THE FOREVER GENE (THE SCIONS OF EARTH Book 1)

by Dean, Warren

  Winston didn't see the funny side of the man's comment. The protesters had become a big problem within a very short period of time, disrupting roads, railways and sporting events to get their point of view across. But it was a point of view most people didn't agree with and there had already been two or three violent clashes. He fervently hoped there wouldn't be another one today.

  No sooner had he formed the thought than it happened. Some of the motorists, late for work, had got out of their cars and were remonstrating angrily with the protesters. The latter did not respond and the scene did not appear to be volatile. The police were slow to put a cordon in place; instead concentrating their efforts on removing the trucks.

  Without warning one of the motorists lunged forward and snatched a placard from the hands of a protester. He threw it on the ground, and then grabbed another. The young man who was holding the second placard made the mistake of resisting and suddenly the mob of gathered motorists surged forward. Some grabbed placards, while others began bludgeoning the protesters themselves.

  There was an ugly few moments until the police managed to take control of the situation. They pushed the motorists back with a baton charge and then cordoned off the protesters, some of whom were injured and bleeding. For a moment it looked as though the motorists would fight back, but then police reinforcements arrived from the other side of the bridge and they backed down.

  Their patience now exhausted, the police unceremoniously cut the bonds linking the protesters together and bundled them none too gently into police vans. One or two of the more seriously injured were taken to an ambulance which had just arrived. The motorists quickly scuttled back into their cars.

  Winston was shocked by the sudden violence. These were ordinary people who should have more self-control than they had just displayed. It brought home to him again how strongly Faerie Blood had divided public opinion. Most people had embraced it, and more and more were being inoculated every day. But there were reactionary elements, primarily the organised religions, which were becoming more and more desperate to put the genie back into the bottle. It was understandable; the very reason for their existence was under serious threat. If people no longer feared death, they would no longer need the promises of salvation and afterlife that the churches peddled.

  He activated his 'link and called his principal private secretary. "Morning, Adams. Please ask Bishop Francis for an urgent meeting," he instructed. Francis was his main liaison with the Church of England. Perhaps there was something the bishop could do to defuse the escalating tension.

  The emergency services managed to clear the trucks and eventually they were on their way across the bridge. Bill turned right down Milbank Road, where thankfully there was less traffic, and soon they were driving past Westminster Abbey towards Whitehall. As they neared Parliament Square, Winston glanced out of the window at the stately facade of St Margaret's Church. His eyebrows shot up in horror. The main wall had been defaced with graffiti which hadn't been there yesterday. 'God Go Home' was painted onto the stone in large crimson letters. Things were deteriorating faster than he had thought.

  The car skirted the Square and stopped at the gated entrance to Downing Street. Bill tipped his cap to the guard who, after a brief glance into the back of the car, waved them through.

  "Sorry about the delay, sir", said Bill as they pulled up outside Number 10. It had begun raining lightly and Winston pulled his coat closed as he stepped out of the car and hurried through the open doorway. Adams greeted him in the entrance hall.

  "Good morning, Prime Minister," Adams said in his clipped way. "I hear there was something of a hoo-ha on the bridge."

  "It's more than that, I'm afraid. These protests are bringing out the worst in people."

  "Well, at least you won't have to contend with early morning traffic any longer, sir. Your private residence is now shipshape. Would you like to go up and have a look around?"

  "Not now, there are more important things to do. I'll go up with Connie when she gets here later on."

  They hurried down the carpeted hallway towards the main staircase. "Did you manage to contact Francis?"

  "I spoke to his secretary. Apparently he shares your concerns. He would prefer the meeting to be private, if at all possible, and he will be here at about twelve o'clock."

  They reached the prime minister's office and Winston spent a few minutes assuring his staff that he was none the worse for wear. Then he sagged into the chair in his private office, gratefully accepting a cup of tea. Adams clattered off to re-arrange his day and Winston was left alone with his thoughts for a few minutes.

  He hadn't expected to become prime minister and, even after four weeks, it seemed surreal. The previous government had been in power for two decades and had been completely entrenched. Its economic policies were sensible and had enabled the country to recover from the financial crises of the early part of the century. Britain had enjoyed a lengthy period of economic prosperity and a series of likeable prime ministers had enhanced its popularity.

  As leader of a weak opposition, he had resigned himself to his role and done his best to make a meaningful contribution. It was relatively easy to criticise government policies, and to come up with alternatives which were unlikely to ever be tested in practice. The pay was good and there were no security issues.

  The demise of the government had been sudden, spectacular and completely unexpected. When Ambassador Ba showed his little ampoule of serum to the world, the government had not been slow to see its potential impact. People retiring in their sixties and then living on indefinitely would drain national health and pension fund resources. Population growth would explode and eventually lead to critical shortages of housing, food and other necessities.

  To meet the challenge, numerous laws and policies would have to be overhauled. But it wasn't possible to undertake such a massive task in the short time it would take for the serum to hit the streets. The government realised that banning the product wouldn't work, so it decided to adopt a tactic all too familiar to the British public; if you can't beat it, tax it.

  New laws were rushed through Parliament introducing massive surcharges on both imports and sales of the serum. The justification was that the government would need this extra money to provide social benefits to people who chose to live indefinitely.

  This meant that, despite being dirt cheap to produce, the price of the serum paid by consumers was prohibitively high. Unsurprisingly, the British public took no notice of the wider issues and became incensed as they watched daily Personet reports of millions being inoculated elsewhere in the world.

  It took very little imagination for the opposition to come up with a new strategy; promise to abolish the new tax as soon as they were elected. The first few by-elections which took place were a disaster for the government and it found itself between a rock and a hard place. Backing down on the tax was not an option and it was forced into an early general election. Despite an intensive advertising campaign designed to persuade the electorate of the dire consequences of abolishing the tax, the ruling party was voted out by a landslide.

  Having promised to do so, the new government had no option but to abolish the tax. The pharmaceutical companies in the country had been stockpiling supplies of Faerie Blood and the British people lost no time in catching up with the rest of world. Official sources reported that almost five million people were being inoculated each week.

  And now Winston was expected to clean up the mess. There were no obvious solutions. When he first took office he appointed a task team to assess and brainstorm the issue. Made up of a number of his special advisers together with representatives of the Church, police services and various private institutions, it met every morning at eight. This morning's meeting had been delayed because of the chaos on Vauxhall Bridge and it was almost nine-thirty when Adams called to say that everyone was ready.

  His chief of staff fell in beside him as he hurried through the labyrinthine corridors towards the main conferen
ce room. Number 10 might look like a council house from the street, but inside it was more like an office block combined with a museum. From the kitchen in the basement to the prime minister's suite on the third tier, it was staffed by hundreds of people.

  The bustle in the conference room stopped abruptly as he entered and took his seat at the head of the table. Adams had already called up the agenda on the touchscreens set into the table top. The first item was a proposal to change the official pensionable age from sixty-five to ninety-nine. It was a thorny topic, however, and opinion was sharply divided.

  "It will not be necessary, or advisable, to increase the pensionable age of people who have not been inoculated," pointed out the representative of the government pension fund. "Only those who will live significantly longer than normal should be affected."

  Sir Clive Blenkinsopp, the senior policy adviser, shook his head. "Surely there cannot be one law for some and a different law for others? I have obtained an opinion from Queen's Counsel which suggests that such a provision will be contrary to anti-discrimination legislation. The Americans have already run into this problem and we cannot afford to do the same."

  "But if we don't adopt this measure, our pension funds will go bankrupt. As the funds are exhausted, more and more people will become reliant on social security and we will soon have to raise taxes to unsustainable levels in order to pay everyone. We cannot expect the economically active population to support an ever increasing number of retirees."

  "But surely people who are no longer aging will continue to be economically active?"

  "They may, but they can still insist on collecting their pensions while they do so. And they will have no reason to continue to contribute to pension funds. They can simply continue to work for as long as they like."

  Winston interrupted the argument. "Would it make a difference if we make it a condition that everyone being inoculated must accept the new pensionable age, Sir Clive?" he asked the senior policy adviser.

  "It wouldn't work, Prime Minister. We can't force people to waive their right to access their pensions at age sixty-five. They have spent more than forty years earning that right and they would never stand for it. And what about the people who have already been inoculated? We can't make the condition retrospective and the people who will have to accept it in future will complain about discrimination."

  Winston gritted his teeth. Almost every proposal bogged down like this. It had seemed at first as if increasing the pensionable age was a no-brainer. But what he was hearing now was that it couldn't be done.

  "You chaps are missing the obvious. You don't need to increase the pensionable age at all." The deep voice came from the other end of the conference table.

  Winston peered short-sightedly in that direction in an attempt to identify the speaker. "General Gordon, sir," muttered Adams helpfully. Gordon had recently joined the task team as representative of the UK Space Agency.

  "Do you have a better idea, general?" asked Winston hopefully.

  "I'm no expert, sir, but I think that all you need to change is the way age is determined."

  "Tell us what you mean, man, we don't have time to play guessing games," interjected Sir Clive, testily.

  Gordon nodded. "Until now, everyone's age has been determined chronologically. Chronological age has always been roughly equivalent to biological age. However, a person with Faerie Blood no longer ages biologically."

  There was a perplexed silence around the table.

  Gordon tried again. "If someone is inoculated at age fifty, he remains fifty years old biologically, no matter how many years go by."

  "So, if a person who has been inoculated remains the same age, he will never qualify for a pension," mused Sir Clive. "How can that be fair?"

  "It is not a question of fairness; it is a natural consequence of choosing to live longer," replied Gordon.

  "What about people who have already been inoculated without having had the chance to consider the fact that they won't be able to retire?"

  Gordon thought about it. "Isn't that what they wanted when they made their choice; to remain fit and healthy and economically active? And if synthetic genes can be programmed, surely they can be re-programmed? If someone who has already been inoculated changes his mind about retirement, why can't he simply have another injection which deactivates the genes?"

  Winston fixed a glare on the team's pharmaceutical representative. "Has any research been done that suggests that synthetic genes can be re-programmed in this way?"

  "I don't think so, sir, but theoretically it must be possible."

  "I want an answer to that question tomorrow morning, please."

  "But sir, there isn't enough time..."

  "Yes, I agree with you, there isn't enough time," snapped Winston. "That is why I need your answer tomorrow morning."

  "This may not help us after all, Prime Minister," the pension fund representative said thoughtfully. "Won't people simply wait until they turn sixty-five before having the inoculation? Then they will be entitled to claim social benefits indefinitely."

  Winston was losing patience. "Then their benefits will have to be capped. I believe the national average people live after retirement is thirty years or so. See to it that suitable legislation is drafted immediately, Sir Clive."

  Adams took that as his cue to call up the next item on the agenda, cutting off any further debate.

  After the conference had ended, General Gordon asked for a private meeting. Grateful for his assistance with the pensionable age issue, Winston said he could spare five minutes.

  "I need to discuss the star drive project with you, sir," the general began.

  "Hasn't that become a waste of time and money?" Winston grumbled. "I understand that, without the guidance of the Faerie Folk, the project has hit a serious snag."

  Gordon leaned forward. "I won't lie to you sir, it is more than a snag. My successor on the Moon, Dr Hasper, reports that the blueprint has been found to be flawed. The consensus amongst the scientists up there is that it cannot be relied upon and that it will take an extended period of time to finish the project without it."

  "Good Lord! Is that even possible? And what do you expect me to do about it?"

  Gordon looked him in the eye. "We need more personnel and more equipment, sir, a lot more. We need you to authorise a substantial increase in the budget."

  "The budget for that project has already been exceeded, General," put in a disapproving Adams.

  "Wouldn't that be throwing good money after bad?" added Winston. "As you may have noticed, we have a lot of things to pay for. I have everyone from the police to the National Health Service asking for more money to deal with a population which is expected to multiply at an unprecedented rate."

  "I realise that, sir. Excuse me for speaking frankly, but the proposals that have been bandied about so far are not long-term solutions. The only thing that can help us now is the star drive. If we can get it working, colonising other worlds becomes feasible. I believe that it is imperative that we begin colonising other worlds, or we are going to run out of resources on this one. People have been given the opportunity to live longer and they are going to take it. I don't think there can be any doubt of that. You can introduce as many laws as you like, but eventually civilisation is going to break down under the sheer weight of numbers."

  "What about the other delegations?" asked Adams. "Are they prepared to commit more money?"

  "I believe so. Dr Mattheus has convinced the Europeans that he can replicate the star drive and they have increased their budget. The Russian, Chinese and American governments are expected to follow suit. None of them want to miss out on the opportunity for planetary conquest."

  Winston shook his head. "I just don't see how we can justify the additional expense, particularly when we have no idea whether or not the project is ever going to be successful."

  "There are no guarantees, sir, but I have seen Dr Mattheus at work. He is a genius in the true sense of the word and I b
elieve that, if anyone can do it, he can."

  Winston's doubtful expression remained. "Look, you will have to let me have your proposal in writing. I'll consider it, but I can't promise anything."

  "Thank you, sir, I appreciate it."

  Adams showed the general out and came back in with the white haired, rail thin Bishop Francis. The cleric shuffled in and sat down wearily. A sprightly man in his eighties, Winston hadn't seen him showing his age like this before. Adams poured him a glass of water and then left.

  "Thank you for coming, Your Grace," said Winston, "I hope you haven't been too badly inconvenienced."

  "Inconvenienced? I would be very happy if inconvenience was all that I was suffering, Prime Minister. I'm sorry I have not been able to attend your meetings this week, but I have had some urgent matters to attend to."

  "I quite understand; I have had my own misadventures lately."

  "Yes, the unfortunate incident on the bridge this morning."

  Winston hadn't had a chance to think about how he was going to broach the subject delicately. "Indeed, er, have you any information about these protesters?"

  "My advisers tell me that they are part of a group calling itself the 'mortal brotherhood'. It doesn't seem to have any organisational structure; it is just a loose grouping of like-minded people who oppose the Faerie Blood inoculations."

  "Is there nothing the Church can do to put a stop to these protests?"

  "I'm afraid not, Prime Minister. Although some of the protesters are members of the Church, the group is not sanctioned by us."

  "But isn't the stance of this brotherhood the same as that of the Church; that Faerie Blood is unnatural and ungodly? Do you not think that a strongly worded statement denouncing the protests would help to persuade it to adopt less confrontational methods?"

  Francis shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "It is more complicated than that. The Church cannot denounce the protests as it would be tantamount to denouncing its own teachings."

  "Good heavens, I am not asking you to denounce your teachings; just the way in which the protesters have chosen to put their point of view across. Surely the Church cannot be seen to support actions which result in violent confrontations?"