Incarnations of Immortality

by Anthony, Piers

  Embarrassed, Norton nodded. "He has only one thing on his mind."

  She cocked her head at him again. "And you don't?"

  "I have a care for the damage I may do to others."

  "I think that's why you glow so brightly." He shrugged. "Maybe. But maybe I want more than I have a right to want."

  She touched his hand. "I told you before, Norton. You don't have to go after it's done."

  "I think I do. You are a married woman." She looked at him so intently that he became nervous.

  "What are you doing?" he asked.

  "I'm visualizing you as a prospective husband, to compare the glow."

  "Don't do that! I'm not your—can never be your—"

  "That's odd," she said. "That hasn't happened before."

  "What hasn't happened?"

  "The glow seems to have split. Part of it is extremely intense, but part of it is dim. As if you would be both a very good husband and a not-very-good husband."

  "How can that be?"

  "I'm not sure. You see, the glow doesn't figure character per se. It includes the total person, the total situation. How good a person is, how loyal, how effective a provider, how lucky or unlucky—the perfect man might be downgraded because an unfortunate accident will cripple him in five years, making him worse through no fault of his own."

  Norton felt a chill. "I might have an accident?"

  "No. I don't think it's that. Maybe it's that you could be the perfect husband, but you won't be, because I can't marry you. You're too good for the job—overqualified. So you suffer."

  "Overqualified!" Norton exclaimed incredulously.

  "I don't know," she said quickly. "That's just a conjecture. I don't understand all the aspects of the glow. I just see its brightness."

  "Well, stop considering me as—as the impossible. It's time to go out."

  "Of course." She took his arm, and they went out. Travel on the fast belts took them to this floor's nearest mall, where shoppers thronged in the fashion they had done so for millennia at such centers. This could be a market at Babylon or in a medieval city. The stores had changed somewhat in detail in the ensuing interval, however. Today they were holographic images, each in its alcove, the goods being displayed with lifelike realism, each tagged with its price. The shopper had only to touch the image of the item he wanted; it would be shipped directly from the warehouse to his home, and his account as identified by his fingerprint patterns would be debited accordingly. Of course, these were mostly standard items whose details were generally known; the more individual ones required a different type of shopping. Marked containers of food in set units did not need to be physically verified, while specially fitted clothing did. There were booths for fitting via holo imaging, but that still required undressing.

  They stopped at an ice cream stall, where the holograph of a chef stood by a chart of a thousand different flavors and types. Orlene touched the panels for their choices—honey flavor, of course—and the cones snapped into the adjacent holders, to be taken physically. The account of Gawain would be debited. Norton, of course, couldn't order; he had no account. In the vernacular of the day, he was of no account.

  Orlene also saw a popular book that looked interesting, so she touched its holo too; in a moment it was printed for her on the machine's supply of paper. It was a historical novel, set in the fascinating time when people believed in neither magic nor science, so had wretched lives. She put the book in her purse.

  They sat on a bench, licking their cones in nominal fashion, and watched the people passing by. Orlene called out the brightnesses of each one. The problem, she explained, was that any person's suitability as a partner varied greatly, depending on whom he was partnered with. Thus she could get several readings with different matchups.

  Norton was intrigued, but remained uncertain whether the glows she perceived were really magic or only imagination. He wanted to verify some cases, but did not feel right about walking up to strangers and asking how their interpersonal relations were. Orlene surely perceived the glows-but just how accurate were they?

  Then the proof came, abruptly. Orlene called out an older couple, walking hand in hand, evidently still much attached to each other. They were well dressed and handsome for their age. Yet Orlene called out a striking difference in their glows. The woman's glow was strong; she was almost perfect for the man. But his glow was absent. In fact, it was negative: a dark shadow. "He's completely wrong for her!" Orlene whispered.

  "I can't believe that," Norton protested. "Look how well they relate to each other! Even if he has a mistress on the side, he's got to be good for this woman. She's well eared for and contented."

  "The glow is absent," Orlene insisted. "He's bad for her!"

  "That just doesn't make sense!"

  Then they had to be quiet, for the couple was approaching. In fact, they sat down nearby on the bench. Norton wrestled with himself, trying to decide whether to speak to them, to try to resolve the discrepancy.

  "Just a little tired," the man was saying.

  "Yes, of course," the woman agreed.

  Then the man fell off the bench.

  Norton jumped up to help him, for he knew something about emergency aid. But he realized as he saw the man's staring face that he was dead. "Resuscitation unit!" Norton snapped, and a machine burst out of the nearest wall and rolled over to attend to the man.

  It took the machine only a moment to confirm Norton's diagnosis. "Unit failure—beyond repair," it clicked.

  The ambulance unit came and loaded the body aboard, taking also the shocked widow. It was all accomplished so swiftly and neatly that many shoppers never realized anything had happened—which was, of course, the point. People did not like shopping where death occurred, with good reason; sometimes vengeful ghosts remained.

  "Oh, that's so horrible!" Orlene said shudderingly. "Must we stay here?"

  "Of course not." They walked to the moving belt.

  But as they were carried back toward the apartment, Norton realized that the glow had been confirmed. The man had been a poor partner for the woman, not because of any failure of resources or personality or loyalty, but because he was not going to be with her very long and, in fact, had been about to bring her crushing grief. Thus the glow, instead of being absent, was black. The glow had known—before the fact.

  He had to accept the glow; it was legitimate magic. That meant he had to accept its verdict on him: he was right for Orlene. But what, then, of his dream? That suggested he was wrong for her—perhaps in the fashion of the man they had just seen die. Which was he to believe?

  "Your glow is wavering," Orlene murmured. "Are you thinking of leaving me?"

  Norton started guiltily. "I don't know what is right."

  She held his arm tightly. "Oh, please, Norton! I couldn't spend a night alone after seeing—that."

  He realized that she had never been exposed to violence or death, so was not equipped to handle it. Of course she would be severely shaken. This would be the worst time to leave her.

  They arrived at the apartment. As the door closed, Orlene turned to him, flung her arms about him, buried her head in his shoulder, and sobbed. She had been fairly well controlled in public, but now she was letting down. He held her; there was nothing else to do. Norton had always liked to help people and he could not refuse her his companionship and support now. Or was he, he had to ask himself, rationalizing?

  After a time she relaxed. She disengaged and went to the bathroom to put herself in order. "I'll never eat ice cream again," she said as she disappeared.

  Ice cream. Guilt by association. She had eaten it just before the tragedy. An illogical connection, but valid emotionally. He did not feel much appetite for ice cream now himself. Or for shopping mails.

  "You fighting with her?" Gawain demanded, popping into sight. "I heard her crying."

  "Couldn't you see?" Norton demanded irritably.

  "No. You weren't visible from the other room. I can walk through walls, but
I can't see through them. All I could do was listen to the muffled sounds."

  "We weren't fighting."

  "What, then?"

  "What business is it of yours?"

  "Listen, mortal, it is my business!" Gawain retorted.

  "This is my estate, and she's my wife."

  "A wife you never knew in life and don't love now."

  "Well, I'm a ghost! What use to love her?"

  The ghost had a point. Perversely, that made it easier for Norton. Whatever he did with Orlene would not be treading on Gawain's sensibilities. "We saw a man die. That shook her."

  Gawain snorted. "I've seen many men die. I'm dead myself."

  In more than one sense. "I think I see now why she had so much trouble believing in you. She doesn't like death and doesn't want it near her."

  "She should have thought of that before she married me!"

  "It wasn't entirely her choice, any more than it was yours. Men usually marry for sex appeal, but women marry for security. It's the nature of the human species, or of our economy. If women were the prime money earners, they might marry for other reasons, and if men had no better way to gain security than through women, so would they. I'm sure she would have married a living man if that had been feasible."

  "Well, she didn't! And now she has a job to do—and so do you. I don't want to wait in limbo forever. Tell her you won't stay unless she puts out now, today. She'll move it along for sure, since she doesn't want to be alone."

  "I'll do nothing of the kind!" Norton responded angrily. "She's no piece of meat!"

  "She's the breeder for my heir! She's not here to pussyfoot around. She's vulnerable now; you can make her perform in the next hour, if you—"

  "Listen, Gawain, I never pressured a woman in my life! And I would never take advantage of a situation like this!"

  "No, you'd just sit around interminably, sponging off my estate!"

  "To Hell with your estate!" Norton shouted. "You asked me for a favor! I never had any intention of taking anything of yours!"

  "Then do what you came to do and get gone!" the ghost shouted back.

  "I'll get gone right now, if that makes you happier! You can find another man to do your favor!"

  The ghost backed off, literally and figuratively. "I told you, she's choosy. It's got to be you."

  "I am not at all certain of that. In any event, it will be of her choosing, not yours or mine."

  But Gawain was gone again. Orlene stood in the doorway, in a gray housecoat. "Gawain again?"

  Norton nodded. "I shouldn't let him provoke me."

  "I suppose he has a case. He wants his heir."

  "Yes. But he neglects the social aspect." She glided to him. "Norton, at first, I confess, I was suspicious, despite the glow. You glowed, but you weren't committed, and the ghost—" She shrugged. "But since then I've watched you glow as you talk with him. It flickers as you react. It is not a lie detector, but the glow is not under your control, so it suggests to me how you really feel. When you spoke just now of leaving, it damped right down. You weren't bluffing."

  "I'm not a bluffer," Norton agreed ruefully. "He wants me to perform like a hired stud and get out. I thought I could, before I met you, but now I can't."

  "I know," she said softly. "You really want to do the right thing."

  "Yes. And that may be to move out right now."

  "No!" she cried. "Please, Norton, no! I told you I couldn't stand to be—"

  "But you'd be alone tomorrow if I did it his way."

  "Gawain's an idiot," she snapped. "He doesn't know the first thing about siring an heir. I couldn't get pregnant today if they inseminated me artificially. It's not that time of the month. And if it were, there's no guarantee that one time would do it. The only way to be sure is to remain until a test establishes the pregnancy—and that could take several months."

  Norton spread his hands. "You're right, of course. I'm as foolish as he."

  "You tell him that now," she said. "His efforts are only delaying things. I'll give you two minutes."

  "But that means I would have to stay for—"

  "Months," she said. "Do you object?"

  "No!" he said, his feeling surprising him. "Then tell him. Then he won't nag you about that any more, and we can be in peace." She turned and left.

  Gawain reappeared. "I heard," he said. "The vixen is right. Okay already, I'll take a tour around the world. You stay here until you're sure."

  "What about all my sponging off your estate?"

  "I said that in anger. I apologize. I want you to stay. Will you?"

  Norton sighed. "Yes."

  "But first I'll teach you how to slay dragons."

  "That was to be my payment," Norton said. "But we didn't realize how long it would take me to deliver. Let's consider the room and board as payment instead."

  Gawain smiled, waved, and disappeared.

  Orlene returned. "All right?"

  "Yes. He agrees. He's gone."

  "You're sure?"

  "Well, I can't be sure. But he said he was going on a tour of the world. I think he realized that his purpose will be fulfilled better if he butts out for a white."

  "Yes. I never liked the idea of his watching. After all—"

  "He can't share a room with you and he can't see through walls. So if you close things up—"

  "That's a relief," she said. "I—that is, I'm not good at saying this—do you want to do it now?"

  That was all the invitation Norton needed. He surprised himself by declining. "There's no point. Wrong time of the—"

  "You don't want to—to do it just for the fun?"

  Norton hesitated. "With any other woman—who looked like you—I would be glad to. I have—before. But this is not for fun. It's business. I can't justify it any other way."

  "Why not?"

  Norton stared at the floor. "I can never marry you."

  "You want too much."

  "Yes, I suppose I do. I never did before, but now—"

  She walked around the room. "I think that's what turned me off the other men who came. Oh, it's true their glows were low—but if one of them had had a high glow, I wouldn't have liked it, because all any of them wanted was free sex. I'm not a prostitute, and if I were I wouldn't give it away free. I can't really be with a man unless he cares."

  "But a man who cares—wouldn't want to have it this way."

  "Look," she said abruptly. "Lots of men have mistresses who last through several wives. Because the mistresses are true love interests. What is legal is not always actual. Why would you have to leave—ever?"

  "I'm a wanderer. I have never stayed long in one place."

  "But if a woman were willing to travel with you?"

  "None has been, so far. And you are bound to the estate."

  "No. I am bound to produce an heir to the estate. Then I can travel with whom I want to."

  What joy! "We've known each other less than a day."

  "Oh, of course it might not work out," she said quickly. "I am merely making the point that you can love me if you want to. I know I can love you."

  "May the Lord have mercy on me," he said slowly. "I think I want to."

  She held something out to him. "Let me give you this, as a token of our illicit potential love."

  He looked. It was a ring in the form of a small green snake. The head was slightly raised, serving in lieu of a precious stone. The eyes shone; perhaps they were gems.

  "But I have nothing to give you in return!"

  "Yes, you do. Give me yourself."

  It made a certain sense. She, as a married woman, could not truly give herself to him. But he could give himself to her, as companion or whatever. She had a dead husband; now she wanted a living man. One who cared.

  He accepted her ring and put it on his left middle finger. It fitted perfectly and comfortably, as if made just for him.

  "Now—" Orlene said.

  "This has very little logic," he warned her.

  "I know. Do what
you will with me."

  He laughed. He picked her up and carried her into sitting room. He kissed her and set her down by the puzzle. "I want a piece, woman!"

  She smiled. "Yes, sir!"

  They got to work on the puzzle.

  Chapter 3 - THANATOS

  What followed was very much like a honeymoon. They made love often at first, then settled down to a pleasant routine. They finished the puzzle and started on another. They toured the estate, which was vast and rich, with apartments on several levels of the city, a marked section of penthouse park, and a private matter transmitter in the basement level. There was even a section of a posh sports club; Gawain owned an enclosed tennis court and a table in the restaurant. Gawain had never played tennis; it was only an investment to him, handled by the anonymous experts who ran his financial affairs. But Norton knew tennis, and so did Orlene. Neither of them was professional level, but both were adequate, and they enjoyed playing each other. Norton was a healthy man, and Orlene was a fine figure of a woman, especially when exerting herself physically.

  There was no discernible point of demarcation, but it was not long at all before Norton knew he was thoroughly in love. Orlene never said she actually loved him, but he understood that; she was loyal to her technical marriage to the ghost. In every other respect she was Norton's. She fixed his meals like a housewife; she hiked with him in the park, being thrilled when she caught a new bird on camera; and she shared his sleeping bag at night. If he had found a woman like her before, he certainly would have married her. They even had quarrels—but never, now, was there any mention of his leaving. They were wedded in all but name.

  The ring she had given him turned out to be no minor trinket. It was magic. She refused to tell him how it was magic. "A woman needs some secrets," she said teasingly. "Since my body has none remaining for you, the mysteries of the ring will have to do."

  That intrigued him mightily—but several things prevented him from cracking that riddle promptly. First, Orlene kept him busy with a whirlwind of joint activities. They viewed the latest top-grade holoflicks together, went null-gravity swimming, and visited the estate's outlet on the planet Venus—no wonder Orlene was able to get delicious, fresh, Venusian fungus for meals!—which was less impressive than he had expected, because the Venus apartment was merely another chamber with a single thick lensed viewport opening onto the perpetually murky storm of the surface. It would have been hard to tell it was another planet if it hadn't been for the changed gravity. When nothing else offered, Orlene would teasingly display portions of her perfect body, and duty as well as inclination compelled him to pursue it. But there came a moment when she slept and he was awake, and he remembered the ring. Now was his chance!