Sector Seven

Prologue

DESPITE AN ALARMING FLOOD of information coming from within the Sector he guarded, Seven swept an impassive gaze out over the city, his green eyes reflecting the magnificent and sprawling mass of buildings and lush vegetation. He acknowledged the data but did not act. Could not act. A Tech only interfered if the threat became too overwhelming to ignore.

In the rain, the city glistened as Seven gazed down from atop his cliff-side perch, admiring the beauty in his dispassionate way. Tall, sculpted spires of transparent steel cast out colored patterns in the faint light of the overcast sky. Large, ornate domes rose amidst the forest like gemstones in a sea of green. Seven watched various species of birds fly from canopy to canopy, deftly avoiding the flying vehicles, the floating barges, antigravity buildings, and the elevated passenger trains. Insects of all kinds busily harvested from flowers, cut away leaves, and churned the soil. The breathtaking city of advanced technology had found a way to blend itself with nature, adding to, rather than cannibalizing, the landscape.

As a species, humans now covered the whole of the earth and had unified under a single governing council as they explored the stars. Instead of countries, the world had been divided into nine Sectors to be watched over and ruled by a single council of thirteen. The Sectors, which divided up the continents, spanned vast geographical regions and were guided and protected by the nine Sector Techs—Techs like Seven.

Seven stared into the distance as the rain fell around him. Millions of details flooded through him, through the part of his technologically augmented mind he had set aside to process and control everything around him. With a thought, he sped up an ever-so-slightly off-schedule passenger train, adjusted the pressure of a chemical mixture in a faraway factory, and changed the light patterns of a congested airway to maximize traffic flow. In less than a millisecond and with such a small amount of mental power as to be negligible, he made these and billions of other decisions. In the time it took him to blink the airflow changed within several buildings, changes were made to vent heat into energy recapturing facilities, and adjustments were made to medical supply deliveries so they would arrive where most needed. Another blink and robots were dispatched to handle a breakdown in moving walkways; power rerouted around a transformer outage so lights simply flickered instead of going out.

With each throb of the vein in his neck, each blink of his eyes, a thousand commands were issued and obeyed, all instantly, all without question. His face remained expressionless as he watched the city below him.

Rain soaked his short dark hair, droplets running down the smooth skin of his face and falling from his jaw. From atop the building on which he stood, Seven could make out miles of the city through the fog and clouds. But he had no need for such a mundane form of sensory input. They entire Sector communicated its every detail back to him at every moment of every day. His mind diffused itself throughout all the processors in the Sector.

Merged with advanced nanotechnology, Seven’s mind had blended with the city and the city had become part of him. Effectively a humanoid AI, Seven’s technological enhancements augmented his ability to interface. Nanobots, robots the size of molecules, had become part of nearly every life form, embedded in every synthetic material. And they all reported back to him, obeyed any command he issued. Technology had interlaced the world around humanity with a means of controlling it. Often, these tiny machines contained the necessary data and instructions to impart information without the need for centralized storage.

In a way, the city owned him and Seven felt the constraints of this possession. While his thoughts controlled the workings of even the smallest of organisms, Seven had only passive control. Seven made the workings of humanity smooth and unnoticed by the population. He remained invisible, unseen. Under the strongest of edicts, he could not interfere in the lives of those around him, short of protecting them.

His narrowly defined role allowed scarce execution of free will. Not that he’d care to interfere, as the daily concerns plaguing the lives of the general public no longer existed for him. His role of servitude and his integration had him so immersed in the life of the Sector, he viewed his body as a mere mechanism for processing this control. He thought of his limbs as tools, much like his senses.

Most children raised to be Techs became hopelessly insane or lost all sense of themselves when integrated with the vast technology of a Sector, their minds becoming scattered like grains of sand in a windstorm. Low survival rates of potentials meant only nine Techs currently carried out the wishes of the Council and protected the Sectors. If more Sector Techs could be found, the Council could expand and the Sectors be paired down in size. As it was, the Sectors were too large, too unwieldy.

There were several promising replacements among the genetically modified and technologically enhanced children being tested and the Council hoped they could bring several more online. The outer colonies lacked a Tech, and their systems were painfully prone to issues because of this lack.

His chest rose and fell; blood flowed through his arteries. Seven’s awareness of his entire physiology lent him near perfect control—a peripheral awareness, intentionally controlled just as he controlled all else around him. Automated processes kept his musculature at optimal levels, kept his skin smooth and free of damage. Like all humans, Seven’s susceptibility to harm and age remained after his augmentation, but his supreme health, derived from his relative youth as well as his precise control over his own body, lent him an advantage. His lifespan would be longer, his aging slowed dramatically, his usefulness extended.

People dined, drank, and made love while he stood in the rain high above the nearest city, staring out toward the dimming horizon as the sun set. He would continue to exist until his ability to function in this role became no longer possible, then he would be replaced. Children born with Tech abilities were so incredibly rare, Seven might serve this Sector for a century. Longer, if his mind and body held up with assistance from augmentation and a proper replacement could not be found. Currently, the probability of finding a replacement remained low. Even if they found one or more potential replacements, the child would then need to be capable of receiving the necessary implants, the proper technological augmentation, and would need to remain sane when fully integrated.

Seven watched the world below him move with clockwork precision, subject to his will. For a moment, the merest fraction of a second, he felt a pang of longing. Sadness? Loneliness? He did not know. Emotions were one thing he had no control over and no real understandable connection to, something with which he had no experience. They had no place in his assigned existence.

His jaw tightened slightly, and his eyes softened with an echo of an unknown pain. But only for one moment, then he became devoid of expression once again.

Seemingly uncorrelated data flared in his mind like a dire warning, seizing his attention firmly. The information he’d been ignoring became relevant, disturbing, as his incredible mind unraveled hidden patterns. A series of events and the related data posed a dire threat to his Sector, to the Council itself, which entrusted Seven to protect them. He felt the familiar touch on his mind of other Techs as they, too, saw the dangers. An uncharacteristic uncertainty echoed through the Techs.

Seven’s eyes suddenly became focused, troubled. With the smallest of frowns, he turned his head to gaze westward.

One

DOCTOR CARLISLE FAUST WATCHED from the observation room as his test subject, Hans Amir, struggled against his bonds, arm muscles tensing until the veins rose in corded ribbons.

Amir raised his head from the table, straining his neck to look at the door, and shouted in a hoarse voice, Hey! He cocked his head to listen for a response.

Faust ignored him, waiting for his three colleagues to arrive.

Hello! Is someone out there?

Faust nodded to each of the doctors as they entered the observation room, chatting amongst themselves and mostly ignoring Faust other than to return his nod. He’d become accustomed to their lack of engagement. As soon as everyone had arrived, he said, We have a lot of work ahead of us, but our tests have yielded some incredible results. As you can see, the subject is almost entirely transformed. Faust enjoyed the surprised reactions to seeing their handiwork. You’d hardly know Amir came to us only weeks ago.

Let me out of here! You can’t do this! Amir thrashed violently against his bonds, actually moving the heavy table on which he lay. His hospital gown bunched up to his knees as his legs kicked against their straps. He struggled until his breathing became strained from futile attempts to escape. Sweat spun off his dark hair. Finally, with a snarl, he slammed his head back onto the pad of the table. He growled, flexing his massive chest and arms one last time, then lay at rest, breathing heavily.

Shall we? said Falk. I’d say ladies first, but our subject appears a bit distraught. Perhaps it is best if we enter together.

The doctors nodded nervously and made small noises of agreement as the door slid open.

Faust led them as they shuffled forward, quiet now, with only the sound of their white lab coats rustling as they moved. Three robots attended them, two of which carried an array of lab equipment, while the other wheeled in a stainless-steel table.

Amir raised his head and shouted, Finally! Let me out of here! You can’t just keep me in here. Are you insane? If the authorities find out about this, you are all going to lose your medical licenses.

As he yelled, the robots set up gear around his table.

Are you listening? I’m going to have your fucking licenses. Let me go! He started struggling again.

Faust forced himself to remain calm, inwardly annoyed at the shouting. With the slowness of age, he moved toward the head of the table.

Mr. Amir?

Yeah, asshole. Suddenly you can hear me? Get me off this fucking table.

Now, now. Can you please calm down for a moment? Yes? Good. My name is Doctor Faust and I’m here to finish up the experiments. Some of the experiments have resulted in memory loss, so you will see us as if for the first time. But I assure you, we have been working closely with you for weeks.

Experiments? Amir said blankly. I don’t want to finish anything. I’m done with this whole thing, you slimy bastard. You can’t strap me to a fucking table and leave me alone. Take this shit off!

Faust was losing patience, taxing his ability to keep his facial expressions neutral. Please try to control your language. I can see you are agitated, so you don’t have to shout. You are probably having a reaction to the hormones. You’ve grown quite wild in the last few weeks.

Amir laughed a rough, guttural laugh. Wild? I’m fucking livid! You’ve got me tied to a table and stuffed in a room by myself and I have to piss so bad my eyes are swimming. How about shutting your stupid hole and getting me out of here? When he got no response, he added, You’re already in big trouble. I’m going to sue you right after I punch you in your stupid smug face.

Faust had grown tired of feigning patience. Mr. Amir, please listen to me. Surely you must be able to tell that you are experiencing a heightened sense of rage. Your testosterone levels are extremely elevated. You would not normally be this upset, and we have restrained you because you are potentially dangerous. We aren’t sure you wouldn’t harm one of us. We have to try to lower your hormone levels.

Lower them? Why are they so high in the first place, huh? What the hell did you do to me? Amir strained against the bonds again, muscles bulging. What’s going on? I volunteered for a simple sleep deprivation experiment, not some goddamn Frankenstein show. Now I find myself losing parts of my memory and wake up on a goddamn table ready to piss myself! How long have I been in here?

Mr. Amir, you really must try to control yourself. We haven’t been entirely honest with you. Faust didn’t bother to suppress his expression of amusement. We have been testing several experimental drugs in the last few weeks. Other than your high hormone levels, we’re quite delighted with the results.

Amir gaped at him for a moment. What the fuck are you talking about? I have to pee, so unless you plan on one of your assistants whipping out my dick so I can take a leak, how about if you get me off this table and we can talk about this bullshit later? Like across the table from the police.

You really must stop swearing, Mr. Amir. It’s becoming tiresome. Unless you cooperate, I have no intention of letting you off the table in your current condition. If you persist, I suppose we could catheter you again. Behind Amir the robots were nearly finished setting up the various trays and analysis tools.

With an effort, Amir visibly relaxed, letting some of the tension out of his body.

Much better. Yes, excellent.

Amir glared beneath his lowered brows. Okay, see? I’m calm. Now, I seriously have to pee.

Faust motioned, and two of the robots moved to the side of the table, deftly untying Amir’s bonds, but holding his arms.

These attendants will take you to the restroom where you may relieve yourself. They will also restrain you while you are near us. For our protection, you understand.

Amir looked ready to commit murder, but he let himself be guided off the table and led into the restroom. As he entered, the other doctors moved over to Faust. They watched as the restroom illuminated, revealing Amir behind the one-way mirror.

Remarkable, said Doctor Elizabeth Anderson.

And in so short a time, said Doctor Claire Ashcraft.

As soon as the robots released Amir, he tore off his hospital gown, trying to throw the garment over one of the robots to blind and then try and disable it. The robot deftly pulled the robe out of his hands while the other robot pinned him against the wall. Amir nearly overpowered the robot, pulling it off its mechanical feet, but the robot changed tactics and pinned Amir’s arm behind his back, forcing him face-first against the wall.

Realizing the futility of his actions, Amir stopped resisting and waited. Finally, in response to its programming, the robot released him, and both robots stood back. With a glare, Amir moved over to the toilet to relieve himself. Before he got there, he looked down at his arms. He seemed entranced. He stepped closer to the mirrors, looking himself over, a position which had him facing the on-looking physicians. He seemed genuinely stunned. What the hell? Oh my god! This is crazy! He touched the glass where the reflection of his face stared back at him.

Dr. Claire Ashcraft stared admiringly and unashamedly at Amir’s naked form. He’s certainly well developed, Elizabeth. You did a nice job on his cosmetic genetic alterations.

Dr. Elizabeth Anderson wore a proud expression, clearly delighted at her accomplishment.

Faust detected a hint of lust in Elizabeth’s eyes. Entirely unprofessional, he thought.

Elizabeth gestured to the one-way mirror. Thank you, Claire. I got a bit carried away with some of his anatomy, as you can see. Specifically, the male organs. I wasn’t sure just what details we could alter with the nannies and the chemical changes we imposed. She laughed. I know quite a few men who would pay handsomely for this particular alteration.

Claire chuckled. Yes, and we’ll charge a premium for that enhancement, of course. The other doctors laughed along with her.

Amir finally noticed his overgrown male anatomy and stared at its mass. He grabbed himself, hefting the enlarged organ to get a good look.

Faust ignored his personal disgust with clinical detachment. What about his internal organs? Do we have the lab analysis yet?

Doctor Earl Reprate cleared his throat and Faust hid his disdain for his dyspeptic-looking colleague.

Yes, Reprate said in his high-pitched voice, grating on Faust’s nerves. Astonishing, really. The results are better than we hoped for. He fidgeted slightly, averting his eyes from Amir, who continued to admire himself. Reprate cleared his throat. He’s in perfect condition. All of the major organs are extremely healthy, and his brain tissue is reproducing cells at a high rate. He could sustain a large amount of damage in a short period of time and survive unscathed. The improved nanobots are capable of considerable repair. Even his scar tissue could be eliminated if we provide the right instructions. The technology, however, is at its current limit. It will take time to make the necessary adjustments for an individual to have conscious control. Right now, everything is operating with simple reparative instructions from the nanobots. His own body is providing instructions that are … problematic. We need to figure out how to prevent the host from unconsciously making changes now that the nannies are transmitting complete data that he doesn’t consciously know how to handle. Uncontrolled thoughts can result in the nannies interpreting them as instructions. He might end up with a tail or dream about being a lobster and wake up with claws. Amir currently has no control over what his own body will do with his thoughts or emotions.

Reprate ran his hand down the front of his white doctor’s smock and Faust could see the small man nearly puff up with pride as he continued.

As a test, we pierced his heart in several places, and burned out about ninety percent of his lungs. His enhanced body repaired everything, actually growing back the tissue and even whole organs to a state better than when we began the experiment.

Amir’s bladder finally forced him away from the mirror and he threw back his head and sighed loudly with relief as he used the toilet.

Claire rolled her eyes. His external physiology is greatly enhanced; however his hormone levels are significantly elevated to a point where they pose a danger. His aggression is worse. We’ve had to drug him several times to selectively blank his memory to keep him unaware of the pain of the experiments. Each time we memory wipe, it seems to exacerbate his anger and he loses more control of his emotions. Like the test subjects we’ve lost, he is wildly out of balance. We’ve had to euthanize our previous subjects when they reached this point. He’ll probably revert to base emotions and lose all intelligence. We’ll have to take similar steps to eliminate him if that happens, of course.

Faust took a deep breath and closed his eyes so he could sort out his thoughts. Finally, he said, We are so close. I had hoped he’d survive the process without this hormonal imbalance. This reversion to low-level intelligence could render this whole project moot. We must figure out how to ensure the subjects have conscious control of their enhancements and don’t lose themselves in the complex rewiring of the brain. Elizabeth?

Too late to stop himself, Faust realized the desperation in his voice had drawn Claire’s attention, and she turned toward him. She looked at him with concern. He knew he’d been increasingly hard to deal with lately, and his decisions had been non-inclusive. He’d tried to hide his growing internal torment, but apparently Claire had noticed.

He turned away from Claire and saw Elizabeth bite her lip before saying, It appears the sudden surge in hormones leads to a loss of conscious control. The brain responds by wiring even more connections, which results in increasing hormone levels, creating a feedback loop. He lacks any control over this deterioration, which is why we need to work out how to provide conscious control. The cycle escalates quickly, and the subject soon becomes nothing more than a purely emotional creature, losing all ability to critically think or be governed by logic. Specifically, one filled with anger and rage. I am completely at a loss to explain a mechanism to limit this. Conscious emotional control will be the key here and should be where our research focuses. The technological improvements required will be vast—at least as complex as what we’ve already tackled.

Faust hated the truth of Elizabeth’s statement and he tried not to scowl. Her statement happened to be technically correct and this obstacle was a major source of his internal strife. The failures and madness their work had caused might be true, but he had a plan to deal with this issue. Conscious emotional control was the key. The problem was, he didn’t have the luxury of time to be delicate about finding the answer.

With a familiar gesture, Claire put a hand on his arm and he felt a twinge of guilt. He glanced at her and the concern on her face made him realize she recognized the anguish he felt. Her brow creased in a worried frown that Faust recognized all too well, for they’d been lovers at one time.

Amir finished urinating as Faust observed him through the one-way mirror. Amir took a moment to marvel at his physique once again, touching his finely chiseled abs and running his hand over his well-developed chest before he reached for the robe one robot held out. The two robots then allowed him to dress. After he’d put the robe back on, they secured his arms once more. This time, he hardly seemed to mind. Amir exited the restroom and strode back to them.

Dr. Reprate spoke up again. We also broke most of his bones. They’ve all knitted nicely and are in the process of returning to their original condition, free of the bulging or restrictions normally accompanying healed bones. It’s really quite more than we’d hoped for.

Amir had overheard Dr. Reprate. What’s more than you hoped for? he demanded.

Faust felt excitement boiling up inside of him. Why, you are, Mr. Amir. Don’t you think?

Amir grinned, his face cocked to the side as if uncertain. What’s going on? Not that I’m complaining, doc. I look like I’ve been put in another body. I didn’t even look this good at twenty-five. I can barely tell it’s me. I mean, Jesus! These muscles are insane.

Indeed. I trust you are pleased with the outcome? Without waiting for a reply, he said, You did agree to the experiments, Hans. We have all the proper waivers and signed paperwork. He produced a copy of the waiver from his coat, showing that Amir had clearly signed at the bottom.

Amir barely glanced at the papers.

Faust put the document back in his lab coat.

I … I think I am, said Amir. Pleased, that is. I mean, holy shit! I look like Superman. And whichever one of you gave me my new piece down here, I sure hope it works. I can’t wait to try it out.

Clearly revolted, Doctor Reprate scrunched his face at the crudeness, but Elizabeth laughed, her voice rich. Yes, Mr. Amir. Your equipment is fully functional. I think you will find your, uh, ‘new piece’ works better than when you were a teenager. I got a bit over-enthusiastic about the part regarding your external reproductive anatomy, I’m afraid. I’ve programmed your nannies to restore your vigor rather rapidly, which means you can achieve orgasm roughly once every twenty minutes, indefinitely, assuming you have enough bio-available material. She nodded and pursed her lips thoughtfully. It’s quite an improvement. You will quickly become dehydrated and will need to make sure you consume enough nutrients to keep the pleasure centers of your brain supplied, along with your male anatomy and muscles, but your body is now capable of a lot more sex than the normal human male.

Amir grinned at her, giving her a boldly appraising look that annoyed Faust.

Before Amir could say anything, Faust spoke to cut off what Amir clearly wanted to voice. I have something else, he said, addressing his colleagues. As you all know, we have one vital piece of information to verify. I’ve brought you here so we could learn of the results of our experiment together. Shall we? He motioned Amir to the table once again. If you would, Hans, please have a seat. I need some tissue samples for this level of detail, I’m afraid. We cannot trust the analysis of the nannies for this precise information.

Amir frowned, looking at the table. The robots had not let go of his wrists. Are you going to tie me back up? He seemed on the verge of another outburst.

Faust felt his jaw clench. No, no. Please be calm, Mr. Amir. Remember, you are not wholly yourself and your emotions are not entirely under your control. We will allow you to remain unfettered for this test, only restrained by the robots, if you will promise to stay calm. He turned to Elizabeth and Claire. We really should have fixed this hormonal issue before now, doctors. I’m a bit disappointed in you. He intentionally raised an eyebrow. Seeing their looks, he felt a surge of enjoyment at their discomfort. Obviously, Mr. Amir is deteriorating emotionally, and this level of chemical cocktail is unsustainable. These repeated failures of yours with all the subjects are hindering the project.

Both Claire’s face and Elizabeth’s face turned red at his criticism, but he pretended not to notice as he swept by them and joined the robots at the table. He needed the other doctors off guard. Reprate was stuttering more than usual, apparently unable to form a coherent sentence.

Amir finally moved, nearly strutting as he walked to the table and sat down. His gown fluttered open. He grinned at the women, not bothering to close it when the robots finally released his wrists. He even moved one leg to give them a better view.

Both women ignored him. Dr. Reprate occupied himself with examining his lab coat.

Faust motioned to the robots, silently communicating his prearranged commands. Now then, please remain still while we take samples of your blood, marrow, and spinal fluid. This might be painful, Hans. Would you like us to sedate you?

No!

Faust watched Amir struggle to remain calm.

No. I’m fine. What about the bone marrow? He grunted stupidly. That’s all the way to the bone, isn’t it? And my spinal fluid? It’s going to be one hell of a needle.

Barely able to restrain his eagerness, Faust said, "Yes, well, it is for science, so I hope a little needle doesn’t scare you. Your body will heal itself within moments. Sure, it will hurt, but the pain will be brief. Rapid healing is part of what we’ve accomplished in our experiments with you. A benefit, if you will."

Elizabeth started to object, her voice reflecting her confusion. We don’t really need to—

Faust cut her off. Nonsense. I don’t trust the nannite analysis for everything. Don’t become dependent on one technology. Sometimes we must verify with direct observation. He examined the oversized needle.

The other doctors looked confused about the entirely unnecessary process. Claire, especially, appeared be increasingly concerned, so he avoided eye contact with her as much as possible.

What measurements, Doctor Faust? said Claire. Perhaps we are misunderstanding.

He merely glanced at them with a dismissive expression that they collectively chose not to challenge.

Amir seemed to have forgotten the mention of a needle. He examined the muscles of his arms. He shook his head in disbelief. This is crazy. I feel like a young man. I look like one, too. He looked up and leered at the women, who continued to ignore him and didn’t balk when the two robots who had been holding him proceeded to place needles in both of his arms, ostensibly drawing blood. Faust had programmed them to instead flood Amir’s system with the drug cocktail they’d used to bring him to this point. This time, relatively vast quantities were pumped into his system. Faust watched as the third robot moved and then stood poised behind Amir with the needle.

All right, said Faust, trying to suppress the eagerness in his voice, we are ready to extract the spinal fluid and marrow samples. As I said, this will be painful, Mr. Amir, but the pain will pass quickly as you heal.

Faust felt another wave of excitement as the robot prepared to insert the needle into Amir’s spine. He signaled, and the robot moved in response.

Amir screamed.

Although Amir’s arms were held in the vice grip of the other two robots, he didn’t even try to move. With uncharacteristic control, which surprised Faust, he held still, muscles bulging. The robot’s actions only lasted a moment, then Amir leaned forward, panting. A moment later, he straightened.

That fucking hurt! Goddamn it. Amir shook his head, his sweaty hair sticking to his deep brows. But the pain is gone now. He took a deep breath. I feel fine. Even the puncture seems to have stopped hurting.

His voice had become more graveled and had dropped in tone. He continued to stare at the women, his previous expression of lust changing to something darker.

Amir’s musculature increased before Faust’s eyes, his brow becoming noticeably deeper than when they’d all entered the room. Faust knew Amir’s body was adapting to external stimulus quickly, and the result of that adaptation would mean a degraded and unstable mental state.

Still working through his plan, Faust mopped his brow. He waited while the lab equipment quickly and efficiently evaluated the samples and provided the requested results. Faust took a deep breath to calm himself and began looking through the amplification equipment which then projected the data onto the screen. When the lab readout began to appear with the expected results, Faust whooped in triumph. He motioned for the other doctors to join him so they could observe the data being displayed. It worked! He didn’t have to fake his delight. His next actions hinged entirely on these results.

Several readouts showed Amir’s reparative levels to be at the ideal ranges. The biggest source of astonishment was the DNA and genetic analysis readout from all the samples. There were several gasps.

This can’t be right, Carlisle, Claire Ashcraft said. You didn’t tell us you were working on this! She stepped closer, staring at the screen in disbelief.

Faust, having known this would throw them off guard, laughed. How could I have told any of you? Don’t be absurd. If I’d have told you, I’m sure the enormity of my discovery and all the details would have leaked to the public. I don’t have to worry about Dr. Reprate, since he can barely talk half the time, but you two ladies gossip more than a flock of geese and I can’t have this information getting out.

Faust waited as Dr. Reprate slowly analyzed the data, clearly unable to believe his findings. His obvious shock was a source of amusement. After a moment, Dr. Reprate finally said, Oh my gosh! He’s effectively immortal!

God, Reprate had a shrill voice. Faust wanted to clasp his hands over Reprate’s mouth, smothering him simply to stop the annoying noise.

Reprate continued. This … this is … I mean, look at the analysis. If the comparisons from throughout the experiments are correct, the telomeres are completely repaired. The DNA is dividing as if it were cancer, but without the mutations. The senescent cell levels are almost gone. Increased stem cell counts. Wow. So many obstacles, gone. He could live to be a thousand! He calmed slightly, his voice dropping to its normal wheezing tone. Are these cellular and genetic changes systemic? Or am I looking at an aspect of gene editing that is isolated?

Yes. The changes are systemic. This is what I’ve been working on. Immortality! And you thought I had shirked my part of the research. Faust allowed the disdain he felt to come out in his voice. What idiots. And how dare they sneer at him behind his back? You all thought I hadn’t been doing my part.

There were several protests, which he cut off with a shout. Pent-up anger and disgust suddenly rose to the surface. He could barely stand to look at them. I know you discounted my work! Well, now I have shown you, once again, I’m a far more capable researcher than all of you combined. He raised a hand to cut off their objections. He had no desire to hear them anymore. You have all been helpful, of course. This is exactly what I wanted, and I’d feared I’d have to step in to complete gaps in your research, which would have slowed my own. Some of you are horribly incompetent. When did you actually plan to fix the lack of hormonal control? Never, apparently. But now I have the missing piece. I’ve done it, achieved the methods we need to secure immortality.

He watched discomfort creep over their faces.

Elizabeth corrected him. "We have done this. We, she emphasized. But yes, I admit I wasn’t sure what your contribution would be, other than the constant criticism you seem to have become fond of expressing. I’m sorry for thinking you weren’t contributing like you should have been, but I must say, you’re being childish. Don’t wrench your arm out of its socket to pat yourself on the back. As you so snidely indicated, we clearly have more work to do. We can’t have patients deteriorating—especially if they become violent and nearly impossible to kill. This changes the dangers, Carlisle. Before, it wasn’t too much hassle to … correct the situation. Now, we may not be able to so easily dispatch the subjects." She glanced at Amir when she said this.

Looking back at Falk, she scowled and said, Stop gloating. Jesus! What the hell has gotten into you?

Why shouldn’t I gloat? I just turned an aging man of no consequence into an immortal. You have helped me make him into somewhat of the male ideal, which will be a pleasant side effect, but the miracle here is mine.

Doctor Reprate became red-faced. I r-resent that! he stuttered. M-mm … my work is equally im-m … important. I created a way to heal all but death. Even death would have been something I could have fixed, given more time. You may have made it so he w-won’t age, but I’ve made it so he can survive. What good is not aging if you can be shot to death by a drug dealer or angry spouse? Reprate licked his lips nervously. His repair process and central immune system are incredibly enhanced. I … uh, I won’t have it. I have done an incredible amount of work here. All of us have. What’s wrong with you? You aren’t the only b-b … brilliant scientist here, you know. The world will see more than one f-f … face. He took a deep breath and looked worriedly over at Amir. And I agree with Elizabeth. There is much more t-t … to be done. We have to fix all the problems that have arisen. This man is clearly deteriorating to an uncontrollable caveman state before our eyes. Look at him!

Faust stepped back toward the table, his heart racing as he was finally able to allow a sneer to touch his face. His calculated goading had worked, and he positioned himself behind Amir. The other doctors didn’t say a word about his movements. Oh really? he continued, goading them even more. "You think creating an oversized penis and bulging muscles are something to be heralded? While you’ve focused on enhancing physique and useless sexual characteristics, I’ve been redesigning the genome! You think I couldn’t figure out a way to make the tissue recover rapidly? I could have, if I hadn’t been so focused on fixing the genetic time bomb which is the downfall of all humans since the dawn of creation. You make me sick. You idiots have done a decent job, but nothing remarkable.