THE FOREVER GENE (THE SCIONS OF EARTH Book 1) (3 page)

Kimberley sat back and gave her husband that barely perceptible look that tells a husband that his wife is happy.  David recognised the look because he had seen it before; Pris had mastered it years ago.

Taking it as his cue, David began the video.  Two men appeared on the wall-screen, standing together in a sleek and sophisticated boardroom.  "I'm David Herald," said the first.  The screen showed a slim, dark-haired man of medium height with penetrating hazel eyes above, as far as David was concerned, a large, hooked nose.  "I'm Charles Tyler," said the second.

Chunky had been persuaded to use his given first name in the interests of accentuating the respectability conveyed by his impressive physique.  Well over six feet tall, with a football player's wide shoulders, he sported a mane of medium-length blonde hair framing a face dominated by piercing blue eyes.  Since the video had been recorded, his hard-living, hard-drinking lifestyle had added a layer of excess weight to his face and body.  The Forever Gene could extend your lifespan, but your body would still react to lifestyle abuse in the normal way.

A long list of their degrees and qualifications scrolled across the screen and then the picture cut to the concrete plinth at the entrance to the Factory.  A deep, authoritative voice began a commentary, accompanied by clips depicting the various facilities within the building and extolling the virtues of its personnel.

"Forever Incorporated was established by David Herald and Charles Tyler in 2025.  In the eleven years since then, the corporation has opened facilities in seventeen different countries, including Brazil, Argentina, Russia, China, Japan, India, the United Kingdom, Northern Europe, Southern Europe, Singapore, South Africa, Australia, and the Scandinavian Federation.  David is the chief executive officer and head of genetic research.  Charles is the head of technological development.  They are both graduates of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, David with a Ph.D. in genetics and Charles with degrees in nano-technology and bio-engineering."

The video cut to colourful images of DNA strands, twisting and shifting to illustrate the technical aspects of the narrative.

"David spent seven years studying the Human Genome Project, during which time he identified a cocktail of genes which determine for how long a person's cells repair themselves and replicate naturally.  The genes are programmed to gradually slow down the renewal process over time, which causes the person to age.  Eventually, the process slows down to the extent that the person dies, often of an age-related condition such as a heart attack, stroke or cancer.  During his time at MIT, David developed the theory that it is possible to extend a person's lifespan indefinitely by means of a synthetic gene implanted into the person's DNA.  The gene continuously erases the memory of the age control genes, causing them to forget to slow down the renewal process.  David took the theory to his friend Charles and, using the latest nano-technology, they engineered a partly biological, partly electronic gene.  They patented it as the 'Forever Gene' and, together with a team of medical specialists, developed the medical procedure by which it is implanted."

Vernon and Kimberley sat watching intently, and David could see from the set of their features that they had already made their decision and were purely looking for confirmation.

"If you are watching this presentation, you will already have had a series of medical tests.  A sample of your DNA has been obtained and, should you decide to proceed with the treatment, the identity and location of your age-control genes will be used to programme your implant."

  The video panned across an elegant country house in a beautiful setting on the coast overlooking Gardiner's Bay, with its fishing vessels chugging by in the distance, before moving on to show luxurious suites, spa facilities, and a gymnasium.

"You will spend six weeks at one of our treatment facilities in Boston, New Orleans, Houston, Omaha, San Francisco or Seattle.  The choice is yours.  During this time the Forever Gene will be inserted into your DNA by means of a series of injections.  The procedure is relatively painless and you should suffer no discomfort.  Your health will be monitored constantly and every precaution will be observed to ensure your safety and well-being.  Once the procedure has been completed, you will be asked to return for a few days each year for five years, during which time we will test your biological age to ensure that it has remained constant.  You will be pleased to know that, in the eleven years of our existence, none of our patients has failed to successfully assimilate the Forever Gene and, according to our research in that time, none have aged biologically to any measurable degree.  Our research has been published in a number of periodicals and journals available on the Personet, and none of it has been validly challenged."

The clip ended, mercifully without any platitudes extolling the benefits of an extended lifespan, and David smiled warmly at Vernon and Kimberley as they confirmed that they were both happy to go ahead with the treatment.  They decided on the Houston facility and David called Penelope in to make the booking for them.  Vernon activated his 'link so that he could transfer the fee of ten million dollars there and then. Kimberley rolled her eyes at his boorishness and she and David stood up and took a slow walk towards the other end of the office, David pointing out some of his favourite novels on the bookshelves.

The cost of the Forever Gene had been controversial from the beginning.  It had been an expensive process, not only to create the gene, but also to register the patent, develop the medical procedure by which it could be implanted, test it, navigate the stringent requirements of the Food and Drug Administration for its approval, and set up the facilities to make the implant commercially available.  The cost of the research and development of the gene itself had been covered by a grant from MIT, but neither David nor Chunky had the money to take the next step.  The technology was too innovative for any financial institution to fund, and too controversial for any drug company to gamble on. 

Luckily, by the time they had completed their degrees, the research they had done had gained enough credibility that they were able to offer the best post-graduates from MIT and neighbouring Boston University a stake in the project.  Fifteen budding professionals agreed to invest and, when the time came to calculate the price of the treatment, the value of their contributions over the years was taken into account.  The price was initially set at three million dollars, rising to the current five million dollars over the intervening period.  This did not hamper demand and the original contributors, including David and Chunky, were soon extremely wealthy men.

David was about to pull out another of his favourite paper-backs when he saw that Kimberley was staring quizzically past his shoulder.  He turned and saw that he had left CNN playing on his desk-screen.  The graphic artist had completed the task of interpreting the description of the mysterious strangers who had been found in Mongolia.  His image of the face of one of the creatures was being displayed on the screen.

CHAPTER TWO

Qara stared at the image on the wall-screen in the reception area of the hospital.  It invoked a mixed reaction.  It could have come out of a child's book of faerie tales as easily as someone's worst nightmare.  The face depicted in the image was wearing a scarlet hood, so its hair and ears couldn't be seen.  Otherwise it matched Administrator Bolormaa's description quite closely, except that the sketch artist had drawn the lips parted in what may have been a smile.

Qara found herself thinking that it looked more like a snarl because the teeth it revealed, although small and white, were pointed and looked uncomfortably sharp.  One thing was certain, the face was not human and, for the first time, a sliver of apprehension crept into the state of excitement she had been in since the story broke.

She and her crew had been asked to wait for the press conference which would be hosted shortly by President Ganzorig.  He had arrived at the hospital an hour ago; the police cordon opening briefly to let his short motorcade through.  He did not want the conference to degenerate into a potentially embarrassing melee and had decreed that no other Personet crews would be permitted through the cordon.  This meant that Qara's broadcast would be an exclusive and would be carried by just about every channel on the Personet.  Billions of viewers around the world would see her face and hear her voice.

Ulan Bator was not a large city, by most standards, and the pace of life there was relatively sedate and relaxed.  Although diligent and industrious, its inhabitants appreciated the value of taking the time to observe traditions and enjoy the rewards of their endeavours.  Business was certainly conducted, but not at the cost in stress and fatigue paid for commercial success almost everywhere else on the planet.

Growing up in the city, its placid way of life had exasperated Qara for as long as she could remember.  During her childhood and teenage years, all she had ever wanted was to go somewhere else, somewhere vibrant where exciting things happened and ambitious people led eventful lives.  Early on she identified the Personet as her best means of escape and every day she watched the entertainment channels, full of stories of romance, mystery and adventure.  As she grew older she found the news channels more compelling and imagined herself as a courageous reporter broadcasting breaking news from some perilous hotspot.

By the time she left school she was already fluent in English, the dominant language of the Personet, and her excellent academic results gained her acceptance at Oxford University's Lady Margaret Hall.  She spent four years obtaining her degree, majoring in communications and journalism.  That was the easy part.  Much harder was breaking into the industry.  Although there were thousands of channels on the Personet, they were able to cherry-pick the best candidates from the hordes of hopefuls attracted by the apparently glamorous lifestyle offered by the global network.

She had identified Oxford as the best place to study, not only because of its status as one of the best universities in the world, but also because of its proximity to London, the western hub of the Personet.  She thought that this would give her a better opportunity to find a channel prepared to take her on, but she soon found that the one thing she had little control over, her accent, stood in her way at every turn.  She lost count of the number of interviewers who told her sympathetically that she was an excellent candidate and, as soon as her accent 'improved', she should re-apply.

For two frustrating years she sustained herself with part-time work as a waitress in restaurants, where a foreign accent was the rule rather than the exception, and as an usher in various museums.  One day, standing at a traffic light in Charing Cross Road on her way to work at the National Portrait Gallery, she felt a powerful urge to go home.  Suddenly the crowds, noise, bustle and traffic of Trafalgar Square felt oppressive, a feeling that surprised her. She found herself longing suddenly for the dusty open spaces in and around Ulan Bator, where as a child she often participated in the ubiquitous horse-riding competitions, holding her own against the boys as a rider.  She had even earned a reputation as a sure shot with a bow, once winning a ribbon at the Naadam festival when she was fourteen.

By then, it felt like she had been rejected by every Personet channel in London, and she decided to go back to Ulan Bator.  Before she left for Oxford, she had been offered a scholarship by her hometown university's School of Mongolian Studies.  She had rejected it with contempt then but, six sobering years later, she was happy to sign up for an honours degree in Mongolian Literature.

Needless to say, she gave up on her dream of becoming a reporter and it came as a complete surprise when, towards the end of the first year of her degree, a producer from Mongolia Today contacted her to ask whether she would be interested in a position answering calls and responding to p-mails for the channel.  Towards the end of her time in London she had sent applications to Mongolia Today and UB Post, the only two Personet channels based in Ulan Bator, but had heard nothing from either of them and had been too dispirited by then to follow up.

At the interview she was told that the channel needed someone who spoke English fluently and that the recorded clip she had sent with her application had impressed the news director.  For once, her accent was not a problem.  After her experiences in London, her expectations had been lowered to the point where she was more than happy to start at the bottom.

She accepted the position, continuing her studies part-time, and by the end of the following year she was doing English voice-overs on many of the channel's broadcasts.  She impressed the news director sufficiently to earn a screen test, which she passed with flying colours.  She soon became the channel's first choice reporter for any story broadcast in English.

She completed her honours degree and was surprised to discover that she was content with life.  Her youthful impatience with Ulan Bator had dissipated, cured by her discovery that the grass was not necessarily greener elsewhere.  She bought a small but comfortable house on the outskirts of the city and kept a few horses, which she enjoyed riding regularly.  She even began entering riding competitions again and found that she had lost very little of her skill.

Her studies gave her a new appreciation of her nation's prominence in world history and she no longer thought of it as somehow inferior to the more glamorous countries she had once dreamed of escaping to.  Having come full circle, and having made peace with herself and her birthplace, it was more than ironic that she found herself in the centre of one of the most startling global events in history.  She could imagine the frustration of the big international channels, none of which had Personet crews stationed permanently in Mongolia. Nothing ever happened there after all, and the vast distances of central Asia meant that even the channels with their own airbuses would take the best part of half a day to reach Ulan Bator.

By the time President Ganzorig's press conference was ready to start, no more than a handful of Personet crews had arrived in the city. Unfortunately for them, they promptly found themselves on the wrong side of the president's police cordon.

Her producer's voice cut in brusquely over her 'mote.  "Any word on when the conference is going to start?"  Tolui had been silent for some time and he sounded more apprehensive than she had ever heard him before.  Mongolia Today had permanent syndication feeds to most of the big international channels but there were numerous smaller channels which were not tied in to those syndicates. Her channel was being inundated by requests to carry the broadcast.  She could imagine the chaotic state of the newsroom as the staff tried to accommodate all of the requests in the limited time available and she understood why Tol was so anxious.  He liked to give his full attention to the production at hand and hated distractions of any kind.

"Not yet, we are still waiting in reception.  The conference is going to be held in the hospital cafeteria, where a podium is being set up.  I hope the whole thing is not going to look embarrassingly shabby."  The waiting had been shredding her nerves and she suddenly felt completely inadequate. "Tol, are you sure that I am the right person for this?  Shouldn't you send Yeke or Mongke here?  They have far more experience than me. I have only been doing this for a year."

Tol reverted to his usual smooth, encouraging tone.  "No Qara, this is your big chance.  You deserve it for all of your patience and hard work.  Besides, the press conference is going to be in English and your English is better than any of the others.  Don't worry, I will be with you and the questions to ask are really quite simple.  Who are they?  Where are they from?  Why are they here?  How did they learn to speak English?  Start with those and we'll see what answers we get.  Then you can ask some more incisive questions.  How did they get here?  Why did they choose Mongolia as the place to reveal themselves?  How long do they intend to stay?  I can come up with questions all day, so you won't run out of things to say."

Her sense of panic began to subside.  Tol had been in her corner ever since she had interviewed for her first position at the channel.  It turned out that he had been the one to pick her application out of the pile on the channel director's desk and realise that she had the attributes and potential the channel needed.

He firmly believed that, in order to establish a higher profile on the Personet, Mongolia Today had to increase its production of English language broadcasts.  He had persuaded the director to allow her to take a screen test and, when she passed it, had volunteered to be her producer.  They spoke to each other only in English during broadcasts so that she would not have to mentally translate questions while reporting.  This made her reports sound more natural and even the big channels carried them without voice-overs.  Now, by sheer chance, she and her crew were in the right place at the right time and Tol's foresight was about to pay off beyond his wildest dreams.

A young man in a dark suit walked into the reception area and headed towards her.  "Ma'am", he said in a tone which was somehow polite and authoritative at the same time, "President Ganzorig will see you now, please come with me."

Qara stared at him, astonished.  No-one had said anything to her about talking to president.  Of course, she expected him to be at the conference, but that was nothing new.  She had attended his conferences before and had even asked him a few questions.  But there had always been scores of people present and she was just a face in the crowd.  Now he wanted to see her personally.

"Tol," she hissed urgently into her 'mote, "The president wants to see me.  What should I do?"

"Don't keep him waiting," was the laconic reply.

She sprang to her feet, ignoring the small smile on the young aide's face.  It was obvious that the president would want to speak to her before the conference began.  He wouldn't want to be embarrassed in front of a global audience by the ill-considered and impudent questions of a brash young Personet reporter.  She signalled Batu and Oyugun to accompany her and followed the aide up the stairs and onto the first floor.  They walked down a different passage to the one that she had taken to the conference room earlier and went through a set of double doors at the end of the corridor.

The cafeteria was a large, airy room with an open-plan kitchen at the far end and a bank of windows in the wall to the left of the doorway.  The colour scheme of the room was mercifully understated, a far cry from that of the garish conference room, and the view from the windows was of the carefully manicured gardens in front of the hospital.  Most of the tables and chairs, all chrome and plastic, had been moved to the other side of the room.  The podium, which had been set up in front of the mercifully clean windows, was one which had been brought from the president's office.

"Maybe this won't be as shabby as I thought," she whispered to Batu.  "Make sure you don't get the kitchen or that pile of tables and chairs in the shot."

Batu nodded.  He was a talented camera-man and didn't need to be given such obvious instructions.  Broad-shouldered and taciturn, his weakness was an unfortunate penchant for cheap Vodka, developed during a stint in the armed forces. By the time Qara earned her shot at reporting he had been bailed out of the police cells on three occasions for brawling and damaging property and none of the other reporters or their producers were prepared to work with him.

So, much to Tol's disgust, he had been paired with Qara.  Much to Tol's surprise, the apparent mismatch worked extremely well, particularly after Batu discovered Qara's love of horses and her riding ability.  He was a horseman of some repute, having won the thirty kilometre race at the Naadam festival two years running at age twelve and again at age thirteen.  After that he grew into a powerful wrestler, winning a number of national competitions.

His loyalty to Qara was cemented about three months after they began working together.  She was on hand to witness his demolition of the Pink Pony, a back-street bar where they had gone for a quiet drink, in a brawl with five or six of its patrons.  For a wrestler, he was perfectly proportioned, short, but powerfully built.  With a forearm he brushed aside a wooden stool which had been hurled at him and took a number of heavy blows without flinching.  He had long arms which he used to deftly fling his opponents into the nearby furniture with great force and accuracy.

Afterwards, she lied blatantly to save him another trip to the police cells.  She laid all of the blame for the fracas on the other patrons, none of whom were in any condition to contradict her.  What triggered the outburst was never clear, but at five o'clock the next morning she pounded on the door of Batu's third-floor flat until he opened it, blinking groggily in surprise.  She told him that, if he ever did anything like that again, she would never work with him again.  Her lecture was punctuated with the best English profanities in her repertoire, which was prolific given the considerable expertise of her fellow Oxford University students in the subject.