2
At the campfire, Adam knelt in front of the pot containing tonight’s meal: a stew containing potatoes, carrots, various herbs, and chunks of a rabbit that Kukalukl had caught for them (he kept a second for himself to eat raw). Adam dragged a ladle through the stew every few seconds but seemed barely aware of it. His eyes were distant, unfocused. His mouth was a thin downturned line.
“Is anything wrong?” Kukalukl said behind him.
Adam whirled in surprise. He hadn’t heard the jaguar approach.
“I thought you were helping Dagmar with her sleeping bag.”
“I was. That’s done. Now I’m here, asking you if anything is wrong. You’ve been acting annoyingly morose and taciturn ever since the climax of our encounter with that ludicrous Centivert.”
“I’m fine.”
“Don’t lie.”
Adam glared at him.
“And don’t get all huffy either,” Kukalukl said. “Let me guess: What the usually vapid robot said about Centivert skulking in darkness and gnawing its misery—or whatever poetic gibberish he spouted—that particular gibberish hit home with you, didn’t it?’
Adam regarded the jaguar in cold silence for a moment, then frowned down the stew as he resumed stirring it.
“Perhaps,” Adam said.
“I don’t know why. You’re clearly not like that any longer.”
The ladle paused in mid-stir, then continued its circuit around the pot.
“Perhaps not,” said Adam. “But…”
“You can’t help but wonder if all of this—the team, the camaraderie, the acceptance of others—is just a pleasant dream from which you’ll soon awaken to find yourself back in dark, Arctic isolation.”
Adam looked at him sharply, but said nothing.
“If it’s any consolation, I doubt it will come to that, considering how your ‘cousin’ and Mr. Pollyanna have been carrying on. I suspect you three, at least, will stay together.”
“Yes, but…”
“But?”
Adam shook his head. “Never mind.”
Kukalukl sighed in irritation. “Very well, if you won’t talk about it, I will. Unlike the others, you are functionally immortal, and you foresee the day when your cousins and Mr. Rocks-for-brains pass on, leaving you alone once again. Is that it?”
Adam stared at him with his mouth agape. Then he realized he shouldn’t be so surprised; the jaguar had been alive thousands of times longer than the rest of them and in that time had no doubt developed an understanding of human nature far beyond that of any sage, scientist, or mechanical analyst.
“It’s the burden of immortality, I’m afraid,” Kukalukl said. “Sometimes you’re alone, sometimes you’re not. The only thing that doesn’t change is the fact that everything changes. My advice is, make the most of companionship while you have it and cherish the memories of it when you don’t. Personally, I prefer not to form lasting relationships with mortals, since they don’t exist very long. It would be like a human trying to establish a meaningful relationship with a mayfly. But if that is indeed what you wish to do, I would recommend utilizing your companions’ favorable attitudes toward you to help patch up your image problems with the larger public. If you can sway public opinion in your favor, you’ll be able to cultivate new companions more easily when the old ones die off.”
“Is that not rather manipulative?”
“Definitely. Doesn’t make it any less valid, though.”
Adam considered this at some length. “No,” he said finally. “I guess it doesn’t.”
“Also, in this world there are plenty of other immortals. You might want to make friends with them, if you can.”
Adam’s heart began to race with excitement. “You have encountered others? How many are there?”
“I’ve met nearly a dozen in the last fifteen years, not counting robots.”
“I see.” Adam swallowed, not really wanting to ask the question he was about to ask, for it would bare aspects of his inner world he preferred to leave dark. But he couldn’t not ask.
“And were many of these immortals, um…of the female persuasion?”
Kukalukl burst out laughing.
“Ah,” he said. “I was wondering if your creator had supplied you with a sex-drive.”
Adam scowled at him. “Answer my question or not, as you wish. But do not make light of me.”
Kukalukl rolled his eyes. “Touchy touchy. Well, in answer to your question: Yes, since the Cataclysm I have met several female immortals. One was an old crone, and another was a bird, but the rest were rather comely in human terms. At least I think they were. I admit I’m no expert on the pulchritude of hairless primates.”
Adam said nothing. He was too busy contemplating the existence of beautiful immortal women. Then he reflected that there were probably beautiful immortal men, too, and that the beautiful immortal women would no doubt prefer the company of beautiful immortal men to that of indescribably ugly immortal men.
When Kukalukl saw the sudden darkening of Adam’s formerly brightening expression, he knew immediately what the problem was.
“Bear in mind,” he said, “that immortals tend to be less concerned with physical beauty, being all too painfully aware of its transience.”
“I hope you are right.”
“I am, of course. Anyway, I hope I’ve helped alleviate your gloominess.”
Adam nodded. “You have. I thank you. You have given me much to consider. Especially the question of why you are suddenly so concerned for my welfare. Could it be that I am not the only immortal in this group who secretly yearns for companionship?”
“Actually, I’m afraid you are. I’m helping you only because we go into battle tomorrow, and if you’re all broody and distracted you won’t be as effective as you could be, and that lowered effectiveness could get Dagmar hurt.”
Adam grunted. “I should have known. I must say, though, that your protectiveness toward Dagmar is quite surprising, and possibly even hypocritical, given your dim view of relationships with mortals.”
“I explained all that. She helped me get out of an unpleasant situation when she didn’t have to. I owe her a debt.”
“But to protect her for her whole life…”
The jaguar breathed out a small laugh. “I see you haven’t really grasped the whole immortality thing. But that’s to be expected; you’re still relatively new at this. See, I’ve lived for tens of thousands of years and expect to live for tens of thousands more, at least. Her whole life will be, at most, a hundred years or so. What is that to me? My accompanying her for a hundred years is no different than a mortal spending an afternoon with someone.”
Adam felt a chill run down his spine. He had never before understood the yawning gulfs of time immortal beings faced. He wasn’t sure he completely understood them even now. He suspected it was the sort of thing you had to experience to truly understand.
“Incidentally,” said Kukalukl, “I think your disgusting stew is about to boil over.”
“Damn.” With a pair of leather mitts, Adam lifted the pot off the fire before the rising line of froth could reach the lip and then ladled the stew into bowls, all the while ruminating on the inexorable flow of time, and how the mountains they saw the day before they reached the Badlands would eventually erode and be gone, and how strange and terrible it would be to live long enough to see the flat plain where those mountains had once stood.
He decided he didn’t want to think about it too much.