Wormholes, Immortality and Gadgets

by Robert B. Marcus, Jr. and Kim Frank Richardson

Part 1 appears in this issue.

conclusion

Edgar could barely read, possessing an IQ somewhere around seventy, having dropped out of high school two years before, when he was sixteen. But his favorite movie was Dr. Doolittle, which he had watched on Netflix about fifteen times in the last few months, so he did not consider it surprising to receive messages from a gorilla. Nor did he find it surprising that the first thing the gorilla asked for was paper, envelopes, stamps and a few more pens. Edgar brought them without question.

Edgar lived with his parents and had no friends, so when the gorilla started writing messages, Edgar started talking to the gorilla, and even made up a name for him: Oscar. It was a strange relationship, a gorilla with an IQ greater than Einstein’s, Newton’s and Leonardo Da Vinci’s combined, and a human ally who was only slightly smarter than an average chipmunk. But for the first time in both their lives, they had companionship. Oscar soon realized his new friend was hardly a genius, but it didn’t matter. He liked Edgar, and besides, Edgar was able to serve as a translator between him and the outside world. Edgar wanted only to please Oscar.

Edgar didn’t make a lot of money but, since his parents supplied his room and board, he had the money to buy the gorilla a few magazines he requested, including Nature and Scientific American. Oscar decided it was time to proceed with his next gift to mankind. This gift was simpler than the last two; the editors at Nature should be quite prepared to share it with the world.

The gorilla used a pseudonym, and wrote a thoughtful article explaining how to eliminate the built-in obsolescence in mammalian cells. If your cells didn’t age and die, neither did you. It was the gift of immortality.

The rejection was short but hardly sweet:

Dear potential contributor:

We are sorry but we cannot accept handwritten manuscripts. Please adhere to the enclosed guidelines if you wish to resubmit your paper.

Sincerely,

The Editors.

Oscar was stymied. How was he going to print his paper? Obviously, he couldn’t. He needed a computer, and his only hope was that Edgar could buy it for him. But how could he generate enough money?

Tricks! That was it! Humans were suckers for animals who performed tricks. He asked Edgar for an old box, wrote the words DONATIONS ACCEPTED on it, and placed it in front of his cage. Then he waited. When he saw a young mother with her two fledglings, he stomped his right foot until they came closer. Then he held up two fingers and stomped two times.

“Look, Mom, a trained gorilla!” said the oldest one, a little girl.

Trained, my ass, thought Oscar. But he couldn’t blame the child. He held up three fingers and stomped his foot three times.

“Mom, he’s counting!” said the little girl. Her younger brother just stared, mouth drooling.

“He is not,” said the mother. “Gorillas can’t count.”

Oscar held up four fingers and stomped four times. The young mother frowned.

“Give him some money, Mommy!” the girl whined.

“Moneee, Momeee!” yelled the little boy.

The mother nodded slowly, her eyes never off the gorilla, then bent over and dropped something green in the box. The gorilla assumed it was money.

The day went well, with the gorilla collecting almost twenty dollars. The next day he received over fifty. By three weeks, he had collected almost twelve hundred dollars. He would have done better if he hadn’t been forced to stop the show every time he saw any of the zoo workers other than Edgar. Three days later he had a 3.6 GHz laptop computer with a cheap inkjet printer.

Luckily there was a power outlet for the computer. The other gorillas were curious but not for long.

The Internet was a more difficult problem to solve. He needed wireless. He couldn’t think of a solution until one day a man in a three-piece suit walked by jabbering away on a cell phone.

A few more days of donations and he had enough additional money. He instructed Edgar how to open him a cell phone account. Edgar had to make three trips to the store to convince the dealer that he was serious, but finally he returned with all the right equipment. With a change in the phone’s settings, Oscar was able to create a hotspot and share it with his computer.

The first few days after he signed on to the Internet, he felt as though he had stumbled upon nirvana. The information available was endless. But so chaotic. Why didn’t someone organize this stuff? But that was a project for later. He did, however, take the time to develop his own search engines.

Now he could rewrite his paper and resubmit it.

He did so. This time the rejection took several months to come back.

Dear Contributor:

Your paper has been reviewed by two of your peers. Unfortunately, in their opinion, it does not qualify for publication in Nature. Their comments are enclosed, but in summary, they felt that there was not enough new information in the paper to warrant publication.

Thank you for your submission.

Sincerely,

The Editors.

Oscar was irritated.

Not enough new information! The gorilla scoffed. He’d given them the key to immortality, and they had rejected it. Well, there were other journals.

Not completely discouraged, he submitted the paper in sequence to Scientific American, Cell, Cell Biology, Cell Structure, and The Journal of Cell Division. Various reasons were given, but the result was always the same. Rejection.

Every journal rejected it.

Oscar the gorilla was becoming very aggravated.

Maybe immortality was too complicated. Maybe he had misjudged humanity. Certainly, the papers in these journals had been very sophisticated. The readers of all these journals should have been capable of understanding the principles he had shown in his paper, but they never received the chance. The Editors never allowed it to be published.

Maybe he needed something simpler, and timelier.

* * *

Curing cancer might be more interesting to them. The tumor-suppressor gene p53, when defective, allows uncurbed cell growth. When intact, it acts to protect cells against the accumulation of mutations and the eventual conversion to a malignant state. It rescues the cell from the mutagenic effects of DNA damage, no matter what the cause of the damage.

Oscar quickly figured out how to produce an adeno-associated virus vector carrying an artificial enzyme that could penetrate the cell and repair defective p53 and, in fact, make it tolerate no genetic faults, no matter how slight. Suicide — that was the key. Cell suicide, make the cancer kill itself. The new p53 would cause the self-destruction of all malignant cells. That was the way to kill a cancer. And prevent new ones.

Oscar’s manuscript clearly described how to make the virus vector. And how to cure cancers which arose from a p53 defect, about sixty per cent of all cancers.

A great deal of research was being done on p53. Thousands of scientists were interested in it. Surely the journals would accept this manuscript.

No. As before, the rejections came in, one by one.

Dear Contributor:

I am sorry to say that your submission does not meet our high standards for publication. The comments of the two reviewers are enclosed, but it is their opinion that your paper does not add anything new to the literature.

Thank you for your interest in our journal.

Sincerely,

The Editors

Now Oscar was even more aggravated. He had tried to give humanity the solution to several of its greatest mysteries and desires, only to be completely rejected. Quantum gravity, the wormhole drive, immortality, and the correction of the p53 oncogene: mankind had not considered any of these ideas worthwhile.

The gorilla turned off his computer, went outside into the daylight, and sat. He sat for about three months, getting up only enough to eat, drink and perform a few other bodily functions... and occasionally respond to Edgar, who wanted to know what was wrong. He performed no more counting tricks for the visitors, so he soon ran out of money to give Edgar. His cellular service and his Internet service were disconnected.

He didn’t care. He had tried and failed. Was his life to be this? Was he destined to just sit in a cage and scratch himself occasionally for the benefit of his human viewers? To be on display like a common gorilla?

He sighed. Maybe that’s all he was. A failure. Just another endangered dumb gorilla. He had thought he was unique, but apparently that was a false assumption.

And so life went on for him, such as it was. Sitting, eating, scratching.

Until one day Edgar Inglebert failed to show up for work. Hours passed, and still Edgar didn’t arrive to clean the cages. The gorilla grew worried. Finally, Edgar rushed in, followed by a man the gorilla recognized as one of Edgar’s supervisors.

“If you’re ever late again, you’re fired!” the man yelled. “I don’t care if your car did break down! I didn’t want to hire you in the first place, but some bleeding heart in personnel decided to give you a break. Then — of all things — they assigned you to me. Get to work before I fire you right now!”

The gorilla was distraught, primarily for Edgar. It made him realize how much he had been ignoring his friend. Since it was easier for the gorilla to type than to write, he went in and wrote out his questions on the computer.

What happened? wrote the gorilla.

“My car wouldn’t start,” replied Edgar. “It’s old. I need a new one but don’t have the money.”

Money, is that all? Oscar thought. He wrote: Could you buy a car if I gave you more money?

“Sure, but—”

Don’t worry. It may take me a little while, but I’ll get it for you.

Oscar had been spending all his time and effort trying to solve mankind’s problems. Mankind didn’t care. Maybe this was better. He would spend his time solving problems for just one man: Edgar Inglebert. And he would buy Edgar a nice car.

* * *

Three Years Later

Three large televisions were blaring, and the gorilla finally had to admit that he was hooked on sports. American football was addictive. Watching the large men with helmets bash into each other reminded him of life in the jungle.

Still, if it weren’t for football, he would get more work done. On the central television with a sixty-inch-high-definition screen, the quarter ended between Florida and Florida State and the commercials started rolling. The third advertisement was for his electronic vibrating toothpick sharpener. Astounding how much money was being put into the advertising of it. No wonder his invention was selling so well.

On the right screen, a mere thirty-five inch, he watched the World Cup semi-final game between Brazil and Germany. It was halftime, and a man came on with a hard sell for Oscar’s automatic electric hair parter, which was available only by mail order. It amazed him that anyone used this gadget at all, but apparently even bald men bought it. The key seemed to be having television ads during sporting events, particularly if the ad ended with a prompt to order quickly because supplies were limited.

Oscar was thinking about how much better life had become since he had picked the lock to his cage in Atlanta and walked into the night with Edgar three years ago. Edgar quit his job and was happy that he didn’t have to deal with his supervisor any longer. Oscar and Edgar enjoyed each other’s company.

He still couldn’t quite believe his success. A large home in the Pacific Northwest near Bill Gates, with acres of lush woodland to roam through, all the electronic trinkets money could buy... Even though he communicated with his lawyer only via email because he obviously couldn’t reveal that his client was a mere gorilla.

He had few complaints. While his lawyer handled his day-to-day business affairs, he had access to virtually all of mankind’s knowledge either through the Internet or the books that Edgar checked out of a nearby library for him.

A noise in the foyer intruded into his thoughts.

“I’m back,” yelled Edgar. “Brought groceries.”

Oscar heard rustles and cracklings from the kitchen, as Edgar put away the food. The one thing he still found frustrating was his inability to talk. He wanted to yell out to Edgar to come in and watch the games with him, but speech still eluded him, no matter how hard he tried.

And he had not been successful teaching Edgar sign language, though he was still working on it.

Edgar was happy. Just last week, Oscar had bought him all six seasons of Mr. Ed. Oscar watched the series over and over with Edgar, amazed that it had once been on television. Oscar was a little envious that the horse could talk, though obviously the voice was dubbed.

Mankind had scorned his theory of quantum gravity, the wormhole drive, immortality, and a cure for cancer, but it had warmly embraced the vibrating toothpick sharpener. Shortly after patenting it and selling the rights, the money began to pour into his corporation. Then the automatic hair parter and, recently, the electric celery deveiner.

He wasn’t super-rich yet, not really, just well off, but that would change. A few more years of royalties — on these and his future inventions — would ensure it.

Yes, life was good to him, and to Edgar, too. He had already thought of a thousand gadgets mankind didn’t need at all but would buy anyway.

A warm glow filled him. He was finally happy.