Forever and Ever

by Dan A. Baker

  Koji was bouncing around the stage, his eyes glazed over, sucking a baby pacifier. The video clip ran again and again, as Jasmine edged closer to the big screen. She could just make out the information displayed to the right of the face. One indicator read DFT and another said TBMD and a number window showing heart rate and blood pressure.

  Jasmine eased out of the crowd and watched the video again. The woman was dark skinned, looked to be about seventy in the first clip, then about fifty, then about forty, and then about thirty years old. The video suddenly jerked, and dark circles surrounded her eyes, a tumor emerged on her neck, and lastly, just a frame or two of an autopsy. Koji looked down at Jasmine and tapped a key on a keyboard. The video changed into the World Trade Center collapsing.

  Jasmine walked out into the desert behind the dance area. The hair and the skin changes could not be staged, she thought. In actual aging reversal of the hair would begin to have pigment again, and would grow in dark from the roots outward, exactly the way it was seen in the video. The face would become smooth and the skin would be held much closer to the skull, as the muscles and fibrous tissue regenerated, and regained their ability to hold the face up, she thought. The video was real.

  DFT, she thought, and a number. The number was three-hundred something; like 312, or 325, something like that.

  “Oh my god!” she said out loud, remembering Earl’s notes from Roy’s chart. DFT means Days from Treatment! Earl used this same acronym to chart Roy’s progress as Days from Treatment, three-hundred or about a year.

  TBMD, she remembered, in a rush, Earl measuring Roy’s femur bone thickness in Lake Havasu, and writing a value out with that acronym: Total Bone Mass Density as TBMD. She slipped around the corner of the stage again to see if Koji was still there, but he wasn’t. The anxiety and the cold flood of uncertainty washed over her now. She walked back out into the desert.

  Koji stood several feet behind her and turned on his vest. “When the woods of Dunsinane shall come to Ellsinore…,” he boomed a line from Macbeth, as the vest lit up with his speech.

  “Jasmine, how do you like my vest?” he said.

  Jasmine was too shocked to make small talk. She looked at him carefully. She liked Koji.

  “Are you okay, Jasmine?” Koji asked.

  “Just taking a break from the music,” she said.

  “Do you like my work - the video and the radio signals? I’ll get some Swedish short wave radio for you on my next shift,” he said innocently.

  “What is the video of the dark skinned woman?” Jasmine asked.

  “I don’t know. I just got it from a decrypter before I left. It’s weird, huh?”

  “What’s a decrypter?” Jasmine asked.

  “Guys who decrypt corporate encryption. They’re very weird.” Koji said.

  “It’s some kind of medical animation,” he added.

  “Where did you get it?” Jasmine asked.

  “I brought my microwave receiver to work before Genetechna shut down and recorded some sat feed. The dish was right outside my window. It was all encrypted, like corporate grey line stuff. They were satting it from some place called Maguey. I have about fifty gigs of it.”

  “Do you have more?” she asked.

  “Lots more, but I haven’t seen it yet. What do you think it is?”

  “Probably just medical animation,” she said. “Where is the rest of it?”

  “It’s on my portable hard drive in the Dolphin,” he said.

  “Would you give it to me when we get back?” Jasmine asked tensely.

  “Sure,” Koji said.

  Jasmine found Will playing the steel drums with the Rastafarian. Jasmine didn’t have to say anything. Will was rare for a man, she thought. He was sensitive and intuitive. The look on her face said it all. She simply led him by the hand to the dance area, and turned him to the huge video screen. He tensed and stood on his tiptoes when the video of the dark skinned patients began. They stood motionless in a sea of undulating people with glowing necklaces and LED earrings. Will was transfixed.

  “That bastard,” Will said, “he actually did it.”

  “This can’t be what I think it is,” Jasmine said, recoiling at the picture of the dead woman every time the last frame jerked past.

  “It is,” he said. “Victor set up a human trials operation in Cuba last year. They tried Marjorie’s telomerase inducer, and it doesn’t look like it worked.”

  “Did you know about this?” Jasmine said softly.

  “No one knew about it. That’s why they did it in Cuba.”

  “Did Walter know?”

  “Yeah, but he didn’t know until a few weeks ago.”

  “Why would Victor do something so desperate?”

  “Some dying old heavies with a lot of money, a country at their disposable and not much time,” Will said.

  “Oh my god,” Jasmine gasped. “I don’t think I can go on with this.”

  “I told you it would get squirrelly,” he said. “Believe me, there’s more, a lot more.”

  “When are you going to tell me?” she asked.

  “When you need to know,” he said, pulling her away from the big screen.

  As they walked out into the desert Jasmine felt the deep mystery of this man, and sensed that she would never really be a part of him, not the way she was with Earl. There were never any secrets with Earl- none. He was an enlightened being, honest and transparent. Will was the exact opposite; distant, secretive, and evasive at times. He seemed to enjoy possessing knowledge and making everyone around him guess. There might be only one chance for you to do this,” he said looking deeply into her eyes.

  “Este es un negocio, mueuy serio,” Jasmine said. “Earl used to say that sometimes when we were trying to make a tough call.”

  “This is very serious business,” he said, looking at her, stroking her hair.

  “What do you think?” Jasmine said.

  “I think they might have made it if they had used something like what you and Earl developed, and had an unlimited supply of stem cells. Yeah, I think they might have made it,” he said.

  “I didn’t mean that,” Jasmine said. “They killed some innocent people. Victor killed some innocent people, or so it appears. I wanted to know how you felt about that.”

  “Bad stuff, reckless stuff, stupid, unnecessary stuff,” he said.

  “Tragic stuff,” Jasmine said.

  “Yeah, that too, it’s because someone is pushing very hard for a solution to aging, and they’re powerful, wealthy, and very old. They’re going to take some chances, and there are going to be some false starts, but these people are in a hurry.”

  “Why are they in such a hurry?” Jasmine asked.

  “Maybe they want to live long enough to participate in the age of immortality,” Will said flatly, walking off. Jasmine turned back to the big video screen and watched the poor woman’s face. She finally walked out into the desert and tried to absorb the shock, wondering what else was on Koji’s drive.

  A surge of anxiety welled up inside her suddenly, instantly inciting a flow of apprehension and reflection. “What is happening to me? What am I doing, living this way? What I am doing, working this way? How could I be in love with a man so completely different from any man I have ever known? How can I be so completely compromised in my work, in my life, in love, in my decisions?

  The tiny metallic sound had become a little louder. She looked up and saw a man in a tangerine colored robe sitting way out in the desert, dimly lit by candles, meditating, rhythmically clinking small brass finger symbols.

  The beautiful lilting sound drifted across the desert and somehow eased her anxiety, like the sound of the ocean. She walked slowly toward the man, fighting the waves of anxiety and sharp jolts of uncertainty. She felt herself drawn to the monk, and walked quietly to him. She stood behind him for a long time, and then the symbols stopped.

  “Great confusion,” the monk said in a very deep voice.

  “Yes,” Jasmine said, al
most choking, almost crying.

  “But it is not confusion,” the monk said.

  “I’m afraid, and I feel weak and out of control,” Jasmine said softly.

  “Confusion often masks cowardice,” the monk said.

  “Am I a coward?” Jasmine asked.

  “No. You have merely forgotten your Mantra; the single belief that defines your life. You have merely forgotten this, and you are afraid that you will be directed by others at a time when your life is changing, when you are entering a new way of living,” the monk revealed.

  “What is my Mantra?” Jasmine asked sincerely.

  “Kindness, you are a bringer of kindness. Kindness has ruled your life and will always rule your life. Only now, you are beset by powerful forces in the world; forces of selfishness, and you must find your way during this time. You must rediscover your mantra, and behave accordingly,” the Monk never changed position, never looked at her.

  Jasmine said nothing. The moon slowly rose over the jagged black mountains.

  “The earth is turning,” she said.

  “A new time for human beings has come. A time of great selfishness has come,” the monk said.

  “Yes,” Jasmine said.

  “But nothing has changed,” the monk added. “Kindness will always be the path to enlightenment, and control of the mind to be aware that kindness is the path to enlightenment will always require diligence.”

  “Yes.” Jasmine said, aware that the churning maelstrom in her stomach had disappeared.

  “How did I do?” The monk asked, turning around.

  “What?”

  “How was it?”

  “It was marvelous. Your thoughts helped me a great deal.”

  The monk stood up and turned around. He was a young man, with a shaved head, wearing a Scissor Sisters T-Shirt under the saffron robe.

  “Are you a monk?”

  “Nah, I’m a systems analyst from L.A. Broad Spectrum. I’m just another digital dog,” he said, smiling broadly.

  Jasmine was deeply rattled.

  “Thank you. The message was beautiful.”

  “Don’t thank me. Thank the fat man.” He crossed over to her and draped a small statue of Buddha around her neck. “We do a booth here every year. It’s next to the ice sculpture guys. We call it Hooked On Buddha. Come and catch a few ohms. We also have a great book. They’re starting to put it in hotel rooms around the world now. It’s the Teaching of Buddha.”

  “I’ll, I’ll come over and get a copy.”

  “Why can’t Buddha vacuum in the corners of his house?” he asked, as he turned to leave.

  “Why?”

  “Because he doesn’t have any attachments!”

  Jasmine chuckled softly, feeling somehow relieved and energized.

  “What did Buddha say to the hot dog vender?” he asked, holding his robes out like wings.

  “What?”

  “Make me one with everything!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Malia was brushing her hair when Jasmine returned. “Koji showed me some very weird video in his van,” she said, pausing. “It looked like an old woman becoming young again, but then she’s dead with a horrible big cancer thing. Mom, it was real! And it came from Genetechna!” “You aren’t involved in any of this work, are you, Mom? Tell me you’re not,” she asked, pleading.

  “We don’t know what that video is. Will thinks it might be a human trials project gone badly. Victor might be involved, but your father and I certainly were not. I am trying to finish your father’s work. We want to help Progeric children, and that’s all,” she said.

  “But Mom, how could you possibly help those children? They’re so, so badly damaged.”

  “Your father felt it could be done, and he decided to try it,” Jasmine said, turning away.

  “Mom, there’s more. Please tell me.” Malia stopped brushing her hair.

  “We don’t want to see Roy die.”

  “Bullshit! Mom, there is more! Tell me!” Malia screamed.

  Jasmine sat down in the dark blue camp chair, suddenly exhausted. “The therapy your father, Marjorie and I designed to treat Roy, could, that is it may, at some time, if everything worked perfectly, which it almost certainly will not…,”

  “No, Mom. No. Don’t do this,” she interrupted.

  “Reverse and prevent aging in normal human beings,” Jasmine finished, and turned her face to look at Malia.

  “People are going to freak out, Mom! They’ll be killing to get their hands on this treatment, knowing they can stay young forever, and the population will be horrendous with only rich people left! It’ll be terrible, “Mom,” she said, “what were you thinking?”

  “We, we wanted to treat Roy, and…”

  “And screw up the entire world?”

  “See if it could be done,” she said, instantly regretting the remark.

  “See if it could be done? Mom, this will change everything! No one will get old and die anymore, and, and…”

  “People adapted to big changes before. It’s the one thing people are capable of doing. People will adapt to this change too, and the changes won’t be all bad.”

  “Mom, is it right? I mean, is it right to change the natural way that people evolved, or the way people were made to live and to die? Is that right?” Malia asked.

  “We’ve been changing nature for a long time, Malia. We have changed plants and animals to help us survive and prosper. This is the same process, and it will prevent tremendous suffering. It might even mean some real progress for the human race,” Jasmine said.

  “What progress could this possible produce? We’ll all live in a hideous overpopulated world with everyone looking the same and rich people owning everything, and …,”

  “You’re father hoped that if people live longer life spans, that they may become wiser, and more enlightened, and provide much better leadership,” Jasmine said, awkwardly.

  “And what if it goes the other way, Mom? It will just give the rich people more time to scoop up everything into hoards of wealth, and find even better ways to screw everyone else! They couldn’t get enlightened in another five-hundred years!” Malia wailed, and ran out.

  Jasmine fell into a deep fitful sleep, waking up several times, seeing the old woman’s grotesque face.

  “Good morning,” he whispered softly.

  “Good morning Will,” Jasmine said, looking at him differently now.

  “Look at the beautiful sunrise,” he said.

  “The cannon’s ready to go,” Will said. “They’re going to start shooting people out of it in an hour.”

  “Is Rammy here?” Jasmine asked.

  “Not yet, he’ll be here tomorrow.”

  “Why isn’t he here with the cannon?” Jasmine asked.

  “He said he had some things to finish in Santa Cruz.”

  “Is he finishing our runs?” Jasmine asked.

  “Yeah,” he replied.

  Jasmine tried to think of the right way to put the question. She tried to find the right way to tell Will that she had to be included completely, but she laid her head on a rolled up sleeping bag and let the moment go by.

  “Your cell phone is ringing,” he said, handing her the small phone. Jasmine looked down at the small chiming silver phone and finally opened it up.

  “His skin is very yellow, and he’s throwing up. I can’t seem to wake him up!” Jonelle stammered. “He’s sweating badly, and his eyes won’t focus! I don’t know what to do!” Jasmine looked up at Will. The visceral fear she felt in the strange little town of Why flooded back to her.

  Will took the phone and scribbled notes on the back of a pink flyer. He quickly called Walter, and pulled a small GPS receiver from his backpack. “He uttered the words, forty point nine, one, eight, north, one, nineteen, zero four five west. I’ll get the pad location from the Park Rangers.”

  Jasmine stepped out of the tent and turned toward the big video screen. The old Cuban women’s grotesque autopsy video was running
between loops of the World Trade Center, and collapsing in the pale orange morning light. For the first time in her life, her mental equilibrium slipped as the flood of thoughts and images converged.

  She walked over to the Buddha booth and picked up a small black book. She heard the ring tone from outside the tent, “And I know that the crime in the city is getting worse, so I’m going on down to the gun sale at the Church.”

  “Forty-five minutes,” he snapped, tapping the Blackberry phone. “Just enough time to be shot out of the cannon.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The trip back to Santa Cruz was the first time Jasmine experienced the power of unlimited money. Will’s brief call to Walter produced a chartered helicopter that whisked them the hundred miles to Reno in less than an hour, where they met a waiting private jet. Another chopper set them down in Santa Cruz before noon.

  Jonelle’s old Toyota tore into the small parking lot at the boathouse in a flurry of dust and gravel. Jasmine saw the horrible strain and lack of sleep in her face before she opened the door. Roy looked terrible. He was asleep in the back seat, moaning softly.

  “He’s been throwing up for two days now, and he has bright orange urine,” Jonelle said, unbuckling Roy’s seat belt. Jasmine and Will helped Roy into the MRI trailer and started two IV’s.

  “What are you going to use for anesthetic?” Jasmine asked, suddenly concerned.

  “Ice and Vicodin,” Will said, propping Roy up on a block of dense foam. “There are very few nerves at the attachment point.”

  “This is so I won’t die anymore isn’t it?” Roy said, weakly.

  “We’re going to put a special thing in your tummy that will help your body get better. It makes medicine for you,” Jasmine said.

  “Good! Then I can go fishing again! And kill some sharks this time!” Roy squeaked, as Will began the sedatives in the drip. He packed ice around the incision point and waited about twenty minutes. He scrubbed in quickly and implanted the small organ with a two-inch incision and laparoscopy tools. He was stitching the small incision in less than half an hour. Jasmine tried to assist, but Will was used to doing this himself.

  “I didn’t realize you’re a surgeon,” Jasmine said, impressed.