She paused. “One last thing. I said before that the treatment renews or regenerates all the tissues and organs in the body. It makes them function as well or better than when you were in your twenties. But there is one organ that’s a bit of an exception. Whether you believe a ‘soul’ works through it or not, you need a healthy, intact brain to be the person you are. If the parts that deal with your memories, what you’ve learned and experienced in your life—the ones involved with your personality, and the individual way you think—are destroyed, all those things are wiped out, too. Oh, we can still make those lost brain cells grow back—but all the information they stored, all the connections between them that made you a unique individual, will still be gone forever.”
The doctor looked intently at Agnes. “Wait too long before you have the treatment, and your Alzheimer’s will progress past the point where we can prevent that from happening.” She shrugged. “There’s no point in renovating a house if the only person who can ever live there is never coming back.”
They had a bitter argument about it when they got home. Late that night Schrader did something he hadn’t done in years. Making sure Agnes saw what he was doing, he took some blankets and a pillow from their bedroom and arranged them on the downstairs couch. After a while, when she didn’t come down, he quietly went upstairs. The light was off in their bedroom, but he, could hear her in there, softly whispering the rosary. Sighing, he went back down to the couch. When she did that, he knew from long experience that she was too mad to make up that night.
After a few days of hostile silence, they starting speaking to each other again—but only when it was really necessary. Over the next few weeks Agnes went out often. “Shopping,” she said, although all he saw her bring home from those many trips was a single pair of gloves. Or, “Out with the girls.” Schrader wondered which “girls” she was referring to. Over the past year or two, all the women in her usual crowd had either gone into nursing homes, died—or had the rejuvenation treatment. He knew it’d been hard on Agnes when Betty and Sally, her closest friends, had seemed to shun her after they’d had the treatment. Apparently, they didn’t want to hang around widi “old” people anymore.
He spent much of his time on the Nets, trying to get the latest information on the rejuvenation treatment. Despite all he’d read about it over the past few years, the biology behind it was still mysterious to him. Nearly all the articles and reports he reviewed about how it worked were either too simplistic or too technical, with little in-between.
But the political controversy still raging over this new power to make the old “young” again was much easier for him to follow. It had quickly become a major, emotionally-charged issue, sharply dividing society into hostile “Pro-Nature” and “Pro-Life” camps. Some small, fringe groups opposed it strictly on religious grounds, or from a general fear of “Frankenstein” science. But mostly, which group you were in depended on how old you were. “Truly” young people, those in their twenties and thirties, saw themselves competing for jobs with rejuvenated rivals having much more experience and seniority. And any inheritance they might be expecting from their older relatives would also be postponed indefinitely. On the other hand, those in their forties and above, much more mindful of their own mortality, were almost uniformly for the treatment.
Dr. Renard had said that the first tests of the treatment in people had been done about five years ago. However, it hadn’t become a political issue until some months before the last election. The story was that the President’s press secretary had read a supermarket tabloid (“FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH DISCOVERED ON THE MOON! ALIENS GIVE DOCTORS MEDICINE THAT CAN MAKE YOU LIVE FOREVER!”) and, after getting more information from somewhat more reliable sources, had thought it would make a good campaign issue. When the rest of the media latched onto the story, every candidate hoping to remain in or go to Washington had to give their position on it.
After the election, the new Congress and President had quickly passed legislation to regulate use of the treatment. Despite all the overblown rhetoric about “the Constitutional right of every American to a full and youthful life,” Schrader was sure the real reasons why rejuvenation was now officially sanctioned were more mundane. On average, middle-aged and senior citizens were wealthier than younger voters, and had contributed generously to the campaigns of those candidates favoring it. Also, the average age of a congressperson was fifty-five—and the most powerful incumbents had just had the treatment themselves.
To placate younger voters, Congress did decree that no one could receive the treatment unless they were at least seventy-five years old. That was supposed to lessen competition from their elders, by making it more likely that the latter would stay retired and not re-enter the work force, or die of some age-related infirmity or accident before they qualified for rejuvenation. The loophole was that any doctor could approve a “Certificate of Need” if, in their opinion, there was a valid medical reason for someone to receive the treatment at an earlier age. just how easy it was to obtain one of those certificates was shown by the disproportionate number of middle-aged holo stars, athletes, and politicians who were suddenly looking like youngsters again.
And, despite outraged protests by the science groups and AMA, further research using genetic engineering to “improve” humans was effectively banned. The polls said that, like the “Pro-Nature” crowd, even most people favoring the rejuvenation treatment were worried that a scientifically-created “Master Race” might one day take over the world. As long as it only restored what God or Nature “intended” a person to be, it was all right. But, except for some irresistible cosmetic improvements, like adding or subtracting fat from certain areas of the body, “unnatural” enhancements were forbidden.
Of course, few politicians or anybody else talked about what kind of long-term effect the treatment would have on the world’s population. After the great pandemics and wars that ravaged so much of the world early in the century, and extensive (if still often fiercely resisted) use of safer and more effective contraception, a tenuous Malthusian balance had finally been reached. The last several years, in fact, had actually seen a net decrease in the number of people on Earth. Maybe, as good as the rejuvenation treatment might be for individuals, in a few generations it might lead to disaster for the planet. But, as usual, few politicians thought further than the next election.
As for himself, whatever the future held on that point was beyond his control. Whatever happened, whether or not two more people had the treatment wouldn’t make a difference.
When he’d turned seventy-five early last year, Schrader hadn’t given any thought to having the treatment immediately. Until Agnes qualified too, there was no point in doing it. He hadn’t even bothered to talk to her about it until several months ago, right after her birthday.
He’d been surprised at her reaction. She’d made it perfectly clear that she wasn’t going to have it. Every time he’d brought it up again, it was either “I don’t want to talk about it!” or, if he persisted, it led to shouting matches and bad feelings that made life nearly unbearable for the next few days.
The worst part was, she wouldn’t tell him why she was so much against it. All his sweet talk, shouting, and threats pried out of her was a few vague protests that it was “unnatural.” Then, when they were making up days after a particularly bad argument, she’d finally responded to his misty-eyed pleas and agreed to see the doctor with him. She hadn’t said more than a dozen words during that first appointment, just shrugged her shoulders apathetically and said “I don’t mind,” when asked to come back later for tests.