KUVAM: That is correct, Megan, but it is incorrect to dismiss ReBirth’s naturopathic origins. Naturopathy as a medical discipline heals the whole body, bringing out the best in that body and allowing it to heal itself. Donna’s previous cancer treatments ignored this and focused on small parts of her body, in an attempt to kill the cancer by brute force, but I have treated her whole body by changing it; by cleansing it. She has used that power to heal herself.
CARSON: But doesn’t that seem kind of invasive to you? I mean … it’s not really her body anymore, is it? It’s Melissa’s.
KUVAM: It’s Melissa’s genetic code, but Donna’s body. They’re no more the same person than a pair of identical twins is the same person—let us say instead that they are two different people sharing a common point of origin, as indeed we all do.
CARSON: Perhaps you can answer this, then: Where did you get a sample of ReBirth more than a month early? Did they give it to you? Is this part of a NewYew publicity stunt?
KUVAM: They did not give it to me, and I did not steal it. Let us say instead that the universe itself brought ReBirth into my hands. The world, the media, the corporations that control these substances—all they care about are the superficial trappings. They want money, or beauty, or power, and they can have them; the vibrant force of human nature doesn’t care about these things. NewYew has given us a commercial product, but the universe, through NewYew, has given us life. They have given us immortality. Do you see the potential, Megan? Do you see the hands of the universe reaching out to embrace you? There should be nothing that troubles us anymore: no worries of disease, because ReBirth has cured all our disease; no worries of hate because ReBirth has removed all our differences. We are one people now, united and eternal, and nothing can take that—
[Guru Kuvam’s head jerks back with a loud crack, bright red blossoming from his forehead. Behind him the glass window shatters, and the studio is abruptly filled with sounds of cars and people and screaming. The women duck behind couches, cameramen and stagehands scurry for cover, and a second barrage of bullets tears through the studio. A man charges in front of the camera, waving an assault rifle wildly in his hand.]
GUNMAN: The heretic has fallen, and with him his abominations!
[A third round of gunfire erupts from off screen, and the gunman falls as police and security guards rush toward him. The gunman gasps his final words.]
GUNMAN: I give my life gladly. My resurrection will be a true one.
* * *
NEWSCASTER: We are coming to you live from the midnight launch event for the ReBirth clinic in Santa Monica, where twenty-four-year-old singer and movie star Cristina Francis has been attacked. Sources close to Francis tell me she was here for the event, just like hundreds of other curious onlookers, when out of the crowd one of the first ReBirth customers emerged from the clinic with a sample of blank lotion and lunged at Francis, smearing her with it in an attempt to imprint it with her DNA. I’m standing here with Ben Thompson, one of many eyewitnesses. Ben, can you tell us in your own words what happened next?
THOMPSON: We tried to catch him, right? Like, the whole crowd—we were gonna tackle him, but he had the lotion just out there, in his hands and stuff, and there was no way to grab him without getting it on us, you know? And Cristina Francis is great and everything but I don’t want to be her, like, maybe my girlfriend could be her, but not me, especially because then people might be attacking me all the time for my DNA. And I told my girlfriend to grab him, but she was all scared and no one else would touch him, either, so he got away.
NEWSCASTER: Thank you. Many bloggers and analysts have been predicting exactly this kind of attack ever since ReBirth was announced yesterday: the rise of the so-called gene-arazzi, who will ambush celebrities not to take their pictures, but to take their DNA. Nobody expected it would happen this quickly, however, which seems like an ominous sign for the future. Back to you.
32
Wednesday, July 11
1:23 P.M.
NewYew headquarters boardroom, Manhattan
156 DAYS TO THE END OF THE WORLD
“The noose is tightening,” said Sunny. “My guy in the FDA says they’re working with the FBI and the military, and planning something big—raiding our manufacturing plant, seizing our records, everything. We have until Friday at the latest. I think it’s time to go now.”
Decker/Lyle looked around the boardroom, a flutter of nerves in his stomach. This was it: he’d stayed with them, he’d helped make the product launch a huge success, and even when Susan turned up outside he’d ignored her, staying true to his NewYew cronies. They trusted him implicitly now. It was time to see what the next phase was.
At the same time, he felt a stab of guilt. The NewYew executives had treated him, in a way, even better than the Ibis ones had. He was making more money now than he ever had before, and had forged what he felt was a real friendship with Sunny. His life here, as Lyle Fontanelle, was working great—what was to stop him from just … slipping into it? Saying goodbye to Ibis and Abraham Decker and everything else, and staying as Lyle forever? It was tempting. Decker/Lyle was torn.
It had become a very familiar feeling.
“They’re never going to let us out of the country,” said Jeffrey.
“That’s why we’re going in my private yacht,” said Cynthia. “Assuming you don’t mind a few weeks at sea, we can be in São Tomé without ever having to cross a border, reveal a face, or show a passport.”
Decker/Lyle smiled. “You guys really did think of everything.” Screw Ibis, he thought. This is what I want—good friends and no worries on a tropical island, with more money than I could possibly know what to do with. Ibis would kill for this information, but … what do I care? He laughed. Live it up.
The executives stood, rolling their chairs in toward the conference table for the last time. Sunny held the door as they walked to the elevator, and Kerry punched the down button.
“I’m kind of jealous,” he said. Kerry was staying behind—the company needed somebody stateside, and Kerry had changed his face so many times he was unrecognizable. He could run things in secret, and the feds would be none the wiser.
Decker/Lyle smiled. “We’ll try not to have too much fun.”
“Oh, I’m going to have fun,” Kerry laughed. “I’m a newly minted billionaire in the greatest city in the world—don’t worry about me. But I won’t have a beach like you guys.”
“You can’t have everything,” said Sunny.
“I’m sure as hell going to try,” said Jeffrey.
The elevator dinged, opened, and they stepped in. Jeffrey pushed the button for the parking garage, and a moment later Kerry punched the button for the thirty-fourth floor. “I almost forgot the cash,” he said. “We made a lump withdrawal for you to take on the boat; three briefcases.”
“You need a hand?” asked Sunny.
“Like, a third one?” asked Jeffrey. “Can ReBirth do that?”
“Shut up, Jeffrey,” said Cynthia. “And no, Sunny, I need you to sign some papers on the way out.” The doors opened on the thirty-fourth floor. “Lyle can help him.”
“Sure thing,” said Lyle. On the thirty-fourth floor he and Kerry stepped out, collected the briefcases, and waited for the next elevator. When they reached the parking garage the others were already in the limo idling softly by the doors. Kerry passed his two cases in, and held the door as Decker/Lyle climbed in after.
“Have fun,” said Kerry, and closed the door.
The limo pulled away, and Jeffrey started tearing the foil from a bottle of champagne. “It’s finally here!” he shouted. “Let’s celebrate!” He popped the cork, and the other executives cheered as they shifted and squirmed out of the way of the spurting foam. Jeffrey poured glasses, nearly spilling one as the limo tipped up, driving out of the garage and into the street.
Cynthia looked at Decker/Lyle. “So where’s this boat?”
