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Description
The tiny white mouse ran like it was actually going to get somewhere, despite being confined to a regular ten-gallon tank. The metal wheel it spun with such determination squeaked with every revolution, lending a slightly irritating soundtrack to the whole affair.

I was consumed with the simple task of watching the creature run. Though there were many things in the lab that needed doing, tearing myself away from the tank did not seem like an option. There was something very special about this little mouse, along with many of its neighbors in tanks along the laboratory walls.

As of that day, the mice had exceeded the maximum lifespan ever recorded for their species by a whole year.

That was due to an intensive program of gene therapy developed by my research team. A simple virus—when altered to carry a genetic payload rather than a disease—could have amazing results. The solution had taken years to create and perfect, but the administration was beautifully simple. An inhalation of the viral vector would spread throughout the body just like a disease, delivering DNA to cells and inserting it into each gene. The genome of the mouse—or any other creature—would be permanently altered, and the changes would even be passed down to future generations.

The difficult part had not, in fact, been turning off the parts of the genome that caused aging. That had been achieved years ago. The part that gave us real trouble was the cancer thing. You see, cells get old and die for a reason. If they keep on going and mutating and splitting forever, well, that's cancer. The first mice we experimented on didn't show any signs of aging, but they didn't exactly have time to enjoy their eternal youth, either. They all died; their otherwise young and healthy bodies riddled with tumors. In order to cure old age, we first had to cure cancer. Since we were building on the fine work of earlier scientists, that breakthrough required just a few more years of genetic tweaking. Still, I was staring at the culmination of a life's work.

The mouse continued to run, blissfully unaware of its huge importance to me. I reached out, removing the lid from the tank, and scooped it up into my gloved hand. The mouse was used to this by now, and did not resist or struggle. Holding it up, I examined it carefully, brushing my fingers over its tiny body. It seemed fine. No evidence of ill health and certainly no sign of developing tumors.

I gently placed the mouse back into its tank, and it resumed its earlier pursuit. Damn. I leaned heavily against the lab bench, pulled off the latex glove and pressed my cool hand against my forehead. We had seen this coming, of course, when the mice did not get old or sick as normal mice would. But today was a year beyond previous records, with no sign of slowing down. That was the timeframe we had set for ourselves. Now we could publish our findings.

Publishing this would make us all famous, both inside and outside of the scientific community. The news loved this kind of story—they had been eating up life extension advances for years. There would be rounds of interviews and endless questions from people who didn't understand the science at all. That was fine. It was nothing we hadn't dealt with before. Then we would get clearance to start trials in humans. That process would be lengthy. Not only would we have to demonstrate safety, but efficacy as well. Proving the effectiveness of a drug intended to halt the aging process would take at least ten years in a human—probably more like fifteen, to be on the safe side. After that, it could be rolled out to the general population.

To the general population. That always gave me pause. A couple of years ago, lab-grown organs had reached the point of being regularly used in medicine. With the addition of this one-two hit of permanent vigor and prevention of cancer at the genetic level, humans might now potentially live for a very long time. You're never going to get old! Oh, you wore out your heart by eating junk food for your entire life? Here's another one! No need to worry about cancer…
I believed—I truly believed that the product of our research would be a miracle for anyone who received it. It was a good thing to do. That said, was it the right thing to do?

It didn't matter, anyway. As soon as we went public it would be out of our hands. Once you tell the world that they can live fabulously extended lives and be young and healthy for those entire lives, there's no closing that Pandora's box. Even if that was what you really wanted t—

—"Victor!"

It was one of my lab assistants, Emily. She was young and had joined the team late, fresh out of grad school; but was as capable as anyone on it. Not to mention the enthusiasm that sparkled in her wide, blue eyes. The rest of us—beaten-down, middle aged, jaded from experience—couldn't match that, and we needed it.

Emily smiled radiantly. "Vic, the rest of us are going out for a drink to celebrate the anniversary. Did you want to come?"

I couldn't help smiling back at the young researcher. "Of course, Emily," I said. "I'll get my coat."

She cast a glance around the lab, scrutinizing all of the mouse tanks around the walls. "It's a shame they can't come," she said with a wink. "It's their special day, too."

"They'll be fine here," I said. "Just give them an extra treat with their dinner, and don't tell anyone you broke feeding protocol."

"Right you are, boss," she said, turning on her heel and leaving quickly.

I shook my head in affectionate exasperation as I pulled off my lab goggles, and then I went to retrieve my coat from its hook where I had left it.

Description
The tiny white mouse ran like it was actually going to get somewhere, despite being confined to a regular ten-gallon tank. The metal wheel it spun with such determination squeaked with every revolution, lending a slightly irritating soundtrack to the whole affair.

I was consumed with the simple task of watching the creature run. Though there were many things in the lab that needed doing, tearing myself away from the tank did not seem like an option. There was something very special about this little mouse, along with many of its neighbors in tanks along the laboratory walls.

As of that day, the mice had exceeded the maximum lifespan ever recorded for their species by a whole year.

That was due to an intensive program of gene therapy developed by my research team. A simple virus—when altered to carry a genetic payload rather than a disease—could have amazing results. The solution had taken years to create and perfect, but the administration was beautifully simple. An inhalation of the viral vector would spread throughout the body just like a disease, delivering DNA to cells and inserting it into each gene. The genome of the mouse—or any other creature—would be permanently altered, and the changes would even be passed down to future generations.

The difficult part had not, in fact, been turning off the parts of the genome that caused aging. That had been achieved years ago. The part that gave us real trouble was the cancer thing. You see, cells get old and die for a reason. If they keep on going and mutating and splitting forever, well, that's cancer. The first mice we experimented on didn't show any signs of aging, but they didn't exactly have time to enjoy their eternal youth, either. They all died; their otherwise young and healthy bodies riddled with tumors. In order to cure old age, we first had to cure cancer. Since we were building on the fine work of earlier scientists, that breakthrough required just a few more years of genetic tweaking. Still, I was staring at the culmination of a life's work.

The mouse continued to run, blissfully unaware of its huge importance to me. I reached out, removing the lid from the tank, and scooped it up into my gloved hand. The mouse was used to this by now, and did not resist or struggle. Holding it up, I examined it carefully, brushing my fingers over its tiny body. It seemed fine. No evidence of ill health and certainly no sign of developing tumors.

I gently placed the mouse back into its tank, and it resumed its earlier pursuit. Damn. I leaned heavily against the lab bench, pulled off the latex glove and pressed my cool hand against my forehead. We had seen this coming, of course, when the mice did not get old or sick as normal mice would. But today was a year beyond previous records, with no sign of slowing down. That was the timeframe we had set for ourselves. Now we could publish our findings.

Publishing this would make us all famous, both inside and outside of the scientific community. The news loved this kind of story—they had been eating up life extension advances for years. There would be rounds of interviews and endless questions from people who didn't understand the science at all. That was fine. It was nothing we hadn't dealt with before. Then we would get clearance to start trials in humans. That process would be lengthy. Not only would we have to demonstrate safety, but efficacy as well. Proving the effectiveness of a drug intended to halt the aging process would take at least ten years in a human—probably more like fifteen, to be on the safe side. After that, it could be rolled out to the general population.

To the general population. That always gave me pause. A couple of years ago, lab-grown organs had reached the point of being regularly used in medicine. With the addition of this one-two hit of permanent vigor and prevention of cancer at the genetic level, humans might now potentially live for a very long time. You're never going to get old! Oh, you wore out your heart by eating junk food for your entire life? Here's another one! No need to worry about cancer…
I believed—I truly believed that the product of our research would be a miracle for anyone who received it. It was a good thing to do. That said, was it the right thing to do?

It didn't matter, anyway. As soon as we went public it would be out of our hands. Once you tell the world that they can live fabulously extended lives and be young and healthy for those entire lives, there's no closing that Pandora's box. Even if that was what you really wanted t—

—"Victor!"

It was one of my lab assistants, Emily. She was young and had joined the team late, fresh out of grad school; but was as capable as anyone on it. Not to mention the enthusiasm that sparkled in her wide, blue eyes. The rest of us—beaten-down, middle aged, jaded from experience—couldn't match that, and we needed it.

Emily smiled radiantly. "Vic, the rest of us are going out for a drink to celebrate the anniversary. Did you want to come?"

I couldn't help smiling back at the young researcher. "Of course, Emily," I said. "I'll get my coat."

She cast a glance around the lab, scrutinizing all of the mouse tanks around the walls. "It's a shame they can't come," she said with a wink. "It's their special day, too."

"They'll be fine here," I said. "Just give them an extra treat with their dinner, and don't tell anyone you broke feeding protocol."

"Right you are, boss," she said, turning on her heel and leaving quickly.

I shook my head in affectionate exasperation as I pulled off my lab goggles, and then I went to retrieve my coat from its hook where I had left it.