Frobesher, 262

          "No!" Frobesher jumped up in anger. "No! I will not be a part of another of your experiments. Your playing God sickens me. I won't do it." The door slammed on his retreating figure...

          The chairman pushed a button. "Frobesher, 262," he said with icy calm.

          A babble of protest arose. "Surely you don't intend to use Frobesher. He knows too much."

          The chairman smiled. "But, of course, gentlemen. How else will we know if our theory works on a genius as well as it does on normal people as well and the street people? Go to your stations. We will begin in forty-five minutes."

          Frobesher, meanwhile, had gone directly to his office. They would be coming for him soon. He sat down to wait.
* * * * * *
          Months earlier, George Frobesher, brilliant research physician, was flown to the secret base on Guntu Island. His research into the aging process of man was his key to the door of promotion. His family waited at home for his return. George's wife, Aleen, was resigned to her husband's frequent trips on behalf of his research. However, their children felt differently. Gathered in the den of the big house, they discussed it at length.

          "Father is gone so much," came the plaintive yearning of five-year-old Jennie. Jennie was the darling. Curling brown hair, giant green eyes, and petite bones made her appear as a princess.

          The other girls regarded her crossly. "Get used to it"," snapped Charlotte. She was, she supposed, the most used to it. Father had been gone most of her twenty-five years. Bitterness against all men kept Charlotte single, miserable, constantly waiting for her father's love and approval.

          "You never get used to it," said Beth quietly. Beth had a certain glow, but it was false - as false as her smile. Beth, at twenty, worked in a shop, for the only real drive she had was spent waiting for Father.

          In contrast, thirteen-year-old Megan was solely involved with herself. She cared not a whit about Father's presence as long as her allowance came on time, spending it on make-up, pop and cigarettes. Megan was brittle - far beyond the hardness usually attributed to her type of personality.

          The girls had scarcely finished these observations when their mother flitted in. At forty, Aleen Frobesher was every bit the society butterfly. She could not understand her daughters' collective petulance in regard to her darling George. After all, he provided well for them over the years.

          "I've heard from Father," she said brightly. "His newest experiments have been a grand success and we will be able to enjoy many years of prosperity. A new opportunity takes Father to a secret area but he won't be gone long. Smile! He will be home for good before you know it! Now, I've got a meeting to attend. See you later tonight."

          Still waiting, George looked around his office and pondered recent events. Before he came here, he had his own lab - an independent soul. But when offered this dream position, he snatched it up, mainly because he was devoted to taking care of the financial expenses of his family. Why not? Guntu Island offered equipment and a chance to make a name for himself. Why not, indeed. The hitch was having to be away from home. But nobody seemed to notice him when he was there anyway. George thought of his conversation with his good friend, Abel Riley. Funny. He hadn't heard from Abel since he'd been here.

          "Abel," George had said at their last meeting, "this is my chance. I could do so much for the aging research, but I have this doubt in the back of my mind. What do I do?"

          "Let me put you in touch with my friend, Harry Wilde. I'm sure he will be able to advise you. I'll set up lunch for you and he tomorrow at one at the Claret."

          "All right. I'll be there." George sighed, wondering if this man would have the right answers.

          Abel Riley hurried George out of the office and then picked up his private phone and tapped in a code. Within minutes Harry Wild was knocking on Abel's door.

          "Harry - glad you could make it." Abel paced frantically up and down before his desk. "Harry, we've finally got that foot in the door you said we needed. Now we can get some real facts on the Guntu Island group."

          "How?"

          "George Frobesher has been offered a position on their staff."

          "Oh, I know George. Met him once, I should say. Seems to be a good, solid fellow. Did you discuss the plant with him?"

          "Certainly not! You're to meet him at the Claret at one tomorrow. You can put it to him then."

          Promptly at one, George's taxi drew up in front of the Claret. He paid the driver and stepped out onto the sidewalk. At forty-one, George was the picture of success. Dressed in a three piece suit and shined shoes, he hoped this visit with Harry would help. Usually he wore jeans and scuffed loafers while working. But he sensed this interview was going to be different than most. So he dressed accordingly. George was a genius in medical research. He had top honors in college, medical school and in his work. Several articles of his appeared regularly in professional journals.

          From a waiting car, Harry emerged next to him. "I say, George. Hope you don't mind an outing. We have a need for privacy to carry out our discussion."

          "Too right. Abel said you were just what I needed. What have you got in mind?"

          "Oh, a short drive into the country and a picnic. I've got everything we'll need in the car here."

          "Excellent! I had hoped you had some time so I cleared my calendar for this afternoon."

          Thirty minutes later found George and Harry both comfortable with each other. Spread out before them were the remains of sandwiches, fruit, and a half empty bottle of wine. George knew by now that Abel and Harry had worked together for years on a variety of projects. Harry worked for the government while Abel spent his time manufacturing electronic gadgets. Finally Harry got to the point.

          "Everything is not as it seems," he said.

          Instantly George became wary. "Why don't you just tell me what you're driving at?"

          "Certainly," said Harry. "It began several years ago. A man in Abel's company designed and built an electronic device that can be easily concealed within the human body. It sends messages as to location and emotional state of the wearer. In addition, it contains a microphone which can pick up conversations up to fifteen feet from the wearer."

          "Sounds interesting, but doesn't any common x-ray spot it immediately?"

          "Sure, but the device is shaped like a piece of shrapnel and is attached to the spine. Cosmetic surgery makes scars to bear up the wound and presence of shrapnel.

          "What does this have to do with me? I was hoping for some advice concerning this job offer I received."

          "My department, which is so interwoven in government bureaucracy that it is virtually unknown outside the department itself, learned that there is a group of scientists on Guntu Island doing some extreme experiments on aging. Since they are outside our territory, we cannot touch them. But we had hoped to get someone on the inside to investigate. That someone would wear the device I described. George, to be frank, we are hoping that you will consent to be that person. Abel's group would do the implant and we would take care of the rest."

          "What rest?"

          Harry cleared his throat. "Well, in order for your story about the shrapnel to be believable, since you weren't wounded in the military, we'll just have to blow up your lab."

          George blanched. "Then what?"

          "Then you'll be implanted, repaired and convalesced. All you have to do is be yourself and let the device do the work."

          George sat back, stunned. "Wow - this is a lot to digest."

          "Look at it this way, George. They hand-picked you. They have already investigated your entire background. So they would not suspect the accident that gave you your scars.

          "What about my family?"

          "You are gone so much already. One more trip will come as no surprise. When this is over, you can retire."

          "What if I die?"

          "If we thought there was any danger of that, we would not be sending you in there. However, should the unforeseen occur, your family would never want for anything."

          George pondered only a short time before speaking. "All right. I don't like the part about my lab but if that lends credibility then so be it."

          Within minutes, a car picked up the pair and deposited them in front of the building that housed Harry's group. After passing through several offices, they came to a door labeled "Corn Products". Harry moved quickly to a bookshelf and selected a book. On the wall behind the book's space was a button, which he pushed. Immediately the entire wall slid quietly into a recess revealing an up-to-the-minute, state-of-the-art operating room.

          "Good heavens," gasped George. "You knew what I would say? You knew I would agree? And my lab - I'll bet you've already demolished it!"

          "Well, yes. And yes. And yes. You may call your wife on this secure phone. Here is the guideline on what you will say."

          "Aleen? Yes, I'll be fine after a few days rest. Yes, I know the lab is gone. I'll be in a private hospital for a few days. Then I plan to visit the Guntu Island facility and see if the job they have offered will further my research. No, I don't know how long I will be gone. Yes, there is plenty in the checking account. The new job direct deposits so you won't have to worry about money. Certainly I'll keep in touch. I'm going to do research, not get a divorce! When I get back, let's throw a party. I know we haven't done that in years. Sure - a new house would be nice if that makes you happy. I'll be busy but won't forget to think of you. Love to you and the girls. Bye."

          As soon as the call was completed, George was whisked to a shower room where he took a thorough shower and put on a designer hospital gown. "Ugh," thought George, "cold paper". Just as quickly, he was back on the operating table breathing ether.

          George wakened slowly - aware at once of a sore spot on his back. His face was almost buried in a massive pillow. Trying to turn over proved too painful, so George opted for opening his eyes. The first face he saw was Abel's; the second, Harry's.

          "Nice nap, old chap?" Abel grinned. "It went perfectly. Your whole back looks like you've been hit by a mine. Excellent job. Just take it easy. You'll be up in less than a week."

          "Rest for now"," Harry added. "We've got everything under control." George grunted, and promptly fell back asleep.

          Four days later, Harry popped around the half-open door of George's room like he owned the place, with another man in tow. "Ollie Peterson, my supervisor. We sent a reply to the Guntu Island people telling them you will be released from the hospital this morning. Any questions?"

          George sat up. "I guess not" he managed to say.

          "Guntu's private jet will pick you up at 2:30 pm today at the airport. Just act normally. Do what you would have done had we never contacted you. Be natural. We'll do the rest."

          Precisely at 2:25 pm, George stepped out of the taxi, albeit gingerly, at the airport departures gate. He was met immediately by two gentlemen in neat, three piece suits. "Dr. Frobesher? Please follow us. The flight is long, and time is of the essence."

          George was delighted to find a brief waiting for him on the plane. He raised his eyebrows at the salary figures. It was far more than they had originally discussed. He sat back to ponder all this, and in a few moments decided he could think better on a full stomach. After all, he had been without solid food for several days. As if his thoughts were read by the steward, rib steak, lobster, three kinds of salad, wine and a huge piece of coconut cream pie were placed before him. George grunted in satisfaction. If he ate like this all the time, he'd either weigh a ton or have to work out daily. He inquired of the steward.

          "Tell me, do we eat like this all the time?"

          "Certainly, sir. We serve the very best meals to keep our people healthy and happy. I hope I am not boasting if I say I am very proud of our kitchen and its staff."

          George sat back and closed his eyes for a moment to let his food digest. The next moment, he was being awakened by one of the black-suited gentlemen.

          "This way, Dr. Frobesher. My name is Angel, Charles Angel. I will be your close associate while you are here with us."

          "Thank you. I'm looking forward to working with the project. What happens now?"

          "First, you will have a physical, and then we will tour your office and lab before meeting the rest of the staff."

          "What are these scars? They weren't on your preliminary physical record files."

          "My lab blew up. I'll be carrying a bit of my lab table because it is too close to my spine to have been safely removed."

          "We'd better get a couple of x-rays just to be sure we have it all in your file."

          "Nasty looking mess - your back."

          "Yes, so they say. But it isn't bothering me. I'm so anxious to explore my lab and get started on my new experiments. Can we go now?"

          Charles laughed. "You're worse than a little kid. Sure, let's go."

          George was amazed. Everything was the color of beach sand and there were no visible doors or windows. "May I ask questions?" George was very curious about the strangeness of the design.

          "Certainly. What do you wish to know?"

          "Why is everything sand-colored and where are all the people?"

          Charles Angel laughed gently. "In time, George, in time."

          George had to hurry to keep up with Charles Angel's faster pace. "I guess I'm doing a good job of being myself," he thought with satisfaction.

          The tour of the apartment and lab were accomplished with quiet efficiency. George was impressed with the setup - expensive, comfortable and well-equipped.

          "When are the meals served and where?" George was determined to get as much information to his network as possible.

          "Meals are served in your rooms. Three times a day - and snacks are yours for the asking. You can have anything you wish to eat. We have an excellent staff of trained cooks to furnish your every whim. This makes up, in part, for being away from home, don't you think?"

          "Another question. I notice there are no windows?"

          "Ahh, very astute. Germs and distractions can't come in where there are no windows. Come, it is time to meet the rest of the directors."

          Back in George's living room, three men were seated."George, I'm Gary Neeze in charge of operations. This is Craig Strutt, head of research, and this is Norm Carr, in charge of equipment. We will be spending the next few hours acquainting you with procedures, etc."
* * * * *
          Later, the hidden door slid open to reveal Charles Angel. George jumped up, startled.

          Charles spoke right up with a hint of annoyance. "I thought I heard voices."

          George was ready with his cover reply. "I've talked out loud to myself for so long that I don't even think about it anymore. Sorry."

          Charles looked a little pained and then said, "You begin tomorrow. Rest well."

          As soon as Charles left, George continued his one-sided conversation. "In a few hours, I get my newest corpse to study. I guess I'm getting ahead of myself here, but what potential good can be accomplished!"

          Over the next few months, George reveled in excitement about the experiments he was conducting. Time ceased to exist for him. Daily things meant nothing. He tried to keep his reading up-to-date, but even that waned as George got nearer his solution.

          Finally it was time to go before the main committee and make his report. Charles made the introduction for him. "As you know, gentlemen, this is our newest colleague, George Frobesher. George has been doing some marvelous experiments in his lab. George, tell us about them."

          "Certainly, Charles. I'd be happy to share what I have learned. First, I am so grateful and delighted, gentlemen, that you chose me for this position. It has been a tremendous learning experience far beyond that which I could have reproduced in my own lab. I have spent my entire time here isolating the aging gene in cadavers and have been highly successful. I have been working hard, spending three days per corpse, as you know. I suppose it may seem like I have too many days off to someone on the outside, but the work is so intense that I can only spend that much energy before needing a rest. I spend the fourth day preparing the gene for study - and then I play."

          George looked around at these colleagues and found them encouraging him to continue.

          "Now that I have them isolated, I can study them individually to find out the following: 1) What did the individuals have in common as far as lifestyle, health, age, etc.; 2) What do the genes themselves have in common; 3) What makes the genes release their aging properties into the body; 4) How can this be simulated in the lab?

          "You know, gentlemen, the tremendous potential we have here. If I get some successful results, we could remove the aging gene from, say, a brilliant scientist, so he could live longer and give us the benefit of his knowledge. Just think of it - maybe those working on a solution to the common cold could live long enough and be mentally alert enough to find it!

          "But there is a negative aspect we need to examine. Suppose we do have success. It must be carefully guarded against those who would steal it and use it in reverse - to administer the aging gene to those they want eliminated. That would be a catastrophe of the highest order, gentlemen."

          George shuddered and sank tiredly into his chair.

          "Thank you, George." Gary Neeze looked very pleased. "We are delighted with your work to date. And yes, we are very aware of the negative aspects. That is why we take such extreme precautions to safeguard our location, etc. And everyone here is hand-picked for their job. Gentlemen, let us adjourn for lunch."

          George continued patiently working the full four days a week on his experiments. Occasionally, he thought of his family, but a turn of events in his experiments always seemed to push them back out of his mind.
* * * * * *
          At home, George's family were making some rapid changes. Aleen discovered the paycheck covered the house she always dreamed of owning. She took the girls on a world tour. Charlotte met a man during their travels and married him. Beth purchased a boutique and made a success of it. Megan opted for a new wardrobe. Jennie seemed untouched by the new affluence asking only, "When is Father coming home?" Weekly typed notes assured them of George's success, love and devotion. The Guntu Island people were very careful, and very thorough.
* * * * *
          Months passed swiftly and George finally finished his work. He excitedly called Gary. "I've got it! Will you come?"

          Gary put in an announcement call. "Will all parties related to the Frobesher work please report to the main conference room in fifteen minutes? This is it, gentlemen!"

          Moments later, the room was filled to overflowing. All faces were eager and expectant. George got up and spoke before anyone could introduce him.

          "Gentlemen! We have done it. As you know, I've been working on isolating the aging gene, correlating similarities, etc. Last month, I was given permission to work on living subjects. Now, the genes are easily spotted. Each is found to have a regular pattern unlike any other gene in the body. And each aging gene seems, in my thousands of case studies, to be exactly the same in all cases regardless of the donor. Male, female, age - nothing seems to make a difference. We can now keep forever young those persons who are doing so much for mankind. Questions?"

          After a moment of jubilation, Charles Angel spoke up. "What have you done with the aging genes themselves? I'm worried about the safeguards, you know."

          "I have them frozen in specially marked containers. We don't want them destroyed or injected accidentally."

          Craig spoke next. "Have you given any thought to mercy killing?" This comment was met by a concerted gasp.

          George thought quickly. "Well, yes I have," he said slowly. "You are no doubt referring to the part of the population considered terminally ill?" He looked at Craig for confirmation. Craig nodded.

          "I suppose this is another effect of my research and it is both positive and negative. In administering the genes to the terminally ill, I suppose we have done them a service. But..." Here George paused, troubled by his own thoughts. "But, isn't that like taking all life into our own hands? Who is to say who lives and who dies? Actually, we could view that whole situation in those terms."

          George sat down abruptly, shaken by his words and thoughts. Suddenly the whole business was turning into a nightmare as he weighed the possibilities in his own mind.

          Gary stood. "Gentlemen, I have arranged to have my own daughter, Lucinda, flown in tonight. She has leukemia - no chance for survival. I plan to administer the aging genes to her body. It will speed up her death and be far less painful than what she has to look forward to now."

          George was totally shocked. "Are you sure there are no procedures that may aid her recovery?"

          "Everything that could be done has been done to no avail, so we will administer the genes in the morning."

          George returned to his apartment, worried and shaken. "All of a sudden, my research has gotten out of hand. I never dreamed this was the direction they were headed."

          Supper was duly delivered, but George could not bring himself to eat. He drank his wine quickly, and sat down at his desk to ponder further, speaking out loud the things on his mind. He never knew when he went into a deep, drugged sleep...

          When George woke up, it was 10:30 am by the digital clock. Without stopping for breakfast, which was on a warming tray beside his bed, George hurried into his lab.

          Stunned, he stopped in his tracks. Most of his equipment was gone and in its place stood a bed with a tiny, old woman in it.

          "What is happening? Where's my equipment? I'm not a Rumpelstiltskin!"

          Unperturbed, Gary came in and stood beside him. "George," he said briskly, "I'd like you to meet my daughter, Lucinda. Lucinda, honey, this is Dr. Frobesher."

          George felt a dreadful nausea rising in his throat. "How old is Lucinda, Gary?"

          "Yesterday she was five. Thanks to your work, today she is ninety. By this evening she will be at peace." Gary smiled. "Isn't this great? My child won't have to suffer."

          George shuddered. "Isn't this playing God? I don't like it."

          "Now George, think of the good we can do here. We are bringing in a little known but very important scientist later today. His aging genes will be removed so that he can continue his work on the common cold, unhindered by getting older and less effective."

          George said quietly, "I don't feel very well. Would you mind if I took a few days to rest? I need to think."

          "Sure. Take all the time you need."

          The next several days George spent pacing in his room and talking to himself. "I cannot allow my research to be used in this manner," he murmured.

          The following day, the hidden door whisked open and Charles Angel stood in the opening. "George, you are needed at the conference this morning. Some important decisions must be reached."

          George put down his coffee cup. "All right. I'm coming."

          He looked through haggard eyes into the faces of his colleagues. Gary rose to speak.

          "Gentlemen, the last few days have proved that we can control life. One of the traits each of you possess is the hunger for wealth and power. And now we hold the key in our hands. It is our duty to rid the world of the less desirable citizens and strengthen those who can make things happen. We can do this, gentlemen, thanks to George Frobesher, who perfected the technique of isolating the aging gene."

          Applause reached George's ears but he was immune to it.

          "No!" Frobesher jumped up in anger. "No! I will not be a part of another of your experiments. Your playing God sickens me. I won't do it!" The door slammed on his retreating figure.

          The chairman pushed a button. "Frobesher, 262," he said with icy calm.

          A babble of protest arose. "Surely you don't intend to use Frobesher. He knows too much.!"

          The chairman smiled. "But, of course, gentlemen. How else will we know if our theory works on genius as well as on normal people and the street people? Go to your stations. We will begin in forty-five minutes."

          Frobesher, meanwhile, went directly to his office. They would be coming soon. He sat down to wait...
* * * * *

          When George awoke, he was in a strange room - one he'd not seen before. Surely the light was dim on purpose... terribly hard to see.... Turning his head to the right, he saw Aleen and Charlotte. As his focus returned somewhat, he turned left and saw Beth, Megan and Jennie. All seemed to be crying.

          Aleen leaned over the bed. "Dearest, we're all here now. How are you feeling?"

          George struggled, trying to obtain a grasp on the situation, but found himself nearly spent just trying to think. "What happened? Where am I?"

          "You are in your own bed in our new home. Mr. Angel himself brought you home after you collapsed at work."

          "Where are Abel and Harry? I must speak to them at once!"

          "Didn't you get my letter, dear? Abel and Harry were killed in a terrible auto crash the day after you left for Guntu Island."

          George lay back weakly. He thought to himself, too tired to form the words aloud - "I knew it! I knew it! They were wiped out to prevent me from telling them anything. The only thing that saved my family from the same fate was the fact that they knew nothing in the first place.... I've got to tell someone.... but I forget what it is I was supposed to tell... so tired... so very tired....."

          George closed his eyes for the final time and expelled the air from his lungs. The family filtered out quietly. Only Jennie ventured to say what was foremost on her mind.

          "Was that old man my father?"