The Metropolis Case_ A Novel - Matthew Gallaway [100]
Lucien nodded, although—as much as he admired his father’s conviction—it occurred to him that a difference between an artist and a scientist was that one worked to transform the pain of life into something beautiful, while the other worked to transform it into something negligible.
THEY MADE THEIR way off the boulevard, turning north at the river and in at the English Garden, where they admired the late-afternoon mist rising off the lawn beyond the outstretched boughs of the black pines. They followed a path through a stand of larch trees, which proved to be an unexpected pleasure for Guillaume; as he caressed the feathery, lime green needles of the deciduous conifer, he explained to Lucien that it was one of the oldest species on earth, and one he was hoping to study in greater detail in the future.
“How is your research going?” Lucien asked as they found a bench on which to sit and rest. “The last time I was Paris, you mentioned problems—”
“Yes, I did,” Guillaume said, “but as it turned out—and this is so often the case—the moment when nothing seemed to be working, when I was on the verge of giving up, is when I had the breakthrough I’ve been wanting.”
“You mean with the longevity vaccine?”
Guillaume nodded. “Yes, exactly.”
Because Lucien had been so young when he first learned about his father’s project, and because so many years had passed with so little progress, he had assumed that the experiments would never really end, or at least not successfully. He didn’t doubt his father’s skill or intelligence, but a palliative for aging seemed much more of a grand ideal than a possibility. As Lucien considered Guillaume’s expression, it seemed to convey more than fantasy, and for the first time he began to envision the vaccine in concrete terms; in a flash of understanding and foreboding, he saw how valuable it would be, how kings and queens would spend fortunes to acquire it, while criminals could be expected to resort to their own brand of extremes, a thought that made him fear for his father.
“You haven’t taken it, have you?” he asked.
His father shook his head and laughed. “No—no, it’s not anywhere near being fit for humans. At this point it’s only mice.”
Lucien felt relieved by this. “Have you told anyone else?”
“No—of course not—you’re the only one.” Guillaume shook his head and spoke in a low tone. “I likewise trust you to keep it quiet—not even Herr van der Null should know, and above all not Codruta. I’m sure you can imagine what could happen if—if word got out.”
“I’m not sure I could,” Lucien admitted. Though he had mentioned this element of his father’s work to Eduard, it had always been with the same mix of astonishment and incredulity with which he viewed it himself, and not as something in any way imminent; furthermore, he had never seen Guillaume discuss the longevity vaccine with anyone else except in the most theoretical terms, as he had done at lunch with Eduard. It occurred to Lucien that the vaccine was like Tristan; because most people couldn’t begin to conceive of such a thing, there was little reason for debate until proof was in hand, after which all the old assumptions would be buried under an avalanche of newfound certainty.
“The last thing I need,” Guillaume continued, “is for some idiot to think he could just swallow some concoction and live for two hundred years.”
“But isn’t that the idea?”
“Eventually,” Guillaume admitted. “But for now, it’s still much too dangerous—only about five percent of the mice survive more than a few seconds.”
“And those that survive …?”
“Well, that’s another question.” Guillaume smiled. “But if my suspicion is correct, there will be some very old mice running around the