Flight 12

Flight 12 – a serial novel by Travis Creel

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: STIMULEVER FOREVER

PREVIOUSLY: It's time to take a brief pause from the trials and tribulations of the Flight 12 passengers and ask: How much do we actually know about what's going on? Here's some of what has been revealed:

• The island is part of a temporary alternate universe, Betaworld, that is a key component of `The Project', created by a corporation, Stimulever, based in Switzerland and headed by a man named Jesús.

• The Project is to be launched on New Year's Eve. To achieve a successful launch, `the physics' require the deaths of all left-siders, Seth's daily sex with one of the Twelve, and other bizarre criteria, not all of which have been disclosed.

• Ultimately, The Project's launch depends upon a decision that Seth must make on New Year's Eve, after he returns underground.

• Sean has told the inhabitants of the Phallic Tower that The Project will alter the `real world' (Alphaworld) in a way that will prevent them from experiencing the horrific upcoming year that Stimulever's computers have projected for The Twelve. However, Sean has been known to lie when it suits his purpose.

That being said, we don't really know what The Project is, or why Stimulever is working so arduously to effect it.

It is time to find out. Which involves a little history lesson – about Stimulever.

FLASHBACK: JESÚS (ST. MORITZ, SWITZERLAND) – FOUR YEARS AGO

The number twelve reverberates through society and history – twelve months in a year, twelve signs of the Zodiac, twelve animals in the Chinese calendar, twelve tribes of Israel, twelve members of a jury, twelve hours in the a.m. or p.m., twelve inches in a foot, twelve notes in a musical scale. . . . I could go on for a while.

Is it any wonder that the number twelve is central to The Project?

I wish I could say I founded Stimulever when I was twelve, but in fact I was eighteen. Yes, eighteen. My parents, Carlos and Rita Cortez, were titans of the financial world, who relocated from Santiago to Zürich when I was six, so I grew up Swiss, despite my Latino heritage. I am not given to false modesty, so I will frankly declare that I was something of a boy genius, and my parents hired the best private tutors in the world, not unlike the young Alexander the Great being tutored by Aristotle. My tutors, however, concentrated on science and mathematics. By the time I was fourteen, I had a Masters degree from ETH Zürich; I added a doctorate from MIT two years later.

I had little interest in global economics. Nevertheless, my father was envious of my talents and feared that I would take over his financial empire, generating tension between us. His sudden death when I was sixteen prompted whispers that I was responsible. My mother, always protective of me, quickly established a trust fund from her inheritance, to which I would have access on my eighteenth birthday.

By that time I had a fabulous idea in my head, developed with the help of Thibaut (whom I had met at MIT), and I decided to formulate my own company, which I called initially by the rather mysterious (but hopefully intriguing) name of A Lush Theme, Inc. Thibaut became my technical guru (though not my partner) and I quickly brought in others to serve as my corporate board.

Ten others. Ten, because I knew instinctively that the Board had to comprise exactly twelve men. We pulled in Sean, Paolo, Falcon, Simon, Ari, Demetrius, Fred, Arturo, Germán, and Dion. Two others played critical roles: Hamish, talented and ruthless enough to be an asset, declined a position on the Board to stay in Santo Domingo and maintain his sideline as a bdsm dom. Dolph, computer whiz, preferred the official status of consultant', but resided at headquarters with us. All of us were gay – something that just seemed right at the time, and later confirmed by Dolph and Thibaut to have been essential to the physics'.

So what was the fabulous idea that spawned A Lush Theme? The Methuselah Serum. I have a fondness for anagrams (you may have noticed), and A Lush Theme' is an anagram of Methuselah'. It took twelve years (yes, twelve), but we accomplished it – a product that could slow down the natural aging of the body. How much? By a factor of twelve. (I tell you, the number is significant). We injected the serum into ourselves on my thirtieth birthday. That was twenty-three years ago. I am now fifty-three years old, with the physical body of a thirty-two-year-old. I will still age, but at one-twelfth the pace of anyone else; should my body expire at what it thinks is the age of eighty, that would be nearly six hundred years from now. All that would stop me from living that long would be an accident or the early onset of some disease.

In all of recorded history, there may never have been a medical discovery with a more lucrative market potential than the Methuselah Serum. I was already a billionaire, but this could make me a quadrillionaire. And I could enjoy that wealth for literally centuries.

But what effect would it have on the world? Economies of scale deemed it impossible to manufacture in sufficient quantities to offer it universally, dividing the world into a brand new set of haves and have-nots. The have-nots would be up in arms, perhaps literally. According to Dolph's simulations, if we made Methuselah available to less than 75-to-90% of the world's population, the future was bound to be chaotically violent. That was not a world I wanted to live in, nor did I want that on my conscience. However, society was sustainable if we limited distribution to no more than forty: after the Board, Hamish, and Dolph, that allowed twenty-six others. And we had to make some profit on it, didn't we? But we needed to prove that it worked before selling it.

Eight years later, our bodies having validated Methuselah's efficacy, I decided to take the corporation public, limiting the shareholders to twelve. Again, twelve. With an investment of half a billion dollars each, shareholders could procure a personal supply of the Methuselah Serum for themselves and a significant other, thus attaining the closest thing to immortality that mankind had ever known.

I presented this option to the Board, and was outvoted. If the world could absorb twenty-six doses of Methuselah (in addition to us), then why not have twenty-six shareholders and more than double the money? Of course, that meant only one dose per person, nothing for spouses, children, or mistresses. I gave in, persuading them to pare it down to twenty-four, which at least was a multiple of twelve.

We combed the globe for discreet, low-profile multi-billionaires. This sounds like an oxymoron, but it isn't. Our twenty-four shareholders were not household names - not a Bill Gates or Eli Musk among them. Most were from Russia, China, the Middle East, or other parts of Asia. As a condition for receiving the injection, we required absolute confidentiality – they couldn't even tell their wives. We administered periodic polygraphs; the penalty for non-compliance was injection with the antidote, which would not only nullify Methuselah, but actually accelerate aging. (It was a bluff – there was no antidote – but it worked.)

The financial obligations were more controversial. In addition to ponying up a half billion up front, they had to maintain a liquid fund which, within twenty-four hours of their deaths, would automatically transfer five billion dollars to a numbered account in the Cayman Islands. This generated pushback, but we pointed out that, as it would be centuries before they died, anyone who might contest the will would be long gone. And we guaranteed a full refund, with interest, if Methuselah did not work. Arranging for all that liquidity was cumbersome, but to postpone death for centuries . . . it was worth it. It got done.

In the ten years that followed, they saw for themselves that Methuselah did work, we earned their trust. It was time to leverage that trust into the additional capital we needed to complete The Project, which we had instigated eight years ago. We had, by now, rebranded ourselves into Stimulever, but we kept that knowledge private. Through our superior computer skills, we had purged the world's websites of any reference to "A Lush Theme". Any lawyer trying to sue A Lush Theme would discover it no longer existed, and had no funds; similarly, there was no trace of "Stimulever" anywhere, other than on our secret web browser, Beetscrew (an anagram of 'secret web').

We were a year away from completing Betaworld and installing Hamish in his domain underground. But we needed additional funds in the short term. Without outside input, I would have to dip into my own personal wealth, or ask for an investment from my mother, which I was reluctant to do. Rita was unaware of The Project – or of Methuselah, for that matter – and I preferred to keep her ignorant of both. She had always been supportive of me, but she was nearing eighty now; I feared she would expunge me from her will if she knew I had withheld from her a serum that could have added centuries to her life. On the rare occasions when I visited her, I wore makeup to look older.

So it was time to hit the stockholders for more funds. In the past, stockholder meetings were held at a Zürich hotel. This year, we invited them to Stimulever headquarters, high on our company-owned mountain, only reachable via a private cable car from a point near the town of St. Moritz. Not only is it a secluded location, the spectacular view would knock the socks off the stockholders.

The citizens of St. Moritz never learned the true nature of the mysterious building at the end of the cable car they weren't allowed to use. So far as they were concerned, it was a mountain retreat for meditation, relaxation and yoga, called `Dharma Swiss'. A monstrously exclusive resort that was somehow always fully booked when reservations were requested.

I addressed the stockholders:

• Gentlemen, the Methuselah Serum is only the beginning. For the past ten years, we have been working on a project so immense, so mind-boggling, that it can scarcely be believed. Imagine the most astounding feat of engineering you can conceive of – artificial intelligence, space travel, wireless communication. Compared to The Project, they are like an amoeba compared to a whale. That might even be an understatement.

• Living for several hundred years may seem the ultimate dream. But you still have to die eventually. . . . But what if you could live forever? Gentlemen, if The Project is successful, we will have essentially achieved what mankind has dreamed of for all eternity – immortality.

I paused for dramatic effect, scanning the audience for the expected skepticism. It was there on some faces – but others, having noted the effects of The Methuselah Serum, knew we were capable of astounding things, and sat there in awe, wondering in their brains if I could possibly be speaking the truth.

I could. If The Project succeeded, we could all live forever – and in the process save The Earth from the self-destructive path humanity has set it on by ignoring climate change.

• For another half billion from each of you, we can create Betaworld, a complete parallel universe.

Now there was widespread skepticism.

• (Stockholder A) A parallel universe? Do you think we're idiots? This is not "The Golden Compass."

• True, it is not. But we ARE building Betaworld, an alternative universe, and we can show it to you, in part.

Guffaws.

• (Stockholder B) Are you planning to show us some magic tricks?

• In a way. Betaworld will be identical to the so-called real world, which we call Alphaworld, except for a special island which does not exist in Alphaworld. We have already built this island in Betaworld, although it is lacking some of the final details, rather like a house with an unfinished basement. We can't take you there – it's in the Caribbean – so we have also created a Betaworld version of these headquarters and the surrounding area.

A guarded reaction.

• Take a moment to observe your surroundings. The shape of the room, the décor, the view out the glass wall to your right, and remember what the rest of the building looked like when you came through it. . . . Ready? . . . And now . . .

I took them into Betaworld. The room, formerly rectangular, was now oval. Blue walls with gold highlights had been replaced by ochre and cocoa. Metal was supplanted by wood. And the view of the snow-draped Alpine peaks vanished in favor of greenery below the tree-line, with flowers in bloom on the grounds immediately outside.

• (Stockholder B) Magic tricks. Very impressive. David Blaine could probably do this. It's all light show and mirrors.

• Really? Feel the seats you are sitting on. Does that wood feel fake? Do you want to walk around the room and see that it's genuinely oval, with earth tones? Test it out, gentlemen – you have been taken, temporarily, into an alternate universe.

We let them explore and fail to find any rational explanation. Then we took them out into the Beta-version of Stimulever headquarters, which now resembled a health spa. Lastly, we took them outside, which, despite the frigid temperatures of Alphaworld, was bathed in sunshine at a balmy twenty-five degrees Celsius.

• Go ahead, pick the flowers. They're real. And down below you can see St. Moritz. In Alphaworld, St. Moritz is a ski resort. In Betaworld, people come here because of its remarkable micro-climate – warm in winter – that exists only for a few square kilometers. If you doubt me, go down and ask the townspeople. . . . Oh, you can't. Unfortunately, in Betaworld, there's no cable car. The descent would be a bit treacherous unless you're a well-equipped, world-class rock-climber.

They were convinced, especially when I snapped them back into Alphaworld and its sub-zero temperatures. Instantly shivering, they scurried back inside to the rectangular, blue-gold room we had been in and its view of peaks carpeted with snow. Unbeknownst to them, we could only sustain St. Moritz Betaworld for about thirty minutes before it became unstable; we whisked them back to Alphaworld in less than twenty.

• Questions, gentlemen?

• (Stockholder C) Impressive. But what does this have to do with immortality?

• That, my friend, is the key question. Actually, Betaworld is the linchpin of what we call The Project. When we go live, our existence – the world we all know today – will fracture into not two, but a dozen universes. And because of that fracture, aging will slow by a factor of twelve times twelve. Yes, gentleman, in the multiverse, it will take one hundred and forty-four calendar years for your bodies to age by a single year.

• (Stockholder D) You said immortality. But we'll still age. And we could be hit by a truck or someone could decide to shoot us. Won't we still die?

• Technically, yes. But you'll simply revert back to the same age you are when the Project is launched – four calendar years from now (and four months in biological aging). You will relive your life from that moment forward, unaware that you had ever lived it before, free to make new decisions that will differentiate this new life from the previous one. That truck won't be there anymore.

• (Stockholder E) What if I get cancer? I'd have to live with it for decades. I may just want to die.

• Then you can euthanize yourself. That life will end. But you'll begin again, as you are now – and you don't want to die now, do you?

• (Stockholder F) I want to get back to this multiverse thing. You say the world is going to get fractured into a dozen universes. Which one will I live in?

• Every one for which you are compatible, which, since you are heterosexual males, should be nine.

• (Stockholder A) You're saying there will be nine of us? Nine versions of me?

• Absolutely. But each version of you will be unaware of the existence of the multiverse. You will live each of your lives believing that the world you live in is the only one in existence.

• (Stockholder A) But you've just told me differently. I already know there will be multiple versions of me.

• You won't remember this conversation.

That was true enough. But not for the reasons he was inferring.

• (Stockholder G) What about this island you've mentioned?

• We consider it our launchpad. It has special qualities. The physics of The Project are too complex to explain – beyond the comprehension of all but perhaps a dozen persons on this planet – three of whom are in this room. Hamish here will be in charge of the island. In four years, a special group of scientifically-selected individuals will arrive there, and set in motion a sequence of events which will trigger the Project. Then Betaworld will disappear, replaced by twelve distinct universes which will remain independent.

• (Stockholder G) What if it doesn't work?

• It will. (I hope.)

• (Stockholder G) But if it doesn't?

• We'll refund the money that you pay us today. You'll still have your Methuselah and live for hundreds of years, unless you are hit by that proverbial truck.

• (Stockholder B) I want to know more about these universes. Why so many? To extend life a hundred forty-four times seems unnecessary, if we can regenerate at will.

• Again, it's the physics. It won't work with only three or four – or even eleven. Has to be twelve.

• (Stockholder B) You say that we would live in only nine of them. Why not all twelve, and are they all the same but just twelve of them?

• Each of the twelve universes will be distinct. You wouldn't be suited for all twelve.

• (Stockholder B) But you haven't built any of them yet.

• It's all in the programming. They are being coded to spring into existence when The Project is launched. We don't need to build them separately – just Betaworld, our launchpad.

It went on like that for a while. They wanted to know the details of the twelve universes, which I was not about to share. The stockholders had to settle for my assurances that we wouldn't subject them to any universe they would find inhospitable.

I didn't tell them that each universe had been built to general specifications designed by one of the twelve Board members, who would have the power to alter the basic parameters of the planet (though not to control events in any individuals' lives). Descriptions of a couple of them – Ari's and Simon's – would sound scary, although those living there would find conditions perfectly natural.

To mollify them, I shared the characteristics for the replacement of the existing universe, Alphaworld 2.0 (which I would rule over, though I withheld that bit of information from them). The transition to the revised version of the planet would be transparent to its current population, and the `new' world would reverse climate change, reduce poverty, facilitate food distribution, and otherwise improve living conditions across the globe. Nothing too drastic – conflict would still exist, as would hurricanes and disease, but preventable suffering would diminish.

There was another reason I didn't want to describe the individual universes in that room, with the other Board members present. Due to an imbalance, we needed to build a thirteenth universe – a rather disappointing one – and jettison one of the planned twelve. The dream of one of the Board members would have to be shattered, his fantasy domain replaced by this boring substitute. The Board didn't know about this yet; Dolph had brought this development to me, not even telling Thibaut. He proposed we program all thirteen, and then delete one later, when it was decided which world should be sacrificed.

While the stockholders were clearly intrigued, I could see some reluctance to fork over an extra half-billion. Couldn't I fund this without their assistance? After all, I was a billionaire myself. As was my mother in her own right. So I had to sweeten the deal – I promised them each an extra dose of the Methuselah Serum, which would keep their wives (or . . . ) around for centuries, even if The Project failed. And they all signed on, one after the other, like lemmings following each other into the sea.

Lemmings? Yes, lemmings. This was a promise which could not be fulfilled – it would release more doses into the world than would be safe – not only would it ruin future-Alphaworld, it would wreak havoc with several other universes in The Project.

That was of little concern to me. These men already knew too much. We couldn't risk news of The Project reaching beyond a tightly-held group. What if the press got hold of it?

It was a shame that the cable car crashed on their return to St. Moritz – twenty-four casualties, all fatal. It made headlines the world over. There was an investigation, of course, for which we were well-prepared. It focused on the structural capacities of the cable car (our documentation assigned its construction and all maintenance obligations to a mythical German company), and we communicated with the investigators electronically so that they never needed to visit Stimulever headquarters directly. They fixated on the fictitious German company and never questioned that the victims were attending yoga and meditation seminars at a mountain retreat named Dharma Swiss. The word `Stimulever' never appeared in the news media or in any police report.

The silver lining was, of course, that due to the provisions in their will, Stimulever collected over a hundred billion dollars. Billions more than we needed, but enough to fund the ongoing operations of a dozen parallel universes for centuries.

[COMING UP NEXT: CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR – INTO THE WOODS]