Lifespinners

By Lynn Watson

In 2048, medical science has overcome all the diseases and limiting conditions of old age. In the exclusive community of Wellowfern, radical life extension has turned from distant dream to near reality and competing forces are lining up to impose their widely different visions of the future. Isabel is a loyal and influential resident who knows about corporate intrigue and the power of self-interest. She now has to figure out who is pulling the strings, which side she is on and how best to defend her safe haven and her eccentric, misfit friends, as the high-level infighting threatens to overwhelm them. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Release date: Oct 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9781805146698

Lynn Watson

Lynn Watson is a social scientist who spent the early years of her career developing innovative housing and support services for people leaving long-stay residential institutions. She later moved into a research role, completing a PhD and advising public authorities and others on policy initiatives and strategies. Her novel Lifespinners was inspired by a fascinating question: What will happen next, when we have eliminated the diseases and conditions associated with ageing?

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Copyright © 2023 Lynn Watson

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Troubador Publishing Ltd

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Harrison Road, Market Harborough,

Leicestershire LE16 7UL

Tel: [phone]

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ISBN 978 1805146 698

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

For Rob, Jay, Lani, Hazel and Lynn

and with sincere thanks to all my early readers

A baby is born and a trio of ghostly goddesses, the three Fates, gather round the crib. The first Fate, Clotho, spins the thread of life on her ancient spindle. The second Fate, Lachesis, solemnly measures out the length of individual thread. The third Fate, Atropos, frowns as she decides how the person will die, knowing that when the time comes she will cut the thread.

That was in ancient Greece. This is Wellowfern, 2048.

Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-one

One

The pigeon cybird waited on the balcony landing pad, his neck glistening emerald green and the soft feathers showing pink as they lifted in the scented breeze. Isabel paused, leaning on the doorframe with one slender bare foot stroking the other. Caramel, that was it – usually a favourite but too rich for now; the woody aromas were more soothing. She stepped out of the apartment, pinning her hair into a neat roll and picking off a handful of grapes from the generous bunch in the fruit bowl. Her head was still pounding from last night’s party. DJ Johnny wasn’t the oldest resident of Wellowfern, but he could well be the first DJ in the world to run a full-on 1960s disco at his own 118th birthday gig.

The cybird tapped his claws on the pad but Isabel wasn’t ready to engage with anyone, least of all Cyril. His message could wait. She looked across the tiled piazza to the arcade, with its boutique outlets and graceful stone arches. All quiet, just a few indistinct figures weaving between the columns. Bending over the balcony railings, she checked out the tree-lined paths of the park and the row of glinting, peach-tinted domes leading to the river. The runners and cyclists were out in force on their parallel racetracks, and there was Trish, of course, doing her post-run stretching exercises under their big chestnut tree. Any minute now, she would probably glance up to see if Isabel was watching.

She turned her gaze back to the piazza, letting her mind roam. DJ Johnny grew up in this city. He was still a child in 1941, when the Blitz strikes reduced this whole area to jagged remnants of walls and heaps of rubble. After that came the bog-standard high street, eventually killed off by soulless indoor shopping malls inhabited by cool, lippy kids like Isabel and her friends, the ’80s in-crowd. Then a period of creeping dereliction, she imagined, before the Healthy Ageing Foundation razed it again to make way for its world-class research centre and Wellowfern, now one of the most sought-after select clusters this side of the Atlantic. Isabel was lucky, she knew that. She had managed to get away, using an astute mix of charm, insistence and well-targeted generosity to acquire this stylish penthouse apartment, with its commanding view and easy access to the roof garden. They had all escaped, in one way or another. DJ Johnny too, no doubt. It’s what you did when you’d had an eventful past.

More claw-tapping, sharper this time. Cyril flew down from his pad onto the balcony rail and edged sideways towards her, too sly by half. He was clearly determined to pass on some advice or information, whether she wanted it or not. Isabel sucked in her cheeks and fired a semi-deflated, soggy grape at his cocked head, missing by a mile.

‘All right, I give in. What is it?’

It was a memo from Nathan, the chief exec, inviting her to a welcome reception for the new scientific director. She had heard the rumours, some clearly off beam but others in line with what she had picked up as resident rep on the Participation Committee. Not that there was any participation; only fatuous references to future direction of travel and exceptional opportunities. It involved an expansion of the Institute, its research trials and novel anti-ageing treatments, that much she had gleaned. This affected everyone: residents, university students and staff, all were involved. Isabel had tried cornering individual directors, but she couldn’t get past the cloak of confidentiality justifying why no one could be brought into the loop until the key decisions were finalised. As a successful businesswoman herself, she understood the need to negotiate behind closed doors, especially in a field as sensitive and competitive as healthy ageing and rejuvenation. She just wasn’t used to being kept in the dark, and she didn’t much like it.

‘I’ll talk to Finn, see if he’s got any clue what they’re cooking up. Get him over here this morning, Cyril, soon as possible. Say it’s urgent. If he can’t or won’t tell me, you’ll have to make me an appointment with Nathan right away.’

She had nurtured a positive relationship with Finn, her personal lifestyle manager. He was motivated and usually tuned in when it came to analysing her biometrics, adjusting her genotype diet and deciding which research trials she should go for. He had worked as a fitness trainer and was impressed by her previous life as Olympic Team-GB gymnast and co-founder of a leading space insurance company, although she had given him no details. She had put in a good word with Nathan, so Finn could expect rapid promotion if he played his cards right and showed more confidence, made himself noticed. Even if he was too junior to have inside knowledge on the new scientific director, he might offer some insight from a staff perspective, instead of the wild speculation circulating among her fellow residents.

She turned towards the balcony door to go in, then wheeled round and raised her leg, swinging it forward to see how high the flat sole of her foot would reach up the leaf-patterned railings. Ooh, maybe not. She let it drop, gently, and looked over towards the chestnut tree, knowing Trish would be finished her stretching by now. Yes, she had gone but there was a new type of runner: men and women in uniform, sprinting along the paths and filing into lines as they approached the piazza below. What the…? They were streaming in from the other side too and massing in front of the apartment building, their boots obscuring the colourful floor mosaic. It looked like a raid, like that time with Jerome… She stepped back, out of sight. No, that was too crazy. The site security guards, it had to be, renowned for their near-invisible presence and tactfulness; she had never seen more than two at once. It was all laid out in the promotional material: discreet 24-hour security and protection, with full respect for resident sensibilities. And it was highly appreciated after all that had happened, or might happen, outside their safe enclave of Wellowfern.

This was anything but tactful and discreet: military-style dress, officers barking their orders, shouting over each other and piercing the air with high-pitched whistles. Now they were off, heading in ragged formation towards the university campus at the far end of the piazza, where a crowd was gathering. Isabel breathed in deeply and rubbed the back of her aching thigh, feeling shaky as the sickly-sweet caramel breeze whipped up into an erratic tropical wind.

‘What’s going on, Cyril, by the student halls? Do they have to yell like that? So much for our so-called "serene and tranquil setting". It’s one hell of a din when you’re this fragile.’

She didn’t expect him to fly over to investigate. The Wellowfern cybirds retained the legendary eyesight and hearing of their natural bird ancestors, those grey-winged heroes that saved countless lives by guiding rescue craft towards drowning sailors and passengers when stricken boats and ships went down. The combination of their innate pigeon talents and newly enhanced perception and communication skills had made them the envy of global leaders in the diverse select movements that had sprung up across the inhabitable regions of the world. The unique cybird formula was a closely guarded secret, known only to the anonymous group of scientists involved in the project.

‘A young man is kneeling on the ground, surrounded by security. He is not resisting.’

‘A young man, seriously? Is that it? All that fuss?’

The cybird’s head bobbed forward. ‘Update by real-time notification. This is a minor disciplinary incident involving a student. It’s not relevant. Your daily nutritional guidance is ready, with offsetting adjustments to rebalance your constitution.’

‘Later, thank you. I over-indulged last night, no need to be pompous about it.’

A minor disciplinary incident. Five years Isabel had lived at Wellowfern with no such incidents and now they’d had three within two months, with no explanation or follow-up. And this time they had deployed security like a heavy brigade, in full view. What was Nathan thinking of? She broke off another sprig of grapes and stepped into the apartment, aware of the room adjusting to warm vibrant mode in response to her pulsing headache and prickly reaction, the tingling of unease. It was her sanctuary, this place. She belonged here and she didn’t want any complications or nasty reminders; none of the residents did. They had been pushed into this cluster, into Wellowfern, by the increasingly stark options on offer, their fast-polarising prospects. Mostly they felt they had done their bit, made something of it, and they wanted to enjoy themselves, stay healthy and live longer than DJ Johnny; hopefully much longer, with a fair wind and no looming icebergs.

She sat on the arm of the sofa and turned her attention to the sleek aquarium, which followed the continuous curve of the wall. Gazing intently at one fish, her current favourite, she watched it change its colour, shape, size and intricate pattern with each quick flick of a feathery tail, gloriously unaware of how fabulous it was, or how soon it would be overtaken. They lived so peaceably together, the extravagant hybrids and the natural fish, but she had often thought that one day this could be disturbed; a more aggressive variety would find its way in, whether by accident or design. And what was that, half floating on the surface? She went over to investigate. The body was pale and bloated, the orange fantail viciously picked at by its vengeful or thoughtless companions. She swept the limp creature up in her hand, cradling it for a brief moment before it was sent hurtling down the rubbish chute.

‘You’re not supposed to do that, die on me. This is Wellowfern, you know.’

***

Finn took the stairs, two at a time for the first three floors and the last flight at a run. It all chalked up points towards his daily target, although he was also keen to respond promptly to Isabel’s summons. She could be arrogant and dismissive, but nothing unusual about that here – and anyway, she had something to brag about, if it was all true. He had grown wise to her over the last two years, figured out how to capitalise on her audacious streak and nudge her to take the next risk, make choices that other residents would shy away from. This might be even more important now, if he was to find enough willing participants for his assigned new research trials.

He arrived at Isabel’s door and held back for a moment, taking off the wide-brimmed Stetson and rearranging his floppy hair at the front, where it was always mussed up by the hat. Keep to generalities, that was it; don’t allow her to interrogate. As he opened his hand to activate his skin-embedded palmleaf device, the door opened and Isabel ushered him in.

‘Ah, here you are, excuse the mess. I’ve got a zinging hangover from Johnny’s party. Someone must have altered the mix to get us all properly drunk, like in the good old days of disco. Remind me to stick to our fortified brain cocktails from now on.’

Finn smiled and looked around the room, which was tidy apart from the sparkly gold outfit flung carelessly over Lottie, Isabel’s homebot. She generally left Lottie standing idle in the corner, where she could be used as a late-night clothes horse. What was the point of a domestic bot, she’d said, once they were eclipsed by the more versatile cybirds and stopped developing any new skills? The household appliances and surfaces were all proactive and self-cleaning in any case, and as for food preparation, Isabel loved to cook for herself and her friends, using her spattered, full-colour recipe books – French, Greek, Indian, Caribbean, Thai. It reminded them of their travelling days, the foreign trips and holidays before all that went pear-shaped. And when you added in the fitness points gained by doing the enjoyable bits of housework herself, it left tidying away as Lottie’s main task.

‘Take the party things to the bedroom, Lottie, and hang them up – go on, jump to it! Sit down, Finn, and please stop fiddling with that hat. It’s unprofessional.’

‘Okay, strictly protein and vitamin mixes, including special birthday parties. I’ll make a note,’ teased Finn. He usually judged it right, what he could get away with, although her mood could shift dramatically without warning. ‘You and Trish were still going strong at the disco when I dragged myself off to bed at one-thirty.’

‘And Trish had to be on the running track this morning, just to show me up – so boring. Anyway, why I called you over… Nathan’s invited me to a reception and it’s to do with the management shake-up that’s been brewing lately. Apparently, we’re getting a new scientific director, no name or details and no one thought to inform me personally. It’s what happens when you’re honorary, you have to fight not to end up as an afterthought. What can you tell me, who is it and why now?’

Finn balanced his hat on the arm of the chair, wondering what Isabel already knew. Perhaps a good deal more than him, despite her gripe about not being kept up with it, so he had to avoid coming across as ignorant or ill-informed. And at the same time, he didn’t want to get into trouble with his managers by giving away too much, or worse, getting it wrong.

‘And not only that,’ said Isabel. ‘There was a big disturbance on the piazza this morning. That’s the third so-called ‘incident’ and the security guards were out in droves, it’s unheard of. Something is going on over there and it’s being hushed up, or was up to now.’

‘So, let me deal with that one first. A few students were caught doing a private lab experiment. It wasn’t important, trivial stuff, but they broke their contract with the university by not focusing on their own study programmes. One of them refused to leave Wellowfern, so he had to be expelled and evicted. That was the fracas just now. It’s a shame because they are, or they were, some of our brightest talents.’

Isabel sat back. ‘Come on, I wasn’t born yesterday. Tell me what these students were up to, what they did to provoke that display of force. They went rogue, that’s what you’re saying. Don’t come over all official or try being cagey with me. We know each other better than that and I can spot an evasive answer a million miles off.’ She jabbed her finger at him and shifted to a playful tone. ‘Go on, give me a hint, at least.’

‘Honestly, I wasn’t involved and I don’t have any details of the incident.’

Isabel leant in to invade his personal space, her blue-crystal eyes wide and expectant. He wavered, looking for a way to deflect her.

‘Look, Shani’s the one who has direct contact with students, she’s the scientist, not me. I only heard from someone else that… I think it’s to do with the cybirds, testing their abilities, but I can’t say for sure, it’s second or third-hand information.’

Idiot. He had dragged Shani into it, without any prompt or suggestion from Isabel. Shani, the one person here that he really cared about, wanted to shield from any hassle.

‘What are you saying? That’s way out of order.’

Isabel dropped her gaze and glanced out the window, as if to make sure Cyril was on his balcony landing pad and not within listening distance – although that exact distance was a matter of debate after the cybirds’ latest enhancement. She lowered her voice anyway.

‘If it’s the cybirds, it’s not just a university issue. No one is allowed to interfere with them or delve into their workings, their mashed-up brains or whatever. We’re all forced to have one and it’s a mixed blessing as far as I’m concerned. I’d love to criticise Cyril as much as he does me, take him apart myself or send him off to birdy Shangri-la, but it’s part of the contractual obligation, we’re stuck with them. And I will admit, they’re great for Wellowfern’s reputation.’

Finn had gone too far, even mentioning the cybirds, let alone Shani. Damn Isabel and the way she pinned him down, her incessant questioning. But then again, she was important and he needed her to see him as a close confidant, even if there was risk attached to leaking information. And she was right: the incident was potentially serious. At least she seemed to have strayed away from the students’ antics, and he could say more on the other topic she was about to grill him on – the upcoming reception.

‘You asked about Nathan’s invitation. I wanted to discuss that anyway, after our staff briefing yesterday. I can fill you in on some of the thinking, Isabel, but I don’t know what’s exactly planned or how the changes will affect us.’

‘Go on then, I’m listening. And please no waffle or corporate hype. We’ll have more than enough of that at the reception, I’m sure.’

‘So… it’s a mega success, what the Foundation’s achieved in ten years. We can cure, treat or prevent all the degenerative illnesses and chronic conditions of older age, hold back ageing with rejuvenation therapies and protect our residents from heart disease, strokes and the big, long-running health threats, including cancer, new viruses and severe mental illness.’

‘Can’t argue with that, prizes all round. It’s more about life enrichment now. You’re in the right job, Finn, lifestyle manager.’ Was it genuine, or was there a touch of sarcasm to bring him down a notch? Always hard to tell. Isabel stood up and wandered over to the aquarium.

‘I just lost a fish. They’d nibbled its tail off.’

‘I’m sorry, Isabel.’

‘No point being sorry, it had its day. What next then, the future?’

‘We’ve aced it with stem cells, gene therapies, senolytics, magic enzymes, ultrasound and tissue bioprinting; they’re all expanding, reaching into new areas. Now it’s age reversal, plasma infusions, soft implants, mini-organoids, courier nanobots, intelligent vaccines. And then the brain—’

She raised her hand. ‘Stop, enough. Never slow to blow our own trumpet, are we? All good though, I’m not knocking it. It’s an impressive list and Shani keeps me up to date on the latest advance, so I can pass it on to residents. You missed out pulse lasers, by the way. They saved my life a few years ago, before Wellowfern. And don’t forget our old friend cell repair. I was in the last study, not the sexiest but still fundamental.’

‘Yep, rolling cell reprogramming, sexy as ever. Now the Foundation has evaluated all our work on healthspan. No hype, Isabel, just solid scientific evidence of an incredible win, keeping people healthy and energised to the end of their lives.’

‘And we’re madly competitive, some of us anyway, which adds to motivation. It’s good they’re now publishing our collective biological age, not just individual results. Makes us feel more of a team.’

This was safe territory and Isabel had lightened up, showing her usual enthusiasm for the research programme. Probably the dead fish had got to her, that was strictly a no-no. Finn leant back, crossing his laced boots at the ankles and linking his fingers behind his head, making the hair flop forward again.

‘So, what do you reckon, Isabel? Nathan was secretive at the staff briefing, so it’s not just you feeling left out, but there’s a big announcement coming. And he did let on that the new scientific director is called Georgina… something, I’ve forgotten.’

‘Okay. No doubt she’ll have her own pet projects and she’ll put a lot of noses out of joint. That’s inevitable when you create a top post. Perhaps we’ll extend our healthy ageing approach to the local population in the Fringes. It’s always been one of the goals, officially at least.’ She paused. ‘Pros and cons to that, of course.’

Finn nodded. He was the first in his family to make it into a select cluster and he hoped to bring his younger sisters to Wellowfern as university students, if they passed their exams. It was vital for them to escape the Fringes, which spread out from the edge of the cities and the remaining scattered towns into former farmland and open countryside. Their town was one of the better ones and he had found the necessary connections to get himself out, but his sisters were ten and twelve years younger and opportunities for escape were shrinking all the time. Even the smart city encircling Wellowfern, which offered great positions and high rewards if you had the right qualifications and tech skills, was a distant second best to a select cluster. But this wasn’t the time to open up to Isabel about his family – and in any case, she had never shown the slightest interest, even when he had once tried to talk about his plans for Iris and Maya. Perhaps it touched a raw nerve if she had her own relatives to worry about. Best to keep quiet and stay in tune with her thoughts.

‘Yep, pros and cons. It should be a long-term goal to extend to the Fringes but not now, it’s volatile out there. And when you consider logistics and expense, the cost of developing and rolling out new medicines and techniques, as well as lifestyle, the enrichment facilities that go with it… No, we have to concentrate on increasing our lead in global research, be the best in our field. That’s where the action is.’

Really? Is that what he actually believed, or was he pandering to Isabel, trying to show his ambition – ruthlessness, even?

‘Right on, Finn. You’ll make an excellent CEO one day. We can’t lose our edge, although in the end we’ll have to do something big to benefit the Fringe public; it would be unwise not to. Anyway, I’m sure you’ll find enough keen residents to join the new clinical trials, assuming it’s on the same basis as now. I mean the incentive package – personal health gain, enrichment experiences and opportunities for financial investment.’

‘Yeah, should all work out. Anyway, I said I’d drop in on Trish and Paul, so I need to make tracks. They had a reception invite too – or Trish did, as an active committee member.’

‘Active hardly covers it. Hyperactive, more like – or dynamic, she’d prefer that. Paul, though… he’s different, cautious, an outsider. She needs to make sure he’s not a drag on her. You can tell Trish, next time we play table tennis I’m challenging her to the best of three. Not today though, not with this fuzzy head.’

Finn ran down the stairs to the first floor and managed to catch Paul and Trish for a brief chat. As he left the apartment building, he was still fretting about the Shani angle, but at least he had managed to move Isabel on to the positive news about research wins. He had tried quizzing Shani about rumours among the lab scientists and academics, what was planned, but she wasn’t willing to discuss it; not with him, anyway. Other questions had been asked at the briefing too, about protection of jobs and guarantees on residents’ accommodation and participation contracts. Nathan’s responses were brief and far from reassuring, but Finn was hopeful that he wasn’t first in line for redundancy, if it came to it.

No, it was his family he had to worry about. If only his parents… but it was too late for the older generations, unless they already had wealth and high status, or the special talents and expertise prized by the global movements and local select clusters. And none of his relatives had a valuable gene variant, now the prime alternative currency with which you could enter a health or family-related cluster like the Healthy Ageing Foundation. He could fantasise about grand gestures and ideal futures all he liked, but in truth there was little he could do for them; not until he rose to an important position or found some means, devious or otherwise, to raise the funds and rescue them from their life-sapping predicament.

He walked diagonally across the piazza, making his way back to the Institute. Perhaps Shani would be in the office today, or he could at least save a hot pod in case she turned up. The security guards had left and the entrance to the university, where students were usually milling about, was deserted. He stopped halfway over, sensing something out of the ordinary; probably a lingering tension from the earlier arrest, which he hadn’t witnessed. Or the effects of the hot wind, the sudden flurries playing on his cheeks.

Then he heard it: a whirring in the distance, coming closer. A new type of helicopter or drone, perhaps. He was attuned to vehicles and could easily identify them; it came from his dad, who had loved doing up old bangers and once held a pilot’s licence. He looked into the bleached lemon sky above the arcade, but just to confirm what he’d already concluded: this wasn’t a drone, it was a car. He raced back to the corner of the apartment building and hid behind it, tilting sideways to keep his eyes on the archway leading to the main gate. Within a minute or two, the vehicle emerged from the arch, its whirring now a