Free Tales of Old Earth by Michael Swanwick Page A

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.
    â€œI 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.
    â€œBut 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?”
    â€œWho doesn’t?” the mech said curtly.
    â€œThen 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.
    â€œThank you. My name is—”
    â€œI 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 things.” He gestured to the woman sitting opposite him. “My granddaughter.” The light intensified where she sat, making her red hair blaze. She dimpled prettily.
    â€œJack.” The young man drew up a chair. “Chimaera Navigator-Fuego, model number—”
    â€œPlease. I founded Chimaera. Do you think I wouldn’t recognize one of my own children?”
    Jack flushed. “What is it you want to talk about, Mr. Brandt?” His voice was audibly less hostile now, as synthetic counter hormones damped down his emotions.
    â€œImmortality. I found your ambition most intriguing.”
    â€œWhat’s to say? I take care of myself, I invest carefully, I buy all the upgrades. I see no reason why I shouldn’t live forever.” Defiantly. “I hope that doesn’t offend you.”
    â€œNo, no, of course not. Why should it? Some men hope to achieve immortality through their works and others through their children. What could give me more joy than to do both? But tell me—do you really expect to live forever?”
    The mech said nothing.
    â€œI remember an incident happened to my late father-in-law, William Porter. He was a fine fellow, Bill was, and who remembers him anymore? Only me.” The old man sighed. “He was a bit of a railroad buff, and one day he took a tour through a science museum that included a magnificent old steam locomotive. This was in the latter years of the last century. Well, he was listening admiringly to the guide extolling the virtues of this ancient engine when she mentioned its date of manufacture, and he realized that he was older than it was