Eando Binder: Anton York, Immortal

Number 277-B-3 of my guinea-pig, after inoculation, lived twice the normal span of life. And that was with the crude C4 Elixir. Is it possible, that in protecting protoplasm from disease by increased energy of radiogens, in the body, the Elixir also prevents the decay of vitality? Preserves youth perhaps? If so, what will my Elixir M.7, just perfected, do to my Tony? Increase his life span, perhaps, to—no, I won’t speculate. I am a scientist, not a prophet. Yet there must be some factor of longevity, in the Elixir.

Longevity!

That would burst like a bomb in Anton York’s brain. But he refused to allow his thoughts to carry on a train of speculation. Instead he searched out the “leaf 88A, book G-4” mentioned. Crabbed chemical formulae gave a compound labelled: “Grignard Reaction on the chlorinated union of zymase and pituitrin—in Elixir M-7.”

Though not acquainted with the more technical phases of organic chemistry, being a physicist, York knew that zymase was an enzyme, a substance which could regenerate itself in the proper environment, though not a living material. A short search in his library gave him an idea of the properties of pituitrin. It was a gland product, controlling growth, keeping it even with the constant tearing down of protoplasm.

Growth and regeneration. Matthew York’s formulae seemed to have combined these two biological factors. York puzzled over these for a while, then turned again to his father’s diary. There was only one other entry after the one he had read. A month had been left blank. That was the month Anton York had been so ill from the injection. On the eve before his sudden death from heart failure, Matthew York had written:

Little Tony, thank God, is out of danger now. He is resting well, poor boy. I made a blood test today. Nothing definite. There is some slight increase of the radiogen value, though. I have just had the thought today that the longevity factor may be due to—simply—increased cosmic ray consumption. One of the unproven corollaries of the Radiogen Theory is that those invisible bundles of energy derive their power from the cosmic rays which fill every part of the Universe—every nook and corner of it, even the spaces between atoms. It is so astonishingly logical when one thinks of the countless radiogens which exist in and motivate protoplasm—give it “life”—are known to carry within their nuclei temperatures comparable to those of the stars, up to 6,000 degrees centigrade.

Cosmic rays, in turn, are electromagnetic waves of tremendous power and penetration. It is not fantastic to conceive of these constant rays losing their immense power to the radiogens, which are web-traps, like electromagnets. Now if resistance to disease—and I have almost proved it so—is the electrocution of germs by radiogens which they touch, an increased radiogen-content is a panacea. It has worked with certain of my guinea-pigs, mice and fruit flies, Pray God it works with Tony. Secondly, if old age is the waning capacity to manufacture radiogens, my Elixir is a drop from the Fountain of Youth, because its constituents are able to procreate themselves in protoplasm indefinitely.

And of course, there are my Methuselah fruit flies. A month ago, after inoculating Tony, I segregated those ten insects, gave them the same Elixir M-7, by inhalation, and they are still living, even though I did not feed them.

Normal fruit flies do not live more than fourteen days without food. Still I will not speculate in the case of Tony, except to say that if his radiogen-content is more than twice normal, he may well be—immortal! That is simply adding two and two to make four—I looked long at my boy today, wondering. He doesn’t look any different, nor should he. But he may be—yes, I dare to think it—immortal!

Immortal!

If his radiogen-content was two times normal, he was incapable of dying either from disease or old age, both of which were results of deficiency of radiogens, according to the theory Matthew York had followed. Was this why he failed to grow old?

Examination of various other portions of his father’s notes began to convince him it was. For the elder York had specified several times that an organism rich in radiogens, and capable of keeping up the abnormal supply, would reach its prime of life and stay there.

Gradually it became clear to Anton York as he read on. Living matter was a complete chemical entity in itself. Its “soul,” or “life,” came from the ultra-microscopic radiogens, like tiny batteries, which activated it under control of neuroimpulses from the brain.

The energy of the radiogens came from space, from the stars. When the Universe had been young, there had been more cosmic radiation from the birth-throes of stars. Nature, with such a lavish supply of life-energy, had created a wide variety of life, but each with only enough radiogen-content to animate it properly. With the waning of the Universe, and the decline of cosmic radiation, Nature had increased the radiogen-content in inverse proportion in order to continue its original cycles of life.

But here was Man stepping in. Here was Matthew York defying Nature, outrunning Evolution. Here was Anton York with a twice normal capacity of utilizing the life-giving cosmic radiation.

Here was immortality! Because, not until the Universe had run down to half its present rate of cosmic radiation would Anton York be included in Nature’s immutable laws of the cycles of life.

And that would not be for millions of years!

York grew dizzy with the thought of it.

“Bah!” he said suddenly, to himself. “Here I am talking myself into this thing without proof of any sort. I can’t be sure that I have more radiogens than normal. I can’t know that the Elixir worked on me. I can’t even be sure that he succeeded as he hoped with his serum, for he wasn’t absolutely certain himself.”

This line of thought eventually led him to visit a famous blood specialist for a test. With a throbbing heart he waited to hear the result. The doctor finally reported that his blood was quite normal except in one respect—it had a singularly great germ-killing power. Twice as much as normal. He assured York that he would never be ill if his blood stayed that healthy.

York’s eyes glowed like ingots of molten metal.

“Then, that means my radiogen-content is doubled!” The doctor frowned, then laughed.

“Oh, you mean according to the electromagnetic theory of life? That theory isn’t credited, you know. In the accepted parlance, your blood simply contains twice as many phagocytes, the germ-killers. Radiogens make nice, scientific talk, but don’t exist. If they did, life would be a matter of volts and amperes. We would have electrically rejuvenated people walking around and living forever.” The doctor laughed heartily. “Think of that.”

A sort of paralyzing calm came over York, along with the conviction that the doctor was wrong, and his father right. A voice seemed to beat in his brain, telling him that his suspected immortality was not altogether mythical.

“How old am I?” he questioned him.

The doctor looked him over, though surprised at the question.

“I’d say about thirty-two, not more than thirty-five.”

“I’m fifty-five,” stated York. “And a hundred years from now, I’ll still be looking thirty-five.” He left the gaping doctor, went out into the street. He stared at a tall, sturdy skyscraper. “You’re strong and enduring,” he said to it quietly.

“You’ll last fifty, a hundred years. I’ll outlast you and your successors.” To the river under the steel bridge he murmured: “Someday you will not exist, and I will stand over your dried bed.” To the fields he whispered: “You will nurture many, many crop cycles, but some day you will be barren. On that day—I will be thirty-five.”