heat was coming off the silver, which had lost its tarnish and was beginning to melt. Already rivulets of it were starting to run through the grooves in the floor.

  A dome of vaporized silver formed over the circle, enclosing Mareth'riel within it. Its fumes filled my nostrils, stinging even worse than the noxious vapor the air elemental had attacked me with. Holding my breath, I retreated for the door. I shifted briefly into human form to open it—thank frig it wasn't locked from this side—and staggered out into the hallway.

  As my breathing eased, I held the door open, taking one last look back at Jane. Her eyes were closed and her hands were raised to her head, fingertips touching her temples and palms out. A thread of magical energy beamed out from the center of each palm like a laser, piercing the walls that surrounded her. As she drew her hands away from her head, crackles of magical energy arced between her fingertips and her temples. I saw her lips moving at an impossible speed, as if she were silently dictating something to the person at the other end of the spell. The circles under her eyes darkened and her shoulders slumped slightly. Then her hands began to shake...

  That was when someone—or something—took control of my body. I felt my legs take a step back as my arm swung the door open wide. I stood, stiff as
a butler, and held the door open for a man who walked silently down the hallway, toward the room where Mareth'riel was working her magic.

  My hackles rose as he passed. He was impeccably groomed, wearing a high-collared, crisply tailored suit. His stride spoke of power, dominance—he had utter confidence in himself. I couldn't see his face clearly, even though the room was filled with moonlight that flooded in through the open ceiling. It looked human, but with a hint of something ... other. His scent was only vaguely human, overlaid with a pungent, leathery tang. When I looked at him with astral vision, his human face seemed to elongate into a lizardlike snout, his eyes to compress into slitted pupils. His aura glowed brightly, pulsing with magical power.

  I strained against the spell that held me rigid. Although my body was utterly motionless, my mind was racing. Who was this person? How had he surprised me so utterly? A sheen of sweat broke out on my body as I fought against the spell. I might as well have been a fly, caught in a web made of sticky steel. All I could do was whine softly.

  The intruder paused, just inside the room, and waved a hand. The gesture was casual, almost dismissive. But it had an instantaneous effect. The dome of silver energy surrounding Mareth'riel suddenly turned into a sea of static, as if a million imperfections had fragmented it. Then it collapsed in on itself. The molten silver within the pattern on the floor continued to swirl and sputter, but there were gaps in the flow. The circle had been broken.

  Mareth'riel started as the astral barrier broke around her. She stared at her hands, as if trying to understand where the magic had gone. Then she looked up at the man who stood just outside the circle. Her face, already wan from the drain of the spell, became ever paler. Her eyes widened in recognition and her mouth dropped open.

  "Lofwyr," she whispered.

  The man in front of her—a dragon in human form—bowed slightly. "The very same," he said, a slightly mocking tone in his voice.

  I whined as I fought against the spell that held me rigid. The hand that held the door open trembled with the strain, and my vision began to darken as I panted. The sum total of all of my effort was that my fingers twitched once, then relaxed again.

  Mareth'riel rose to her feet. She was shaky, exhausted. But defiant.

  "You're too late," she told the dragon. "The others know all about... my work. My research isn't a secret any more. The corporation you went to such pains to ... acquire ... isn't the only one with the formula for my enzyme."

  Lofwyr gave a slight shrug, as if this were an inconsequential detail—a trivial matter that could easily be set right. I growled softly as he feigned brushing some lint off his lapel.

  A crease of worry formed on Mareth'riel's forehead. But she persevered, her posture still defiant. "No matter what you do, the research will continue to be shared," she told the dragon. "Longevity— perhaps even immortality—will one day be available to everyone. Dunkelzahn's dream will be realized."

  Lofwyr chuckled. "Is that what you think Dunkelzahn wanted?" he said. He shook his head as if saddened and bemused. "For someone who has lived as long as you have, Mareth'riel, that is a naive notion. Dunkelzahn didn't want to serve humanity. No, it was quite the other way around. You were playing into his hands, helping him to create a new race of servitors. The elves, you see, had become too independent, and the drakes, well... they have their limitations."

  "I don't believe you," Mareth'riel said. "Dunkelzahn wouldn't..."

  But I could see it in her eyes that she did. Or at least, that she was starting to question what she had once believed.

  Lofwyr extended a hand. "Come, Mareth'riel.

  You're a valuable asset. It's time you got back to work." He cocked his head. "For the good of humanity, of course."

  Mareth'riel cringed, drawing back. But in that same instant—in the space of a heartbeat—Lofwyr changed. His body elongated, grew scales and a whiplike tail. His arms and legs lengthened and curved talons grew from his fingertips. Leathery wings appeared, folded against a massive back. The lizard smell became almost overwhelming—hot and stuffy in the small space that Lofwyr's bulk now filled. One gigantic, slitted eye peered at Mareth'riel, fixing her in its malevolent gaze.

  Lofwyr reached across the hermetic circle. Mareth'riel began gesturing as if she was trying to cast a spell, but there was no time to complete it. The dragon's hand closed around her waist and yanked her from the floor. Then the dragon squatted down on its haunches and its wings ruffled as it prepared to spring upward through the open ceiling.

  The spell that was holding my body rigid suddenly dissipated. Mareth'riel moaned in terror and her body went as rigid as mine had been, a second ago.

  "No!" I shouted. In that same instant, I shifted into wolf form. Adrenaline surged through me, washing away my weariness. I leaped into the room and sank my teeth into the dragon's tail.

  I have only hazy memories of what happened after that. I felt my teeth break the dragon's skin, and tasted strange, metallic blood on my tongue. Then the tail lashed to one side, flicking me off like a flea and sending me tumbling across the room.

  I howled as the molten silver of the circle splashed onto my skin. It burned with a fire that seemed to consume me to the bone; the spots that had been splashed felt as if they'd been seared to raw flesh. I could smell my own burning fur and the liquid seeping from my raw and blistered skin. I staggered to my feet, then collapsed back down onto my belly on a clear spot on the floor.

  My face had been splashed by the molten silver and my left eyelid was blistered shut. Through my one good eye, I looked up through the open ceiling— and saw the silhouette of the dragon, winging its way through the moonlit sky. Its forelegs were drawn up tight against its massive chest; I couldn't tell if it still held Mareth'riel in its claws or not.

  Either way, she was gone. I didn't see her anywhere in the room.

  I lay my chin back on the floor and allowed exhaustion to claim me.

  21

  The doctor stared down at me, his face covered with a surgical mask and his hair covered by a paper cap. In one hand he held a syringe filled with a pale greenish liquid. His other hand rested lightly on my shoulder.

  "Welcome back, Romulus," he said. "You've been out for a long time. What's the last thing you remember?"

  I looked around the room. I was in a medical clinic with bare white walls and a curtain pulled around the bed. I could smell a faint whiff of something herbal—probably the drug in the syringe—as well as the odors of various disinfectants and the starch in the sheets on my bed. I was in human form, lying on a hospital bed under covers that were held a few centimeters over my bare skin by aluminum bars, shaped like a tent frame. Restraints held my wrists and ankles, and a strap was across my chest. The restraints were self-adjusting; even if I'd shifted to wolf form I wouldn't have been able to slip them.

  My wrists and ankles were chafed, as if I'd been straining at the straps. The one on my right wrist looked as if it had been chewed. The inside of my right arm had a series of tiny red puncture marks.

  The doctor saw me looking at the restraints.

  "Sorry about that, Romulus," he said. "Even though you were in a coma, you were scratching at your burns. We had to restrain you so you wouldn't tear the synthskin off."

  Burns? So that was what hurt so bad. The left side of my face felt funny, rubbery, as if plastic wrap had been stretched across the skin. It ached and itched at the same time. A number of other spots on my chest, side and thigh must have also been burned. I could feel sharp twinges every time I tried to move, could feel the pull of the artificial skin that had been used to patch my burns. The edges itched something fierce, like gigantic mosquito bites.

  "I... don't remember being burned," I said. "What happened to me? Where am I?"

  The doctor leaned closer. His eyes were gold above the mask. He wore a baggy white hospital uniform and smelled of expensive cologne. "What is the last thing you remember, Romulus?"

  "I..." The memory was hazy, like a halfremembered dream.
"I was in an underground parking garage. There was an elf girl, and ... and a glowing ball of light. No wait. It was a paranormal animal of some sort. It looked like an octopus, with tentacles. It was killing the elf..

  "What day was that?" the doctor asked. "Do you remember?"

  I had to think about that one. I'd been on my way to the police station, to see if Sergeant Raymond had any assignments for me, and had taken a jander through the North End. The streets had been crawling with UCAS sailors ...

  "It was the day the Leviathan docked," I answered. "July 25."

  "What time of day was it?"

  "I don't know. It was just getting dark. Early evening, maybe?"

  The doctor smiled. "That's good, Romulus. Very good. The ball of light burned you. It hit you with some sort of magical attack that put you into a coma. That's why you wound up in the clinic." He laid the syringe on a stainless steel table beside the bed. "You seem to be on the mend, now. I think we can discharge you."

  "Uh ..." I hated to ask the question, but I had to know. "Who's paying for this?"

  The paper mask shifted slightly; the elf must have been smiling. "Lone Star," he said. "You were injured in the line of duty. The corporation is picking up the tab."

  He lifted a paper cup from the table where he'd placed the syringe. As he held it to my lips I smelled a bitter odor. "It's a mild painkiller," he told me. "It will help you to relax while I change the dressings on your burns. Then you can leave the clinic. I'll have one of the nurses call you a cab."

  He tipped the cup, and a sharp-tasting liquid wet my lips. The hand that held the cup was right under my nose; the doctor's scent seemed vaguely familiar—an elf's scent. I looked up into his gold-irised eyes as I swallowed the sedative, wondering if I'd awakened from my coma once before, if that was where I'd seen him bef—