The Truth Machine

by James L. Halperin

  (Note: Based on what we know today, it is safe to say that any premeditated murderer in modern society is insane.—22g CP)

  The tests only took 180 seconds to conduct and had been incorporated into the National Licensing Regulations seven months earlier. They were now a necessary precondition for government service, education, employment in most fields, and to obtain licenses for, among other things, firearms purchase, parenting, and driving.

  Pete had taken the Steinberg tests many times, always invoking “O Captain, My Captain.”

  It is debatable whether Unitarianism should be considered a “religion” at all. Many believe it is an organization of worshippers, each with his or her own personal faith.23

  Either way, the Unitarian Universalist Association had been the first religious organization to embrace the ACIP. Recently other churches had been forced to follow suit. Although most religious leaders sincerely believed, there were hypocrites and charlatans of all denominations who used religious dogma to manipulate others. After the ACIP, their discovery invariably led to crises of confidence among that religion’s clergy and laity. But Unitarian leaders passed scips more consistently than those of other faiths, since Unitarianism espoused no dogma other than human kindness and respect. Any opinions about the nature or existence of God and humankind’s relationship with its Creator were automatically acceptable to the denomination. So its leaders had nothing to lie about.

  (Note: To paraphrase 20th-century humorist Garrison Keillor, “A Lutheran finds sin everywhere he looks, but to a Unitarian, there’s no such thing as sin, only inadequate communication.”—22g CP)

  Religion or not, Unitarianism offered spiritual nourishment without conditions and without assumptions of unconfirmable truths. By 2036 it had become the most prevalent religious order in America.

  Pete loved religious services. He enjoyed the music, especially the hymns. Today’s chorale consisted of three “grunge-style” love songs of the 1990s. The works, adapted to the organ and flute from the original music by Pearl Jam and 10,000 Maniacs, were unusual even for a Unitarian chorus; nonetheless, Pete liked the way they sounded. He also liked the feeling of community. But most of all, he appreciated the readings and sermons; even bad sermons, for him, were the best part of the service; he always encountered a slant on life he hadn’t considered. Lost in the words and ideas, he could escape his guilt and self-loathing.

  Reverend Jonas, 81 years old, was a short, lean, and vibrant woman with long, straight black hair and limpid blue eyes. She was not aware that Pete Armstrong and David West were attending the service until they spoke with her afterward. Her sermon had not been written with them in mind.

  Jonas began. “There is an old joke about three statisticians who go hunting for deer with bows and arrows. They spot an old buck. The first one shoots. His arrow misses by two yards to the left. The second statistician’s arrow misses by two yards to the right. The third statistician excitedly shouts, ‘We got him!’”

  The congregation broke into a chorus of laughter.

  Then, to David and Pete’s amazement, her speech evolved into a discussion of the ACIP and World Government.

  (Note: The entire text of Jonas’s speech is in the Appendix.—22g CP)

  The sermon lasted about five minutes. David enjoyed it thoroughly, but for Pete the words were bittersweet. Both were proud of the part they had played in creating this promising new world, but Pete, even in the company of his closest friend, felt more isolated than ever.

  Again, Leonard’s voice called to him. I’m waiting for you, Petey.

  He believed both he and the world would be better off if he were dead. Only the traumatic effects his death would have on his parents delayed his suicide.

  CHAPTER 40

  A BRIGHT NEW WORLD

  Dallas, Texas

  February 16, 2041—The Department of Health releases statistics showing average life expectancy is now over 100 years in the United States and 96 years worldwide. (For statistical purposes, life ends at death or cryonic suspension, whichever occurs first.) Women still outlive men by an average of four months, but experts predict any difference in longevity between the sexes will disappear entirely within five years.—Scientists at Glaxo-Wellcome announce the beginning of clinical trials for Synap sate, a cure for Alzheimer’s disease. If successful, the drug might lead to the first attempted revivifications of cryonically suspended humans within 12 years. In the United States alone, there are 298,655 cryonically suspended Alzheimer’s patients who have specified “revivification immediately upon discovery of a cure” in their contracts, which means that they wish to be revived as soon as possible, without waiting for termination of the aging process. The government is holding $1.04 trillion on deposit from those patients, which will be due them upon thawing. President Whitcomb assures the public that this currently amounts to only 40 days’ normal cryonic suspension deposit revenues.

  The United States presidency and parenthood have much in common. Both entail personal sacrifice, stress, and of course, constant fear. Luckily, genetic programming forces you to succumb to ego and to seek continuity and love. Otherwise no rational person would have ever wanted either job.

  For David and Diana, leaving government service had been much akin to parents watching their children, successfully raised and well-adjusted, finally move out of the house. With satisfaction and great relief, they had settled into semi-retirement in Dallas, traveling the world, contributing their time and endorsements to worthy causes, offering their services as diplomats whenever a crisis arose in the World Government Initiative, and visiting family and friends.

  Meanwhile Pete remained as tortured and driven as ever. Determined to unlock as many secrets of aging as he could in the few years remaining before his crimes were discovered, he often worked 14-hour days. At least, he decided, I’ll give the human race a good head start on its most important scientific goal, prior to my suicide or execution.

  Regardless of their schedules, the three friends made sure they never went a full month without spending at least one evening together, usually alone, but sometimes with Marjorie Tilly. It was the only socializing Pete permitted himself.

  * * *

  Some 15 months earlier, Pete’s father, Ed Armstrong, had been told that his body would expire within a year. Liza Armstrong, 92 and still as healthy as an 80-year-old, decided that if her husband was going to be cryonically suspended, she would be frozen with him.

  Pete had accompanied his parents to Guardian Time Warp, the newest cryonic facility in Dallas. They had exchanged loving and tearful goodbyes. He’d planned on confiding his crimes to his parents prior to the freezing, but found himself unable to do so. Along with his sadness Pete had noticed that he also felt a small tinge of relief, which compounded his guilt.

  He wondered whether they would ever learn their son was a murderer.

  For six months after bidding farewell, Pete had sunk into a depression unlike any he had ever experienced, his emotional torment so oppressive that he had considered ending his life immediately. In fact the more he thought about suicide, the more the idea appealed to him. Unlike most suicides, if I plan mine properly, I’ll thwart my enemies and spare my friends.

  It was the only way he could imagine to prevent the world from learning the truth about what he had done. During those months, his work on aging and his three closest friends, David and Diana and Tilly, were all that had sustained him.

  I deserve to die, he’d finally decided, but suicide will have to wait until I finish my work.

  On the evening of February 16, Pete, Diana, and David relaxed in Pete’s living room on a comfortable modern couch, amidst the finest and most coveted 20th-century art: original Maxfield Parrish and Thomas Moran oil paintings, Harriet Frishmuth sculptures, and art nouveau and deco-style furniture and antiques. The vintage Tiffany lamps cast rare indoor shadows whenever the surround-light screens fell below 34.5-percent brightness grade.

  Art was Pete’s only real extravagance.
The world’s richest person remained comfortably settled in the same 14-room, 8,500-square-foot house on the same two acres he had purchased in 2009. He liked this familiar residence and found it comfortable. It was good enough for him.

  They had requested soft classical music, which now surrounded them as they grazed on food prepared and served by Pete’s state-of-the-art automated staff.

  “I hear parents are using wristband ACIPs on their children these days,” Pete said.

  “It’s a little strange,” Diana responded. “Our nephews Adam and Arlen, Philip’s six-year-old twins, would never think of telling a lie. They’ve been scipped since they were four. Their parents don’t ever worry about knowing which child broke something.”

  “I bet Philip wishes our mom had an ACIP when we were kids,” David added. “I used to blame him for everything! Children were such little con artists and I was genetically gifted in that regard.”

  All three of them laughed, pondering the strange irony of Bruce Witkowsky’s patrimonial contribution to world history.

  David resumed his thought. “The best use for those household ACIPs, though, has to be making sure your kids do their homework before you credit their allowance. Can you imagine how smart today’s children must be? They never cheat on tests anymore and they always compose their own term papers. Not like when we were in grade school, is it, sweetheart?”

  Diana smiled. “Speak for yourself.”

  “You two cheated on tests in school? I can’t believe it!” Pete answered, laughing. “I’m going to call the World Enquirer and see what they’ll pay for that scoop.”

  David had been concerned about his friend. He knew Pete had been unhappy and lonely since his parents had been frozen, and was pleased that he seemed so upbeat tonight.

  “You’re more at ease these days,” he said. “The aging research must be going well.”

  “It is. I think I’ve finally figured out how to make my contribution.”

  “Tell us everything,” Diana said.

  Pete was happy to. “Scientists have made amazing advances in medicine since we were at Harvard. Remember how crude medical science was back then? All our research went into discovering ways to cure diseases and treat trauma.”

  Diana nodded. “It’s hard to remember that far back.”

  Indeed it was. Briefly her mind flashed to her son Justin. She wondered if they would ever find a cure for Tay-Sachs, thinking, Maybe not, since it’s now 100-percent prevented by automatic nano-screening.

  (Note: There hasn’t been a documented case of Tay-Sachs since 2038.—22g CP)

  Sensing his wife’s mood shift, David tried to distract her. “At least for us mortals.”

  Pete ignored David’s compliment. “Today we know how to cure any microbe- or virus-based disease, and nanomachines can perform just about any operation and repair most injuries without surgery. Over half the people in the world no longer die from injury or illness. They just wear out and expire from old age, and if they’re lucky, they get frozen before their minds have deteriorated. So an incredible amount of research has been going into aging; but it hasn’t gotten us very far. One important theory’s emerged, though.” He hesitated, wondering if he was boring them.

  “Which is?” David prompted.

  “Most scientists now believe that once the process is halted, whatever damage aging has inflicted on the body will begin to reverse itself automatically.”

  “How will that work?”

  “Aging’s mostly a result of cell division. Cell division shortens all the chromosome tips, which are called telomeres. After about 60 divisions, the telomeres fall below critical length and the cells die. The rest of aging springs directly from continuous damage to DNA over time, damage caused mostly at the sub-atomic level. Once the telomeres are restored and the human body stops aging, DNA may begin to repair itself. In other words, a 100-year-old person, after a few years or decades, might regain the body of a 20-year-old. And if that doesn’t happen, we’re pretty sure we can learn how to reverse any damage through nanotechnology.”

  Diana laughed. “So when they finally revive David and me from the pods, we won’t have to live forever in our 110-year-old, decrepit bodies. . . .”

  David grinned and completed the thought, “Jealously despising everyone frozen at a younger age than we were?”

  “Probably not.” Pete laughed. “Have either of you ever heard of Dr. Leroy Hood?”

  “Something to do with DNA research?” Diana said. “That’s all I remember.”

  “It’s surprising more people haven’t heard of him. In the 1990s, he was kind of like the Henry Ford of genetic research. Hood applied the disciplines of other scientific fields like mechanical engineering, physics, and computer science to the province of biotechnology. He led one project that created a machine that sped up the production of synthetic DNA by a factor of over 100 times. His work hastened our genetic learning curve, probably by almost a decade.

  “It allowed scientists to catalog the entire human genome by 2002. It was the most complex scientific project ever attempted—even more than the ACIP and hundreds of times more complicated than sending manned expeditions to the moon and Mars. But compared to understanding and halting the aging process, it was child’s play. If we had to physically perform all the tests and experiments required to halt aging, it would tie up every medical researcher on the planet for at least 500 years.

  “I’m not a molecular biologist or an inventor, but I have a lot of book knowledge in those areas. And I can apply computer science to any field. So I’m designing computerized models and writing the software for every conceivable genetic experiment. The goal is to teach computers to conduct the experiments in cyberspace. At least that way we can narrow any physical experiments down to ones that actually have promise. If I apply myself completely to this project, I think I can finish the algorithms and models and write the code in 8 to 10 years. After that, considering the way science has been advancing, halting the aging process should take less than 100 years—maybe only 50.”

  David and Diana were used to visualizing the future, but this concept was amazing. Five hundred years was hard to imagine, but 100 years was barely an average human lifespan. They were both exceptionally healthy, and Pete was now suggesting that anyone still alive 50 years from now might actually live forever without having to risk cryonic suspension. Including them.

  David’s excitement grew. “Do you remember—of course you do, you remember everything. I remember the first day in Theo-Soc class, when Charles Scoggins—”

  Pete’s shiver went unnoticed.

  Diana interrupted, “—said there was a finite chance some of us might live forever.”

  “As I recall,” David added, “he predicted how it would happen. He specifically said that some of us might be cryonically frozen, then revived after the aging process had been medically halted. Poor guy. Too bad he won’t be around to see it.”

  “Yes,” Diana said, “it’s a terrible shame.”

  Pete couldn’t have agreed with them more.

  NEW YORK CITY—February 16, 2041 (the same evening)

  Dr. Maya Gale had nothing against older men; however, she drew the line at dating married men and didn’t particularly care for single, drunk men either.

  At 34, Maya was the youngest member of the group and clearly the most eligible female. All 29 men and 10 women, tired but very pleased, sat in the largest private room at the Four Seasons restaurant. Over the previous four years, Maya had been to nine similar banquets, including the annual Christmas parties. The team rarely went out as a group, but tonight was a special occasion; clinical trials had begun that day on Synapsate, the promising Alzheimer’s cure that had taken them seven months to develop. Generally in these situations Maya could expect at least one of her colleagues to come on to her.

  Maya liked her coworkers and loved nearly everything about her job, especially her boss, Dr. Julius Penfield, a driven genius who thankfully was all business. Still, she w
ould have preferred to skip the celebration.

  They’re all harmless enough, but it’d be better if none of them got too drunk tonight.

  Over her four years at Glaxo-Wellcome, she had always managed to deflect advances with enough tact and good humor to avoid strain on her working relationship with the offending colleague. In fact, by the next day she doubted that any of them had ever recalled propositioning her.

  If they’d remembered what they said to me, I doubt they’d still be married. After all, in most marriages the ACIP exacts quite a price for infidelity.

  Maya was even more aware of the ACIP’s influence on scientific research, which had been equally profound. Fraud and carelessness had obstructed scientific progress throughout recorded history—until the ACIP. The vast majority of scientists were honest and careful, but it only took one bad apple to taint an entire field; a small bit of bad information from one scientist could undermine years of research by many others. Such bad apples were everywhere, necessitating massively inconvenient procedures and double-checks. Once the ACIP had been added to the equation, many of these procedures became unessential, dramatically speeding the rate of discovery in every field of science.

  “I’m exhausted,” Maya whispered to the woman seated at her right, Dr. Stephanie Lashley, a dark-haired, 71-year-old specialist in neurofibrillary plaque. “Do you think Julius would mind if I skipped this luau tonight?”

  “We’re all exhausted, but could you stay for appetizers at least? I’ve been instructed not to let you leave too early.”

  “Instructed? By whom?”

  Before Lashley could answer, Penfield lifted his wine-glass and spoke. “I wish to propose a toast to Dr. Maya Gale, who shall be our guest of honor tonight. Personally I think Maya’s theory about the effects of lipofuscin on plasticity was the key to this entire project. I seriously doubt Synapsate would be off the drawing board—much less in clinical trials—without you, Maya.”