Hyper

by Lawrence Ambrose

  Jim stared at him in shock. I stared at him, only mildly surprised.

  "Are you serious?" Jim croaked. "Man, thanks. I'm not expecting anything, but thanks."

  As Ragnar went to drop off his basketball in the grass, Jim whispered: "Dude, he has got to be the most athletic Mother Teresa I ever saw."

  We horsed around, taking turns guarding each other, and then both of us playing against Ragnar. A couple of college-age guys showed up on bikes at the other end of the court, and stood gawking. They both reached for their cell phones.

  "I think we're going to have company pretty soon," said Jim.

  "You'd better concentrate on me," said Ragnar, backing him down in the middle of the key.

  Ragnar spun and was at the rim in one fluid motion.

  "I could no more stop you than I could stop a lightning bolt," Jim grumbled.

  "Yeah," I said. "He looked like he was moving roughly the speed of light."

  "I call it 'quick think,'" said Ragnar. "If you think quick, you can move quick. A lot of top-level ball is about learning to think quick. Where the mind goes, the body will follow."

  "Uh huh," Jim grunted.

  "It actually sort of makes sense," I said. "Imagine if you could think two or three times as fast, but your body stayed the same. You would still seem to move more quickly because you could see the openings and act on them."

  "Exactly!" Ragnar slapped me on the shoulder. I wondered if his huge hands left an imprint. "The trick is to train your mind, then train your body to obey."

  "And have a fifty-inch vertical and run fifty meters in six seconds."

  Ragnar shrugged. "I guarantee you that there are scores of incredible athletes who can't play at a high level because they never mastered thinking quickly – or intelligently. Sport is mostly a mind-game."

  We paused as the two guys from the other end of the court walked up.

  "You're Ragnar Norquist, aren't you?"

  "Yup."

  "Man, we are like your biggest fans. I'm John, this is Cory." They shook hands. "We have some varsity players coming over. I don't suppose you'd be up for a friendly game?"

  "Why not? My insurance company would already be suffering a coronary. Might as well finish them off."

  A bunch of guys showed up within minutes. I'd never followed UCJ basketball, but it was obvious that the competition would be a bit stiffer than at the Woodvale Juvenile Detention Facility. These dudes were taller, stronger, and springier. We picked a couple of them who looked like guards to fill out our team, and the "Exhibition at East Jefferson Park" was on.

  Despite the improved opposition, I didn't have any real doubts about the result. We played zone, with Ragnar in the middle. After a couple of their drives to the basket were resoundingly rejected – one recipient of Ragnar's largesse was a lumberjackish dude who had to be six-eight or more – the varsity resorted to mid and long-range shots, which we defended okay. On the offensive end, Ragnar found the open man when he was double or triple-teamed, and we hit enough shots to forge a lead. We had a couple breakaway baskets – one of which I had the pleasure of finishing.

  Of course, no Ragnar game was complete without a high-wire act. With one point to win, and Ragnar on the wing, Jim lobbed the ball toward the basket. It didn't look high or fast enough to get past their lumberjack, but Ragnar pulled off his usual sleight of hand and snatched the ball away from their tallest player and slammed it over him in one "fell swoop." I never thought I'd quote Shakespeare in conjunction with basketball, but it seemed to fit.

  Afterward, Ragnar begged off on another game, which the Jefferson varsity basketball team accepted with good grace. Ragnar signed some basketballs, and the college dudes departed, no doubt to share this story with their grandchildren someday. Jim trudged off, too, pleading near-terminal fatigue.

  We climbed in Ragnar's Jaguar and cruised leisurely toward home.

  "How are things going at CellEvolve?"

  "Not bad, though one of my, um, women just quit. She couldn't handle what we were doing anymore."

  "Understandable."

  "She warned me to keep my eyes open. She believes CellEvolve is unethical, even criminal."

  "That goes without saying. You don't get to be that big or that powerful without buying and selling some souls."

  "Like mine? Or my mom's?"

  He smiled at me. "Not who I had in mind. It's more about buying privilege. For instance, CE took that section of land by force – there were actually several houses on it which CE bribed the city housing authority to condemn. Then they got subsidies for building the place. This from a corporation that could probably buy major portions of Sacramento."

  "I didn't know that."

  "You have to look. They count on you not looking. Anyhow, that's just the surface of things. CellEvolve has former employees in all branches of government. Someone made a chart. Check it out online."

  "I'm not sure I even want to look," I said sourly.

  "They say knowledge is power. But sometimes it's just a pain in the ass." He laughed. "The new Kings stadium was paid in part with public subsidies, so I'm not that clean, either. It's the way of the world, brother."

  We pulled up in front of my house.

  "I'll just drop you off," Ragnar said. "Got a team meeting tonight."

  "Thanks for helping Jim. I'm not sure what you can do about his scholarship, but thanks for that, too."

  "I have four scholarships already set up in my name for needy kids. He'll get one of them, if nothing else. But I'm going to talk to some basketball people at the local colleges. I think Jim could excel at the small school level."

  I started to open the door, and paused.

  "You know how you asked for my 'blessing' about my mom?" I didn't quite meet his eyes. "I guess I'm okay with it. I can't speak for my mom, of course, but I wouldn't object."

  Ragnar regarded me with a somber smile. "I appreciate that," he said, "but on second thought, I don't want to go there. Not that your mom isn't hot, and seems like someone I could get serious about, but I have other priorities now. Your friendship, for one."

  I nodded, not sure if I trusted my voice.

  "Say hi to your family. And don't hesitate to call if things get hairy at CellEvolve."

  "Thank you," I said.

  Chapter 16

  IT WAS GETTING HARDER and harder to keep up my end of the bargain at CellEvolve. Not physically harder – I could still perform as well as any trained seal or porn star – but harder because, well, I wasn't a freaking seal or porn star.

  Between school and studies and daydreaming all hours about Xandra, I was having trouble switching gears into Orgasmatron every evening. I had thought I could maintain the separation between normal, sixteen year old Aiden and my role at CE, but I could see now that was wishful thinking.

  My semi-breakdown occurred one Thursday night. Svetlana, a gorgeous Russian immigrant who worked in reception down in the lobby, had caught my eye a few days back, and I'd casually asked Dr. Blumenthal about her – she had an accent straight out of a spy movie! – and the next thing I knew she showed up at my apartment during my "donation time." She was off-the-charts hot, especially without clothes, and she was like that "more, more, more" girl from Billy Idol's song (Ragnar's radio had introduced him to me), and an ex-gymnast on top of that – twisting and bending and flexing her body in unexpected and totally mind-blowing ways.

  All of which would've been fine, except she acted like a heroin addict and I was the heroin. Being a trained sex seal or robot was bad enough, but being treated like an illegal drug was too freaking much. She wanted to go three or four times, taking me well past my usual work hours (and yes, despite all the mind-blowing pleasure, I'd come to consider it a job), and when I balked at that she turned nasty. "I thought you were supposed to be a hyper, and you can't keep up with Svetlana?" Man, did I hate it when people referred to themselves in the third person.

  But Svetlana just played the last straw role to my camel's back. I didn't know
if there was such a thing as "sex sickness," but I suspected I had it. My body still craved it, but my mind found it increasingly repulsive.

  So I canceled my Thursday session, not just with Svetlana, but with everyone. I was somewhat apprehensive about Dr. Blumenthal's reaction, but to hell with it. I'd hit a wall. There was just no way I could carry on the routine that evening.

  Predictably, Dr. Blumenthal called me into his office when I showed up Friday evening, determined (or desperate?) to make amends.

  The good doctor welcomed me with a warm handshake and his permanent smile, and no hint that anything more than a friendly catch-up chat was forthcoming.

  "Good to see you, Aiden," he said, clasping my right hand with both hands. "It's been too long."

  We sat facing each other across his expansive redwood desk.

  "I'm sorry about Thursday," I said. "I guess I kind of lost it there for a minute."

  He waved my words aside. "It can't be easy doing what you do, especially given your intellectual gifts. And speaking of intellectual gifts – or their lack thereof – I've retired Svetlana from her work with you back to her original position in reception."

  I nodded and smiled. I really hadn't wanted to ask him to do that. I was beginning to understand that one of Dr. Blumenthal's great talents was anticipating people's wants.

  "By some coincidence, I have something of a proposal for you," he said. "CellEvolve's majority owners, Max Emanuel and Bob Martson, are starting up a new venture called LifeEvolve, which we expect will forge new frontiers in life-extension, cognition, and human health in general. We believe you could perform an invaluable role in this company, contributing both scientifically and with your unique physical attributes."

  "That, uh, sounds cool," I said cautiously. "Though I'm not sure what you'd want me to do. I'm short a couple of science degrees at the moment."

  Dr. Blumenthal chuckled. "Well, it will probably be a year or so before LifeEvolve is up and running. At this point, we could use some investors, and that's perhaps where you could be of service now."

  I stared at him, totally clueless.

  "Here's our thought," he continued. "We believe many of our potential investors would very much enjoy meeting you. In fact, there are a couple of gatherings involving some movers and shakers in the investment world coming up in the next few weeks."

  I felt my enthusiasm ooze out through my feet onto the floor. I couldn't think of anything I'd rather do less than hobnob with a bunch of blue-nosed rich and famous types who would surely look down their noses at me as a sixteen year old "kid."

  "Why would they want to meet me?" I asked.

  "They're aware of your work here. You're rather a legend, actually. They see you as an up and comer."

  His smile broadened as he noted my wince at the intended pun.

  "You're saying you want me to be some kind of salesman with these people?"

  "As someone intimately involved with a possible breakthrough MES treatment in this company, you'd have some serious standing with possible investors. Being hyper – as well as a handsome, charming, intelligent young man with a scientific bent – brings that much more to the table. The pedigree from your mom, a co-developer of Melatin, doesn't hurt, either. You're the face of LifeEvolve in that you represent what everyone wants. They don't want a desiccated old administrator like myself. Even our owners, Max Emanuel and Bob Martson – as impressive and well-known as they are – are still middle-aged men suffering from MES."

  "Uh, what exactly would you expect me to do at these 'gatherings'?"

  "Just be yourself. There's the Rocky Mountain World Development Conference in Aspen this weekend. In April, there's the Mondari Retreat here in Northern California. Both are three-day affairs."

  Three days. I was sweating already. Three days of hanging out with rich and famous people who spoke with Harvard accents about their "fabulous vacation homes in the Hamptons." I could see myself drifting through their ranks blathering about LifeEvolve to people whose manicured poodles probably knew more about the business world than I did.

  "We'd provide an escort – someone who will help show you the ropes and ease the introductions," Dr. Blumenthal continued. "Basically, you'd hang out, attend the parties and dinners, meet some people. All at our expense, of course."

  "Escort?"

  "Just an exceptionally attractive and intelligent young woman who is familiar with many of the people and knows the terrain," Dr. Blumenthal answered smoothly. "I realize this is all very new to you, Aiden. I'm beginning to think I should've just printed up my proposal along with a FAQ sheet."

  "Well, I think I get the general idea, though I have no idea what you want me to say to these people."

  "I'll give you a prospectus for LifeEvolve, and you can memorize its talking points, if you'd like. You can tell people you'll be working in our research department. Most of them won't be interested in talking about that or anything technical, I promise you. They'll be a lot more curious about what it's like to be you, and they'll be even more interested in learning how they might become like you."

  "So all I'm supposed to do is talk with them?"

  Dr. Blumenthal met my gaze. "Well, you might want to play some tennis or a round or two of golf." He gave a short laugh. "Seriously, what you do is entirely up to you. I would ask that you attend Andrydox-free. Just for persuasion purposes."

  Right, I thought. This whole idea sounded like a disaster not even bothering to wait to happen.

  "What about my work here?"

  "If you're willing to attend these two gatherings, and sign on as our LifeEvolve spokesperson as needed in the future, we can suspend your 'contributions' here for a few months at least. I was about to call you in to discuss this when your mini-mutiny gave me the perfect excuse. The truth is, Aiden, we've run into something of a snag with the drug we're calling Revive. The FDA has some concerns about our results, and as a consequence has withheld fast-track status, with the possibility of rejecting it altogether."

  "Seriously? What snag?"

  "It's complicated. Our methods have raised some bureaucratic eyebrows over safety issues, among other things. Some of our rats have literally screwed themselves to death. And certain members of Congress who've been brought into the loop fear socially destabilizing effects – particularly increases in population that would likely stem from a successful treatment of MES."

  "Destabilizing?" My voice filled with scorn. "Isn't MES itself slightly destabilizing?"

  "That would be hard to deny, since the world population has shrunk by nearly a billion in the last thirty-eight years, among countless other social and cultural changes. However, many in government and among my powerful friends believe that a shrinking population is a good thing. The post-MES world has become the new normal."

  I had a shrinking feeling myself as I listened to his words. "That's like saying the bubonic plague is the new normal during the Middle Ages."

  Dr. Blumenthal chuckled and held up his hands. "I'm not prepared to argue the point. But the possibility that our treatment may not be approved is the raison d'etre for LifeEvolve. We believe we can find a way to incorporate our discoveries here into LifeEvolve's products. Revive has demonstrated multiple possible curative effects and may pass FDA muster for other purposes. In any case, Aiden, rest assured that your contract with us will be honored, and if you are willing to work with us on LifeEvolve, I expect your earnings will increase exponentially."

  I kept having the feeling that I was at least one step behind on the primrose path Dr. Blumenthal was leading me down. Or that I wasn't seeing the scary troll waiting behind the bushes to leap out at me.

  "I don't know," I said.

  Dr. Blumenthal nodded as though he'd expected me to say that. He laid his hands out on the desk. "I understand your reservations, Aiden. You weren't born to be a salesman any more than you were born to do, well, what you've been doing here. You're someone, like your mom, who was born to do great things in science. How would you like to head
a research organization or perhaps have your own laboratory?"

  I sat up in my chair a bit straighter. Running my own lab had been a dream of mine as long as I could remember. I wondered if he'd gotten that from talking to my mom.

  "That would be pretty cool," I said cautiously.

  Dr. Blumenthal chuckled. "Pretty cool, indeed. And while I can't guarantee anything, if you stick with us, my guess is that you will realize that dream."

  "I don't see how you could predict that." But God, did I want to believe.

  "You might be surprised, Aiden." He smiled as though he were privy to some private joke. "If you know the right people, if you're a member of the right club, you almost have to work not to be successful. The people you'd be meeting belong to the ultimate club – the elite of the elite. Calling them 'movers and shakers' is a mere euphemism. In fact, they rule the civilized world. Membership in that club is like holding a winning lottery ticket."

  So now I'd be dealing not just with rich snobs, but with self-appointed Masters of the Universe. Great.

  "You're skeptical," said Dr. Blumenthal.

  "Well, you kind of sound like Davros from Dr. Who."

  "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that show." When I didn't elaborate, he continued, "But I would guess that you think I'm in the clutches of some grandiose fantasy."

  "I was just thinking that the last time I looked, we live in a democracy where elected officials, not Bill Gates or Max Emanuel, rule."

  "When was the last time you looked?"

  Dr. Blumenthal was smiling, but with the harsh edge of someone who knows something obvious which you're too dimwitted to see.

  "Let me introduce a down-to-Earth element into this grandiose fantasy," he said. "Fifty thousand dollars, if you attend these two parties – regardless if anything positive comes of it – plus six months off from your usual duties."

  "Uh..." I hated sounding like a moron, but there had to be a catch I wasn't seeing. "Even if I don't convince anyone to invest or whatever?"

  "Yes. But if anyone from these events does invest, you'll get a percentage of it."