Episode 18

(Washington D.C., March 11, 1995)

By Pavrit’s reckoning, burning had been his closest call. When first captured, he worried they would dunk and drown him. Instead, he went straight to the stake. Apparently somebody really hated him, though he never found out who. The pronouncement of his sentence elicited no emotion, though he inwardly winced at the prospect of the pain. That never got any easier. It wasn’t until the smoke started to rise that he realized his danger. This almost took his mind off the agony. Almost. Seeing him struggle frantically, his tormentors must have imagined that he was succumbing to the flames. He almost did asphyxiate before the bonds finally disintegrated, allowing him to emerge from the conflagration and kill the guards.

Pavrit wasn’t a warrior, but it was impossible to live as long as he had without picking up a thing or two. Even so, he doubted he would have been able to overpower six soldiers if not enraged by the pain and unanticipated peril. Fortunately, the sight of him emerging from the fire unscathed had petrified rather than galvanized his persecutors. Apparently, those who condemned witches didn’t actually believe in them. Pavrit had resolved to return and kill the bishop who ordered his execution, perhaps even interrogating the man to learn who was behind his denunciation. However, once safely away he decided there was no point. Humans did such things to one another, and it ultimately didn’t matter. Time would avenge him on the culprit. There was no need to muddy his own hands further. Pavrit simply had allowed himself to be caught up in mortal affairs. That was his mistake, and he would do his best not to repeat it.

This incident notwithstanding, Pavrit had not worried much about asphyxiation until recent times. Before plastics could create a hermetic seal and engines could displace oxygen, there weren’t too many commonplace ways to accidentally asphyxiate. He could drown, but that was easily prevented by avoiding water. Being buried alive also was easy to avoid, since natural disasters such as mudslides and sinkholes tended to occur in certain predictable places. As far as Pavrit was aware, he could not choke on a peach pit.

Despite its general prevalence, violence wasn’t much of a concern when it came to asphyxiation. People murdered or executed one another by strangulation, but rarely by suffocation. Perhaps an old man here or there was smothered with a pillow or the odd victim was buried alive. But rope was the tool of choice, and this was no threat to Pavrit. He would turn a convincing red from the pain and then play dead until they let him down or left him to rot.

There was the danger of being buried afterward, but he never let it get to that point. Nobody expected the dead to escape, and he always had ample opportunity to do so. Smoke was a real hazard, though he never had paid it much mind until being burnt at the stake. On the few occasions he’d been caught in a burning building, the pain had driven Pavrit to throw himself from a window long before reason would have. The stake had been different because he was tied to it. If they had used chains instead of rope, they probably would have managed to kill him. He wondered if his body would have burned after he died. Did the blessings persist? Pavrit had heard conflicting accounts.

The burning had been a rarity, though finding himself in peril was not. In such situations, escape generally proved the most sensible option. He usually succeeded and had gradually grown more adept at sensing the coming need. Subtle signs served to warn him that he had become an object of suspicion. Pavrit typically fled before trouble even reared its head, but sometimes it just couldn’t be predicted or avoided. Only on eight occasions had he been forced to kill large numbers of people, and never more than a hundred at a time. This stemmed from practical considerations rather than moral ones. To his mind, if things got to the point where he had to kill that many people, he deserved to be discovered. It was a sign of incompetence, and he was proud never to have embroiled himself in such a mess.

However, there did remain the growing issue of technology. Recently, Pavrit had begun pondering the notion of a broader genocide. Society was becoming too tight, too efficient. Everything was monitored and documented. Something had to change. With only two blessings, he was too vulnerable. Perhaps it was time to proactively mitigate the risk. He wouldn’t need to kill everyone, just disrupt the social fabric enough to create some breathing room. Of course, this was nothing more than a pipe dream. He was too lazy and practical to take such an idea seriously.

Such an undertaking would require decades of preparation. At the very least he would have to develop expertise and standing in the biomedical or political arena. Moreover, the very programme by which he sought to reduce his risk would invite enormous scrutiny. Pavrit would be highly visible, and the financial footprint would be impossible to miss. Nor would half-measures suffice. Unless he really thinned the herd, the survivors would spare no effort hunting him down. The first blow would have to be the last, and this was very difficult to ensure.

But the biggest argument against it was not risk. It was immediacy. There simply was no immediacy to the thing. The threat was growing, but not imminent. The gaps hadn’t tightened that much yet, and he still could delay the decision. For a time. This fit perfectly with his general philosophy. Pavrit had elevated procrastination to a virtue. In fact, he considered it to be his third and greatest protection. Procrastination had saved him far more times than it imperiled him. Why take risk today when he could do so tomorrow?

Pavrit also had a more strategic excuse for delaying. He hoped one of his peers would save him the trouble. At the very least, he hoped someone else would take the lead. Ideally, he could avoid getting involved altogether. This didn’t stem from fear or laziness. Deep down he simply did not want anything to happen, let alone to make it happen.

It wasn’t the odium of genocide which Pavrit feared. There was no odium in protecting himself. That was the simplest truth, and only in modern times had it been forgotten. The main reason he dreaded acting was that he was content with his current life. Though he knew complacency could be a lethal folly and that change was inevitable, he nonetheless wanted things to stay the way they were for as long as possible. He had been uncomfortable many times in his life and comfortable far fewer. He just wanted it to last. Or at least he had.

Now, two things had changed the calculus. Someone had taken the lead and that someone had invited Pavrit to join him. It was not an invitation to be refused lightly, even if he had been so inclined. The plan no longer was an idle fantasy, and this both excited and terrified Pavrit. If he chose to act, something actually would happen. And if he went down that path, he would not be walking it alone. This, more than anything, enticed him. As important as this specific project was, the idea of doing any project with a fellow immortal had great appeal.

Safety had required Pavrit to be alone most of his life, at least in any sense that counted. Though long accustomed to it, at times he could not help but feel lonely. He crossed paths with his peers now and then, but only briefly. There always was a certain social distance, ranging from barely palpable frostiness to downright rudeness. Pavrit did not take this personally; it was the way they all were with one another. He had heard of exceptions, but very few.

After so long, any relationships which could be had been. Every permutation of love and hate and friendship had been explored and run its course. He and his peers tolerated one another, but little more. When paths crossed, a curt nod could be expected. On rare occasion, they exchanged brief pleasantries or made love or fought a duel for old time’s sake. Pavrit had had his fair share of immortal lovers and friends and enemies. There really was not much left to explore, with the exception of a small coterie of elites who never would deign to be his lover or friend or enemy.

Estrangement aside, nobody sought to harm one another. Well, almost nobody. But all that had been exhausted in the old days. Those were terrible times, and Pavrit had survived primarily by hiding. To his surprise, he later had learned that most of those who perished had four blessings not two. However, he never learned how such people could be killed. He wondered if it was because the two-blessing immortals just were more careful or if the actual fighting had been between those with four-blessings. Although many of his weak peers subsequently died over the years, it rarely was at the hands of other immortals. Pavrit suspected he was one of the few truly vulnerable immortals left, a dubious distinction he did not care for.

Though Pavrit had no shortage of human friends and lovers over the centuries, including several current ones, it just wasn’t the same. There was an unshakeable loneliness to human relationships. He was not sure whether this stemmed from the difference in lifespans or their differing levels of experience. Perhaps it just was a lack of commonality of nature. Could distinct species truly understand one another? Maybe he just was too jaded or expected too much. Whatever the cause, Pavrit had come to the conclusion that he only could find true happiness with an immortal, if at all. But all the immortals the world would ever see had been made, and many of those had perished. With the ones who remained, every possibility had been explored and found wanting.

Until now. One of those he had deemed inaccessible had reached out to him. Pavrit wouldn’t dare call such a thing friendship, but he harbored a secret hope it could become one. Maybe his loneliness was universal. Maybe the elites felt the same way and were opening themselves to those previously beneath their notice.

The precise reason, if such a thing existed, did not matter. What mattered was that Pavrit would not be alone now. There would be another, someone he truly admired and who had proposed the very same idea he had been toying with. Working with him would be fun. With him, Pavrit no longer would have to be afraid. He quickened at the thought. No doubt, this relationship would be short-lived like the rest. He didn’t care. Any respite was welcome.

Pavrit felt a pang of nostalgia. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if they all were reunited? If they all acted in concert on this one thing before scattering again to their private concerns. Surely they were mature enough by now to get along for a little while, to realize the necessity as he had. It was a pleasant prospect. There wasn’t anyone he would mind seeing. Probably. As the most vulnerable amongst them, he had to be careful what he wished for.

Pavrit was pretty sure all the belligerent ones been killed off long ago. Those who remained were content to live and let live or were too lazy to make trouble. Besides, they certainly had grown more sensible with age. There could be no advantage to such conflict, and the potential harm was great.

To rekindle the wars of old in this day and age would draw the immediate attention of billions of ants. A single ant was at worst a nuisance to be stepped on. Billions could be dangerous. And it was only going to get worse unless something was done. Pavrit wondered what the others were waiting for. Were they also hoping that someone else would take care of it for them? Or were they waiting for an invitation? Pavrit felt privileged to be the one chosen.

However, he strongly suspected that the reason nobody had acted yet was more worrisome than mere laziness. It probably had to do with the second recent occurrence. Over the last few centuries, a certain unpleasant rumor had reared its head from time to time. Pavrit normally placed no credence in such things, though the persistence of this particular rumor did invite scrutiny. He had come to suspect that one or another immortal was periodically reviving the fiction for their own purposes. But now, something had convinced him it was real.

The rumor had reemerged recently, and with regard to someone he liked and had seen not too long before. Vivvett, as she called herself these days. Or had. Apparently, she was dead. Pavrit felt both sorrow and concern upon hearing this. If it was true. They had shared similar tastes, and she was the immortal he was most cordial with. If she had fancied another fling at some point, he wouldn’t have been averse to it. He was tempted to call her and set his mind at ease that the rumor was a fiction, but that would be too dangerous under the circumstances.

In fact, he already could be compromised. What if her killer tracked him from their rendezvous or had interrogated her? Pavrit kicked himself for sharing his current address with her. It had seemed a necessary courtesy at the time, but now smacked of stupidity. He had reasoned that it would encourage a future liaison. And who knew when he may need a favor from her? Vivvett had resources and she was a four. Now, this worried him even more. If she had been killed, he wouldn’t stand a chance.

During the brief interview where he received the invitation, Pavrit could not refrain from asking if there was any truth to the rumors. The man simply shook his head and suggested that one should not waste time on idle gossip. Pavrit had expected such a response, but not what was in the man’s eyes. This unnerved him. If even he was worried, things must be dire.

Pavrit subsequently put out feelers to the few immortals with whom he still was in touch. There was a growing sense of dread. Something was intentionally killing their kind, and with increasing frequency. It no longer could be dismissed as hearsay. Pavrit prayed the perpetrator was one of them, a rogue immortal who could be neutralized or perhaps dissuaded. As unsettling as that would be, the alternative was worse. It would mean the ants knew not only that immortals existed but how to kill even the stronger amongst them.

Perhaps there was a silver lining, though. If humanity did have a means, that surely would galvanize everyone. Every immortal eye would be turned on the ants. Was that why he had invited Pavrit? If they weren’t careful, the ants very well could destroy them all. Or perhaps take their place, though that was unlikely. Only one human ever had learned how to make immortals, and that person was long dead. The ants were unloved by the gods and never would be graced with their secrets. But they still could bite, and all the more viciously for it.

Pavrit closed his leather briefcase and rubbed his forehead. Well, this was a problem for another day. None of his alarms had been triggered, and there clearly was time. Nothing had changed, and he still was safe. Today was a day like any other. Even if tomorrow was not, it still would be tomorrow. Today, he would return home to a lovely 1958 Claret and some Gouda. He carefully locked the door behind him.