Free The Immortal by Christopher Pike Page A

Tom when I left the beach. I didn't know where he was.
    At the hotel I found my father sitting by the pool, his laptop nearby, but closed. He said that Silk and Helen were still resting. It was after six already. Unlike yesterday, the wind was dying as the twilight deepened. I had talked to my father about Delos on the boat on the way back, leaving out my peculiar experiences. He had enjoyed the island immensely and said he wanted to go back soon. Silk had thought the place was run down.
    75
    CHRISTOPHER PIKE

    "I was snorkeling on the other side of the island," I said, setting down my gear on the deck at my father's feet. I plopped down beside it. The pool was filled with ocean water, salty—Mr. Politopulos said it was hard to keep a freshwater pool from growing algae on Mykonos.
    "You took your motor scooter?" Dad asked.
    "Yeah. It's a blast. You're going to have to buy me a Harley-Davidson when we get back to ll.A."
    "I used to have a motorcycle when I was young. I used to love going out late on warm summer evenings and cruising Pacific Coast Highway." He shook his head. "I loved that bike."
    "Why did you give it up?"
    "I hit an oill spot flying through Topanga Canyon. I was doing eighty. The bike went over the side of the cliff. I was lucky I didn't. Scared the hell out of me. I never bought another bike." He paused. "Your mother made me swear I wouldn't."
    "You knew her then?"
    "We had just met."
    "The good old days," I said. It was not often he talked about Mom. She left when I was ten. Now when I thought of her, she was like someone else's mother. She didn't even come to visit me in the hospital when I was sick. But then, maybe she didn't know. My father never talked to her.
    "Yeah," my dad said. "Who would have thought then we would have ended the way we did? Our lawyers screaming at each other in a trashy divorce court, us sitting so quietly, so properly on opposite 76
    THE IMMORTAL
    ends of the room. We couldn't even bear to look at each other."
    "Did you write today?" I asked.
    "I rewrote some of the dialogue at the beginning of the script. But I wrote nothing new because I know nothing new."
    "The wife of your hero was not going to leave him."
    "What?" he asked.
    "Jessica never intended to divorce David Herrick. There was no other man. The military people put her up to the lie. They wanted David to accept the dangerous mission."
    A glimmer of light shone in my father's eyes. "That's true. You know her."
    I nodded. "I know Jessica. So does the alien female —Vani. She's the one who will explain this to David just before they land on the alien home world."
    "How can Vani understand Jessica so well from such a distance? Plus they're not even of the same race."
    "I'm not sure, but David talks to Vani about Jessica frequently—you said so yourself. Maybe you can push the theme that a woman is a woman—no matter the genetic makeup."

    My father was excited. "I love this, Josie. It fits. The intelligence agency of the System—they're the ones who tortured Vani's husband to death. They would stoop to such an act." He stopped and scratched his head. "Now what do David and Vani do when they land on the alien home world?"
    "They can't just blow it up?" I asked.
    77
    CHRISTOPHER PIKE
    "And perish with the world? No."
    "I was joking, I know that." I stopped. "A big piece is still missing—the key to the whole thing."
    "Still, this is a valuable insight." My father leaned over and gave me a hug. "You are the genius in the family. If I sell this script, you must get a Guild credit."
    "We can talk about that if I come up with the ending." I collected my gear and got up. "What are your plans for tonight?"
    "To eat less and drink nothing. I heard you girls met a couple of guys?"
    "Helen told you?"
    "Yes. A French guy likes you?"
    "Well, we'll see." I turned. "I'd better talk to Helen."
    I found her in our bedroom. She was awake, reading one of my courtroom thrillers. Her face was sunburned—bad enough to peel.
    "I wish you'd