To THE LAND OF THE ELECTRIC ANGEL: Hugo and Nebula Award Finalist Author (The Frontiers Saga) by William Rotsler Page B
Authors: William Rotsler
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curve of Earth and the blackness of space. A slow dissolve brought into view his famous "Firmament of God" clear-plastic dome space cathedral. A man in a white spacesuit floated with arms extended in the center.
"Sinners! The pendulum of excess is swinging against you! The–"
Click.
A newstape was in progress. A middle-aged man in a conservative suit sat in a room lined with tape shelves, speaking to an off-camera newsman.
"No, no, we here at the Methuselah Institute are certainly working on lengthening the life span of man, but we are hardly creating immortals." He chuckled indulgently.
"But Doctor Carrington," the off-camera voice said, "what of the statements of those who oppose such research, such as Gil Lawrence of Zero Population Control, and Reverend Neville of the Sacred Angels of God the Glorious Church, to name but two? They say you tamper with natural laws and increase the pressure of population."
The doctor shook his head and Blake listened closely. "No, Mr. Weinstock, there is nothing man was not meant to know. It is how he uses his knowledge that is important. If we were so successful as to be able to grant extended lifelines – and I must point out that this is speculation – if we were able to do that and a benefactor were to use that extended lifetime to oppress a people, then I would say it was wrong. But if a man or a woman were to use a longer than normal lifespan to learn, to gather wisdom, to help mankind, then I would say that it was good."
"Doctor, what of the rumors that you have perfected such techniques and are ready to start using them?"
Get out of that one! Blake "said" to the scientist.
"Rumors are not science, sir, they are rumors. It is true, we have been able to substantially increase the life span of fruit flies, worms, and some lower forms of vertebrates. But as to granting immortality..." He laughed heartily, but with restraint. "Don't be misled by our title, Mr. Weinstock, as so many have been. We are not creating nine-hundred-year-old Methuselahs here." He seemed genuinely amused.
That's all we need, Blake thought, more people who will live even longer.
The camera cut to Weinstock. "We have been talking to Dr. Emil Carrington, director of the Methuselah Institute in New Haven, Connecticut, where scientists seek to find the cause for aging and perhaps give us all eternal life."
Blake's fingers hit the black button and the screen went dark.
Chapter 9
Sonya was waiting for Blake at the top of the seawall. She was wearing only sandals and an expensive necklace of lunar opals and Byzantium silver beads. She stood in a studied pose, smiling.
Blake shook his head with a smile. Voss has done it again, he thought. Voss, the plucker of the best and ripest fruit!
"Darling Blake," Sonya said with an intense whisper, and hugged him carefully. "Jean-Michel has been waiting for you. Come, darling."
Blake noticed that she didn't seem to sweat in the Mexican heat. Even in the bright sunlight, sudden death for most blondes, she was pampered perfection. But her great physical beauty aroused no lust in him, only distant admiration.
"Jean-Michel likes his guests to arrive by sea, have you noticed that?" Sonya said. "Maybe the trip was too rough?"
"No, it was quite nice."
"Then you have no excuse not to compliment me," she said, tossing back her long hair.
She laughed to take the bite from her words, but Blake saw that she was waiting. He mumbled a polite phrase, saw her expression, and expanded his words deftly into a flowery compliment that had no real feeling. It made him feel bad.
He saw Caren's familiar figure on an upper terrace. She was waving through a break in the trees. Next to her was a portly man with gray hair.
Blake and Sonya walked out on the wide tiled terrace with Casa Emperador looming above them. Theta was at her usual sun-worshipping altar, looking no darker, and attended dutifully by Sundance. Nearby were two more young women, one a slender black girl, the
"Sinners! The pendulum of excess is swinging against you! The–"
Click.
A newstape was in progress. A middle-aged man in a conservative suit sat in a room lined with tape shelves, speaking to an off-camera newsman.
"No, no, we here at the Methuselah Institute are certainly working on lengthening the life span of man, but we are hardly creating immortals." He chuckled indulgently.
"But Doctor Carrington," the off-camera voice said, "what of the statements of those who oppose such research, such as Gil Lawrence of Zero Population Control, and Reverend Neville of the Sacred Angels of God the Glorious Church, to name but two? They say you tamper with natural laws and increase the pressure of population."
The doctor shook his head and Blake listened closely. "No, Mr. Weinstock, there is nothing man was not meant to know. It is how he uses his knowledge that is important. If we were so successful as to be able to grant extended lifelines – and I must point out that this is speculation – if we were able to do that and a benefactor were to use that extended lifetime to oppress a people, then I would say it was wrong. But if a man or a woman were to use a longer than normal lifespan to learn, to gather wisdom, to help mankind, then I would say that it was good."
"Doctor, what of the rumors that you have perfected such techniques and are ready to start using them?"
Get out of that one! Blake "said" to the scientist.
"Rumors are not science, sir, they are rumors. It is true, we have been able to substantially increase the life span of fruit flies, worms, and some lower forms of vertebrates. But as to granting immortality..." He laughed heartily, but with restraint. "Don't be misled by our title, Mr. Weinstock, as so many have been. We are not creating nine-hundred-year-old Methuselahs here." He seemed genuinely amused.
That's all we need, Blake thought, more people who will live even longer.
The camera cut to Weinstock. "We have been talking to Dr. Emil Carrington, director of the Methuselah Institute in New Haven, Connecticut, where scientists seek to find the cause for aging and perhaps give us all eternal life."
Blake's fingers hit the black button and the screen went dark.
Chapter 9
Sonya was waiting for Blake at the top of the seawall. She was wearing only sandals and an expensive necklace of lunar opals and Byzantium silver beads. She stood in a studied pose, smiling.
Blake shook his head with a smile. Voss has done it again, he thought. Voss, the plucker of the best and ripest fruit!
"Darling Blake," Sonya said with an intense whisper, and hugged him carefully. "Jean-Michel has been waiting for you. Come, darling."
Blake noticed that she didn't seem to sweat in the Mexican heat. Even in the bright sunlight, sudden death for most blondes, she was pampered perfection. But her great physical beauty aroused no lust in him, only distant admiration.
"Jean-Michel likes his guests to arrive by sea, have you noticed that?" Sonya said. "Maybe the trip was too rough?"
"No, it was quite nice."
"Then you have no excuse not to compliment me," she said, tossing back her long hair.
She laughed to take the bite from her words, but Blake saw that she was waiting. He mumbled a polite phrase, saw her expression, and expanded his words deftly into a flowery compliment that had no real feeling. It made him feel bad.
He saw Caren's familiar figure on an upper terrace. She was waving through a break in the trees. Next to her was a portly man with gray hair.
Blake and Sonya walked out on the wide tiled terrace with Casa Emperador looming above them. Theta was at her usual sun-worshipping altar, looking no darker, and attended dutifully by Sundance. Nearby were two more young women, one a slender black girl, the
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