The Immortals by James Gunn Page B

of smog drifted up over the bluff and sent Sibert into a fit of coughing.
    Money was leaving the city. Those who could afford it were seeking a cleaner, healthier air and the better life inthe suburbs, leaving the city to those who could not escape. They could die together.
    Sibert turned in the doorway and looked back the way he had come. There was no one behind him, no one visible for blocks. His eyes lifted to the hill rising beyond the trafficway. The only new construction in all the city was there; it had been that way for years.
    Hospital Hill was becoming a great complex. In the midst of the general decay, it was shiny and new. It reached out and out to engulf the gray slums and convert them into fine, bright magnesium-and-glass walls, markets of health and life.
    It would never stop until all the city was hospital. Life was all. Without it, everything was meaningless. The people would never stint medicine and the hospitals, no matter what else was lost. And yet, in spite of the money contributed and the great advances of the science of health and life in the last century, it was becoming increasingly more expensive to stay as healthy as a man thought he ought to be.
    Perhaps some day it would take more than a man could earn. That was why men wanted Cartwright’s children. That—and the unquenchable thirst for life, the unbearable fear of death—was why men hunted those fabulous creatures.
    Men are like children, Sibert thought, afraid of the long dark. All of us.
    He shivered and pushed quickly through the doorway.
    The elevator was out of order as usual. Sibert climbed the stairs quickly. He stopped at the fifth floorfor breath, thankful that he had to go no higher. Stair-climbing was dangerous, heart-straining work, even for a young man.
    But what made his heart turn in his chest was the sight of the woman standing in front of a nearby door and the long, white envelope she held in her hands.
    A moment later Sibert leaned past her and gently detached the envelope from her fingers. “This wasn’t to be delivered until six, Missus Gentry,” he chided softly, “and it’s only five.”
    â€œI got a whole building to take care of,” she complained in an offended whine. “I got more to do than run up and down stairs all day delivering messages. I was up here, so I was delivering it, like you said.”
    â€œIf it hadn’t been important, I wouldn’t have asked.”
    â€œWell”—the thin, old face grudgingly yielded a smile—”I’m sorry. No harm done.”
    â€œNone. Good night, Missus Gentry.”
    As the landlady’s footsteps faded down the uncarpeted, odorous hallway, lighted only by a single bulb over the stairwell, he turned to study the name printed on the door: Barbara McFarland.
    He added a mental classification: Immortal.
    *  *  *
    The quick, sharp footsteps came toward the door and stopped. Fingers fumbled with locks. Sibert considered retreat and discarded the notion. The door opened.
    â€œEddy!” The young woman’s voice was soft, surprised, and pleased. “I didn’t know you were back.”
    She was not beautiful, Sibert thought analytically.Her features were ordinary, her coloring neutral. With her mouse-brown hair and her light brown eyes, the kindest description was “attractive.” And yet she looked healthy, glowing. Even radiant. That was the word. Or was that only a subjective reflection of his new knowledge?
    â€œBobs,” he said fondly, and took her in his arms. “Just got in. Couldn’t wait to see if you were all right.”
    â€œSilly,” she said tremulously, seeming to enjoy the attention but showing a self-conscious necessity to minimize it. “What could happen to me?” She drew back a little, smiling up into his eyes.
    His gaze dropped momentarily, then locked with hers. “I don’t know, and I don’t want to find out. Pack as much as