"If I didn't know better, I'd say these rats on PB309 are getting younger," Garrison said, as he held a chart on which he had just made a notation. They've been more active - their numbers are looking better, and they even seem to have a renewed interest in the opposite sex."
Sweeney laughed. "Well, after all, Mark, it is spring. I'm feeling a little frisky myself."
"I'm not kidding, Samuel, look at this chart. It's not mental -- but physical. They are just younger than they were last week. Look at the numbers for yourself. In every way we measure the PB309 rats are healthier, more robust - and in just one week."
Sweeney took the clipboard; he studied the notations - and then the rats. "Wow. I think we might have something here." His brow furrowed as he looked at Garrison. "But what?"
Garrison's eyes widened. "The fountain of youth?"
Samuel Garrison and Mark Sweeney were scientists. They were friends and had been working together as partners for twenty-five years in a research lab affiliated with the University. It was essentially a two-man operation. They worked on a shoestring budget with only a handful of student assistants who charted readings and fed the lab animals. Their funding was running out and there was great pressure to produce results exciting enough to generate more grant money. They were presently studying the effects of a number of compounds on rats, hoping to discover an effective treatment for Alzheimer's disease. So far all they had managed to do was rule out a dozen or more ineffective compounds - important work, but nothing that could be taken to the bank.
"Intriguing," Sweeney said, "but far from conclusive; certainly not promising enough to use for leverage for grant money to continue our work. We don't even know what we have yet. It's not exactly a treatment for Alzheimer's, and without some hard proof, we'd be laughed out of business if we claimed to have discovered a youth elixir."
"I know," Garrison said. "We'll have to do more studies on PB309 -- controlled studies on more rats before we have anything we can present in a grant proposal."
Garrison and Sweeney went out for coffee that evening. They were too excited to go home. Besides they needed to talk about the implications of the recent lab results and how to maximize them to generate some funding as soon as possible.
"Do you realize what we could have here," Garrison asked as they talked over strong coffee at the Interurban Diner. "This could be the discovery of the century - of the millennium, even. A simple combination of two concentrated proteins that turns back the biological clock." He could hardly contain the enthusiasm that had grown since reading the lab data earlier that afternoon.
The idea of something that could reverse the effects of aging was as exciting to Garrison personally as it was professionally. His own health was fading; he suffered from crippling arthritis and skyrocketing blood pressure.
"We've got to be careful how we proceed, though," Sweeney said. "This could be nothing or it could be everything. Either way we have to protect our interests. I sure wish we had a controlled study already in place. It will be a year before we can have any conclusive results. I'm not ready to abandon the Alzheimer's research for this pie in the sky. At least we have a trickle of money from the Bartlett Foundation supporting that. It's the only sure thing we have."
They formulated a plan that evening to begin a new study of the PB309 compound that had shown such astonishing results.
"There's plenty of room in the basement," Sweeney suggested. "I know it's in pretty bad shape, but I think we need to keep this thing under wraps for the time being."
"It's going to take a couple of weeks to set up another laboratory down there," Garrison said.
"We can't rush this, Mark," Sweeney said. "We have to be careful about everything. We simply can't compromise the results."
Garrison agreed totally. "And in the mean time, we can continue the Alzheimer's studies. I guess we should drop PB309 from consideration in that research. The assistants can administer the Alzheimer's study almost completely, freeing our time to handle the new one ourselves."
Sweeney ordered the equipment the next day, and Garrison moved the PB309 rats from the Alzheimer's study to the basement. They would continue giving them the compound and collecting data. It couldn't be used in the new controlled study, but it could be an important precursor of what to expect.
"There is going to be a little lull before we get it going," Sweeney told Garrison as they shut down for the evening. "You might as well take a few days vacation. We are going to be very busy once everything is in place."
Garrison didn't like delays. He didn't want to wait around for the new geriatric rats to be procured and for UPS to deliver the cages and equipment. But Sweeney was right. They needed to do the study meticulously to have any hope of a good hearing when they presented the grant proposal. And there would be little to do until things were in place. He decided to take his friend's advice and take off a few days. They both had been working long hours and Garrison could use a little time off.
He decided to go to the mountains while Sweeney stayed home and kept the lab going. Garrison had an old cabin near a spring-fed stream where he used to do a lot of fly-fishing when his health was better. Even now it was the perfect place to get away and rest.
That evening, as he packed for the week away, he found a vial of PB309 in his pocket - one he had overlooked when he moved the PB309 rats to the basement. He held it up to the light and for a moment the golden liquid mesmerized him -- the culmination of his career in a bottle, after all those years of routine research and lackluster accomplishments. Until now, he had done nothing to distinguish himself in the field he loved, but this was something truly special. Everyone in the world would recognize this triumph. He wrapped his hand around the vial and held it to his face. Nothing had ever seemed quite so precious. "You are going to change the world, I just know it." Garrison wondered if bringing it home had been on oversight or if he had purposely overlooked it without realizing it consciously. On a whim he slipped it into the fold of a sweater and closed the bag.
Garrison was tired by the time he arrived at the mountain cabin the next day. The weather had turned chilly, and his crippled fingers ached as he unloaded the car and brought in firewood. By the time he had built a fire in the fireplace to warm the cold damp cabin his reserve of energy was spent.
But his mind was churning as he sat before the fire and dreamed of what he and Sweeney might have discovered. It was then he began to suspect why he had slipped the vial of PB309 into his pocket, and why it was now in the suitcase. He stepped to the case and opened it with aching fingers, took out the slender vial and studied the gold liquid it contained. Garrison thought of the way the rats had reacted to it - how young and vigorous they had become. What would it hurt, he thought, to take a drop himself? He might prove, at least to himself, that what they had discovered was truly the breakthrough he believed it to be. He was the perfect subject: old and infirm enough to see results if there were any to see. The rats had shown demonstrable benefits within a week. There was nothing to indicate that it might be dangerous - completely natural distillates that are found in many fruits and vegetables. The worse thing that could happen would be -- nothing. In which case, it would be good to know before they invested a year in a new study.
Garrison opened the vial, put a drop on his tongue and swallowed. It had a tart taste, but not unpleasant - rather like sour apple. He capped the vial and placed it on the table before him. "We'll see," he said smiling. Garrison was too weary to find bedding for the old mattress in the corner of the one-room cabin, so he pulled his coat around his shoulders and slept on the threadbare sofa before the fire.
The next morning he awoke to a chill in the cabin. The fire had burned out during the night. Garrison stretched, feeling refreshed after the night's sleep. "So far, so good," he said, as he took mental inventory of his aches and pains. He couldn't really say that he felt younger, but he didn't feel bad, and it wasn't every morning he could say that. One thing he knew for sure: the PB309 evidently did him no harm.
By noon he'd accomplished much. The cabin was in order, a stack of firewood was laid by, and he had navy beans bubbling over the fire in an old cast iron pot. He even considered looking for some old fishing tackle he had left in the cabin's loft. Garrison took another drop of PB309 with his lunch.
It was soon evident that he had more energy. Whether it was the mountain air or PB309, he couldn't say for sure, but he went fishing for the first time in several years and came back with a 2-pound trout and plenty of energy to spare. He suspected it was the compound and he continued to take a drop with every meal.
There was no doubt by the end of the week long vacation. His energy seemed boundless. Garrison felt more vital than he had in years. Every effort he made seemed to reap accelerated benefits on PB309. His waking hours were filled with activity and he grew stronger and healthier every day. He hiked all over the mountain and discovered trails he hadn't known existed. He started a program of weight lifting with firewood to build up muscle mass in his arms. It was amazing, but he saw results in just a few sessions. In every way, he seemed to be getting younger. But now it was time to go home and get back to the laboratory -- to the work that would revolutionize the world.
After he drove down from the mountains, Garrison stopped at a cafe to call Sweeney to let him know when he would be returning. He wanted to tell Sweeney about his transformation, but he knew his partner would not have approved of testing the compound on himself. Sweeney would see it for himself soon enough, though. Then Garrison would tell him why he looked younger.
"I'm driving back today, Mark," Garrison said when he got his friend on the phone. "How is everything there -- the PB309 experiment - how is it coming along?"
"Bad news, there," Sweeney said. "Strange how it worked out. The rats appeared to be getting younger and healthier and then they just dropped dead one by one the last couple of days. It is almost as if they were borrowing all the energy and health from the remainder of their lives and spending it all at an accelerated rate - and when they came to the end of it, that was it. Don't worry, though. I've been able to stop the shipment of the extra equipment. It won't cost us anything."
The End