laugh, despite the pain.
9. GENES AND CIRCUSES
THE EUROPEAN COMMISSION’S central briefing arena was a semicircular chamber with seating for more than three hundred people. Like most European government facilities, it was grandiose and expensively furnished. Projection and display equipment was state of the art, capable of providing absolute proof that policies and edicts were working and tax money was well spent. It needed to be; the hardened Brussels political press corps still hadn’t been tamed into the meek complicity that the EMPs and commissioners would prefer.
For once, though, the press corps actually emitted an expectant buzz as they filed into the arena. This afternoon, in the same place, they would be covering the launch of an initiative to tackle small town transport infrastructure decay in the Group3 northeastern countries. Tomorrow there would be two presentations, one on offshore energy subsidies, and yet another on agriculture. Yesterday Brussels had been dominated by the auditors refusing to sign off on the commission accounts for the fifteenth year in a row. But this was different; this was a human story, this was the official discovery of the fountain of youth.
A long table had been set up on the raised stage, complete with the traditional glasses of water and silver microphones. Behind it, a huge screen was displaying a colorful double helix that writhed and twisted like a tormented serpent. The senior press officer looked across the audience of familiar cynical faces, took a deep breath to calm his fluttering nerves, and announced that they were ready to begin. President Jean Breque walked onto the stage first. The press corps politely rose. Rob Lacey, the British prime minister, was next, producing his standardized lopsided smile for the newspool feed cameras.
Jeff Baker appeared. The arena was silent for a moment, then the press broke into thunderous applause. Jeff was slightly taken aback by the response, but recovered to give a quick wave before sitting down. His family followed him in. Sue, of course, looked beautiful, dressed stylishly in a ginger-pink silk suit with a high collar. Cameras zoomed in eagerly. Tim didn’t quite slouch, but he did give the theater a sullen glance. He was wearing a vivid higlo Union Jack T-shirt. The English reporters chuckled at that. Standing next to his father, it was as though they were brothers with barely a couple of years separating them. A lot of reporters commented on how similar they looked. With Sue in the group, appearing at most five years older than Jeff, it was hardly a standard family picture.
President Breque leaned forward to the microphone, smiling broadly. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to what I consider one of the most momentous conferences of my tenure. As you can see, Jeff Baker is alive, well, and looking in very good shape. Very young shape, I should say.”
The press applauded again. Jeff gave them a thumbs-up.
“There have been many critics of our rejuvenation project,” the president continued. “Both inside our community, and especially abroad. Today, I consider our persistence to be utterly vindicated. Dr. Sperber, who heads the project, tells me that Dr. Baker has an effective physiological age of a youth in his early twenties. We have been extraordinarily successful. As a result, only Europe is in a position to provide this treatment for its citizens. America, with its increasingly isolationist foreign policy and Religious Right cultural dominance, is a long way behind us in this field. Our unquestioned leadership in this field can only be seen as an endorsement of our social inclusiveness. Ours is the culture in which the promotion of human life can flourish to its full potential.” He inclined his head graciously. “But enough of my dull old speechifying. It is my pleasure and privilege to introduce Jeff Baker, father of the datasphere.”
Jeff grinned round, mildly embarrassed, but unable to hide his sense of wonder. In twenty-four hours he’d managed to walk in a reasonable fashion, though his muscles were still woefully weak. But getting used to what he looked like—what he
“Dr. Baker, congratulations on your successful treatment, and welcome back,” the Berlin Stream news stream reporter said.
“Thanks.” Jeff knew these were going to be desperately dull and sanitized questions. He’d even been shown them in advance so he could prepare answers; Lucy Duke had sat with him that morning, making suggestions. It didn’t particularly bother him; the kind of tough interrogation the old newspaper reporters back home and thirty years ago used to dish out was a hell of an ordeal. He wouldn’t be able to face that kind of session right now.
“I know this will sound somewhat trite,” the Berlin Stream man went on, “but could you please tell us how you feel?”
“Easy enough: I feel as if I’ve been caught up by a miracle. Even when I was going into the suspension womb there was some little part of me that refused to believe this would work. I’m rather glad to be proved wrong. But trust me, it takes some getting used to. And on a personal note, I’d just like to express my public appreciation to Dr. Sperber and his team at the university for both their dedication and professionalism.”
“Dr. Baker, what will you do first now that your treatment is complete?” the woman from Monde asked.
“I’m going to take things easy for a while, build my strength back up—just like the doctors tell me to. I might have new muscles, but they’re not used to doing any work right now. Same with my stomach, unfortunately. Before I went into the treatment I made a long list of fabulous meals I was going to eat when I came out. That’ll have to wait a few days as well now; I’m on simple stuff to start with, nursery food basically. But most of all I’m just looking forward to being home with my family.” He put one arm around Tim’s shoulder, and smiled warmly at Sue. She replied with a fond look. “This has left me pretty disoriented. I just need to get my feet back on solid ground.”
“Sue, can you tell us how you feel about having your husband back like this?”
“It’s hard to describe, really. Like every dream I’ve ever had coming true all at once. Now, I just want him home where he belongs, and we can have our life back.”
“How about you, Tim?”
“It’s good.”
Jeff laughed lightly. “That’s it?” he joshed.
“Well…” Tim glanced suspiciously around the theater. “He’s my dad, you know. ’Course I want him back. I really missed him badly. And this…I just…He looks pretty amazing, that’s all. It’s going to be great.”
This time Jeff gave him a strong hug. Tim turned bright red and managed a limp smile for his father.
“Dr. Baker, we’re all very impressed with your physical appearance,” the Line Telegraph reporter asked. “But it has cost an awful lot of money to give one person something the majority will never have. Do you really think it’s justified?”
Jeff kept smiling; he didn’t remember this question being on the list. From the corner of his eye, he caught Lucy Duke frowning. “You’re asking the wrong person for an objective opinion, I’m afraid.”
“But rejuvenation is never going to be available to everybody, is it? Don’t you think this project is raising false hope?”
The president leaned forward, giving the reporter an angry glare. “Absolutely not.”
“If I could answer this,” Jeff said. “The most obvious parallel is penicillin. When it was first developed at the start of World War II, there was so little of it that the doctors wouldn’t have been able to treat both Churchill and Roosevelt had they needed it. Today there’s so much penicillin and antibiotics that super-bug resistance is a real problem for the doctors. Of course, my treatment cost a lot. I’m the first, there is no production line. And I don’t suppose it will ever be easy, or get to the point where it’s refined down to a simple pill. But thanks to today’s pioneers across Europe and the support we give them, it will gradually become more available and cheaper. And I haven’t even mentioned the hundreds of spin-off techniques that are benefiting the biogenetics industries. All in all, I’m afraid you asked a bit of a pointless question. People have a right to hope, and this project is certainly justified in giving them that hope.”
There was some scattered applause, led by the president and prime minister.
“Have you met Dr. Schrober?” the Polish Star asked.
“No,” Jeff said. He was struggling to recall his quick briefing with Lucy Duke. Dr. Katerina Schrober was the next rejuvenation subject. She was some kind of molecular biologist, a Nobel laureate. He tried not to smirk at how
