by Dan A. Baker
The wind blew through the pine trees, and briefly reminded Jasmine of Pacifica.
“You designed a mind for Nielsen?” Jasmine asked.
“Yeah, I finished the project last week.”
“I guess that begs the question, what kind of person is Nielsen? What kind of a mind would he want to design?” Jasmine said, resisting the temptation to recoil at the thought of actually designing a human personality.
“A thinker, a gentleman, a patriot, a visionary who’s benevolent, artistic, fair-minded, and gutsy; he’s the real thing,” Will said, stroking her hair, “like one of a kind.”
“Tell me the story,” Jasmine said bluntly.
Will hesitated, and stopped stroking her hair, “Okay.”
“The whole story,” Jasmine persisted.
“Walter and I talked for a long time. He showed me pictures of his sons, and explained to me all the things he had done for them, hoping they might perform, and that they would become leaders some day. His son, Orson, had just been awarded a Rhodes scholarship the week he was killed on a dirt bike,” Will said.
Will paused for a moment, stretching, and rolling his head from side to side. He gently held Jasmine’s hair up and ran his tongue around her neck in little circles. He looked at her for a long moment. The trust between them, was complete now, he seemed to say. He hugged her to him, held her there for a long minute, and then continued.
“He studied history at UCLA, and realized very early on just how big an achievement the American Constitution was. He realized that the only way long periods of peace and prosperity were accomplished was through political stability, and that’s what the Constitution delivered, a blueprint for a machine that would defeat the intrinsic nature of people to consolidate power. He has a shelf in his library for every one of Voltaire’s works, and Rousseau’s works,” he said, breathing deeply.
“Why didn’t he go into politics?” Jasmine asked.
“He was going to. He worked with the Kennedy administration as an informal political aide. He set up the meeting between Kennedy and Douglas McArthur that convinced Kennedy that putting troops into Vietnam would be a mistake. He was looking at a Senate run when Kennedy was assassinated,” Will said.
Jasmine looked out across the desert to the distant treeless mountains, thinking about how long ago that was-1963. She was a teenager then, she still remembered the fear all around her when President Kennedy addressed the nation on the Cuban missile crisis. Her father hustled the family off to a cabin in Big Sur, feeling sure a nuclear war was imminent.
“Nielsen felt that’s where American political decline began. He had many friends in Texas who told him what happened in Dallas, and he had contacts in the mob from Vegas. They knew the whole story.”
“What happened in Dallas?” she asked.
“Hoover,” he said, stretching again.
“Hoover?”
“J. Edgar Hoover, Mr. FBI. He organized the coup. The oil guys put the money up, a couple of CIA freelancers manufactured Oswald, the mob brought in the killers, and the military handled the body,” Will said.
“That’s what happened?” Jasmine gasped.
“Yeah, Hoover killed them all, including Marilyn Monroe, Jack, Bobby, and Martin Luther King,” he said flatly.
“Marilyn Monroe? Why did J. Edgar Hoover have her killed?” Jasmine said.
“Bobby was in the way. They had to either kill them both or somehow compromise Bobby. They killed her to frame Bobby for her murder and it worked. Bobby not only went down in the aftermath, he went away.”
“He just faded away,” Jasmine said, struggling to recall Bobby’s strange behavior.
“That’s why Walter is doing what he’s doing. Yeah, he’s seen it before.”
Jasmine stroked his arm gently while he paused. “I guess that’s why Walter likes to talk about just going around the dummies.”
“Yeah, but he’s a fighter, deep down inside he’s a fighter. He walked away from the big fight once, and he’s not going to do it again, if he lives.”
“What did you do?” Jasmine asked while stroking Will’s feet with hers.
“We practically invented behavioral genetics together. He funded about sixteen researchers around the world. We looked at conserved behaviors or instincts to some, all of the known inherited behavioral traits, and their modulators. We managed to keep a lot of the work off the Mendelian Inheritance in Man database. He was particularly interested in finding a way to modulate 601696,” Will said, unzipping Jasmine’s shorts.
“601696?” Jasmine asked, arching her back.
“It’s a novelty seeking trait or a thrill seeking trait by its generic name. Both of his sons had that gene expressing,” Will said, “and it killed them both.”
A battered old red Ford pickup rumbled by on the road above them interrupting his story. Jasmine thought about what Nielsen had said to her about losing his sons. “And you just want to know why.”
“We were just going to knock it out, but the trait affects inquisitiveness, and something else that he definitely wanted in the cluster,” Will said, watching the dust from the truck settle.
“Cleverness?” Jasmine asked.
“Courage,” he said, sitting up. “That was a tough one. That’s where you and Earl came in.”
Jasmine said nothing, as the waves of sexual longing washed over her.
“You still don’t know how many dots you and Earl connected when you hit on the systems biology approach for treating Roy. Your idea of approaching the problem as a symphony, with self-regulated gene cascades, the way the body controls development during puberty was brilliant. When we looked at Earl’s use of radiation-activated genes to adjust the expression levels in the cascade we were stunned at the possibilities. I could finally give Nielsen what he wanted,” Will said, sounding relieved to be telling the story.
“Control,” Jasmine said.
“Yeah control,” Will said, sliding her shorts off.
“Why didn’t he just clone his sons and add the new chromosome?”
“Nielsen’s smart. He doesn’t like the weaknesses that cloning seems to involve. He sequenced them instead.”
“That told him what the mother’s DNA looked like,” Jasmine murmured, pulling off her top.
“Yeah, he loved their mother, and after a year or so of looking we found an egg donor he liked. She even looked like his wife.”
“And what does he look like?” Jasmine said.
“Good. He used to drink a lot, so we knocked TDO2 out, and he always struggled with music so we tossed in 159300.”
“Was that for perfect pitch?”
“Johnny B. Goode,” Will said while inhaling her nipple.
“But how did you decide what traits to include? I mean, if he wants these kids to be political leaders, to become elected, and have that charisma, how did you determine those traits? How do you select?” Jasmine asked.
“We bought the most expensive dress in history.”
Jasmine resisted the urge to stand straight up, as she was stunned by the realization of what Will had said.
“You didn’t!”
“That particular President has a very unique personality cluster that we would have never picked in a million years. That incredible ability of him to get elected, against all odds, took us almost two years to pin down, but we did it,” he said, gently tracing Jasmine’s pelvis with his fingertips.
“Then one night we looked at the video of several former American Presidents. We actually added up the major character flaws in the group: lying, philandering, easily corruptible, lack of courage, lack of vision, lack of commitment, and most importantly, stupidity. That’s the worst part of all. These men all share one trait. They’re all low horsepower models, except for Clinton and Nixon. They confuse money with power and they’re steeped in the wealth culture. They can’t see anything else, they don’t understand anything else, and they don’t care about anything else. It’s the big score card for a group with an over-express
ing insecurity cluster.”
“So, where are you in early gene assembly?” Jasmine asked.
“That would be in the No No world. We’re in animal trials,” running his tongue down Jasmine’s neck. “This is the Yes Yes world.
“You’re testing with chimps already?” Jasmine asked, trying to think and stroke Will at the same time.
“Next time we go to Phoenix, I’ll introduce you to Bill,” Will said, rolling her over on her tummy, and entering her in one graceful move. “Right now I’m thinking about something else.”
The long drive back on the dirt roads gave Jasmine time to think and look at Will. The stem cells in her body made her feel twenty years younger, and the lovemaking with Will was very different now. They both had strength. The strength gave them stamina and unlimited desire. The orgasms released a rush of spiritual energy that left them smiling continuously. It seemed as though every nerve ending in her body was alive and in touch with some vast energy source.
She held his hand as they drove down Highway 40. She loved to look at Will. His wispy blond hair and big forehead excited her for some reason.
They turned south on Highway 95, and rolled up the windows as the heat increased noticeably.
“When do you go to human trials on Walter’s project?” Jasmine asked without thinking.
“The chimps are through adolescence now, and all of the traits are there. We’ve tested the modulators and they work perfectly. That’s what I was doing on the rockcrusher; running the cross species homologies. I think we could get Bill elected in Arizona if he wasn’t black and covered with hair,” Will said
“And if he could talk,” Jasmine added.
“He can talk. He’s been trying to get a date with his keeper for three weeks in sign language. It’s all there: the charm, the flattery, the poise, the grin, and he even hits that Aw shucks pose.”
“Is Nielsen in a hurry?” Jasmine asked.
“Twenty-five years out. That’s where he feels this country can no longer continue with marginal leadership in a world where there’s serious trans-human competition. We forget that America is a pretty choice piece of the planet, but others haven’t,” Will said.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
“I think so. Since your modeling works, and the brilliant method that Earl developed in the treatment strategy works, and it works perfectly. We carefully followed the protein diffractions at the Berkeley Lab. I bet a hundred-thousand they’d be perfect, and Nielsen just paid me,” Will said.
“If we could publish, we’d be on the front page of New Scientist.”
“When are you going to start the embryos on their way?”
“Soon. These kids should be ready when they’re needed; besides, we can shut down the whole expression if we want,” he said.
“And when they reach adolescence?” she asked.
“They’ll develop a condition that requires them to be seen in an MRI, a couple of times a year. We’ll modulate if we have to, but I don’t think we will. If we make improvements before then, we’ll add another cluster.”
“Do you tell them?” Jasmine asked.
“Yeah,” Will replied, “they’ll likely be pretty smart cookies, and keeping anything from them is going to be impossible.”
The dogs bounded out to greet them when they pulled the Jeep around to the back of the house. Ritzy jumped up and licked the window on Jasmine’s side, barking loudly. She could jump almost three feet high now, Jasmine thought.
Darla had turned the living room into a painting studio and was working feverishly on a big canvas when Jasmine opened the glass door. A tall young man was standing next to her, his long hair splattered with paint.
“Mommy and Daddy are home, oh no!” Darla yelled, looking around for her silk fuchsia bathrobe. The young man reached down and pulled on a pair of cut-off jeans. As Darla swung the bathrobe around her, Jasmine caught a long glimpse of her body. The last of the folds of loose skin were gone and her shoulders were beautifully rounded. Her pubic hair was dark brown now, and her breasts jiggled as she laughed. She was at 270 DFT. Her body age was about 35 and she looked beautiful.
“What do you think?” Darla said, sweeping her hand across the big canvas. The painting was only half finished, but it was striking and very bold. A young woman was crawling on the ground, naked and shining. Behind her was an inside-out skin, wrinkled and grey.
“I got the idea from Roy’s rattlesnake book,” Darla said. “I could never understand how we missed out on that molting thing!”
“Are you an artist too?” Jasmine asked the young man.
“Sculptor, steel mostly,” he said, turning to Jasmine. He was about 25, and very handsome. “Darla’s a great painter. She’s taught me a lot, just today, even about art. I might get into painting,” he said softly.
“Jasmine, meet Miles,” Darla said, painting rapidly. “Jasmine is a scientist.”
Jasmine sat down for a few minutes and watched Darla paint. She had dyed her hair. It was a beautiful strawberry blond and it was shining. She worked in stabbing erratic motions, but her concentration was complete. Jasmine moved around to the other chair for a few minutes to see her face. It was smooth and pink, her neck lines had almost disappeared, and her lips were full. Most of the large freckles were gone from her forehead and her eyes were clear and bright. There was much more color in her eyes now, and they darted from side to side as she attacked her work.
“She gets into it, huh?” Miles said.
“To the extreme,” Jasmine said softly, completely infatuated with looking at Darla. She had changed even in the last few days, in ways so subtle it was impossible to pin down. It was like watching a baby in the first three months of life.
“I gotta rip,” Miles said. “I have to go to Parker to get a cutting torch from my brother.”
Darla put the brushes down. “I’ll go out with you.”
Will and Jasmine went to bed early and listened to the little sounds from the desert. There were no more secrets between them now, and much of Jasmine’s fear had dissipated. They both fell sound asleep, but Jasmine woke up late and thought about the day.
Will had cranked up a country song on the radio on the way home that made them both laugh. Oh, Lord, it’s hard to be humble, when you’re perfect in every way…I can’t wait to look in the mirror, ‘Cause I get better lookin’ each day…The silly Mac Davis song drifted through her mind, making her laugh. “I hope we’re perfect,” she found herself saying.
When sleep just wouldn’t come, she got up to get a glass of warm milk. Darla was still working. She was in the nude and humming as she painted. “You’re still working?” Jasmine asked.
“I love to work all night! I haven’t done it for years and years!” Darla said.
“What’s it like?” Jasmine asked, sitting down.
“It’s wonderful, just too wonderful!” Darla said, smiling broadly.
“What are you thinking about?” Jasmine asked.
“I’m thinking about everything! When I was old and sick, there just wasn’t much I could do, and now I can do everything again: I can walk, run, swim, and I just want to do everything, all at once. I’m so thankful for what you and Marjorie have done for me,” Darla said.
“You’re almost there. Your body has regressed about forty years. There’s still some regeneration taking place in your spinal column and in your long bones, but you’re almost there,” Jasmine said, turning Darla’s face from side to side in the light.
“It’s incredible isn’t it? I feel like myself again, and I want to do all the things I used to do again, and I want to do them forever!” Darla said, hugging Jasmine. “How long will I live?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Jasmine said. “No one knows. If you aren’t injured in an accident, there really isn’t any limit to how long you can live.”
“I can’t even comprehend that now! I’m just so thankful to be relieved from the pain and the prison of old age. It’s a nasty, insidious, invisible pris
on! It’s like having a door closed to you everyday, until you wake up. There just aren’t any doors open anymore when you seem to hurt all the time; and all you do is try to get better by going from doctor to doctor. It’s horrendous!”
“Betty Davis said, old age ain’t the place for sissies,” Jasmine said.
“She was right, but look at me now! The long supple body I drove men wild with is back, and I love every bit of it! Isn’t it beautiful?” she asked.
“I’m going to take care of it this time. No more sunburns for me.”
Jasmine suddenly thought about the night Darla almost died, realizing that they never identified the reason for her cardiac arrest. A bolt of fear ran through her suddenly. “I just wanted to know what you were thinking. We’ve been so busy with the data, and the MRI’s and monitoring everything.”
“It’s like coming back from the dead! I appreciate every moment of this. Every minute that I can live with this beautiful body is just heaven for me, and the sex! My god, I am just an animal! It’s like I was sixteen again.”
“Will said your estrogen levels will normalize after awhile. Your ovaries are regenerating. We built in a control for that, but you are within normal parameters, so we didn’t modulate. We can, though, if you want.”
“You can turn it down?” Darla asked.
“Yes, if it’s a problem,” Jasmine said.
“I like it! It’s hard to work, but I like it!” Darla said, sketching rapidly.
“What are you going to do, Jasmine? Are you going to treat yourself?”
“The stem cells are wonderful, for now, and we have so much work to do to make sure the treatment is safe, maybe in a few years, but yes, I will.” Jasmine was a little startled to be saying it herself.
“We’ll be together for a very long time then!” Darla said.
“I hope so,” Jasmine said.
All night they talked about an unlimited future: what they would do, and where they would go. Darla wanted to live a more meaningful life, she wanted to teach, and maybe even have the family she never had.