Peter Hamilton: Misspent Youth

She’d been rather surprised that Zai hadn’t been in the group when they’d barged through the front doors. Tim’s expression when he finally staggered home in the early hours of Sunday morning had provided her with a great deal of amusement: a cat that had not only got the cream, but managed to gobble down the goldfish as well. Now Zai was nowhere to be seen, and Annabelle Goddard had been invited by herself. She’d been a casual member of Tim’s group for several years, though it was only in the last twenty months that she’d become increasingly striking. Tim was keeping a civil distance from her this afternoon. Sue had almost laughed at how careful he was being, desperate not to show any favoritism, never singling her out to talk to, making sure she was just one of the lads. He must be crazy for her. It looked mutual, too.

Sue peered through the bay windows, trying to see how the pair of them were conducting themselves in the pool. It was the first time she’d noticed how amazingly pretty Annabelle actually was these days, possessing the kind of body that every boy would drool over. But then Sue had caught herself several times over the last few months looking hard at the girls in Tim’s group of friends, giving their figures and complexions a professional assessment as she ran comparisons with herself. She wasn’t forty yet, and had certainly managed to keep her own looks and figure, despite nine repellent months of pregnancy and then giving birth. Modern genoprotein-based cosmetic treatments were an absolute boon in that respect.

It wasn’t just the straight medical pharmaceutical companies that had benefited from the genome decoding projects of the nineties and noughties. There had been a long period of corporate mergers and buyouts early in the millennium, as pharmaceutical, biochemical, and cosmetic companies fused into the new economy giants that they were today. Successful and worthy genetic treatments to counter and cure appalling diseases by the use of powerful vectoring technology to deliver improved genes directly to individual cells had swiftly been adapted to insert genes that made more subtle cellular improvements.

Skin was the first area to come under scrutiny, of course. Vitality, firmness, and the eradication of wrinkles had been the goals of the cosmetics trade since human prehistory, as it attempted to infuse that elusive healthy glow so nonchalantly possessed by adolescents. Now for the first time it was possible at least to slow down normal epidermal decay with a huge array of new-genes-for-old elixirs that could target particular cells and layers. The market for such products was astonishing, almost as much as their cost.

Jeff had always been condescending when she used the dermal genoprotein treatments, and he constantly grumbled about the price of them. He claimed she was far too young to be using the stuff. But not even genoproteins could actually turn back the clock. So the sooner she used them, the easier it would be for the treatments to maintain her. Today her skin had the glossy vigor of a twenty-five-year-old’s precisely because she began using the genoprotein when she was twenty-three. Two years’ apparent physical aging in fifteen chronological years. Oh yes, it was worth the money, no matter how much he grouched and cursed.

Skin and its texture, though, provided merely the first of the new products to emerge from the biogenetic laboratories. Men might have claimed not to care quite so much about their wrinkles and liver spots, but when it came to receding hairlines male vanity knew no bounds—nor cost barrier. Follicle genoprotein sales levels were second only to those of skin treatments.

Sue used only the very best of both, along with similar treatments for nails and teeth, and most definitely anticellulites targeting her hips and thighs. To be on the safe side she also used bone and muscle treatments, and a very specific group of genoproteins to prevent her breast tissue from becoming flaccid (the second most popular purchase for women after skin genoprotein). She’d never used the treatment to stimulate breast growth—there was a suspected link to cancer blooms, although most women ignored that. One of the reasons she’d never quite made it to supermodel status was her generous bust size.

All of her treatments were supervised and administered by a private hospital in Stamford devoted to bodyform courses. As they were combined with a wholesome diet which she stuck to with iron discipline, and a fitness regimen which impressed even the gym staff, her appearance was locked permanently in her midtwenties. Despite every miserable day, emotional and financial letdowns, arguments with Tim and with Jeff, bad holidays, depressing news reports, her mother’s frail condition, and faithless lovers, she could always look at herself in the mirror and be utterly satisfied with what she saw. Not only was she a match for any of the girls currently cavorting around the swimming pool in their skimpy costumes, but thanks to her modeling experience she had a much better dress sense than the lot of them put together. Men appreciated that.

Tim’s friends left around seven, catching the Rutland Circuit bus back to Oakham. He simply grinned and nodded to Annabelle as she and Sophie waved good-bye.

“So what happened to Zai?” Sue asked after the door closed behind them.

“Oh, er, she couldn’t make it.”

She tried not to smile. Even after eighteen years of upbringing by her and Jeff, he made a bad liar. “Okay, Tim.”

He gave her a curious look, then shrugged. “Got some course work to finish. I’ll be upstairs.”

Lucy Duke cleared her throat. Both Tim and Sue turned to look at her as she stood at the bottom of the stairs.

“Hi there, Tim. I’m afraid I need to talk to you about security arrangements,” Lucy said. Her carefully casual attitude made her sound incredibly patronizing.

“What about them?”

Even Sue was impressed by how quickly he slid from reasonable human being to petulant teenage grouch.

“Well, as you know, we’ve been installing several new systems around the house in anticipation of your father’s return. And there are some further requirements we need to implement.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. You see, it’s not just his safety we need to consider. The whole family is included.”

“You mean me?”

“Absolutely. I’m afraid the Separatists aren’t particularly pleasant, nor choosy about the people they target.”

Tim slouched and sneered at the same time. “I know. I put myself on their newstxt subscription list.”

“I see.” Lucy Duke’s mouth tightened slightly. “Tim, this is a little more involved than a few student revolutionary slogans.”

“You got something against students?”

“Not at all. But the people that Lieutenant Krober and his team are concerned about can be a serious problem.”

“Only to foreigners who steal our taxes and oppress us.”

“Tim, we’re assigning you a bodyguard.”

“Don’t want one.”

“I appreciate that this is difficult.” She smiled bravely. “And it won’t be very, um, cool, for this to happen at school, will it. I’m sorry about that, but we wouldn’t do it unless we thought it was essential. Your mother’s having one as well.”

“So?”

Lucy Duke’s humor was fading. “Tim, these people are evil and violent. You need protection from them. The Europol officers won’t interfere with your life.”

“You mean they’ll help me score my synth8?”

Sue almost laughed out loud at the appalled expression on the spin doctor’s face. “Do you know how much your father’s treatment has cost the federal government?” Lucy Duke asked curtly.

“I’m not sure. How about: the price of the prime minister getting elected president of Europe?”