TWELVE
Kate switched off her Corolla’s ignition. From the curbside parking space she peered across the street at four Victorian row houses in Lower Haight, newly renovated and connected to form Earth Longevity Coalition headquarters.
She yawned. This audience was such a plum that she had snapped up the seven a.m. time slot, dragged herself north from Palo Alto, and picked up her father. Even though Kate Boyle agreed with her mother that nothing good happened before ten a.m.
Early-arriving ELCIE employees bounded up the stairs between the sidewalk and the houses with energy that Kate found subversive, as Kate’s father sat beside her, bright-eyed and whistling.
Jack Boyle was a morning person, which made the lifelong bond he had shared with Kate’s mother all the more antiquely miraculous.
Jack peered at the Levis-clad staffers. “So the hippies have come home to Hashbury after all these years.”
“You think the Golden Gate Bridge closes for a hippie cult festival? Dad, ELCIE’s a mainstream foundation.”
He pointed at the brass plaque on the wall next to the main entrance: EARtH LONGEVItY COALItION.
In each of the three words the letter “t” was emphasized in gold, set in lower case, and the letters’ vertical shafts above their cross strokes were formed by an inverted teardrop.
“Then why are they hiding peace symbols in their name?”
Kate rolled bleary eyes. “Those are ankhs, Dad. Egyptian hieroglyphs. They symbolize eternal life.”
“Well Julia Madison’s a hippie. While I was waiting tables for tuition she was across the Bay at Berzerkeley leading demonstrations.”
“She’s a feminist legend. She’s been a cabinet secretary twice. And nobody’s called anybody a hippie in this century.”
“Oh. Are we finally calling ’em self-indulgent dope fiends?”
Kate sighed as she flipped down her vanity mirror and checked her face again. She had resigned herself to interviewing boy-millionaire geeks whose lives boiled down to one-hundred-forty-character tweets. Julia Madison was not only a witness to history, she had made history. History makers didn’t suffer unprepared reporters gladly.
“Remember, Katy—”
She rolled her eyes again. “‘Be prepared! A good lawyer never asks a witness a question she doesn’t already know the answer to.’ Good advice, Dad. But I’m not a lawyer and interview subjects aren’t witnesses under oath. So today I’ll do the asking. You and Mom paid the full freight to get me a masters from the place that hands out the Pulitzers. Let me use it, okay?”
“So I’m a potted plant?”
At least you’re not potted. That’s a start. In fact, you’ve cleaned up great this morning. But after two years of geeks and video games I’m interviewing an accomplished historical figure, one intelligent woman to another.
“Just for today please be a potted plant. Julia will know you worked for David. And David gives ELCIE real money. That got us in the door, and that’s why I brought you along. But if you’re abrasive and tactless she’ll dump us to some staffer. We’ll go home with nothing from this but a brochure. So play nice.”
* * *
Victorian as ELCIE’s restored row houses looked from the street, its headquarters’ interior décor was top-dollar leather and Bauhaus chrome. Kate and Jack waited less than a minute, then Julia Madison herself walked around the still-empty reception desk into the lobby, wearing a polite but serious interview smile.
“Ms. Boyle? Kate, is it? The first thing I read in Gizmo is always your column.”
Kate smiled in spite of herself. It was as probable that Julia Madison read Gizmo as it was that Jack Boyle read Rolling Stone. But really good politicians made everyone they met feel like the most important person in the room.
ELCIE’s president may have been as old as Jack Boyle, but she was better preserved. Tailored, slim, with short hair dyed blonde, the taut skin around her eyes and across her high cheekbones announced work done. Although done damn well.
Kate said, “Madam Secretary, your pictures don’t do you justice.” An ex-secretary wasn’t entitled to the honorific, but sucking up couldn’t hurt.
The legend’s handshake conveyed genuine energy.
And apparently you’re a morning person, which must be the only thing besides age that you and my father have in common.
Madison led them from the lobby. “Please call me Julia.” She turned to Jack as they walked down a short hall and squeezed into a phone-booth-sized elevator. “Mr. Boyle—”
Kate held her breath.
“Please. Call me Jack.” He actually smiled like he meant it.
Kate exhaled.
“Jack, the Powell Foundation’s a significant source of our funding. I understand you were David’s special counsel for thirty years. Though from where I’m standing you hardly look old enough.” Where Julia Madison was standing was even closer to him than the tight elevator required, she returned his smile more warmly than the moment required even of a good politician, and she smelled like two hundred bucks an ounce.
Apparently you clean up even better than I thought you did, Dad.
Kate shuddered. Visualizing Dad horizontal with Mom had always creeped her out. Visualizing Dad horizontal with a former Rolling Stone cover girl went way beyond creepy.
The elevator opened on the renovated mansion’s tiny second floor lobby. To the left was the ELCIE president’s suite. Ahead was a steel exit door, labeled as connecting to listed offices located in the adjacent houses.
Also taped to the steel door was a hand lettered cardboard sign that read: THIS WAY TO THE METH LAB.
Jack paused, pointed at it. “Supplemental funding?”
Madison laughed as she led them into a paneled conference room with a round table and four chairs, which adjoined her office. “The Meth is the staff’s abbreviation for the Methuselarity. The biotechnological breakover moment when living forever becomes reality.” She turned and poured three coffees from a pot on a sideboard. “When I was introduced to the staff on my first day here I referred in my remarks to the ‘Singularity Lab.’ I haven’t lived it down. ELCIE is not a ‘laboratory.’ We’re a trade association. For a trade that doesn’t even exist yet.”
Kate sighed, then fished her recorder out of her bag, laid it on the table, and raised her eyebrows at Julia Madison. “Madam Secretary?”
Madison nodded. “Kate, can we agree no questions specifically about the New Year’s Eve unpleasantness?”
Kate hated sideboards, but Madison must have answered every bombing question a hundred times and Kate hadn’t planned to ask one, anyway.
Kate nodded. “No problem, Madam Secretary.” She pushed “record.” “On the record. In 2015 you left government. Why then?”
“It’s a great question.” Madison leaned back in her chair and cocked her head. “2015 was the moment when the idea of attacking normal aging as just one more treatable disease went mainstream.”
“You mean the Calico announcement?” Kate flicked her eyes to her father. See, Dad? I do know the answers to my questions.
Madison smiled, nodded. “I’m no molecular biologist. But an old prosecutor knows how to follow the money. When Google made the California Life Company a one and a half billion dollar reality I realized that someone who knew how to follow the money also knew that life-extension science had arrived at the cusp of commercial viability.”
“And at that time Google wasn’t alone?”
“Correct. But most of the other entrepreneurs’ vision went beyond commercial viability. It still does.”
Kate knew the answer to this one, too. “And what is that vision?”
“Money is a powerful motivator. But survival is even more powerful. Billionaires don’t need to make more money in their lifetimes. Billionaires need more lifetimes to spend the money they’ve made. Most of the others who jumped into the field, even though they largely avoid admitting it, have their own skin in the game, literally. They want to live forever. And they’ve awakened before the rest of us to the new idea that life-extension science is advancing explosively. So explosively that a person alive today may become able to buy immortality in his or her lifetime.”
Jack said, “It’s not a new idea. When Ted Williams died, he got his head frozen.”
Kate narrowed her eyes. Dad? That’s the stupidest—
Madison pointed at Jack and smiled. “That’s an excellent anecdote that illustrates my point. Cryonics, the Holy Grail, the fountain of youth. They used to be the only life-extension game in town. The field was quackery and myth. Today the Methuselarity—the moment when man on average begins cheating death faster than he dies—may be so close that the first person who will live to be one thousand is alive today.”
Kate sighed. B.A. and M.S. in journalism from Columbia? Two-seventy large. Night law school degree, a baseball card collection, and smiling like you mean it? Priceless.
Kate asked, “If ELCIE’s not a lab how can you say that?”
Madison sipped her coffee. “We have said that. I have said that. But ELCIE doesn’t make scientific predictions so much as it promotes and publicizes others’ work, and the predictions that flow from it. Our objective is to alert society, so mankind will be ready for the social challenges that life extension will bring.”
Jack cocked an eyebrow. “Like what to do with all those frozen heads?”
Madison nodded. “That’s an important distinction. Reanimating the dead is for horror films. And no matter how ageless we make the human body, you won’t live forever if you step in front of a bus. Life extension also isn’t about prolonging our time in nursing homes. It’s about reengineering our bodies so we don’t grow old in the first place.”
Kate smiled. “ELCIE’s not in this to bankrupt Social Security?”
Madison nodded again. “But that’s an example of the kinds of issues in play. The technology may be the lesser challenge. Everybody who’s seen their smartphone obsolete itself within months after it’s unboxed understands the accelerating pace of change in information technologies. Life sciences may be less visible, but the rate of progress in the field may be even more rapid. The human genome was sequenced two years faster and three hundred million dollars cheaper than predicted. And that was at the 1990s pace of technological change. In 2016, work began not just to map and edit human DNA, but to synthesize it from scratch. Not only does change outrace predictions, the rate of change outraces the predicted rate, too. Even five years ago lab mice that were fed restricted calorie diets and Rapamycin were living two centuries in mouse years. Roundworms with reengineered genes were living six centuries in worm years.”
Jack snorted. “Mice and roundworms aren’t people.”
Julia leaned forward. “Jack, life-extension research focuses on mice and roundworms because their normal lifespans are short enough to allow testing over multiple generations.” She glanced down at her boob job. “You don’t think I’m suggesting this body looks like a roundworm’s?”
“Actually, it looks fine from here.”
Julia Madison batted her eyes.
“Eeewww!”
Jack and Julia straightened and turned to Kate, eyes wide, and Jack said, “What?”
Kate felt herself redden as she pointed at the cup in her left hand with her right index finger. “Coffee. Was a little strong.” She patted her chest. “I’ll be fine.”
Julia and Jack turned back to one another and Julia said, “Although actually, at the molecular level, mice and roundworms are more closely related to humans than you or I might think. Rapamycin was actually developed for human use, as an immune suppressant in organ transplantation. But when someone fed Rapamycin to mice, the mice stayed young.”
Kate cleared her throat, glanced at her notes, and changed the subject. Finally we get to the reason we’re here. “You’re saying the Methuselarity’s arrival depends on continuously accelerating progress in biogerontology. But since the fanfare in 2015, Calico has announced nothing groundbreaking. Google’s health care investments lately have been in things as conventional as heart disease research. The other players have been just as quiet. Can that deafening silence possibly be just normal industrial security?”
Madison’s face went blank. “Kate, ELCIE’s a trade association. Trade associations promote their trade as a whole. They don’t take sides within it.”
“The rumors are that the other players in the field, besides Cardinal Systems, are so quiet because Cardinal’s been locking up all the talent and all the patents. True?”
Julia Madison shrugged. “Rumors are rumors. I don’t comment on the ones I hear. I can’t comment on the ones I don’t hear.”
This interview was suddenly looking like three hours of perfectly good sleep wasted.
Jack rolled his eyes and sawed the air with his palm. “What kind of political bullshit is that, Julia? When you were at Berkeley at least you answered questions like you had a pair!”
Kate felt her jaw drop.
Julia Madison froze and stared at Jack.
“Dad!”
You just called the most prominent feminist in Northern California a spineless liar, and threw in a crude and biologically absurd sexual stereotype for good measure. She may shoot you. Hell, I may shoot you first.
Julia Madison turned to Kate. Teeth clenched, she said, “We are off the record, Ms. Boyle.”
Kate switched off the recorder, and stared at it.
Katy, if you bring a hog to the prom, wear your boots. Good advice, Dad. Wish I had taken it and left you at home.
Kate reached down to pack up her bag. “Madam Secretary, I’m so very—”
“Jack, your political incorrectness is breathtaking.” Julia Madison ignored Kate and spoke to Jack. “However, too many years in politics can make someone forget how much more liberating honesty is than political correctness. Thanks for reminding me.”
Jack said, “If we’re being all liberated and honest, I said I admired your frankness. I still think your politics are crap.”
“I’m hardly surprised, Jack.” Julia turned to Kate. “Still off the record. But you want to know what I really know about Manny Colibri? And what I think about what I know? Listen.”
Kate sat dead still. Katy, when the judge indicates he’s about to rule in your favor, shut up.
Julia Madison said, “Yes, of course I know what’s really going on in the world where I make my living. I survived two decades in Washington. Yes, it is one hundred percent true that Cardinal’s outbid not only Calico but every other major and minor player between here and San Jose for every decent mind and idea in the life-extension field over the last four years. Cardinal’s been spraying money out through a fire hose. That’s good. But they’re washing the competition down the drain. That’s bad. The prosecutor in me calls what Cardinal’s been doing predatory, monopolistic behavior. But how can you monopolize an industry that doesn’t even exist?”
Kate wrinkled her brow. “What’s Cardinal been doing with all those minds and ideas, then?”
Julia Madison said, “That’s the odd thing. The people over at Cardinal do whatever they want. No direction. No accountability. Nobel-class molecular biologists while away their days breeding wine grapes for fun and playing billiards. 2019 was a good year, so Manny Colibri just gave the company January off with pay. That’s a preposterous perquisite, even in the tech industry. Top management’s off on a penguin-watching sabbatical because it’s summer in Antarctica. And the patents seem to have wound up in some electronic wastebasket.”
Kate squinted. “But somebody must get tired of watching penguins.”
“The few walkaways haven’t left pissed off. They’ve left so rich they’ll never bother to work in their fields again. None of it sounds conducive to accelerating the Methuselarity. And I left government to accelerate the Methuselarity, so that pisses me off.”
Jack said, “Sounds conducive to bankruptcy to me.”
“Perhaps, Jack. But Cardinal has no shareholders to complain about earnings or dividends. At least I don’t think it has. Now that Manny’s gone, I’m not really even sure who really knows who Cardinal’s actual, beneficial owner or owners are.”
Kate said, “I understand why you’re not in a position to speak on the record. But would any of the walkaways be willing to talk?”
Julia rubbed her chin. “Not really. Tech industry exit settlements come with pretty sophisticated nondisclosure requirements. But you might try Quentin Callisto. You’ve heard of him?”
Kate raised her eyebrows. “Heard of him? I interviewed Quentin once before. On a completely different topic. He never mentioned Cardinal.”
“Quentin’s connection to Manny Colibri isn’t really on point to your interest. But for that very reason his confidentiality constraints may be laxer. And in any case, Quentin’s always flattered to be noticed. Even if he can’t or won’t help you directly, he may open a door to someone who can and will.” Julia Madison consulted her Rolex, then smiled. “I’m afraid that’s about as big a can opener as I’m willing to give you just now, Kate.”
Julia walked them to the elevator. As the door between her and Jack and Kate whispered shut, Julia called, “Jack, if you want to discuss honesty and politics over dinner, call me.”