Narrated By Edgar Thompson
January 9th, 2030
It was about a half hour drive from the small restaurant and the sun was just beginning to touch the horizon between the ocean and the sky at about quarter til eight when we arrived at the research center where my colleagues and I practice. The combination of marine biology, stem cell research, DNA code filing, and other areas of expertise come together like poetry. Back when scientists were learning how to make rats glow in the dark, we were learning of much more useful genetic altercations. Useful, however, not for this day and age. No one would understand why we pushed the envelope except for my new acquaintance, Mr. Reinhardt. He told me his story and about his interests in our projects.
One Forever is all about combining existing technologies with genetics to get answers people never think up. We think outside of the box. We’re so far out of the box that we forget that there is a box. Reinhardt knows a lot about me. He knows things about me that I wanted to forget about. When I wanted to become a gene therapist and specialize in helping mankind in this way, mad scientist never came to mind, but that’s what I was when I first made my beginning ventures into the amazing world of virology, gene mutation, selfish-genes, gene manipulation; the list goes on and on. When I was young, I was overwhelmed by possibility. ‘What if’ questions pinged in my brain like rain drops hit the ground and I yearned for answers. Bio-hacker was a term used for people who didn’t have an education in biology but went about doing practices on microscopic life forms anyways. Nine times out of ten they did things like remove DNA from strawberry cells using rubbing alcohol, or splicing genes for plants like fruit baring trees to create brand new fruit or a new flavor sap. Some even tried to alter bacteria to eat specific things like plastics, rust, oil, or certain types of weeds in their lawns. But, there were others that were involved in much more serious practices. I was one of them.
I was involved in a secret community of men and women called the Private Healthcare and Science Research Movement where advanced bio-hacking was a best kept secret. Basically, people were sick of big pharmacy and government controlling who lives and dies based on pricing medications too high and new technology only being available to those who are better off. It was a group of people who decided to make a change in society’s infrastructure involving who can and cannot perform healthcare or certain fields of research based on education and background. Basically, people who would be do-it-yourself projects like building computers, creating programs, or anything normal people don’t take the time to do, were now taking part in genetic hacking, creating cheap drugs for diseases and ailments, growing human organs, doing basement human operations, and such while ignoring the laws that keep people from doing it. When pharmaceutical companies got too big and grew a monopoly in the business of keeping people alive and charging an arm and a leg for it, people wanted to do it on their own instead. They got sick of it and found a cure.
My father was fifty-five years old when I was involved in the movement for about two years when he was diagnosed with heart disease, diabetes, and several other ailments and was said to only have several months to live, I told him I could make him better again. He didn’t believe me. Ten years ago, this type of thing was unheard of because it was only the beginning of the movement and he didn’t want anything to do with it. A few friends who were involved in the movement as well set up a temporary surgical room for the operation. We couldn’t afford to get a heart transplant and the waiting list was way too long as it was anyways so we grew one from his own stem cells and planned on transplanting. The problem was though, his body was too frail for the operation and he passed away as we put in the new heart. We didn’t kill him, mind you, but the police didn’t believe that. When the county coroner did the autopsy, he could tell he didn’t die