by Purple Hazel
Chapter 3
Bleib Aktiv Meine Freunde
“Keeping track of Young-Min Jo has certainly presented us with a few challenges,” said Monika, changing the subject to the third of the now full-grown space twins. “Though it is believed that our bright young officer is living within the confines of the worldwide headquarters of Min-Pharma Corporation, located near downtown Toronto, we’re not too terribly sure when he’s actually there, nor when he’s away.”
Here, Monika was making reference to the tendency of Kwang-Min Jo to travel out of his secured compound using various tactics to elude would-be followers tailing his limousine; or, even worse, potential assassins bent on killing him. When leaving the compound, typically two different solar limos would speed away in different directions. Dark tinted windows meant there would be no possible way to see inside either vehicle.
Also, global positioning satellites would occasionally show images of either Young-Min or Kwang-Min out on the grounds exercising, but Monika was never completely positive which one was which. Sometimes it was easy, and sometimes it was rather daunting to try and tell them apart!
“Min-Pharma has recently launched a new product named Enimen, also known as NMN or Nicotinamide Mononucleotide. It’s pending full approval by the Global Union at the time of this writing, but, according to what we’ve read, the drug is permitted only limited distribution until more tests have been done. That said, it would appear Min-Pharma is anticipating this approval coming very soon, for they’ve been marketing the product aggressively these past few months.”
Monika included links to several of the quite entertaining advertisements, which had been running on European stations, affiliates of the Global Broadcasting Network. This organization was controlled by, and answered directly to, the folks up in Brussels—seat of the world’s central government. However, it was still very much a going concern, which relied on commercial sponsorship to fund its operations.
“According to my research, the drug has been shown to reverse arterial dysfunction by lowering oxidative stress in aging individuals. It basically slows down one’s physiological decline. As a result of taking it, older patients have been reported to experience metabolism gains and energy levels resembling those of much younger individuals. Thus, the implication is that taking Enimen will lead to extended life spans…at least in some cases. Jury is still out on whether the drug will really do that for most people, but that’s what Min-Pharma is touting with their promotions.”
With her fingers manipulating the cursor on her computer via an electronic pad, she selected and dragged links to several thirty-second spots from the macronet onto her page to be included along the right margin of the report. The document she was working on was effectively public access…anyone with security clearance at Space Programme could view it any time they liked. That’s why she had to be careful about being too candid with her language as she dictated the report.
“What’s continually suspicious to GU officials, as well as the greater scientific community, is whether the drug can truly perform such miracles as the company is claiming for all, or even most, patients who use it. And…what’s even more intriguing, Min-Pharma has resorted to employing mass advertising using its own CEO as a test case. In the past few weeks, we’ve been seeing major ad campaigns demonstrating the progress made by the corporation’s chairman himself, said to be in his mid-thirties, taking the drug and experiencing dramatic, visible results.”
“What’s remarkable about this—to me anyway—is why, after being so reclusive all these years, the mysterious Kwang-Min Jo would now be so open…inviting the public into his private world to show off his wondrous transformation.”
“The first few ads we saw here in Germany showed Kwang-Min Jo before taking Enimen. Those initial photos showed a paunchy, slump-shouldered Asian man—with glasses and an unassuming smile—staring out at the camera, revealing his original state before taking Enimen. Pretty gloomy, really. But then time-lapsed imagery portrayed how, upon using the drug regularly, he’d gradually changed in terms of stamina, posture, stature, and health. Much more virile, with taut skin and broader shoulders, it looked like to me. He no longer needed reading glasses, either, or so the ads claimed. Testosterone levels increasing. Metabolism gaining with each passing week, the ads also said. Next thing you know, he was seen playing tennis, walking a golf course and carrying his clubs with shoulders squared and back straight. To anyone watching, it would seem like he’d been reborn.”
What Monika didn’t include however, due to its irrelevance to her overall report, was that other variations, generated by Min-Pharma’s marketing department, presented altered versions of these same ads. In different countries or on different continents, people saw varied imagery to demonstrate the renewed vitality Min-Pharma’s usually secretive Chief Executive Officer was experiencing.
In Japan, for instance, the ads might show him dancing at a discotheque or competing in a judo competition (these were actually stunt-doubled by Young-Min Jo, but she would have had no way of knowing that). In parts of North America, he’d be shown at a beach, lying out on the sand with two attractive girls in bikinis or playing volleyball—once again secretly utilizing Young-Min as a stand-in. In South America, he’d be portrayed riding a horse out on a ranch, playing fútbol with famous athletes, or dancing with beautiful women in a fancy nightclub.
By switching out the two twins on occasion, it meant the biologically younger Young-Min could be utilized to demonstrate more fluid, graceful movement when running or exerting himself. But…it was also impossible for any would-be conspiracy theorists to question or disprove the images as being altered via computer-generated trickery.
The ads were usually narrated by a baritone-voiced actor, who proclaimed to the world, “Meet Kwang-Min Jo, Chairman and Chief Executive Officer of Min-Pharma Enterprises, a man once aging and sedentary, now a man transformed and renewed.” Various video clips would follow, showing the viewer how much he’d changed and what he could now do. Then the buttery pitchman’s voice would return. “Ask your doctor about once daily Enimen. Nicotinamide Mononucleotide. Get your life back…with Enimen.”
Usually, at some pivotal moment during these inspiring—if not somewhat campy—commercial spots, “Kwang-Min” would suddenly turn to the camera, and in a manly tone utter the product’s now-widely known slogan and catch-phrase, “Bleib aktiv meine Freunde.” This varied from country to country, and from continent to continent. If the ad was appearing in South America, he might simply say, Mantente activo mis amigos.” In Japan, he’d say, “Watashi no yûjin o akutibunisuru.” Or, if the spot was run in eastern Canada, he’d say it in French, “Être actif mes amis.” Anywhere else in North America, he’d simply say it in English. “Stay active my friends.”
“Now of course, it was never clearly explained how long he’d truly been taking the purportedly powerful compound,” observed Monika matter-of-factly. “What’s more, other researchers have claimed on numerous occasions that Nicotinamide Mononucleotide won’t really have discernible effects in only a short period of time. Only prolonged usage will lead to any noticeable changes; and what’s more, the drug will have little to no effect at all on a male under forty-five. The only thing that comes to my mind—which might lead to such miraculous short-term rejuvenation—is perhaps Human Growth Hormone.”
“I’m no chemist—and certainly no pharmacist or research scientist either—but it looks to me like he’s using Growth Hormone, or somatotropin, which stimulates growth, cell regeneration, and cell reproduction in humans. It’s an old parlor trick, of course. Athletes have been using somatotropin since the late twentieth century. If the man is taking anything at all, that is. For all I know, chances are just as good his company is using a proper workout regimen to get him slimmed down a bit. Then perhaps—just perhaps—with a little bit of makeup and some good lighting just to make the illusion seem more real…we’re viewing these overly-dramatized results.”
Her mouth dry,
Monika muted her mouthpiece and took another sip of tea. It had now been twenty minutes since she’d begun updating her report, and the tea had cooled. It was also bitter from the teabag steeping in the water for so long. She winced in surprise and choked it down before wrapping up.
“On top of that, some of us around here have proposed that our own Young-Min Jo may be posing in some of those pictures or videos…in his brother’s place! It’s certainly crossed our minds, that’s for sure. First of all, records of Young-Min’s existence have long-been expunged from the public database. Outside of Space Programme, quite frankly, no one really knows he exists. There’s no way anyone could know if he’s actually collaborating with his brother’s firm to help create this illusion. That’s why I’m thinking, if we could have reached that conclusion, we can rest assured his clever sibling has made the same observations.”
“That’s what bothers me about the whole thing. If his controversial twin brother—not very well thought of in the international business community to begin with, I might add—were to be involving our young officer in something shady…well, that would truly be unfortunate. In my research of the two twins from twenty-four years ago, it was noted that they were quite close. Given that, it may very well be that Young-Min Jo is somehow assisting his brother in this campaign. We’d have hoped he would demonstrate better judgment than that. And yet, as difficult as it is to stomach…I have to admit…it’s hard to imagine how he couldn’t be, as we’re continuing to follow this.”
Monika sat back and muted her headset while she thought about how much Young-Min had been through, what it must have been like growing up as an orphan. Then she thought about what Kwang-Min must have suffered through—even with a little lucky break now and then, as well as some timely intervention by Space Programme. She thought back to their early days at the orphanage in 2086, and the reports she’d read about their shenanigans—as well as their amazing invention that saved their fellow orphans from further molestations by some of the deacons there.
How in the world could kids with a background like that grow up to be upstanding citizens in the first place? she had to wonder. And while we’re at it, why would they? For that matter, how could they see the world in any other way but as one big game to play? Fooling authorities and pulling whatever they thought they could get away with—not really worrying about the consequences? Just doing whatever they thought they needed to do to survive? There’s no way the rest of us in normal society could ever understand, really.
This raised even more unsettling questions for Monika, but she’d never record such private thoughts in her report, naturally. Namely, what about the character of Young-Min Jo himself? Hadn’t he been quite the impressionable fellow already in terms of his actions in the past with Space Programme? After all, it was noted in his personnel file that he’d personally overridden the Santa Maria’s food replication system so that he could load it with freeze-dried cannabis-laced tomatoes and other produce. He was only twelve or so when he did it. How could a young pre-teenage boy be inclined to participate in such activity? He would have known this was a blatant violation of military regulations, wouldn’t he?
The only possible answer was that people influenced him; or that, because of his amazing intelligence and determination to gain acceptance from his colleagues, he simply volunteered to reprogram the system’s computers. Maybe that was a part of his nature. Perhaps something he was bound to do, once he found himself in a new community of people urging him to participate, conform, and contribute. Why would that have changed—even now, as an adult? thought Monika. Tigers don’t ever change their stripes, as they say.
Next, she considered Young-Min’s new environment. Who could be influencing him? His rich brother, sure. But what else could be seducing him into this new world of corporate gamesmanship and its sleight of hand way of presenting products to the public which couldn’t possibly accomplish all they claimed. It just didn’t add up. Young-Min was a scientist, wasn’t he? How could he let himself get mixed up in this nonsense?
Monika figured it was most definitely Kwang-Min Jo pressuring his younger-looking twin to fall in with his latest little scheme to hoodwink consumers by preying upon their greatest fear: growing old. But was there more to it than that? Could there be others involved? Monika closed her document and began perusing various photos that had been provided for her from satellite images. She saw large men, possibly bodyguards or security personnel, exercising out on the grounds in front of Min-Pharma headquarters. She noticed Young-Min—or Kwang-Min…it was slightly easier to tell them apart when they were together—regularly working out with those giants.
But there was another person typically pictured on the scene. She seemed to be leading the exercises…or instructing the twin brothers in martial arts. A beautiful Asian woman, she was. Very athletic. As tall as the two brothers, if not taller. What’s more, she was often shown in close proximity to the two when they were together, or walking alone with one of them. Was she some long-lost sister? Or was she a lover to one of them? Monika tried researching who she was for the next half hour or so—until she was notified of a meeting with Space Programme Security she’d been invited to, starting in fifteen minutes down the hall. She figured she’d use the time to see what she could find out.
It seemed that all her searches on the macronet wound up in a dead end, though. Nothing could be found out about the mysterious woman. She had no criminal record. The only archived information on her was that she’d once been an orphan in the North American Child Services system. Monika found this by isolating one of the satellite images on her face, then scanning it. Saving the picture to her desktop, she then submitted it to Interpol. Nothing. Never a crime reported on her.
Only Child Services had anything on her, and that was to report she’d been in their system until age thirteen. There was a possible matching record for her face scan that showed up in corporate records at Stauffer Chemical, but that was only for a brief period, around the time she was twenty-one or twenty-two. Monika determined this might be a good question for Space Programme Security, since that’s what they were paid for.
“Good question for those cloak and dagger fellows, I bet,” she murmured to herself. She decided to bring it up during her meeting with them and see what they could find out. Monika then closed her files and locked her workstation so she could leave her cubicle unattended. That was proper office procedure to prevent espionage. She then walked down the hallway to the conference room, where she was to meet with security personnel. The meeting would be starting in only a few minutes.
* * * *
“Good Morning, Ensign Steckel,” said the tall man in Space Programme khakis. Though he had gold bars on his black epaulets, she wasn’t quite sure if there were two or three. She only knew he outranked her. Nevertheless, she playfully scoffed at his otherwise unnecessary use of her rank in addressing her by name.
“Monika is fine, just call me Monika,” she chuckled pleasantly. “No one around here calls me Ensign…at least, not very often…not on this floor.” This was an accurate statement. Though most people working in her department held college degrees and an officer’s commission, the attitude there was casual. Saluting or observing rank when addressing someone was rare.
“Well, we will be today, Ensign,” said an even deeper voice coming from slightly behind her and to the left. As she’d entered the conference room, the opening door blocked her view of the opposite side of the room. On the back wall to the left of her was a credenza that held a tea service, and there, of all people, stood the commanding officer in charge of Space Programme, Rear Admiral Pyrs Griffith. This was the last person Monika Steckel either expected or wanted to see in her department’s conference room.
Admiral Griffith—if he was ever in town at all—never came upstairs to Personnel. That said, it certainly was him, in the flesh! Monika snapped to attention and tried saluting him, barely even remembering how to do so because it had been so long. Wasn’t so sure she knew how
anymore. She had about one second to recall if her middle finger was supposed to connect with her temple or her eyebrow. She was so startled and unnerved, she might just as well have patted the top of her head while rubbing her tummy in a circular motion! Luckily, whatever she did passed muster with the silver-haired admiral. He returned her salute and motioned for her to take a seat.
The tall man in the Space Programme khakis, with what turned out to be two gold bars on his epaulets signifying the rank of Lieutenant, spoke next. “Please have a seat won’t you? I’m Lieutenant Calles with Space Programme Security. We have information that we believe might affect one of your three twins you’ve been monitoring.”
Monika felt her heart sinking. “Is it concerning Ensign Young-Min Jo?” she asked worriedly. She moved a few steps toward the conference table and grabbed the seat back of one of the chairs. She wasn’t too sure what they were about to hit her with. And while we’re at it, why is the admiral in attendance? This had to be bad. Had Young-Min been injured? Killed? Arrested? She felt a pit in her stomach and an uneasiness about sitting down if it meant they were about to divulge something horrible regarding the young fellow. She loved her three space twins like they were her own kids, even if they were technically older than her by about two years in all three cases.
“Yes…it is, to be honest with you,” replied Lt. Calles, with a hint of dismay in his tone. “How would you know this?” Upon hearing him pose this half-suspicious, half-amused question, the admiral suddenly chimed in. “Because, Lieutenant, she knows practically everything there is to know about Ensigns Jo, Guerrero, and Kachote. That’s her job.” He then passed by her, stirring his tea, to take a seat across the table from Lt. Calles. In front of each seat at the table were electronic tablets with the words “CLASSIFIED” and “FOR YOUR EYES ONLY” flashing on the screens. It was just like in old movies about counterintelligence and espionage, when sealed file folders would be handed to secret agents. This only made Monika more intrigued—and nervous.
