James Halperin - The First Immortal

“I see? That’s all you have to say about it?”

“Hell no, Gary, I wanted to make sure you were finished. Are you?”

“For now.”

“Okay, then I’ll start by thanking you for finally telling me how you feel, for not faking.”

Gary said nothing.

“I know I haven’t been open with you, but I didn’t want to seem cloying; didn’t want to rush you, or make you more nervous. But you should know that we have something in common. You’ve just described the greatest terror of my life: the fear that I’ve irreconcilably lost you.”

“I’m supposed to believe that?”

“You’re my only son.”

“Big fucking deal. I was your only son from the day I was born,” Gary fumed, again turning away from Ben. “You never appreciated anything I did. Nothing was ever good enough.”

“I know.” Ben strained to fight back his panic. “I was unhealthy; damaged. Hell, I couldn’t even look at you back then, the same way you can’t seem to look at me today. It’s almost as if what I had was contagious, and you caught it.” Ben instantly knew: the wrong words.

Gary’s body twitched. “It was, and I did,” he said. “That’s how it works with parenthood, you know. Your children might not do what you tell them, but they always do what you do .” He slammed a balled fist into an open hand. “Christ. And now you want to infect Margaret. Well, I won’t let that happen!”

Ben kept silent, but his hands shook. Gary saw it.

They avoided each other’s eyes, sweating and stewing, both men wanting to speak. But both also understood that without a time-out, words would be spoken in haste, more hurtful words that could never be withdrawn.

So they sat together in silence.

Several times Gary looked toward Ben, and invariably caught him staring back, but, as always, he could not discern the feeling behind his father’s eyes.

Calculation or self-examination? Gary wondered.

Ben considered his future with Margaret, a future he’d counted on for some fifteen years. In his mind’s eye he saw, God help him, her ripening fourteen-year-old body, almost identical to the one that had driven him crazy in their— their? —first spring together in 1940. He imagined her without clothes, imagined holding her naked in his arms, feeling her perfect skin against his.

He hadn’t even kissed Margaret, not that way, but the idea of never caressing her, never making love to her, seemed too much for his mind to integrate.

He would sooner die.

Then he considered Gary, his own flesh and blood, and tried to re-create within himself the ambiguity of his feelings over the six decades when both were conscious: six decades that had brought them to the present. An image flashed through Ben’s mind of a proud antelope, temporarily distracted, suddenly forced to watch his own fawn being carried off by a jaguar, a beast he knows he is too slow to catch and too weak to stop.

But still, he would have to try !

Both men continued to stew.

Your children may not do what you tell them, Ben recited to himself, but they will always do what you do. Well, I forgave Jan, he thought, and Gary should forgive me .

Now Ben’s eyes avoided his son’s. He looked at the floor, the ceiling, his own hands; then realized that he hadn’t quite forgiven everyone, had he?

Ben finally broke the silence. “Gary, I’d never marry Margaret without your blessing. Don’t misunderstand: I’d want to. But I wouldn’t, because I could never live with that much conflict in my life. Not happily—”

“Isn’t my decision.” Gary interrupted, “It’s for her to decide, and you. I’m sorry I said that, Dad, truly. I shouldn’t have come.”

“I’m glad you did.” The words seemed dredged from the pit of his stomach. “This may have been the most honest conversation we’ve ever had. I only wish we’d had it about fourteen decades ago.”

Gary just stared at him.

“Like it or not, Gary, we’re family. Granted you hate me, maybe forever, and that hurts like hell. But you’re still blood from my blood, bone from my bone, mind from my mind. I have a stake in your happiness and your success.

“You and Kimber chose to love each other. I have no choice. I’ll love you and pray for only good things to happen to you for all the centuries of my life, whether you return the feeling or not.

And in that instant, Ben Smith realized he would somehow have to make himself absolve a man he thought he could never forgive: the now-frozen father of three of his grandchildren.

At the very moment Ben revoked his own burden of anger toward Noah Banks, Gary gazed at his father’s young face and felt a similar transformation within himself. He’s right, Gary decided: It’s family! It’s not about me submitting to him, or who owes what to whom. It’s beyond that. He can’t shake me, and he never will.

He suddenly saw his father now not as his tormentor, but as his ally. An annoying ally, but someone who had no choice but to be on his side. Ben was like any highly evolved animal, driven by instinct to protect its young, its love overpowering, even mindless.

But he knew Ben was human, too, and unlike other animals, compelled to examine and identify his own feelings. What a wonderful, terrible thing! He also knew that, other than with each other, their perspectives and emotional responses to outside forces tended to be identical. The tragic silliness of the comet-crazies had made that all too clear.

For some reason, Gary now remembered something that happened to him in high school in 1962 during a science lab. He’d extinguished his Bunsen burner, but neglected to turn off the gas jet. Before rekindling it, he’d turned the jet off briefly. Too briefly. To his horror, a giant arc of fire had appeared in front of him. Then, just as suddenly, the fire was gone. Gone!

The gas had simply burned off and disappeared.

That had been exactly like this moment, seconds ago, when his anger and pain over his father’s treatment of him, during another lifetime, vanished in a flash of brilliant heat, leaving only the memory of itself behind.

September 30, 2103

—The World Government sets a population target of 26 billion humans living throughout the solar system by the middle of this century. President Sims declares, “With death all but defeated, at least for now, population is expanding much more slowly than even our most conservative projections. Ironically, a large, intelligent, and highly motivated population improves our chances of surviving external threats like the early 24th century Oort/Nemesis assaults, the very reason fewer of our citizens are now choosing to raise children.”—The Dian Fosse University in Kigali, Rwanda, reports on its successful implantation of a larynx, tongue, and nanosynthesized speech patterning of the left medulla oblongata into Boku, a mountain gorilla. While some public disapproval has dogged the project, researchers suspect that a previously untapped well of understanding and shared insights between species can be opened. Boku’s first spoken word is “doughnut.”—The World Health Department issues a recommendation that any citizens who have not already done so, receive permanent ocular implants at once. All implants adjust upon cerebral command to render telescopic and microscopic vision, infrared and ultraviolet detection, and off-site digital documentation, as well as the standard media-screen reception, but the newest versions also self-repair and therefore never wear out. Nearly 75 million citizens worldwide still maintain temporary implants, some of which may expire before the end of the decade.

He felt her neck against his mouth, and inhaled her perfume. Margaret moaned and Ben’s pulse quickened. Her voice, features, and scent exploded inside his head; her touch was becoming more skillful every day. They’d nearly reached the point of no return; he was getting close, and could tell that she was, too.