Fragment

by Warren Fahy

  Geoffrey clicked to a new slide.

  “African elephants live in small groups. They do not congregate to breed, but they can live up to sixty years. How can this be? First of all, seventy percent do not survive to reach thirty, and half die by the age of fifteen. And, though female elephants become fertile at twenty, and males reach maturity at about age fourteen when they either leave the herd or are forced out by the females, male elephants remarkably do not breed until their thirties, when they have finally attained the size and skill to compete with other successfully breeding males. Thus, elephant social behavior avoids the possibility of cross-generational breeding through what I have dubbed the ‘ late-bloomer’ effect. As with hippos, whales, and bullfrogs, delaying the breeding age increases life span while not violating the principle that life span equals no more than twice breeding age.”

  A slide of bundled-up revelers giving thumbs-up in Times Square appeared.

  “Throughout human evolution, the life span of our ancestors never averaged much more than thirty years. Human groups rarely exceeded two hundred individuals during the millions of years of our evolution, and were often much smaller. Such a very small gene pool invites genetic compromise. Human males reach sexual maturity at about the age of fifteen, females reach maturity between the ages of eight and fourteen. This leaves a seven-year window of opportunity for parent/offspring mating and seemingly violates the rule.

  “To this day, however, the human pituitary gland starts shutting down about age thirty-five. Add to this that males reach the peak of their sexual potency and physical strength at about the age of seventeen, and you now have a competition between young, strong, horny males and older, tired guys who would probably rather just play golf.

  “Surely, this math is no accident. The sexual peak and the drop-off correspond exactly, even in humans. I submit that it is not because we die that we have to replace ourselves—it is because we replace ourselves that we have to die—and we have to do it on a tight schedule to avoid generational overlap. Indeed, it wasn’t until the last two hundred years that world life expectancy increased from about twenty-five to sixty-five for men and seventy for women. It turns out that in captivity we humans, too, live much longer.”

  As a wave of laughter rippled, Geoffrey made a motion and the lights came up.

  “So the remarkably predictive correlation of life span to cross-generational breeding opportunity suggests a genetic mechanism and purpose, if you will, for the length of lives. Scientists have already discovered ‘clocks’ that are built into the human organism. Women have a finite number of eggs. After forty, erectile malfunctions become as frequent among males as the television ads promising them a cure. Human cells, we now know, have a genetically imposed limit on how many times they can divide, and this limit has already been removed in laboratory conditions, producing virtually immortal cell lines.

  “So, there is evidence that life span has been superimposed, therefore, on the human organism.” Geoffrey clasped the edges of the rostrum. “I propose tonight that such limits are not arbitrary, but, indeed, have the very specific purpose of maintaining an organism’s genetic integrity over time by preventing the possibility of cross-generational reproduction.”

  There was a growing commotion in the audience.

  “What are the consequences of such a proposal? They are profound and astounding. There may be a genetic knob that we can tweak to reset the timer of human life. And if so, the extension of human life will present a challenge to many of our cherished social conventions.”

  Geoffrey pointed to a hand vigorously raised in the third row.

  “But don’t barnacle larvae get carried off by ocean currents, eliminating the chances for cross-generational mating?”

  “Eliminating? I’m not so sure. Barnacles are weird crustaceans. They swim, and I’m not sure how much they drift, especially when attached to flotsam in the middle of the ocean, before colonizing new shorelines. Darwin studied barnacles for decades, and I can see why anyone who studied barnacles that long would ponder the theory of evolution.”

  “What about overpopulation? Thatcher Redmond has argued that human life-extension is the worst idea he has ever heard, if that’s where you’re headed next.”

  Laughs chased groans in the auditorium.

  “Well, some, indeed, argue that longer life spans will lead to overpopulation,” Geoffrey conceded. “Thatcher Redmond, who has been very vocal in the media of late, is quick to point out that human population has doubled in the last fifty years, to over six billion. But to put that number in perspective, consider: Given five square feet, standing side by side, all six billion living human beings would fit inside the state of Rhode Island, with room for 200 million more. I often urge people considering this idea to look out the window when they take airplane trips and consider this idea against what they actually see. Compare the vast stretches of unpopulated land and sea to those places that are inhabited by human beings. Personally, I don’t think it’s time to panic yet.”

  “But Redmond also points out in his book that the spatial ratio of a virus to its host body is far smaller and yet can still prove deadly to the whole organism,” shouted a voice from the crowd.

  “That may be true, Dr. Thomas,” Geoffrey answered. “How ever, I do not agree with the premise of Thatcher Redmond’s overpopulation arguments. Human beings are creative as well as consumptive. I understand that Redmond claims our creativity is what likens us to a virus’s facile mutation, its ability to adapt and exploit with hyper-accelerated iterations. But I would argue that unlike viruses, we humans can choose whether to destroy or preserve our own environment. It’s an advantage that, far from likening us to viruses, differentiates us from all other forms of life on Earth. If we may be the planet’s greatest enemy, then we may be its savior as well, for the same reason.”

  There was a smattering of applause, and a few growls of dissent from the front row.

  Geoffrey noticed a man enter the auditorium through a side door behind the audience.

  The newcomer’s buzzed hair, charcoal suit, and blank expression gave the impression of someone who had come here tonight for business, not pleasure. The stranger sat down, after apparently offering some rolled-up paper money to a young man on the aisle of the back row for his seat.

  Geoffrey continued, still looking thoughtfully at the late arrival. “But let’s challenge your basic assumption for a moment, Dr. Thomas: the notion that human population size would increase because of the extension of our life span. We know that the rate of population growth is stabilizing and should level off by mid-century if current trends continue, so the question of unlimited growth of population might already be moot. But every half-century or so, human beings must be replaced by an entirely new cast of characters. The considerable social pressure exerted to encourage procreation within a small window of opportunity will be greatly eased with the extension of life spans.”

  Geoffrey clicked back to the image of the egg timer, to a scattered round of chuckles.

  “Just think about it! If people do not have to beat the deadlines of their biological clocks to procreate in time for their parents to see their grandchildren, family values would be radically redefined. The current shortness in life span creates pressure to replace ourselves in a hurry, or there would be no future for the human race—and we need a future, like no other creature on Earth, because we can conceive of the future.

  “There would be other benefits, too, of course. Women could hit the snooze button on their biological clocks and focus on other pursuits until the day, if ever, they decided to have children. The birth rate would actually fall dramatically if people could have children on their own terms instead of nature’s and at their own pace instead of biology’s. Of course, they would need to get nose and ear jobs occasionally, since cartilage never stops growing. But perhaps people would care more about the future that their actions today might cause if we all lived longer. After all, the debt we leave to our children now, we
would be leaving to ourselves, as well.”

  The audience shuddered at this.

  “All priorities and values would be reordered accordingly,” Geoffrey continued. “As human values have always readily adapted to new threats, opportunities, and conditions, they will adapt, again, to this new reality of longevity. The ‘family values’ of today bear no resemblance to the family values of yesterday. Dowries? Arranged marriages? Virginity? Please! The family values of the future will be as different from ours as ours are from those of the past.

  “Of course, traditionalists who prize today’s values, believing our fleeting context to be divinely inspired rather than a mere expedience of nature, will recoil instinctively at any spectacular advance in human life span. The moral implications are profound. Therefore I believe that a new understanding of the origin of life span is especially crucial now that we are on the verge of this turning point in human history. If we discover that our limited life span is not ordained or even necessary, but merely the expedience of genes that needed protection from cross-generational recombination, we can discard any moral weight or divine significance to our given life span and accept our ability to extend it.”

  Geoffrey clicked off the video projector. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. And now, of course, you are invited to bombard me with rhetorical Inter-Continental Ballistic Missiles.”

  Hands rose like missile launchers all along the front row. Geoffrey glanced again at the stone-faced man who sat in the back row.

  “I must say, I’m very skeptical, Geoffrey,” one colleague remarked from the front seats.

  “Good,” Geoffrey said. “I was hoping you would say that, Dr. Stoever!”

  This got a laugh from some of the regulars.

  “It would take a lot of research across a wide variety of organisms to see if your principle holds up,” Stoever retorted. “And I’d certainly be curious to know how many cases you checked before going with your hypothesis here tonight.”

  “Quite a few,” Geoffrey replied. “I haven’t found a single solid exception to the rule.”

  Angel Echevarria raised his hand. “What about lemmings? Perhaps population control is a factor in life span, eh? Did you think of that?”

  “As a matter of fact, Angel,” Geoffrey said, grinning, “lemmings aren’t really committing suicide when they leap into the sea. They are attempting to migrate to richer feeding grounds. Lemmings only live about two years, even though females are ready to breed at two weeks.”

  “That blows your theory right out of the water, then,” Angel retorted.

  “Nope. Turns out lemmings, unlike mice, voles, or rabbits, are solitary animals that don’t live in close proximity to their own offspring. So the fact that they breed so young and frequently actually decreases the odds of parent-child breeding. If anyone would like to offer any other organisms that might violate this principle, I welcome all challenges!”

  “Now we know the real reason for these chats of yours, Geoffrey,” fired Dr. Fukuyama. “Free research assistants.”

  “You’re on to me.” Geoffrey grinned as a laugh rose from the audience. He pointed at another raised hand.

  “So what do you think of the latest broadcast from Henders Island, Dr. Binswanger?”

  It had to happen sooner or later, Geoffrey told himself. “Well, my lab partner pointed out the new YouTube video to me. Very dramatic. But could you actually see anything? The camera was moving around and was pointed at the ground, and it was dark. It’s not something I would call proof. Seems more like a viral video marketing campaign. Sorry to disappoint you!”

  As controversy erupted in the audience, Geoffrey saw the man in the charcoal suit rise from his seat and abruptly leave the auditorium—which only made his appearance there that evening even more bizarre.

  SEPTEMBER 10

  5:10 A.M.

  Nell sat in the dark living room before the swollen blue eye of the TV.

  A vague noise banged like thunder in the distance as she stared at the monster watching her through the glass.

  Its two large eyes, twitching on stalks, locked onto hers. Each of their three pupils lined up vertically and it saw her six times simultaneously.

  Nell suddenly realized she was awake, and her eyes were open!

  She was not dreaming this…

  A 1,200-pound spiger sat on the window over her bunk bed in Section Three.

  The rush of adrenaline seized her chest. She couldn’t even scream as she recognized one of the things that had chased her on the beach.

  She watched, petrified, as the creature cocked its head and raised its arms, preparing to strike.

  A sound like a cannon shot boomed against the thick poly carbonate window as the creature slammed its arms down, sending a shock wave through the whole lab.

  Dizzy from the concussion, Nell reached down. She yanked off one of her Adidas sneakers, having fallen asleep without removing them.

  The beast glared through the window, its eyes toggling slowly from side to side. Its dark icicle teeth gnashed in its grinding vertical jaws, and its fur pulsed red, orange, and pink patterns, suggesting motion like a neon dragon, though it held perfectly still.

  In a flash of anger, Nell shouted and hurled her shoe right at the creature’s face.

  Instantly, its head recoiled and its eyes disappeared under a sharp chevron of brow ridges.

  It reextended its neck. Its head tilted curiously at her as its eyestalks reemerged. The filigree of stripes on the spiger’s face rippled colors as a pair of panting nostrils on its chest stenciled colons of steam on the window.

  Before Nell could break herself away from its gaze, it raised its arms again to each side of its head and smashed them down against the window, again and again, in a relentless assault on the quivering polycarbonate sheet.

  Stunned by the sonic blasts, she barely noticed a swarm of flying creatures that had appeared, hovering over the beast.

  They dive-bombed its back, causing it to twist its head upward at them and roar. Suddenly, in swift succession, three badger-sized animals slammed into its side.

  The spiger shrieked like a train whistle as the “badgers” dug into its twisting torso. Then it catapulted backwards off its tail, gouging scratches in the window as it bit one of the smaller animals in half and shook off its other assailants in midair.

  The window was empty—just blue sky. For an interminable moment after the animals fell from view, Nell stared at the sky. Three blue blood spatters dripped down the window, which had somehow withstood the assault.

  Her ears were ringing but she could faintly hear Andy and Quentin open the hatch to the sleeping quarters, yelling.

  “What was that?”

  “Are you all right, Nell?”

  Spiger

  Pantherocaris rex

  (after Binswanger-Duckworth and Echevarría,

  Expeditionary Reports of the Trident Expedition, vol 2: 1-180)

  “It sounded like gunshots!”

  “You didn’t see it?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “What was it?” Quentin said.

  She propped herself up on her elbows and swung her legs down over the edge of the bunk. Her hearing was still weak and tinny—her ears and head throbbed. “A nightmare.”

  “Are you all right?”

  She laughed nervously. “I’m glad NASA built this thing,” she said loudly over the continuing din in her ears.

  She slid down and hugged Andy and hid her face on his shoulder for a quick, controlled sob, and Andy obliged, squaring his narrow shoulders and looking back at Quentin, protectively.

  The NASA biologist was studying the deep gouges in the surface of the window. “Whatever it was, I hope it doesn’t come back. It must have spotted you through the roof like a lemon meringue pie at a lunch counter, Nell.”

  “God damn it, Quentin,” Andy scolded.

  “Sorry.”

  9:01 A.M.

  “Captain, the Enterprise is hailing us,” said Samir El
-Ashwah on the bridge of the Trident.

  “Put it on speaker. Yes, Enterprise?” Captain Sol delicately glued a window frame onto the back of the Spanish galleon model he had set up on his chart table.

  “Captain, this is Lieutenant Commander Eason of the Enterprise. We have a request from the highest levels for a professional cameraman to do some work on the island. Conditions will be safe, he’ll be in some sort of NASA vehicle. Do you have anyone who might fit the bill?”

  “What highest level, Enterprise, just out of curiosity?”

  “Uh, that would be POTUS, the President of the United States, sir.”

  Captain Sol widened his eyes at Samir and Warburton. “I think we may be able to accommodate you, Enterprise.” He pulled off his reading glasses. “Let me get back to you in the next ten minutes.”

  “Ten minutes will work, Captain. Thank you!”

  “Oh crap,” Captain Sol said, with a sidelong look at Samir. He reached for the ship’s intercom. “Cynthea and Zero, please report to the bridge.”

  “I gotta see this,” Warburton said.

  Minutes later, Cynthea crashed through the door. Zero sauntered in after her.

  “The Navy asked for a cameraman to go ashore,” the captain told them. “Apparently, the President of the United States himself has authorized it. Are you interested, Zero?”

  “Zero!” Cynthea cheered.

  Zero narrowed his eyes at Cynthea.

  “Oh no!” Cynthea exclaimed. “Just watch, Captain, now he’s going to say no. He’s been saying no all week!”

  “Eh, Cynthea? Are you involved with this?” The captain frowned.

  “What are the details?” said Zero.

  “I don’t know. You’ll be in something NASA built, they said.” Captain Sol looked at Cynthea grumpily.

  But Zero smiled at her. “Does your last offer still stand?”

  “Of course…” She blushed.