"Maybe you should if the future's going to make sense."
Chris said nothing but handed Fred an orange wedge. It was his cue to change the subject.
"And what if it's so expensive only the rich can afford it?"
"That's what they said about penicillin and the polio vaccine, and they're available to everybody in the world today."
"And what about the population?"
"That can be worked out with proper regulations."
"Sure, maybe they can set up a Ministry of Birth."
"In spite of all the doomsday caveats, 1984 turned into 1985. And, by the way, I thought you said just one question."
Wendy was about to go on when movement inside made her suck in her breath.
"What the matter? What is it?" Chris asked.
Wendy smiled and took his hand and lay it on her belly to feel. "One future that's going to make sense."
It was another miserable night. Antoine had called from Puerto Rico to say that another $2.5 million was due July 1. Yes, the apricots had been destroyed in Reagan's fireblitz last year, but he wanted his money no matter what. And Quentin had no choice. But he would have to pay from his own pocket because financial restructuring over Elixir made it impossible to skim funds again. His net worth, some $2 million, was tied up in investments he couldn't touch without his wife finding out. And she was still fuming that he had nearly destroyed her father's name and business. His only option was secret bank loans.
What gave him night sweats was that this wouldn't be another wire transfer. The exchange would take place in person at the statue of George Washington in the Boston Garden at 2:30 on Friday the 1st-in unmarked hundred-dollar bills, twenty-five thousand of them.
"Chris, I think you better come in as soon as possible." It was Vartan Dolat, the molecular biologist Chris had hired from MIT. He was at the lab, and as usual he was exercising telephone caution. His voice was devoid of inflection.
But Chris's heart started to hammer. It was nine in the morning on his day off. "Do we have a problem?"
But Vartan deflected the question. "See you at ten."
Chris arrived and was met by Vartan outside the lab. "It's Jimbo."
"Is he okay?"
Vartan didn't answer but hustled him to the lab while Chris said a silent prayer that he wouldn't find Jimbo withered and dying.
Waiting for them were Stan Chow, Derek Wyman, and Betsy Watkins, a geneticist from Northeastern specializing in human aging. Chris could hear monkeys chattering, but Jimbo's cage was empty. Betsy opened the rear door to the large enclosed pen outside where the animals could move about in fresh air. Chris could see the nontoxic red J painted on his chest. "Is that him?"
Jimbo was sitting on a high perch casually grooming Fred, a male ten years his junior.
"He's quiet now, but for the last two hours he's been jumping around like a kid," Vartan said.
Jimbo saw Chris and hooted a hello.
"I don't believe it."
When Jimbo had arrived four months ago, all he did was sit in a corner or sleep. What movements he made were crimped by arthritis. When put in the group pen, he'd either ignore the other animals or whack them if they approached. Twenty-nine years had reduced Jimbo to a lethargic, flabby, antisocial curmudgeon. Incredibly, he looked reborn.
"He even made a move on Molly," Betsy said.
"You're kidding."'
"He went through some courtship gestures then he tried to mount her. We had to separate them because she's still fertile."
Chris beamed at the animal. "You old gunslinger, you."
Vartan handed Chris Jimbo's vital functions charts. "What's interesting is that he's eating less, yet he's gained nearly a pound, mostly in muscle mass."
Fred decided it was time to play and leapt to the ceiling bars. Instantly, Jimbo was behind him, chattering and swinging across the pen. His movements were slower but still fluid. It was like watching an elderly man on amphetamines.
"Even more remarkable, his blood sugars are down by 80 percent. And so are the protein substances that block arteries, stiffen joints, produce cataracts, and gum up brain tissue."
"All the signs of aging," Chris said.
"Yes. Tabulone seems to have reversed the process. I don't think he'll turn into a juvenile again, but the stuff's kicked him back a few years. My guess is that it will stabilize as with the mice."
Chris was stunned. They just hadn't noticed the effect in the mice.
Not only did Elixir prolong life, it had some initial rejuvenating effects.
Even more bizarre, several witnesses say that before the strange affliction, Quinn looked thirty years younger than his age.
My God! thought Chris, It's what took hold of Dexter.
He had a damaged heart which he knew would kill him soon. Maybe on an impulse he'd tried it on himself and experienced a backward thrust like Jimbo. It must have been like nothing else he had ever experienced. Nothing out of a medicine jar or syringe. The ultimate high: the fires of spring redux.
Betsy Watkins, who had a reputation for being a no-nonsense researcher rarely given to superlatives, was also amazed. "Tabulone appears to restore the DNA to effect a kind of cellular retrogression. I've seen nothing like it before. I don't think anyone has. It's nothing short of a miracle."
"Does Ross know?" Chris asked.
"Yes, he does." Around the corner came Quentin. He was beaming. "The real question is, What's the next step?"
Chris could smell alcohol on his breath and it wasn't even noon. What Quentin really wanted to know was when they could file application with the FDA. "I think we're talking a few years."
"Years? Why so long? I mean, you've got a monkey who's regressed a decade. We should be thinking about moving on to human subjects and all."
"We have protocol to follow. You know that," Betsy said incredulously. "Disconnect these animals, and they'll die."
"Don't disconnect them and they'll go on forever."
Betsy began to laugh, but caught herself because Quentin was perfectly serious. "Quentin, this is a compound that will make you die of old age on the spot if you overdose or underdose. It's hardly ready for human trial."
"Betsy, we supply most hospitals and clinics with Proctizam which is highly toxic."
"Proctizam is an experimental drug for cancer patients near death," Betsy shot back.
"So is Elixir! There are people who would pay dearly to have it the way it is, with all the risks."
Chris could feel the others stiffen. It wasn't just that they were dedicated university scientists not used to corporate bullying. They couldn't quite believe Quentin's suggestion. It bordered dangerously on blind desperation.
"Quentin," Betsy said, "speculation like that is not within the interests of any responsible pharmaceutical company."
Quentin's face flushed as if it had been slapped. He sucked in his breath and recomposed himself. "Well, let's just say I'm getting a tad frustrated. We've got too many important people invested in this project who don't want to wait a bunch of years to see this go to market. If you'll excuse me."
And he walked away, leaving the others wondering what that was all about.
9
"I think your sister's a little paranoid." What Chris really meant was that she was getting wackier. "She carried on about the evils of the modern world for half an hour."
It was a few days later, and Jenny had flown in for a quick visit. After driving her to the airport he had returned home to work with Wendy on the nursery. Pressure from Quentin had him working long days so he almost forgot how good it was to share time with her. Presently he was hanging wallpaper while she was putting up curtains.