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He closed his ears to the shrill hiss of the modem. When the connection was made, he went straight to his mailbox, but CandyStripe wasn't listed. Mark Porter frowned. Why hadn't she answered? Did she know about Heidi? There wasn't anything in his profile to indicate that he was married.
There was one other piece of email.
Subj: Nomination
Date: Fri, Mar 1, 12:06 PM
From: ila@cell.res.edu
To: markp@em.wasey.org
You have been nominated as a candidate for Eternal Life.
Yeah, right, Mark said aloud. Meaning he was picked out of a mailing list that showed his good zip code. He shrugged and scrolled the on-screen letter.
The procedure is available to you without cost, and requires only four or five treatments, all of which are entirely painless.
The word "treatment" was provocative.
Please read the brief, nontechnical explanation of the Eternal Life process. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO PRINT THIS DOCUMENT. It has been encoded to prevent widespread dissemination of the Program. This message will self-delete after you have filled out the accompanying form.
Mark's first thought was to hit Print on the File menu, to test the claim, but he opted to read the next paragraph.
The cognomen "Eternal Life" is somewhat misleading, since there is no scientific way to prevent the physical destruction of vital organs resulting from accident or injury. The phrase is more correctly applied to human cells, which the Eternal Life Process renders indestructible through new gene therapy developed by a group of biochemists known as the Cellular Task Force. The method involves a forced evolution of the mechanism called the teleomere, a repeating DNA sequence found at the end of the chromosomes. This "tail end" (sometimes compared to the tip of a shoelace) grows shorter when a cell divides and the DNA replicates. Eventually, the cell becomes senescent and begins to malfunction. The Task Force has discovered a chemical process that continually influences the length of the teleomere, with a resulting change in life expectancy.
Indestructible cells? Somebody was pulling his cybernetic leg.
This program will be limited to individuals who meet certain standards and requirements. The population at large, which already threatens to deplete our planetary resources, cannot be offered extended longevity. (The additional lifespan, factoring in external damage, will average between seventy to one hundred years, with little sign of aging. In some cases, the span may be considerably longer.) Therefore, the Task Force has decided upon an elective process in which each qualified candidate is given the privilege of naming one other candidate. These "electors" must also remain anonymous.
So somebody had "nominated" him. CandyStripe? Nothing in her steamy email indicated a capacity for practical joking. Someone in the office? Stan Goulding, maybe?
Your answers to the following questions will determine your acceptability for the Eternal Life process.
A questionnaire followed, asking for the same information required for a driver's license or a magazine subscription. Then came the first meaningful question.
Why do you consider yourself a worthwhile candidate for an extended life cycle? Please limit your answer to fifty words or less.
Mark dropped his hands on the keyboard and grinned. He wrote:
So many women, so little time!
Then he read the sentence again, and thought - what if it were all true? What if he was blowing his chances for life everlasting, all for the sake of a wiseass reply?
He hit Delete, and wrote:
One average lifetime isn't enough to make me wise. I need more years to understand life's meaning. I need to know myself better. To know other people better. Give me time, and I'll grow up. And only grownups can save our world from its childish follies.
Forty-five words. It had the ring of humble sincerity.
Do you believe the work you do, assuming you continue in the same field, will be of benefit to future generations? Please limit your reply to twenty-five words or less.
It took longer to arrive at the answer to this one.
The advertising profession, while essential to the machinery of the free enterprise system, may also evolve into a vital force influencing the health, safety, and economic well-being of people over the globe.
Thirty-three words. He removed "The," "profession," "the machinery of," "vital," and changed "over the globe" to "everywhere." Twenty-five words on the nose.
There was only one more question.
Please nominate an individual you believe deserving of Eternal Life. For security reasons, the person named must have an email address or access to one.
There was one obvious answer, but it suddenly didn't seem so obvious. He had been married to Heidi for eleven years, and had no particular complaints about the marriage, despite its childlessness. Her friends bored him, so she had accepted his (except for Stan Goulding). They shared few interests, until they bought their house in the exurbs. Mark became a home-workshop type, and Heidi spent every weekend in antique stores and wholesale food outlets. His interest in the workshop waned; now he clocked more time at his computer than his bandsaw. Heidi didn't object; she had a small computer of her own, delighting in printing out letters to her old college chums, illustrated with fanciful clip art.
Mark thought of himself as a "faithful" husband. His email affair with CandyStripe was conducted in the chaste confines of cyberspace. So far. It was only a matter of time.
A matter of time.
He looked at the screen again. He put his fingers back on the keyboard, and asked himself: Did he really want to spend eternity with Heidi?
Mark typed in his answer.
Stanley Goulding.
He wasn't sure why he chose Stan. He wasn't his best friend. He didn't have a best friend. He lunched with Stan often. They had things to talk about, enemies in common. He had to search all the drawers of the den to find the office directory. By the time he did, the screen saver had kicked in, and a clock (irony!) was bouncing from corner to corner. He slapped the mouse on its pad, and - thank God! - there was the questionnaire. He typed in Stan's email address, and the screen responded.
You will receive the decision on your application on March 14. Please SEND NOW.
The window vanished from the screen. He knew it would not reappear. All he could do now was wait.
YOU HAVE MAIL.
Subj: Nomination
Date: Fri, Mar 14, 7:06 PM
From: ila@cell.res.edu
To: markp@em.wasey.org
He was a believer now. He wasn't sure when his epiphany arrived. It was probably during his investigation into current genetic theory. He read wide-eyed popular science articles that reported that a gene or group of genes affecting the aging process had been discovered in the test tubes of the biophysical world. There were hems and haws, but Mark was besotted with the idea that there was now a practical deterrent to cell death, and that he, along with other chosen candidates, might become the New Adams of the planet Earth. All those women, and not enough time? Now there might be enough. He held his breath, whispered a prayer, and scrolled.
We are sorry to inform you that your application has been rejected by the electing committee of the Eternal Life Association.
He wanted to howl, but he could only moan.
The reason for this rejection was the qualification of the person you chose to nominate. That person's response to our message was entirely flippant, and his own nomination for Eternal Life candidacy was Bugs Bunny.
Thank you, Stan Goulding, thank you, Mark said aloud, an angry red column rising from his neck to his jawline.
We will now delete this message.
The window clicked off. He knew he would never see it again.
He heard Heidi's heavy footsteps in the downstairs hallway. Heidi, home from another shopping trip, was busy taking her booty into the pantry storage room. Judging from the repetitious sound, she had bought more than usual at the volume discount store.
In the driveway, the trunk lid was slammed shut, but then he heard the engine turn over and tires crunching the gravel. His wife was off again. Mark, more for distraction than out of curiosity, left the den and went to inspect her purchases. He was surprised to see that she had snapped the lock shut on the pantry door, but he knew where she kept the key and soon had it opened. He looked at the boxes that had been added to the larder. Their contents were only revealed by a stenciled description on the cardboard. It was her favorite toothpaste, too minty for Mark's taste, but Heidi liked it. Glow Toothpaste, it said. 500 tubes.
Five hundred tubes? Mark looked at the second box, and it was identically marked. So were the third and the fourth. Five times four made two thousand. Two thousand tubes of toothpaste? What was Heidi doing, going into the toothpaste business? Then he realized what Heidi was doing. She was stocking up.
Henry Slesar has written movies, TV, radio, stage plays, ads, novels, and short stories - everything except milk cartons and matchbook covers.
Caleb Brown is an illustrator and biologist living in Montana. By day he drives a delivery van, and by night he draws pictures with his computer.
National Institute on Aging - one of the U.S. National Institutes of Health. "Promotes healthy aging by conducting and supporting biomedical, social, and behavioral research and public education."
TelDB - a telomere information center. Maintained by the National Institutes of Health.
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