Swanwick, Michael - Ancient Engines

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Ancient Engines

by Michael Swanwick

"Planning to live forever, Tiktok?"

The words cut through the bar's chatter and gab and silenced them. The silence reached out to

touch infinity and then, "I believe you're talking to me?" a mech said.

The drunk laughed. "Ain't nobody else here sticking needles in his face, is there?"

The old man saw it all. He lightly touched the hand of the young woman sitting with him and

said, "Watch."

Carefully the mech set down his syringe alongside a bottle of liquid collagen on a square of

velvet cloth. He disconnected himself from the recharger, laying the jack beside the syringe.

When he looked up again, his face was still and hard. He looked like a young lion.

The drunk grinned sneeringly.

The bar was located just around the corner from the local stepping stage. It was a quiet

retreat from the aggravations of the street, all brass and mirrors and wood paneling, as cozy and

snug as the inside of a walnut. Light shifted lazily about the room, creating a varying emphasis

like clouds drifting overhead on a summer day, but far dimmer. The bar, the bottles behind the

bar, and the shelves beneath the bottles behind the bar were all aggressively real. If there was

anything virtual, it was set up high or far back, where it couldn't be touched. There was not a

smart surface in the place.

"If that was a challenge," the mech said, "I'd be more than happy to meet you outside."

"Oh, noooooo," the drunk said, his expression putting the lie to his words. "I just saw you

shooting up that goop into your face, oh so dainty, like an old lady pumping herself full of

antioxidants. So I figured . . ." He weaved and put a hand down on a table to steady himself. ". .

. figured you was hoping to live forever."

The girl looked questioningly at the old man. He held a finger to his lips.

"Well, you're right. You're--what? Fifty years old? Just beginning to grow old and decay.

Pretty soon your teeth will rot and fall out and your hair will melt away and your face will fold

up in a million wrinkles. Your hearing and your eyesight will go and you won't be able to remember

the last time you got it up. You'll be lucky if you don't need diapers before the end. But me--"

he drew a dram of fluid into his syringe and tapped the barrel to draw the bubbles to the top--"

anything that fails, I'll simply have it replaced. So, yes, I'm planning to live forever. While

you, well, I suppose you're planning to die. Soon, I hope."

The drunk's face twisted, and with an incoherent roar of rage he attacked the mech.

In a motion too fast to be seen, the mech stood, seized the drunk, whirled him around, and

lifted him above his head. One hand was closed around the man's throat so he couldn't speak. The

other held both wrists tight behind the knees so that, struggle as he might, the drunk was

helpless.

"I could snap your spine like that," he said coldly. "If I exerted myself, I could rupture

every internal organ you've got. I'm two-point-eight times stronger than a flesh man, and three-

point-five times faster. My reflexes are only slightly slower than the speed of light, and I've

just had a tune-up. You could hardly have chosen a worse person to pick a fight with."

Then the drunk was flipped around and set back on his feet. He gasped for air.

"But since I'm also a merciful man, I'll simply ask nicely if you wouldn't rather leave." The

mech spun the drunk around and gave him a gentle shove toward the door.

The man left at a stumbling run.

Everyone in the place--there were not many--had been watching. Now they remembered their

drinks, and talk rose up to fill the room again. The bartender put something back under the bar

and turned away.

Leaving his recharge incomplete, the mech folded up his lubrication kit and slipped it in a

pocket. He swiped his hand over the credit swatch, and stood.

But as he was leaving, the old man swiveled around and said, "I heard you say you hope to

live forever. Is that true?"

"Who doesn't?" the mech said curtly.

"Then sit down. Spend a few minutes out of the infinite swarm of centuries you've got ahead

of you to humor an old man. What's so urgent that you can't spare the time?"

The mech hesitated. Then, as the young woman smiled at him, he sat.

"Thank you. My name is--"

"I know who you are, Mr. Brandt. There's nothing wrong with my eidetics."

Brandt smiled. "That's why I like you guys. I don't have to be all the time reminding you of

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Swanwick, Michael - Ancient Engines

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