The Formulator

Even as the tentacle-like appendage whipped toward my back, I found time to silently curse the Formulator.

-----

No one knew the name of the creator, or else it would have been called 'the [name] Formula'.  Instead, people commonly called it 'the immortality formula', or just 'the Formula'.

The first known person to receive the Formula was an old bedridden woman in a nursing home.  The Formulator volunteered there for an afternoon, and six days later she walked out by herself looking like a 23-year-old.

Public incredulity then met credibility as the number of recipients increased.  Each time the story was the same:  an androgynous youth had come to meet them, talked with them about how the Formula worked, administered a dose if they wanted it, and left without giving a name.  There was nothing that the recipients had in common, other than all being human.

The Formula itself?  No one could reverse-engineer it, but it granted absolute epigenetic control of a person's cells.  /That/, in itself, was wonderful.

All the differences between a cell are epigenetic, different settings implementing different interpretations of the same underlying code.  Though costly, every cell could be monitored.  Everything could be manually reconfigured, pruned, and automatically regulated through specially-grown nerve cells.  Most of us favoured the enteric nerve system--the 'gut brain'--as a basis for that, alongside ganglia throughout the body.  Cells going bad or mutations clonally expanding could be detected easily, and cancer could be cured so quickly it wasn't even funny--only tragic, for everyone else.  Anything that died could be replaced, even if impossible in a wild-type.

That wasn't why I hated the Formulator.  That would have been reason for anyone and everyone to love and revere the Formulator.  I hated the Formulator because of the Alpha-Omega system.

-----

I dived forward, spinning away from the appendage, and saw a thorn-like spur scratch my wrist.  Before I even felt the pain from my A-delta fibres, I sent an impulse to my shoulder and razor-sharp bone scythed out, cutting away my arm.  I hit the ground and rolled, looking desperately for a gap in the circle to break through.

-----

Alpha was what should have been a wholly unnecessary molecule.  Every cell had to have a little of your own Alpha in it, or else the regulatory network wouldn't function.  You could stop a cell's Alpha production to decrease upkeep costs, but you wouldn't be able to change anything about it until a nearby cell secreted some to get it started again.

People only responded to their own Alpha, and there was no way to share your own Formula with another--when the Formulator gave you a dose, he first took a little of your blood to key it to your DNA, so that it couldn't be used by anyone else.  That also shut us out from getting animal genes that humans didn't have--no poisons, no special life-preserving abilities, no wings (though some have had limited success with lightened bodies and arm-flaps).

Omega, by contrast, entailed a complete shut-down of the ability to produce Alpha.

You were immune to your own Omega, and you never had to produce some if you didn't choose to, but any cell exposed to another's Omega would pump out a pulse of generic no-immunity Omega and permanently destroy its Alpha-producing ability.

That was why I hated the Formulator--because only a select few of us were raised up to immortality, with no way to share it, and the built-in trigger to cast each other back down to mortality.

-----

Now I was on the ground, shuddering, paralysis spreading from a cluster of points in my torso.  I could still move, I could still /feel/, and everything I'd done to myself was still there, but the vanishing of sensation as I lost the ability to sense my cells was like being stuffed in a pitch-back ice-cold sack.

Around me were those I had counted my friends, or at least comrades.  Our leader was saying something, probably something self-aggrandising.  It was ostensibly directed to me, but I knew it was for the benefit of those around me, to bolster them as a group.  I knew I didn't mean anything to him any more.

The looks in the eyes around me covered a wide spectrum.  The most common were sympathy, sadness, vindictiveness, guilt, pity, and revulsion--horror at what was happening to me, reflecting fear of experiencing it in the future.

-----

The problem was /energy/.  The monitoring system alone consumed more energy in a day than a typical adult.   It would be easiest to make most regular tasks automatic through specialised ganglia, but that imposed a further upkeep cost.  Most cognitive or defense/offensive augmentations were the same; some reconfigurations had barely any upkeep difference from a wild-type's innards, but anything major required fuel.

You /could/ jack yourself up to the maximum optimisation you were capable of.  It was possible.  However, who would live like that--day after day of immortality spent guzzling high-calorie food just to keep yourself going--when it was so easy to revert back to wild-type, turn most everything off, and live an anonymous life of relaxation until improved abilities were again needed?  After all, a manual self-check every once in a while was plenty for pruning bad cells and staying healthy.

-----

"I'm sorry."  The quietness of his voice pulled me out of my thoughts and churning emotions.  In his eyes, there was just a hint of genuine regret.  "You were a good comrade.  A good fighter, a good thinker and a good friend.  But, we have a good thing going.  We're doing well against the other groups, and we're going to better, and we're /happy/ with what we have.  I--we--can't stand by and watch if you want to antagonise the Formulator and bring something down on all our heads."

"Farewell, mortal."  He turned on his heel and left, the others likewise melting away out of fear I might spit or somehow get residual Omega on them.  No one bothered to kill me.

Both Alpha and Omega were short-lived; already the last traces in my system were being metabolised.  There hadn't been time to do much with my last Alpha other than close the wound at my shoulder.  I dragged myself to my feet and staggered toward an exit.

-----

I hadn't revealed even a tenth, even a hundredth of the hate I felt for the Formulator.  Most were /grateful/ for what they had gotten and accepting of what they had not, like worshippers who see a deity brush a few droplets of immortality wine from its fingers and grovel in the dirt in supplication.  I'd known that my views would be unpopular, and had spoken only a few words, here and there.  Genial Socratic questioning, occasional wistful suggestions about the Formula's potential, occasional hints of curiosity about the Formulator's origins and intentions.  My care hadn't been enough.

I'd been a loner at first, and once I gave in and joined a group I'd always kept myself at half-readiness, but major changes take time to make and ten of them had been waiting in full battle-forms under their coats.

Still, they'd underestimated me.

If I only felt as strongly as they perhaps imagined, then at worst I would howl at the skies and destroy myself in a suicidal assault on one group or another, or just kill myself in despair.  More likely, they might think, I'd make use of my retained augmentations to make a life for myself, or just live off money I'd already accumulated, until I succumbed to morbidity and death.

Neither of these options held any interest for me.  I went straight for my destination, after a few days wandering this way and that in case someone was watching.

City to city.  Train.  Taxi.  Every day eating, more than a normal person would, but with all Formula regulation shut down a lot less than I would have otherwise.  Still, I spread out my meals between far-apart high-class restaurants on my route.  My bank account was in no danger of running out any time soon.

Finally, I stood in the twilight in front of an unassuming building on a certain university campus.  My sense of drama suggested it should have been drizzling, but the sky was clear.  The door opened, and a familiar young man stood there in a lab coat, chewing his lip nervously.  He had to know what it meant that I'd appeared in front of him, but he still looked at me with the same fear and awe as when we'd last met.

"You can probably guess, but I need 'it' now." I said, pushing past.  "I'm sorry to be rude, but I'm in bad shape.  Have you made a breakthrough?"

He pulled himself straighter.  "No breakthrough, I'm afraid; t-the compound is still lethal to our cultures upon synthesis, but two months ago we reached maximum capacity on schedule.  At your word, we can trigger induce staggered synthesis immediately; after collection each batch will only last for minute or so before degrading, but with all the tanks you generously bought for us there should be enough to give you six to seven hours before depletion."

"Good.  That's good.  It's already more than enough, a miracle even, that you found a way to synthesise my Alpha like this."  My gaze hardened.  "Start synthesis and hook me up to the drip; also, hold onto the tanks and the frozen seed culture, but don't bother expanding your cultures again afterwards.  If I need it again I'll contact you--I'll keep backing you financially as before, and after this I'll transfer a bonus to your account for today's work, assuming it's successful."

"Yes!  Thank you, thank you so much.  You didn't make a mistake in choosing us!"

-----

Who could keep themselves running at high-maintenance, day after day, when relaxing reversal was only a thought away?  Not me.

Who could expose themselves to Omega by choice, cutting off all hopes of future developments and enhancements, just for the sake of controlling their own behaviour?  Also not me.

However, who as they fell down the stairs to mortality wouldn't regret that they hadn't been running at higher upkeep at the moment of their fall?

My enemies would be like myself in the past--high regulation upkeep, low enhancement upkeep, wary yet unprepared except when they expected conflict.

Never again would I be slower than them.
Never again would I be weaker than them.
Never again would I be stupider than them.

I would guzzle, guzzle every day the most high-calorie foods, because I had no choice.  I would fight, and bleed, and regrow, energy-wasteful systems always poised to regenerate me, always monitoring my health and restoring me through unchangeable systems that I didn't need to adjust with the Formula.  I had been cast down to mortality, but now I clawed my way back up those steps, growing in my body over many hours an inflexible structure that I had developed over many years.

I was immortal once more.

And some day, some day when my enemies were behind me and I was propelled forward by my mind and my daily suffering, I would drag the Formulator down from that lofty throne and break the chains that bound us all.

I would free us, mortals and immortals together.

-----

The young-looking scientist stood in the doorway, watching with a look of envy, awe and barely-suppressed fear at the back of the reascended immortal who strode away into the night.  As the figure became more distant, all three emotions faded from those eyes, leaving only the curious detachment of an experimenter looking at a screen.

The door closed, feet walking away in a different direction from the first figure, and the form wearing the white lab coat began to melt and shift.  Shoulders grew narrower, Adam's apple receded, height lessened and facial contours reshuffled themselves.

"Are you sure you're not a masochist?" called a curious voice from a side-alley.

A smile preceded the reply.  "Why should I expect any suffering?  My patients have already done good work tilling the prior social order, but most of them have become stagnant and complacent.  Someone like that, fighting against the world to overturn everything, is exactly the sort of person I need chasing me."

"That", shrugging off the lab coat and unfolding eight gigantic feathery wings, "is what it takes right now to keep things interesting."

And with a single massive wingbeat, leaving those words behind, the Formulator leapt into the sky.