Adams looked nervously around the boardroom, suddenly conscious that his best suit probably cost less than most of the neckties he could see, and cleared his throat. "I'm not sure what rumours you've heard, but we do not have the secret of immortality, nor have we discovered the fountain of youth. What we have is a nanotechnology-based device similar to the GeneSafe, but far more sophisticated. It prevents and reverses the growth of cancers, removes blockages from arteries, fat from around the heart, tar and other crap from the lungs, and so on. It may even be able to prevent or at least delay the onset of Alzheimer's disease, though we haven't done enough testing on human subjects to be sure." He decided not to mention that most of their test subjects had been chimps, pigs and hamsters; few of the directors knew enough biology to understand the ways in which these animals were similar to humans. "It won't repair all types of existing damage, users won't look any younger though they should feel healthier, and some of us may already have over-stressed our bodies beyond it's power to heal, but barring accidents it should increase normal life expectancy by about a century." Silence suddenly fell over the room. Adams glanced at the Old Man, who was sitting at his left. "We haven't told marketing about this, of course, but in the meantime, we're calling it the Centurion."

"Thank you, Dr Adams," said the Old Man, as Adams sat down. "Of course, gentlemen, we can't just release a device like this onto the market ad hoc. The country is already paying too much in benefits to unproductive retirees; they just have too many votes." There were a few loyal chuckles from around the great oaken table. "What would happen to the economy if all of these people were to live for another hundred years? We're paying too much damn tax already! No, this has to be kept secret. It will, of course, be available to all of you gentlemen, and your families, for the bargain basement cost of a quarter million per, plus a check-up every five years at half the going rate. Note that this price will not be offered to anybody else; Dr Adams and I have worked out a scale based on five percent of the buyer's net worth, with a minimum price of half a million, and a top of twenty million. Obviously there are many potential clients who could pay much more, but there are more important considerations than short term profit. Despite Dr Adams's understandable caution, this might be immortality; who knows how medtech might improve over the next century? There are many people who could afford a Centurion, at any price we might set, that we may not want around for that long, overpaid entertainers and similar parasites, as well as some heads of state." He smiled frostily. "It's imperative that we use it carefully, selectively. I suggest we start with a maximum of one thousand, to be implanted over the next four years, and then reduce production to fewer than a hundred a year. It would, for example, be of no advantage to us to sell one to the President when he has only three years left to serve. But senators, congressmen, judges, other politicians and administrators who can continue to serve well into the next century..." he showed his transplanted teeth in a grin, "whose interests and concerns are parallel to ours, and whose gratitude can be depended upon, thanks at least in part to the need for regular check-ups..." He paused again, watching smiles break out across the room as the directors began thinking. "Thanks to Dr Adams's team, we need no longer be tied to short-term goals, we can make plans for the next century in the hope of seeing them come to fruition. We can be sure of stable government, not the current chaos. We can choose the next century's leaders now."

He took a deep breath. "For too long, cheap medical care has enabled less productive members of our society to survive into their second century, while the world's elite, the decision-makers, have been overworking and overstressing ourselves into early graves, wasting all that experience and learning. History has been rewritten by those too young to remember it, dishonouring great men and fine traditions..." He coughed; his face was turning red, and Adams watched him with genuine alarm, wondering if he was going to have a heart attack before they'd had a chance to implant his Centurion. The Old Man grabbed a glass of water, sipped it slowly, and continued more quietly. "Of course, there's another, more immediate advantage. You'll now be working for yourselves, getting what you deserve, instead of it going to your widows or your ungrateful heirs. Now -" He tried to laugh, but it became another coughing fit. "Sorry. Now, Dr Adams and I have prepared a list of potential clients, which I'll now hand around for everybody's approval--but for God's sake, remember that we have to keep this as quiet as possible! I know the rumours are already circulating; lie, if you have to. We can implant up to two of these a day without breaching security. The sooner I have your check, the sooner you get onto Dr Adams's list. Any questions?"