The Islanders

Collago SILENT RAIN

An island of medium size, in the temperate zone of the southern Midway Sea. Formerly known for its dairy produce, COLLAGO is a place of low rain-washed hills, warm summers, windy winters. It has a rocky coastline with several landing coves or bays, and is blessed with attractive scenery which consists mostly of broadleaf tree coverage and an abundance of summertime wild flowers. There are few beaches and those that are suitable for swimmers are covered in shingle. The sea is unusually cold in this part of the Archipelago, because Collago lies in the path of the Southern Oscillating Stream.

There is only one large town: Collago Harbour, which as its name implies is the main port of the island. There is no airport. Outside the town there are few roads and motor vehicles are seen only rarely. There is a bus service, which circuits the island and crosses its width three times a day. It is not a remote island, but it is surrounded by many islands similar in appearance. Navigation channels are hazardous, and pilots must be used.

Collago is therefore an island of quiet pleasures, not an obvious choice for visitors seeking a hot climate or the excitement of nightlife. Few would think it might become a place where people’s lives are changed forever.

Collago’s fate was determined by a medical breakthrough in a research clinic in the distant city of Jethra, the capital of the country of Faiandland.

Developments in gene-swapping and stem-cell modification, in the search for new or more effective treatments for intractable terminal diseases, led fortuitously to a process that would make any man or woman of normal good health into a physical immortal (or ‘athanasian’).

One hundred and fifty-two individual mutations in the human genome were identified, each capable of being personalized and therefore given a genetic signature. Suitably manipulated, these personal genomics would halt the rate of body ageing at the point the patient received the treatment. Thereafter, normal cellular decay or change would be replaced by rejuvenating cell growth, a process that would in theory continue for ever.

Practice has followed theory. The first human trials took place more than a century ago, and since then not a single recipient has appeared to age, has suffered any debilitating or degenerative disease, has fallen foul of any viral disease, or has died of any expectable or natural causes. Regular medical check-ups on a large sample of past recipients confirm their state of health.

However, not all of them are still alive: some have died in accidents, and several more have been murdered by non-recipients, for reasons of jealous anger, or for some other base motive we can imagine only too well. There are many advantages to being an athanasian, but the condition also has its drawbacks.

Hailed at first as a miracle of modern medicine, it quickly became apparent that the ability to create a group of immortal humans was attended by a host of moral, ethical, social and practical problems.

In the first place the treatment involved a lengthy medical process, with large nursing and psychological teams in support, as well as the need for uniquely complex scanning and monitoring equipment. This meant that each operation was expensive, clearly beyond the means of all but the super-wealthy.

The moral and ethical arguments for and against the process are now well known and often rehearsed.

If the majority of people know that there is a favoured minority who will survive them, resentments are inevitable. Many controversies have come to light over the years, and most of these have involved rich or celebrated or influential people who have tried to gain an unfair advantage. There have been cases of bribery, blackmail, threats, physical assaults. Rumours about this sort of activity are always current, always routinely denied.

There have also been several cases which were marked by circumstantial evidence: apparently miraculous cures for fatal illnesses, people who disappeared then were found to be living under new names and identities, film stars or other celebrities who managed to retain their beauty far longer than anyone might expect. No abuse has ever been conclusively proved.

Not so obviously, the athanasia treatment has had a subtle impact on the attitudes of employers to employees, on the way healthcare is provided to the normally ill, even on the way non-athanasians are insured against accidents, travel incidents, public liability, and so on. In every case, the notion that normal life expectancy is less than that of an immortal person has led to discrimination against the non-immortals.

Less a matter of public concern, but even so a cause of ethical debate: the recipient’s memory is unavoidably wiped by receiving the treatment. He or she awakes to the reality of re-education in their own lives. It is the ultimate theft of identity. Many critics of the procedure point to this as the tool of experimenters, politicians, fraudsters, blackmailers and so on. However, the trustees of the procedure maintain that the rehabilitation staff are fully trained in the necessary techniques, that they are well practised and endlessly re-trained and appraised, and also that there are external audits and checks by independent outside agencies. They also point out that the rehab process has never been known to fail.

For all these reasons, practical and ethical, strict controls have always been necessary. After many controversial incidents, an independent trust was created to run the process, and this was established on the hitherto little-known island of Collago. The Lotterie Trust (or Lotterie-Collago as it became known) would not only perform and oversee the medical and psychological procedures, but would manage the financing.

Funding was through a worldwide lottery, open to all, which every month would produce a handful of randomly selected winners. They would receive the treatment, no matter who or what they were. Thus, along with the ambitious sportsmen and women, the brilliant musicians, the philanthropists, the rich, the glamorous, the ordinary working people, the unemployed, the young, the old, the happy and the sad, the promising, the ordinary, the disappointing, the unlucky, the lottery would inevitably select a random sample of criminals, paedophiles, embezzlers, rapists, thugs, liars and cheats. All were given the prospect of life eternal.

Inevitably, controversy ensued. Into it stepped the radical social theorist Caurer. Her powerfully written and compelling book Lottery of Fools simply narrated the life stories of ten recent athanasia recipients, what they had done with their lives before they were made immortal, and what they were likely to do after. Of these stories, seven were relatively uncontroversial: they were ordinary people in ordinary lives who had been given the treatment, some of whom had returned to obscurity, but two of whom had declared they would now devote themselves to good works. However, of these seven, six were married or in permanent relationships, and five had children. What, Caurer clearly implied, was going to happen to those families with the passing of the years?

Of the remaining three recipients described by Caurer, one was an alcoholic and another was morbidly obese. Caurer asked mildly that perhaps the geneticists should have looked around for more relevant gene mutations to personalize? The final recipient, identified only by the name ‘Xxxx’, was a middle-aged man with learning difficulties and deep personality disorders. He had already been convicted twice of rape and attempted rape, and was serving a prison sentence for arson. He was likely to spend the rest of his life in a detention hospital, and now the rest of his life appeared to be infinite.

Caurer concluded the book with an essay pointing out that all over the world there were people whose (finite) lives were already dedicated to the common good. She named no names, but suggested there were hundreds, perhaps thousands of eminent research scientists, inventors, religious leaders, social workers, composers, authors, artists, teachers, doctors, aid workers . . . all of whom were in their individual way attempting to make the world a better place. Were the ten people whose lives she had described any more likely to improve on what these others were already achieving?

The consequence of her book when it was published was that the Lotterie trustees appointed a panel of international judges to sit annually. Every year they were to nominate a small number of people whom they had judged should be given the chance of an undying future. The cost of these extra cases would be met from Lotterie funds.

However, many of these so-called laureates, when their names were announced, unexpectedly declined the treatment. In the fourth year, one of these refusers was the philosopher and author VISKER DELOINNE.

Soon after he had been selected he publicly refused the treatment. He was not alone — four other laureates that year also declined the award. But Deloinne then wrote and published an impassioned book called Renunciation.

In the book he argued that to accept athanasia was to deny death, and as life and death were inextricably linked it was a denial of life too. All his books, he said, had been written in the knowledge of his inevitable death, and none could or would have been written without it. Life could only be lived to the full by the instinctive or unconscious denial of death, otherwise nothing would ever be achieved. He expressed his life through literature, he said, but this was in essence no different from the way other people expressed their own lives. To aspire to live for ever would be to acquire living at the expense of life.

Caurer came forward and said that Deloinne’s book had changed her mind. She apologized publicly for her error of judgement, retired to her island home and never again uttered or wrote a word on the subject of athanasia. Deloinne himself died of cancer two years after Renunciation was published.

Lotterie-Collago reverted to its random selection of winners and within a few years the athanasia treatment was being carried out without publicity or controversy, lottery tickets were sold all over the Archipelago and in the countries of the north, and every week and month a trickle of lottery winners travelled slowly across the island-congested seas to the quiet, rain-swept hills of Collago.

Visitors are discouraged on the island, although there are no formal bans. Strict shelterate laws are in place, but havenic rules are comparatively liberal. Tunnelling has never been attempted on Collago but one can imagine that tunnellers would not be welcome. Some seasonal jobs are available on dairy farms but visas must be obtained in advance.

Currency: Archipelagian simoleon.