Episode 118

(New York, September 19, 2019)

“When you spoke, did Rin offer any clue why she’s become so … enthusiastic … about her so-called mission recently?” Alana asked, more than a little skeptical that whatever answer she received — however enthusiastically delivered — would amount to anything more than mere speculation, and possibly quite a bit less.

“Ah, so you believe me now,” Karkov cooed. “For someone who professes cynicism, you readily accept all manner of dubious tales. I suppose that’s not surprising for a religious zealot. Compared to the usual tripe your kind laps up, I expect this all sounds lamentably droll.”

“Just answer the fucking question.”

“Sadly, she did not,” Karkov replied.

Alana was surprised at the terse response. She had assumed he would take the opportunity to proffer some convenient fabrication. Was he pouting because she had spoken too sharply? The man wasn’t a twelve-year-old child, so what was she supposed to make of this?

“But I do have a few theories,” he quickly added, vindicating Alana’s original supposition and inspiring some small sense of relief. There was nothing new and dangerous, just the same old man with the same old games.

“I’m sure you do,” she replied dryly. Well-crafted lies would have been preferable to acknowledged speculation, but neither was entirely useless.

“I think it has to do with humans,” Karkov declared after a few moments of contemplation.

“You suggested as much before, but they hardly seem like a threat. If you couldn’t come up with a way to harm an Eight after several thousand years —”

“I never said I couldn’t harm you. I just said I couldn’t kill you.”

“I’m not sure why you’re splitting hairs.”

“Some hairs are worth splitting. I would have thought you’d be the first to recognize that.”

Alana sighed. “Please, do explain what grand power you have over me. I’m on the edge of my seat.”

Karkov shrugged. “I’m just telling you this for your own good. I have nothing to gain or lose.”

“Then why do you care about my own good?”

“Well, I’d miss these charming little chats. How can I feel superior if I don’t have someone inferior to talk to?”

“You just admitted that you are inferior to every other person on the planet.”

“Or maybe you’re the only inferior that I deign to talk to.”

“Buddy, I’m pretty sure you’d talk to a corpse if you could find one that would put up with your blather.”

Karkov smiled. “Usually, it’s the other way. They listen to my blather and end up a corpse.”

“Listening to you can have that effect, I suppose.”

“Because I kill them.”

“Ah, I see, this is what you meant by ‘harming’ an Eight. Having me endure this rubbish.”

“If you don’t want to hear it, I won’t say anything.”

“Fine, how can you harm me?”

“I’m not in the mood anymore. Maybe if you ask nicely later.”

Alana put her head in her hands. “Just fucking get on with it. Why are the humans a problem? Or are you no longer in the mood to tell me that either? Did my use of ‘fucking’ offend your delicate sensibilities?”

“Your use of fucking would offend even the least delicate sensibilities. But no, I’ll be happy to continue, because it does benefit me for you to know.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Don’t be. You haven’t heard it yet.”

Karkov looked at her as if expecting a reply, and the silence dragged on. Finally, Alana clutched the table and leaned forward in irritation.

“So … What can they do to us?”

Karkov leaned back and adopted a didactic posture. “I’m glad you asked. The world is always changing, but recently the rate of change has been increasing. Unprecedented aggregates of knowledge, capital, and population have formed, and this expands what the human species has become capable of achieving in general, and capable of easily managing in particular.”

“Yes, we’ve got big countries with lots of money and people. Thanks for the insight.”

Karkov ignored the interruption. “Of the many humans who discovered our existence over the years, there have always been some who tried to force immortals to serve them. A few succeeded, but only in small ways and for short periods. That’s different now. Human civilization has reached the scale and technical capacity to do so more effectively. Almost any immortal below an Eight is fair game.”

“So what? They get captured, briefly serve some mortal for a few years, then get on with their lives once that mortal screws up or dies. Worst case, they end up enslaved for a few generations. No society lasts too long, so they’ll be free one way or another after a while. It’s not like any of us are short on time. I don’t see the big problem. Mortals cannot become like us, so they’ll never be a real threat.”

Karkov made no effort to disguise his annoyance. “I thought that you, of all people, would readily perceive the danger.”

Alana thought for a few moments. “Humans are forcing immortals to fight?”

Karkov nodded. “If immortals are enlisted by various nations to fight on a regular basis, sooner or later they’ll end up fighting one another. The only saving grace is that any conflicts between Fours are unlikely to be catastrophic. However — and this is pure conjecture on my part — it is only a matter of time before humans find a way to control Eights. Or at least some of you.”

He locked Alana’s eyes. “If we perish, it will be because of humans. Not because they valiantly sought to destroy us, but because their grasping little fingers defile everything they touch. In their mindless greed, they will destroy not just themselves, but possibly the entire universe.”

Alana laughed. “Humans screwing everything up — that sounds about right. After all, we did. But I’m curious how you imagine they could control an Eight.”

She doubted that Karkov would vouchsafe a reply, especially given his affectation of reticence. However, it couldn’t hurt to ask. The man had probably given the matter a great deal of thought. Even if he wasn’t at personal risk of human control, it would be in his interest — if he actually believed all of this — to protect Eights by better informing them. Or maybe to control them himself, if he wasn’t actually peddling nonsense earlier. It probably was posturing or just another of his misdirections, but she couldn’t be sure.

“I told you I don’t feel like it anymore.”

“You didn’t feel like telling me your super-secret bullshit sauce. I’m asking for their recipe.”

Karkov laughed. “Really? I’m expected to believe that? Either you have a very low opinion of me or you should have a very low opinion of yourself. You used to be a lot better at this. Fine, I intended to tell you anyway.”

Alana was tempted to offer a snide remark but decided not to risk another huge detour into nothing. Nonetheless, she wondered why he was so willing to tell her. Maybe this was why he had finally agreed to meet. If he really believed that she needed to be warned, or he wanted to plant a seed of doubt for one dubious reason or another, there would be no better excuse than agreeing to such a chat. Nonetheless, there would be no harm in hearing him out. Informed caution was important, as long as it wasn’t allowed to descend into paranoia. Paranoia wasn’t necessarily unmerited, but it was debilitating.

“As I said,” Karkov began, “it’s pure speculation, but here are a couple of simple ideas. I’m sure you could come up with them on your own. Heck, maybe you’ve even done them.”

“I’ll take it under advisement if I ever need an Eight as a gardener.”

Karkov grinned. “Unfortunately, the methods that benefit humans aren’t likely to prove of much use to you or me. The problem is longevity. If there’s somebody vulnerable that an Eight cares about — a mortal or a low-number or a pet hamster — humans could use that as leverage.”

“It seems unlikely,” Alana replied after a moment of thought. “They’d have to safeguard the hostage, or they would risk losing their leverage. Eventually, they would lose it to time anyway.”

Karkov nodded. “Exactly. That’s why we can’t make use of such methods. We’d get at most a few decades of service from an immortal. If our hostage is immortal, it would have to be a low number. Nobody else would end up a hostage. At some point, the Eight would sour on them or get sick of being used by us. I doubt there’s any long-lived love between immortals.”

Alana burst into laughter. “Says the man who claims an eternal love for his wife.” She fixed his eyes. “Yeah, I agree. You’re proof of that.”

Karkov cleared his throat. “As for safeguarding the hostage, we would have a hard time there too. However, that is something humans have grown quite adept at. In the old days, prisoners were killed or enslaved or thrown in a dungeon. There wasn’t a lot of concern for their well-being. Killing the prisoner was easy but safeguarding them was not. The infrastructure simply did not exist to adequately keep and protect a hostage for a long period of time.”

“However,” he continued, “modern societies are built around enormous incarcerative apparatuses. They are experts at doing such things. Moreover, once the victim is in custody, the captors can do anything they want to it. Modern medicine minimizes the risk associated with torture, and the subject can be kept alive as long as needed. Enormous pressure could be brought to bear on whatever hapless immortal cares about the hostage, and rescue wouldn’t be a realistic possibility. Could you imagine pinpointing an individual in the prison system, let alone freeing them — especially if you’re expected to try?”

“It’s funny you should mention that …” Alana began, but thought better of it. That would be a betrayal. Probably. It was pure speculation on her part, but pretty well-founded speculation. Rin hadn’t specified what had been taken from her, but it wasn’t too hard to guess after this conversation. What else could it be? Everything he said signaled that Karkov already knew. However, she couldn’t be certain about that. Probing around the edge of this particular topic carried too much risk. Rin would be willing to overlook a lot, but possibly not that. If the woman was going so far to recover her lost luggage, how would she react if Alana revealed this to Karkov and got that luggage killed?

This infuriated her. Why was she left walking a tightrope between two bitter exes? Couldn’t these boneheads just have a conference call or something? She quickly changed direction.

“Wouldn’t that apply to any high number, not just an Eight? You or Rin could suffer the same coercion if you came to care for somebody that way.”

Alana watched Karkov carefully. Was there the hint of a smirk on his face before he broke into a full grin? “I don’t plan to do anything so foolish, and I certainly can’t see her caring about anybody.”

“Not even that boy she was screwing?”

“Have you ever cared about a mortal you screwed?” Karkov asked.

Alana sat back. “Probably not. But I also never had one ‘in tow’, as you put it. What was he, her apprentice?”

“Something like that, I imagine.”

“I doubt there’s much an immortal can teach a mortal. Our needs and concerns and methods are fundamentally different.”

Karkov shrugged. “Does it matter? That’s her concern, not ours. We have all the time in the world. Why not waste some teaching a mortal? It’s no less meaningful than any of the other things we do with our time.”

“Any question that starts with ‘why not’ has a twin that starts with ‘why’.”

“Then you should ask the lady yourself, next time you see her.”

Alana felt like she was once again hovering dangerously close to the one thing she needed to avoid. Was that Karkov’s purpose? Maybe his real motive was to probe her knowledge and find Rin’s weakness. That didn’t make a lot of sense, since she herself had revealed this weakness by introducing the boy to Karkov. Had she, though? He made it sound that way, but perhaps she had just alluded to such a companion.

The whole thing could be a setup to find out what Alana actually knew. Maybe there was no boy, just a man who liked to lie. It didn’t matter. Whether the risk was real or not, she wouldn’t be drawn into taking it. She decided to change the subject, but to what? The man liked to talk about his theories. The human-threat theory brought them too close to this verboten subject, so she decided to revisit the other one.

“I still believe that the probability of actual conflict is low,” Alana announced without a segue. “The protections don’t constrain the world that much, when you think about it. Of course, this may mean we’re more vulnerable than we actually imagine. The big problem is Rin.”

Karkov flashed an enigmatic smile and quickly conformed to the new contours of the conversation.

“On that we agree,” he replied.

“You know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

Alana sighed and stared at her cup in irritation.

“If Rin has so many protections, then most must be inapplicable or redundant in any given situation,” Karkov explained. “However, that also means there are fewer ways to accommodate the ones which do come into play. If Rin and I fight, there could be too many constraints and no way to satisfy them all.”

He hesitated. “There’s also another possibility …” he began, his voice much lower.

“You two are married,” Alana interjected before he could finish the thought. “There’s no worse way to avoid conflict than marriage, so it sounds like the world is pretty much screwed.” She regarded Karkov with a twinkle in her eye, then smiled at him sweetly. “As for conflict, what if she decides to… oh say, drop you in a black hole? Are you just going to quietly let her? After all, you need to avoid conflict.”

“Given the sheer stupidity of that plan, I’m surprised you can repeat it with a straight face. Inane science fiction aside, if the day comes when she tries to destroy me in earnest, I will have to decide whether I should placidly allow myself to be destroyed or take her with me. It would be romantic: a murder-suicide with the woman I love. I get tingles just thinking about it.” He glanced at Alana. “You and your brother and the rest of the world would be collateral damage, but look on the bright side — your sacrifice will have made possible the ultimate expression of love.”

Alana tried to read beneath his playful tone. Was that what he actually wanted? Suicidal thoughts weren’t common among high-numbered immortals because the possibility simply didn’t exist. Just as most people didn’t spend all day dreaming of life in another world, there was little point to desiring death.

She had encountered one irritating Eight who constantly bemoaned his fate and claimed to wish for death. This would have been understandable if he feared eternal torment at Rin’s hands, but he had been grumbling long before that was even on the horizon. Alana had concluded that he simply was the type who liked to complain. She wondered what he would do if he suddenly became mortal. Probably complain some more.

She eyed Karkov carefully. “Cut the nonsense. You and I both know you’ve already decided what you’ll do.” She put up her hand to forestall any objection. “I don’t want to know, because I don’t care.”

Karkov sighed. “You’re no fun at all. You used to be much more … lively about such things.” He clasped his hands together. “But, to the matter at hand — what did she want from you? I assume you’re here to sound me out. Or did she recruit you to help rid the world of big bad me.”

“I don’t think you’re on my docket.” Alana paused to take a sip of tea. “I don’t know for sure, since she hasn’t given me my docket, but I’d be surprised.”

“You don’t think she could surprise you?”

“I taught her how to surprise people, so I doubt it.”

Karkov laughed. “No, you don’t. The fact that you’re here means she did surprise you, and now you’re panicking.”

Alana put her cup down and looked at Karkov. “Well, she did hint that you may be on the menu one day. So, I’ll just have to hope.”

“I can’t wait to be —” Karkov licked his lips “— on your menu.”

“Don’t do that. It’s disgusting.”

“It was meant to be.” He grew serious. “I assume that the reward for becoming a cowardly, detestable traitor to your own kind is a few more days here in paradise before she casts you into the abyss?”

“Not just me,” Alana replied. “I secured her promise for another as well.”

“Ah, of course. How silly of me. And you believed Rin?”

“I think there’s a good chance she wouldn’t lie to me. Despite everything, she may still love me.” Was she trying to convince herself? The words sounded odd as she spoke them, and she was unsure whether they embodied a belief or a mere hope.

“You have a rather high opinion of yourself.”

Alana shrugged. “They say your first can do no wrong.”

“Hers did plenty.”

“Well, this aside,” Alana replied, preferring not to get dragged into yet another argument about that. “I think she has a good reason to abide by her promise. At least, when it comes to me. It’s my brother I worry about.”

“I can’t argue with that. There’s no love lost between those two. If there’s anyone Rin would like to destroy, it’s — what did you say he calls himself now?”

“I didn’t. It’s Finn.”

“No doubt, she blames Finn for what happened. You may or may not know what that is, and I have no intention of telling you. Unlike you, I do have qualms about betraying the woman I love.”

To Alana’s surprise, his words didn’t sting at all. “That’s okay, I can already guess what it is. Incidentally, how do you say stuff like that with a straight face? I really should learn.”

Karkov smiled. “Only if you teach me to lie as brazenly as you do. As for Finn, I don’t think there’s anyone she detests more.”

Alana grinned. “I can think of one.”

“Perhaps.” Karkov looked away, and neither spoke for a while.

“You think she’s lying to me?” Alana finally asked. This was the reason she had come, the one question which mattered. The rest was interesting, but ultimately immaterial. There was a single choice to be made, and a single answer would suffice to make it.

“You know her as well as I, perhaps even better,” Karkov replied. “I won’t evade the question by asking what you think, but I won’t pretend to be able to answer it either. I can only tell you what I know of Rin — or, more precisely, what I think I know. We were both close to her in the old days, though at different times and in different ways — and we’ve both spoken with her recently. In this regard, I can only supplement your assessment with my own. I wish I could offer some greater comfort.”

“No, you don’t.”

Karkov laughed. “I suppose not. But I wouldn’t begrudge you it, were it mine to offer.”

After wiping some spilled coffee off his cup, he explained. “The Rin I married would lie only for cause. For her, deceit was a distasteful necessity, not, as for so many, a cherished pastime or fashionable virtue.”

“And now she’s become a perennial liar?” Alana prompted, suddenly fearful of the answer.

To her relief, Karkov shook his head. “The Rin I recently met seemed even less prone to subterfuge. Her one attempt at it was … well, laughable is an understatement.” Karkov smiled in fond reminiscence. “I’m afraid she’s lost either the desire or the knack.”

Alana considered this. “She probably has no need to lie.”

“Perhaps she thinks so. If true, I’d say it is her greatest — and perhaps only — weakness.”

Alana smirked. “Not one that you share.”

“I do what is needed. Do you know what makes a good liar?”

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

“It is impossible to know where their lies end.” He fixed her with his gaze. “Isn’t that right, Alana?”

Her eyes grew cold. What was it that he imagined he knew? What did he know?

Karkov shrugged, ignoring the icy glare with which she responded. “It’s also possible that Rin is a consummate liar, the type of liar who could fool even me. I’ve only known one such individual. Unfortunately, Rin learned from her. Give that some thought, my dear.”

Alana smiled. “I really hope she asks for my help killing you.”

“Of course you do, because that means she won’t kill you first.” Karkov peered at her over his cup with a mischievous look. “Or is it because you can’t wait to see me again?”

Alana responded with a derisive snort. “Is that all you have to say?”

“Is that all you have to ask?”

“You’d just lie.” Alana closed her eyes and massaged her temples. “I knew it was a mistake to come here. I had hoped you would be a bit more helpful after what I did for you. Hoped, not expected. I see that my hope was misplaced, but my expectation was not.”

“Most hope is,” Karkov replied. “You are welcome to ask your questions. There is no harm in having answers, even if you doubt their veracity.”

“And that is the biggest lie of all. There is great harm in such things.”

“If you’re afraid, then don’t ask. I am at your disposal.”

“And, hopefully, I will be part of your disposal.” Alana looked at him. “I got what I need.”

Karkov beamed. “No customer leaves unsatisfied.”

Alana was about to rise, but he motioned her to sit. “I would like to know what she actually has in mind, though. After all, we agreed to trade information.”

“I don’t recall agreeing to that. Besides, I already told you what she has planned for you.”

Karkov’s voice grew impatient. “Not for me. For you. She surely does not need your help to destroy anybody. I can’t imagine her caring enough about anything to take action, especially action that requires assistance from others. In fact, I’m having a difficult time even envisioning what such help would entail.”

“Well, that’s a good thing. I’m sure you’d just try to thwart her.”

Karkov laughed. “You have no idea, do you? She didn’t bother to say what she wants from you. You’re just the maid on call. Maybe your master wants a muffin, maybe he wants your muffin.”

“Could you be any cruder?”

“Why, yes. I’ll take that as a request.”

Alana rolled her eyes. “I notice you didn’t deny that you’d try to thwart her.”

Karkov shook his head and smiled. “Not at all. I may even have a useful idea or two to contribute. She’ll probably thank me.”

“You expect me to believe you want to help? I’m just supposed to ignore thousands of years of history, take you at your word, and reveal everything in the hope that you’ll be a good little boy?” Alana stared at him. “What do you really want?”

Karkov sighed. “Mostly, I want to know why she didn’t come to me instead.”