The Leaves in Winter (2 page)

Another voice spoke up. Heinrich was a stickler for detail. He also resented that primary genetics work on their project wasn’t being done in
Germany
. “Are we sure the GAMA’s suicide gene will work in our configuration? I’m not convinced we have an adequate way to test it under real-life conditions.”

“The lab is working on that. We simply have to take our time and do it right.”

“How long?”

“Whatever it takes.”

Mass flicked one fingernail against another. “I thought we agreed to take action. Why endlessly test something that scientists in the
United States
have already proven? Our pathogen and payload are ready. Demonstrating that the suicide gene triggers apoptosis after delivery should be the easy part.”

“Apoptosis?”

Mass flashed annoyance at the one Group member who dared to question basic terminology this far into the game.

Another member explained, “…programmed cell death.”

Heinrich was only half-convinced. “I can’t help but wonder – the way we’re using the suicide gene is so different. The GAMA is a microbe – it’s nothing like the virus within a virus we’ll be using. These aren’t interchangeable parts we’re dealing with. We can’t take chances with the interaction.”

Mass was unruffled. He lectured the German. “Perhaps the reason you’re so worried is because you know so little about this. Did you read the whitepaper that Kevin prepared?”

“Of course I did.”

“Then refresh my memory – who engineered the microbe?”

“The
U.S.
Navy.”

“But who engineered the suicide gene inside the microbe?”

Heinrich bristled. “I don’t need to be quizzed.”

“The
U.S.
Army.” Mass tapped open the whitepaper in question on the display tablet before him and navigated the touchscreen.

Labon relished the opportunity to take Mass down a notch. “Actually, it was
Boston
University
– under contract from the U.S. Army. The work was done at Natick Laboratories near
Boston
.
Natick
is a division of the US Army Soldier & Biological Chemical Command.”

Mass didn’t look up from his tablet. “Quite right. And oddly enough, the U.S. Army was granted a patent for their lethal gene ‘terminator system’ on 9/11/2001.” Mass looked up with a wry smile. “What a coincidence. I imagine news that the patent had been awarded didn’t hit anybody’s radar
that
day.”

Heinrich leaned back. “What’s your point?”

Mass donned reading glasses. “You have concerns; we need to deal with them.” Mass scanned the text. “It says here the Army specifically tailored their suicide gene systems to work in biodegradative microbes, especially the anti-material Pseudomonas species engineered by the Navy.”

“But we’re not using a microbe.”

Mass raised his hand. “Wait – let’s read from the official document. The Army’s patent claims ‘new killing genes and improved strategies to control their expression’ for the purpose of ‘controlling genetically engineered organisms in the open environment, and in particular, the containment of microorganisms that degrade...’ The system is adaptable and the patent asserts that ‘a variety of bacterial and non-bacterial recombinant organisms can be controlled in this manner.’” Mass glared up over the rim of his reading glasses at Heinrich. “Did you get that? Non-bacterial recombinant organisms can be controlled by this suicide gene. Sounds like a virus to me. As a matter of fact, that sounds like what we’re using. That’s clever of them. They left the door open to many things besides microbes. They said it themselves – it’s adaptable.”

“That doesn’t mean we can forgo testing.”

“Testing, yes – but it would be overkill to conduct an exhaustive exercise to prove what the U.S. Army and Navy have apparently already confirmed.”

Tamasu feigned levity. “Overkill is an interesting choice of words, especially since the reason for testing is to make sure we kill no one.”

No one laughed. Heinrich’s silence confirmed the point.

Satisfied with the evidence, Mass plucked his reading glasses from his face and tucked them away. “The design is elegant, practical, and we have top geneticists making sure it’s foolproof. If anything, I would think we’d be using this time to finalize our plans for the 2nd Protocol. The 1st one should be old business by now.”

Tamasu leaned forward. “There was no consensus about the 2nd Protocol.”

“Precisely,” snapped
Mass.
“That’s why we need to discuss it. We need to finish debate, make a decision, and implement 2nd Protocol as soon as possible. We may not yet agree if additional protocols are necessary, but we must move forward.”

Labon baited his older rival. “Maybe we should take this one step at a time. We’re still months away from releasing anything. First we need to prove what we’re doing with 1st Protocol will delay fertility.”

“And what would be proof for you? Waiting a whole generation to find out if we succeeded? You don’t seriously expect us to sit around, doing nothing else but meeting like this for ten or twelve years, waiting to see if the 1st Protocol turned out as planned?”

“We’re talking about global impact – prudence is non-negotiable.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. That’s short-sighted and everyone here knows it. If we wait a generation it could be too late to do anything. Look around! We do this to
avoid
a crisis of global impact. We can’t remain indecisive, straddling the world’s tipping point forever.”

“You were correct to call for action in phases. But each one takes time.”

Mass’ temper flared. “At this rate, none of us will live long enough to see our plans come to fruition. And if we don’t do it, who will? Already we’ve wasted twenty years trying to move people to action without the full strength of conviction behind our efforts. Even our successes barely scratch the surface of what needs to be done.”

“You don’t have to remind us how important this is…”

“But you have no sense of urgency.”

Labon stiffened. “Wrong – our urgency is not careless.”

Mass stood. “Is that what this is about? Placate the careless one with something that takes a generation to implement?”

“We didn’t pick delayed fertility as the 1st Protocol – you did.”

“Correct. And it’s called the 1st Protocol because it’s meant to be the first in a series of stages – stages that I now see you have neither the will nor the foresight to implement in a timely fashion.”

“Accuracy in what we do is just as important as speed.”

Mass’ frustration boiled over. “I don’t see why we’re having this discussion. We already agreed in principle that the 1st Protocol was needed.” Mass pointed at the TV screen. “Why else did we go to the trouble of establishing the alibi if we weren’t willing to take action?”

“Of course we agreed. But that doesn’t mean we’ve got every critical detail locked down.” Labon sat back down. “Let’s take our time and do it right.”

Mass headed across the room.

“Where are you going?” asked Tamasu.

Mass composed himself as he stopped briefly at the open door. “Goodbye gentlemen. It’s time to see what can be done without Group meetings.”

The conference room filled with discussion. Some members stood in shock. One member ran after
Mass.

Tamasu approached Labon, “No one’s ever left The Group before.”

“Let him go.” Labon now saw the way it had to be. Mass would be held at arm’s length. It was a liberating but dangerous development. The liberation was immediate, the danger only a potential. But in the moment, it was easier to accept the freedom of having Mass out of the Group than contemplate the full scope of the menace he might become.

In time, the men of The Group settled down. Given the outburst, they agreed they needed to reaffirm their earlier decision. They decided to take a vote – without
Mass.
The choice was clear. Given what had happened, should they go ahead and implement the 1st Protocol or not?

Labon voted not to implement.

He was not in the majority.

Chapter 1

Fourteen Years Later, December 7th

Karolinska Institutet,
Stockholm

“So many people!” Riya Basu peered beyond the car’s tinted windows into the shifting chaos made even more surreal by the lingering jetlag from her flight out of
Hyderabad
. Riya was a slight Indian woman in her early forties with a calm and studied temperament. All of the attention and commotion were unsettling.

NovoSenectus security agent Malcolm Stowe turned back from the front passenger seat to show Riya his phone. “Never mind that. They don’t compare to all the people waiting to hear you. Look at this; millions are expected to watch the streaming video.”

Riya glanced at the social networking website and attempted a smile. “Thanks, that’s all I need to think about right now – millions of people watching me.”

Nighttime was moments away. Riot police stood their ground buttressed by clear shields and black batons. The organized mob of demonstrators jostled back and forth, kicking snow and chanting slogans into a clear but frigid sky. A cadre of activists known only as
New Class Order
mingled and manipulated the crowd.

Overhead, news and police helicopters hovered. Search beams shot down, casting fidgety blue-white spotlights. Sporadic clashes turned violent and the first arrests were made. Rumors circulated in the restless swarm; the honored guest was arriving. Peak time had come for agitation and invective.

Swedish officials were determined to keep the road leading into the renowned medical university open for traffic. The world would be watching all Nobel Prize events but none more than the one taking place today.

Dr. Riya Basu’s lecture on her breakthrough genetic life-extension therapy was eagerly awaited by the scientific community. Some naysayers claimed her prestigious prize had been awarded primarily because Nobel custom would require her to give a lecture to explain what she had done. Given the military-grade secrecy maintained around her project by corporate benefactor NovoSenectus, this one lecture might be the nearest anyone would ever come to hearing the revolutionary procedure explained in detail – or so they hoped.

No one knew how much Riya would be allowed to say. The experimental life-extension procedure was not available commercially even though it had been demonstrated with lab animals and trademarked under the corporate label
GenLET
. What had started out a decade earlier as research into old age was now, depending on which side you took, either the fountain of youth or the harbinger of nightmare scenarios for humanity.

Adding to the controversy was the reclusive billionaire behind it all. The announcement twelve years ago that Eugene Mass would build his brash but exceptionally private biotech company in
India
’s
Knowledge
Park
known as
Genome
Valley
was analyzed suspiciously by some. Why the sudden, massively expensive plunge into pure research, especially biotech? Mass had never expressed any such interest before. It wasn’t where he made his billions. It wasn’t his expertise.

Moreover, it had been rumored that nearly three-quarters of his net worth was committed to the venture. There were no investors other than Mass so he didn’t have to publicly answer the most basic business question – where was the payoff? To recoup his investment, pundit economists estimated that Mass would have to price whatever NovoSenectus finally produced such that only the rich could afford it.

At first, Mass had responded on a website created to handle public relations. According to company literature, the corporate name said it all –
NovoSenectus
–
Latin for
new old age
. The crafted message on the company website satisfied many but not everyone. In time, even the most stubborn of lingering doubts began to dissipate. After interviews of his polished spokespersons, strategically-timed press releases, and feel-good commercials fronted by darling celebrities, Mass’ intentions had been made clear to all – by targeted repetition.

In the end, there was no mystery why Mass had a curiosity about everything biotech. It was obviously rooted in a nagging question shared by all. Here was a man in his seventies with an acute and very personal interest in understanding how and why we got old.

Was the unavoidable decline of aging simply another disease to be cured? What if anything could be learned that might improve our later years? These were questions that no one had tackled quite so generously or with such concentrated resources. The concept of creating a “new old age” was noble enough to calm the most wary of speculation.

To sweeten its corporate image, NovoSenectus devoted a branch of itself to the development and free distribution of “many-in-one” vaccines. These were known by their NovoSenectus name MIOVAC. Eugene Mass continued to give away all of them to needy areas of the world. Accolades for his charity work followed in abundance. The gesture was so philanthropic that no one seemed to care that it was the only public thing he ever did. His MIOVAC program had become so extensive that even the World Health Organization noted how unprofitable it had become for any other company to have a substantial presence in the vaccine market.

A larger question remained and it fueled the latest and most virulent of speculations. Would Mass be as generous with
GenLET
? Many hoped so but few suspected it. Some feared the result of any such charity would be explosive overpopulation. Others had darker fears rooted in consideration of who Mass might deem worthy of receiving his coveted life extension therapy. Unless everyone received it, the end-game could easily be a two-tiered society, a new class order.

What-if scenarios abounded. Those who could afford
GenLET
might enjoy an extended life estimated to be more than five times average – up to 300 years. They and their children would rule the world with dynasties only dreamt of in fanciful mythology. The rest of humanity would live lives as before – but not quite.

What would it be like to know that your great-great-great-grandchildren would face the same individuals of an Olympian ruling class who were on the scene today? Some dreaded a future where extended life would become more than an advantage – it would create a new type of society with a new type of human as masters.

The fearful had taken to the streets. Such a new class order had to be stopped.

The riotous disruption was embarrassing to the Nobel Committee but police commanders promised containment. Dr. Basu’s lecture would take no more than an hour. During that time the authorities expected to see the worst of the disturbance. That is, until the actual award ceremony in three days.

Staring out the car’s other backseat window was Riya’s colleague Janis Insworth. A decade younger but a professional equal, Janis was lost in thought. She struggled with a jumble of emotion, the intensity of which surprised her. She had told herself this trip wouldn’t bother her. Now she felt overdressed and out of place. She brushed a self-comforting hand through her long auburn hair.

Sitting between the two of them on pins and needles was Janis’ thirteen-year-old daughter Alyssa. At first uninspired to accompany her mother on the trip, the excitable teenager was now over-stimulated if not overwhelmed by the upheaval around them.

Janis took her daughter’s hand to comfort them both. She told herself a twinge of jealousy was inescapable, only natural. Yes, of course,
GenLET
was Riya’s brainchild. But what the world didn’t know was how Janis had nurtured it into a practical therapy. Riya rightfully deserved credit – it was her flash of insight that produced the “what.” But Janis had cleverly devised the “how.” That breakthrough had been kept most secret. There were undisclosed corporate reasons why no one beyond inner circles could know how far along the project really had come. As a result, very little about Janis’ work was known outside NovoSenectus labs.

Janis let the sinking feeling flow through her. Of course the Nobel Committee would completely overlook her contribution – after all, they knew nothing about it. Despite all the private conversations and confidential praise that Riya had showered on Janis one-on-one, Janis couldn’t help but want to share in the public recognition for the years of work they had shared.

But she was happy for Riya. She truly deserved the award.

Janis turned her head in time to see Malcolm give Riya’s hand a squeeze. It was a knowing touch, a shared moment, a communion. Given the pressures of the trip, it looked like Malcolm and Riya needed each other’s reassurance so much they were willing to let Janis see what she had suspected all along. They were lovers.

For their own reasons, Riya and Malcolm had kept their relationship hidden. Janis suspected why. It was certain Malcolm would never have been assigned to Riya’s security detail if their romantic connection was known by the managers back in
Hyderabad
. Family ties could cloud judgment. With corporate secrets at stake, it was best to keep such linkages at a minimum. Janis had worked side-by-side with Riya far too long not to notice what the shared look and hand squeeze confirmed. Again, she was happy for Riya.

The driver carefully navigated the gauntlet lined by police and stopped at a side door leading to the lecture hall. It took only seconds to rush everyone inside. Led into an anteroom just off the main hall, the women were left alone while Malcolm conferred with university staff.

“Is this happening?” Riya teared up.

Janis gave her a hug. “Take a deep breath. Everything’s going to be fine.”

Riya complied but chuckled nervously on the exhale. “I don’t know. Someone should warn them – I’m a geneticist, not an entertainer.”

Malcolm reentered the room. “It’s time. Whenever you’re ready.”

Knowing the two of them would appreciate a moment alone, Janis took Alyssa by the hand and led her towards the lecture hall. “We’ll be in the front row. If it makes it any easier, pretend you’re giving the lecture to us. Either way, enjoy yourself out there – you deserve it.”

Riya’s smile wavered. The last thing Janis saw before closing the door was Malcolm and Riya reaching for each other.

The lecture hall’s tiered rows of seating were filled to capacity. The overflow portion of the audience sat on steps forming the aisles or stood several layers deep at the back. Janis and Alyssa were escorted to their seats before the speaker’s podium. With their appearance there was increased murmuring around them. Janis noticed how the speaker’s podium had been adjusted lower to accommodate Riya’s height. On the large wall screen before them, the first slide of Riya’s program blazed in promise of her near arrival.

A university professor stepped before the microphone. A member of the Nobel Assembly and associate member of the Nobel Committee for Physiology and Medicine, he did the honors of introducing Riya.

The laureate took the stage buffeted by warm applause. Embarrassed by the ovation, Riya kept her eyes downcast as she opened the folder containing her lecture notes. In time, she looked up with renewed confidence, emboldened by a friendly smile.

“Thank you. Thank you all for being here today.” She hesitated and let her eyes sweep the throng before her. “First of all, I want to express my appreciation to the Nobel Committee for this honor and to NovoSenectus for making the work possible. A special appreciation goes out to my friend and colleague, Janis Insworth, who I believe shares in this honor.” Riya motioned to Janis in the front row. “Janis has been with me from the beginning. In coming years, when the full story is able to be told, I have no doubt that Janis will also stand where I stand now.”

Janis was taken aback. She’d never expected such a direct statement of support. Riya gestured and waited until the audience offered Janis a round of applause. Janis stayed seated and nodded, her tearing eyes locked on the sincerity of Riya’s smile.

Riya picked up a laser pointer and glanced back at the wall screen. The title slide switched to an image of a graveyard and a veritable sea of headstones.

“So what’s the problem we’re trying to solve? Do we want quality of life for as long as we live – or do we want to live forever? These are questions that go far beyond the technical science of what can and can’t be done in the laboratory. But first we have to understand our own mortality. Is it even possible to dispassionately analyze the fact that we are going to die? How long do you want to live? Do you want quality or quantity or both? Everything living in nature declines and dies. Is this because we’re supposed to decline as we age? In other words, is there a good reason for this – and even if there is, would it be possible or desirable to change it for some better reason?”

Stopping to take a deep breath, she searched alert faces. Her next statement would be controversial and her pause only emphasized the seriousness of its implications. “Twelve years of research led to evidence. Evidence led to theory. Refined theory posited the question: what if the decline of aging was not inherently natural to the exclusion of other possibilities? What if biological decline with age was merely an artifact of an accidental event that happened to DNA billions of years ago? If such a flaw were found, would it be unnatural to repair it? Learning from the flaw and taking it one step further, one had to ask: would it be unnatural to exploit the flaw’s insights if such a thing meant life extension?”