by Gemma Malley
Peter’s on-screen grandfather walked towards the camera.
‘What you are about to witness is no less than a miracle. A revolution. A change so huge that it dwarfs any other human achievements. What you are about to discover is the secret to eternal life.’
Rousing music started to play and Peter shifted awkwardly in his seat. He turned round to see if his real grandfather was still in the room, but he couldn’t see in the darkness.
He turned back to the screen to see a cartoon depicting several small, spherical blobs.
‘The stem cell,’ his grandfather’s voice boomed. ‘Such a small thing, and yet so powerful. Back in the twentieth century, scientists could only guess at the potential of these tiny cells. Cures for diseases that wiped out millions of lives every year. Helping the paralysed to regain movement in their limbs. Growing organs for transplantation. Scientists all over the world were racing to unlock the secrets of these tiny cells, to harness their capability.
‘But one man went further. One man wanted more than simply to cure disease, to treat the sick. One man saw beyond the curative powers in cell therapy. One man saw that humankind’s destiny was inexorably linked to the power of the stem cell. He knew, knew without any question, that the right combination, the right cells, used in the right way, could cure not just disease, but the most significant human condition of all. He knew that he could cure mortality.’
There was a brief pause and then the camera zoomed in on one of the blobs.
‘So how did he do it? Well, it was with the help of these fellows. Meet the stem cell,’ his grandfather’s voice continued, now more jovial in tone. ‘This clever creature can turn itself into any cell in the body. It could be a liver cell, a blood cell, a spinal cord cell. It can repair damage, replicate itself to replace ageing cells, prevent cancerous cells from developing.’
The blob developed a face and danced around the screen, fitting into various organs successfully, all the time grinning happily to itself.
Then the blob disappeared and his grandfather was on the screen again, this time outside a white pod with sliding doors, through which men in white coats could be seen walking. ‘But whilst these cells have been known about since the twentieth century,’ his grandfather was saying in an avuncular tone, ‘only Pincent Pharma has leveraged their capability to create the most powerful drug known to man: Longevity.’
Peter’s grandfather disappeared again and was replaced by a film of two old people walking along the street, bent over, their faces lined, their hair grey. Peter found himself wincing at the sight in spite of himself.
‘Old age,’ his grandfather’s voice boomed. ‘For thousands of years the unavoidable plight of humankind. Loss of key functions – hearing, eyesight, flexibility, strength. Loss of recall and brain capacity. A slow, painful degenerative process that ended more often than not in disease and then death. Eighty years was considered a good lifespan. At sixty, humans were considered too old to work, too old to contribute to society. But no longer.’
The shot switched to a film of some men playing a game of football in the park. ‘Where once humans had collapse, they now have Renewal. Where once humans accepted decay, they now enjoy an enhanced lifestyle. On that momentous day when natural scientist Dr Albert Fern discovered the true potential of stem cells, he changed the course of history.’
There was another pause, as Peter’s on-screen grandfather surveyed the room, his eyes shining, then his face took on a slightly more humble expression as a new voice took over the story. ‘Sadly, Dr Fern didn’t live long enough to develop Renewal further, but Richard Pincent, his son-in-law and founder of Pincent Pharma, worked tirelessly after his death to extend the benefits of stem cells to people worldwide . . .’
Peter’s eyes widened. So Albert Fern was Richard Pincent’s father-in-law? That meant he was Peter’s great-grandfather. He was related to the guy responsible for all of this. The thought made him shiver slightly.
The screen returned to Pincent Pharma, to the original open-plan laboratory shot. Peter’s grandfather was now walking amongst the scientists, whilst the voice-over continued: ‘. . . ever since then, this noble company has been working for humanity to deliver Longevity, the drug that made history. That has superseded history. Scientists the world over have tried to replicate it, have tried to discover the formula, but to no avail. And now, Pincent Pharma’s scientists continue to innovate, to deliver improvements to the formula; to discover even more ways to improve the quality of the human life. From tooth decay to limb regrowth, Pincent Pharma is at the forefront of human science, and we’ll never stop looking for a better world for everyone.’
The camera panned back through several corridors, through the front doors until the entire building could be seen on screen, although not the white perimeter wall, the gates or the security guards.
‘Pincent Pharma is science,’ a voice said. ‘Pincent Pharma is the future. Your future, and everyone on the planet’s future. Thank you for taking the time to be with us. We hope that you enjoy your visit.’
The screen went black, then white words appeared: Longevity and Renewal are the trademarks of Pincent Pharma Incorporated. Any attempt to copy, imitate or infringe intellectual copyright will result in prosecution. The words gradually faded away until Peter found himself staring at a blank screen. And then the lights came on. Peter turned to see his grandfather was standing at the end of his row of seats.
‘So, what did you think?’
Peter was thinking about his ring. His ring with ‘AF’ engraved on it.
‘Very . . . interesting,’ he said.
‘Isn’t it!’ His grandfather’s voice sounded excited, but his eyes suggested that he was distracted, thinking of something else. ‘You know, Peter,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘there’s so much for you to discover here.’
Peter smiled to himself. He hoped for Pip’s sake that he’d be able to discover it all.
‘So tell me, Peter. Why, now, have you decided to take me up on my offer of work?’
The question came from nowhere and took Peter by surprise.
‘I . . .’ he started to say, calling up the speech he’d prepared just for this purpose. But his grandfather waved his hand to silence him.
‘It’s all right, I already know,’ he said dismissively.
‘At least I know what you wrote in your letter and I know what you told your counsellor. But we shouldn’t always believe what we’re told, should we, Peter?’
Peter looked at him uncertainly. ‘No?’
‘No.’ His grandfather smiled. ‘I like to keep an open mind. So let me say this one thing. I am confident that you will enjoy your time here, that you’ll make the most of the opportunity you’ve been presented with. But step out of line, do anything that causes me any concern at all, and I can promise you, you’ll wish that you hadn’t.’
‘OK,’ Peter said. ‘That’s pretty clear.’
Richard laughed. ‘Yes, Peter, it is.’ Then his face turned serious. ‘And there is one more thing.’
‘Yes?’ Peter asked.
‘Longevity is here to stay, Peter. Everyone is here to stay. That’s the way of the world now, and nothing is going to change that. Do you understand?’
Peter studied his grandfather’s face for a few seconds, trying to decide on a response.
‘Perfectly,’ he said eventually, looking at his grandfather intently. ‘And I don’t intend to cause you any concern. I’m just pleased to have the opportunity to work here, that’s all.’
Richard’s eyes rested on him for a few seconds, then he nodded curtly.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘That’s very good.’
He motioned for Peter to follow him out of the lecture hall, and they walked in silence back down the corridor.
‘I think it’s time to introduce you to Dr Edwards, your teacher,’ he said, when they reached a blue door. ‘You won’t find it hard – Pincents are born scientists . . .’ He lifted his hand to push the door; as Peter followed
him through it, he found himself in the same laboratory he’d seen in the film. Only now the workstations were all empty.
His grandfather noticed his frown and smiled. ‘We built new facilities on the east side of the building,’ he explained. ‘Bigger and better. This is the ReTraining area now. You can learn and try things out to your heart’s content. And this . . .’ he pointed to a tall, slight man who was walking towards them quickly, ‘is Dr Edwards, one of our most eminent scientists, and now the Head of ReTraining. For the next six months he will be your teacher and mentor, so I wouldn’t get into his bad books.’
His grandfather’s tone was silky, almost patronising, but Dr Edwards didn’t seem to notice; he smiled modestly. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that, Peter,’ he said warmly. ‘It’s very good to meet you. Very good indeed. Your grandfather has told me all about you.’
Peter looked at him carefully, building up a picture in his head. He took in the furrowed brow, the grey hair that Dr Edwards had evidently decided not to bother dyeing, his intelligent eyes, his open body language. He could pass for fifty, but Peter suspected that he was at least double that. He was clever, Peter surmised; introverted and passionate about his work.
‘Hi,’ Peter said. ‘Good to meet you, too.’
‘So, Peter, what’s your science like? Are you an expert, or is your knowledge more . . . rudimentary, would you say?’ Dr Edwards asked.
Peter raised an eyebrow. ‘I’d say “rudimentary” just about covers it.’
‘Good.’ Dr Edwards nodded. ‘When people know a lot, we have to spend a great deal of time getting them to unlearn it,’ he explained. ‘Most of what people have been taught is years out of date, hardly relevant at all. A clean slate is far easier.’ His face was earnest, Peter decided, well meaning. If he weren’t involved in Longevity drugs, Peter might even have liked him.
‘Right, well, I’ll leave you to it, then,’ Richard Pincent said. ‘Peter, concentrate, won’t you? Dr Edwards has a great deal to teach you.’
Peter nodded silently, his eyes following his grandfather until the door had closed behind him.
‘I’m sure you’ll be a fast learner,’ Dr Edwards smiled. ‘After all, it’s in your blood.’
‘Oh, I’m not much like my grandfather,’ Peter said lightly.
‘Your grandfather?’ Dr Edwards frowned. ‘Oh, no. I was thinking more about your great-grandfather. Albert Fern. The greatest scientist who ever lived.’
Peter swallowed uncomfortably, then looked up at Dr Edwards, forcing an enthusiastic expression on to his face. ‘So, where do I start?’
Chapter Four
Richard Pincent watched, hidden behind one-way glass, as the man was forced on to a bench-like contraption, his arms stretched out.
‘You don’t seem to understand,’ Derek Samuels, his Head of Security, was saying smoothly, his face creased in feigned sympathy, as though he cared, as though he didn’t enjoy it. ‘I don’t want to hurt you. It pains me to see you like this. But if you won’t tell me what I want to know, I have no choice. The other guards here, they enjoy causing pain. I won’t be able to stop them.’
The man’s face contorted horribly as his arms were gradually pulled out of their sockets by the contraption he’d been connected to.
‘I’ll tell you nothing,’ he managed to say through clenched teeth. ‘You can’t do this. It’s illegal. The Authorities –’
‘The Authorities don’t care about you,’ Derek said soothingly. ‘You’re beyond the law; Pincent Pharma security guards are sanctioned by the Anti-Terrorism Department to use whatever means necessary to get information out of Underground operatives. I can do what I want with you. And I will, believe me.’
He motioned to another guard, who was controlling the machine, and the prisoner screamed as his arms were pulled further away from his body.
‘I just need to know where I can find the Underground’s headquarters. It’s an easy enough question,’ Derek said, shaking his head sadly. ‘Tell me that and you’ll be free to go.’
The prisoner looked at him with wild eyes. ‘Never,’ he shouted. ‘Never.’
Derek nodded and left the room; moments later the door next to Richard opened and Derek’s face appeared.
‘What do you want me to do?’ he asked.
Richard sighed. Why didn’t people realise that he would not be crossed? Why did they insist on fighting him when it was inevitable that they would lose? Did the Underground really think that they could make even a dent in his company’s success? Did they really think that he would let them score even one point over him? ‘Transfer him to the research lab,’ he said with a shrug. ‘I’m sure his organs will tell us more than he will.’
‘Right you are.’ Derek left and reappeared on the other side of the glass. ‘You’re going to research,’ he said coolly.
‘Research?’ the prisoner stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that since you’re not talking, you’re no good to us. But luckily, your body can still be useful. They’re going to have your organs. We need organs to test on, you see; cells to examine. The idea is that once you’ve been cut open, the scientists will get more out of you than I managed to.’
‘Cut open?’ The prisoner’s face whitened visibly. ‘You can’t do that. I have rights. I have . . .’
Richard Pincent couldn’t resist leaving his cubicle, throwing open the door to look at the prisoner in person. ‘You have nothing,’ he said, approaching the wooden bench from behind, causing the prisoner to jump. ‘You are pathetic. You tried, and failed, to destroy Longevity this morning, just as the Underground will always fail. Now I am going to show you what happens to people who cross Richard Pincent. I am going to destroy you.’
‘Who are you? Where’s your humanity?’ the prisoner shouted desperately.
Richard looked at him curiously. ‘My humanity? I’m not the one trying to destroy life; you are, with your raids on Longevity.’
‘I have a wife. Please, don’t do this,’ the man begged.
‘More fool her,’ Derek said thinly, as more guards appeared to help him transport the prisoner, ‘for marrying a loser like you.’
Richard Pincent had seen enough; he walked out of the room, ignoring the screams of the prisoner, and made his way upstairs to his office. Once there, he went over to his window, pulling back the thick, velvet curtains to look outside. His office suite, over two hundred square metres with double-height ceilings that caused people to gasp when they entered it for the first time, was situated on the third floor of Pincent Pharma, overlooking the Thames. He had chosen its position carefully – too high and the view would have missed the river completely, too low and the buildings on the other side of the river would have blocked his light. Here, his view was perfect. Here, he was constantly reminded how important he was, how successful. Here, he was never in any doubt that the years he had spent coercing, charming and tramping on others had truly paid dividends, that his efforts had been worthwhile.
As he sat down at his desk, contemplating this thought, the phone rang and he picked it up. Few people had a direct line to this phone: only those who were useful to Richard, only those who could help him in some way.
‘Richard Pincent.’
‘Richard, it’s Adrian.’
‘Adrian. How are you?’
Adrian Barnet was the Deputy Secretary General, the second in command at the Authorities. A small, squat man, Adrian had been at university with Richard. The two of them had been friends of sorts; they still were, in so far as Richard considered anyone a friend.
‘The attacks on Longevity,’ Adrian said, his voice anxious. ‘Are they set to continue, do you think?’
Adrian couldn’t know about the raid that morning. The Authorities were always several steps behind, which suited Richard perfectly. ‘They were isolated incidents,’ he said carefully. ‘Naturally, we’ve upped our security measures. I think you’ll find there will be no more problems of that nature.’
‘I
t’s just that there have been questions raised,’ Adrian continued. ‘Concerns that any problem, or perceived problem, with the supply of Longevity knocks confidence. You know that the twenty points lost from the Finance Index last month are being directly attributed to the problems Pincent Pharma ran into.’
‘Not problems,’ Richard said immediately, grimacing as he spoke. ‘Short-term blips which have been resolved. Our vulnerabilities have been eradicated.’
‘The thing is, Richard, people are talking. The name of your grandson kept coming up this morning. People feel uncomfortable with your decision to offer him a job. They’re concerned about his Underground connections, his association with the Surplus girl. He’s dangerous. The worry is that he spent his formative years being brainwashed by her family . . .’
‘That’s the worry, is it?’ Richard said icily. As he spoke, he pressed a button and a screen came to life, revealing Peter in the laboratory with Dr Edwards.
‘It’s just that your grandson is a figurehead for revolutionary activity,’ Adrian continued, not noticing the sarcasm in Richard’s voice. ‘According to the Anti-Terrorism Department, the rebels are calling him the father of the next generation. Him and that Surplus girl.’
‘The father of the next generation?’ Richard almost spat the words. ‘Well, Adrian, if that’s what he is, tell me, where would you have him – free to roam the streets, associating with Underground scum, or here, at Pincent Pharma, where I can track his every move? Do you think I’m stupid, Adrian? Do you think that I am a fool?’
‘No!’ Adrian said quickly. ‘No, of course not. But you can see how people might wonder –’
‘No, Adrian, I cannot see,’ Richard said angrily. ‘But I will tell you one thing. If you think that I am going to let anyone – Peter, your Authorities colleagues, anyone – get in the way of Pincent Pharma, then you have another thing coming. Do you understand?’
