Eternal Life by Leigh Turner

“Eternal Life”, by Leigh Turner: an introduction

Leigh Turner
Leigh Turner

“Eternal Life” by Leigh Turner is a satirical speculative thriller for a world obsessed with living forever. Want to know more? Welcome!

Eternal Life by Leigh Turner
Click on the picture to go to Amazon

Eternal Life is a satirical thriller for a world obsessed by living longer. It projects that mania into a wild and scary future. The story begins in Santa Monica, California; continues in New York and London; and concludes in Vienna, Austria.

You can read the first four chapters of Eternal Life below. It is available from Amazon here.

I hope you enjoy it and will be delighted to see your reviews and other feedback.

Here are the opening chapters.


Chapter 1

Chimeric Brain Mouse Speaks Out: ‘I WANT MY BABIES TO BE HUMAN BEINGS!’

National Enquirer 2086

Jake Parker was on his way to re-possess a stolen lifetime when his best friend Ed Torres, and Ed’s wife Abigail, briefly became parents.

A nurse propped open the window of Ed and Abigail’s suite at the Hughes Procreation Center in Santa Monica “to help baby breathe”. The new-born infant’s cries mingled with the reggae from the nearby Feeding Frenzy milk bar and the whispering of the breeze in the palm trees.

Eternal Life by Leigh Turner: palm trees

Senior Obstetrician Dr Alan Beasdale 100 handed the fresh-chipped baby to Abigail.

‘Is your husband OK?’ Beasdale said. ‘He seems distracted.’

Abigail peered up at the medic. Beyond the mask, she saw only his blue eyes and a fringe of dark hair so thick it looked unnatural.

‘He’ll be OK when Jake gets here,’ she said. ‘They can escape for a beer.’ She nuzzled the baby’s cheek. ‘For an hour, anyhow.’

The new father stared out of the window.

‘This fellow Jake a friend of yours?’ the obstetrician said.

‘Jake is a Biotime enforcement agent. Like me.’ Ed frowned at Abigail and the baby as though puzzled by their presence. ‘He’s chasing down a Termination Contract. Dangerous job.’

‘I would love to meet him.’ Beasdale’s smile left no wrinkles anywhere on his face. ‘But I have another delivery at 12.30. Will you excuse me?’

‘Sure.’ Abigail beckoned to Ed, who had yet to hold the baby. ‘Come and sit down, sugar.’ She patted the sheets and smiled as the doctor closed the door behind him. ‘Let’s all get to know each other.’


Northbound on the crumbling concrete of I-405, Jake clenched his teeth and cranked up the music.

Let us sing more cheerful songs,

more full of joy!

Yeah, right. Today, being full of joy was Ed’s job. Jake faced life expectancy reduction, or worse. The pulse tracker on his bracelet blinked red.

Before heading to Hughes, Jake must put Time-expired Jennifer on the slab. What if the Termination hit a problem?

Jake’s Albuquerque Cheyenne Classic, like every other vehicle on the highway, was in safe drive auto, locked at forty miles per hour behind the Nagasaki Commemoration up front. He eyed the Korean car’s smooth lines. Time-expired Jennifer drove one, as it happened. But not for much longer.

The Chattanooga Life Exchange Foundation (“CLEF – your key to a better life”) had contacted Jake about the case. A man with a moustache and dark-rimmed glasses had materialised, leaning forward over a desk that materialised with him.

‘Baker 109, CLEF, Chattanooga,’ the recorded holo had opened.

He described a routine case. A cash-poor woman, biological age fifty-five, thirty years life expectancy in hand, had decided to cash in her assets.

‘So,’ Baker 109 had said, biting the end off each word, ‘she takes out a generous Termination Contract with us here in Chattanooga and becomes, for the first time in her life, rich enough to live in style. Which she does, with gusto. Nothing wrong with that.’ He had coughed and wiped his moustache with a handkerchief.

‘However. Following much indulgence in moon-gazing, fancy vacations and so forth, she meets the usual younger man, who says, as young men do – ’ Baker had coughed again and read from a screen on his desk ‘ – beautiful mother, please don’t leave me. I’ll hide you away in a little house in the big city, and we’ll make love ‘til the day we die.’ Baker had smiled. ‘Mr Parker, we’d like you to enforce the Termination Contract.’

The Cheyenne slowed for the Beverly Hills turn-off. The streets grew wider. Houses retreated beyond swathes of shrubs and lawns.

Were Time-expired Jennifer and her boyfriend waiting to ambush him? Jake’s chest tightened. He turned to face the back of the car.

He would observe the house for an extra fifteen minutes, to reduce the risks of entry. Then he would repossess Jennifer’s lifetime, collect evidence, and drive to Santa Monica to join Ed and Abigail. Jake punched the Birth Channel on his bracelet, leaving the music playing.

…All men become brothers

Under the sway of thy gentle wings

The Central Authority had introduced the Birth Channel to encourage reproduction by publicising the joys of childbirth. The programmers had trouble finding content. Today, Abigail Torres was the only birth on-air. She sat in bed, cradling the child in her arms. Ed stood nearby, shoulders hunched. A display showed a readout from the baby’s bracelet and spine implant: the heart beat pow, pow, pow, firm and strong.

Jake smiled. Soon, he would share Ed and Abigail’s big day. But first, he must bring to justice a woman trying to steal something of immense value: her own life.

The Cheyenne coasted to a halt. Jake took a deep breath and switched to the Crime Channel. Time for him to broadcast.

A Neon-Glo blue Nagasaki stood in the driveway of 137 South Clark. All polished up and maybe now someplace to go. In the yard, dusty artificial bushes and flowers rose from the dirt, a mix called Tropical Medley. Only the super-rich had time for a real garden these days. The tab scanner in Jake’s bracelet showed no sign of life. The house must be data-shielded – or empty.

What lay within?

Jake sat motionless outside the house where Time-expired Jennifer had sought refuge. Minutes ticked by.

At last, the red light on his pulse tracker blinked out. Jake flexed his fingers, activated the holo on his lapel, and opened the car door. Now to show the world what happened when the law caught up with a couple of Biotime criminals.

Chapter 2


One Life Army atrocity verification code

Sue Phu looked out at the rain and sighed. Three days into her confinement and still no sign of a break in the weather. From her front door the Mekong stretched, shimmering in the downpour. What kind of welcome was this for the new baby? Between her breasts a drop of sweat rolled down, a cool tickle melting into warmth where her swollen belly rose against the fabric. She yelled to her daughter.

‘Last Chance! Is the water still hot?’

Eternal Life by Leigh Turner: woman in Vietnam

‘Come and try it.’

Last Chance crouched over an open fire in the corner of the hut, steam rising from a cauldron. She had helped deliver two of her mother’s children. The first time, the water had been too cold and Sue Phu had nearly died. Water-borne hepatitis, the man in the boat said when he came for the baby. He even entered the house, wearing a suit with cylinders on the back. He took a blood sample and examined Sue Phu, his gloved hands holding back her eyelids so far Last Chance worried her mother’s eyeballs might fall out.

The man had left lucky charms after that, to help keep Sue Phu and Last Chance healthy. They had glass bottles full of powder to sprinkle in the hut; pills to swallow before and after the stud-boys came; and red pellets that fizzed and boiled in the river water Sue Phu and Last Chance drank when the bottles they bought from the supply boat ran out.

Sue Phu stepped inside the hut, touching the smooth metal box over the door for luck. The man in the boat brought one whenever a woman in the village bled for the first time. A black dish on the roof stored up the sun and shone it out during the night, from a glass eye on the front. The man in the boat said the box helped him know if Sue Phu needed anything.

The man in the boat never bargained. The prices he paid kept falling. Sue Phu had even imagined keeping the new baby, if it was a girl. But how else to earn the tokens she needed to eat? The man in the boat supplied for free the stud-boys to make her pregnant. No other men ever came, or any other people at all.

Not since the time of Sue Phu’s great-grandmother had men lived in the village. No-one knew what had happened to them. Some said the Americans had killed them when they lost the great war, long ago. Others said a virus had killed the men and left the women. That had been when the aeroplanes stopped flying, and jungle grew back across the country.

Younger women said men had never existed in the village. How could they, when the man in the boat took every male child away with him? The man in the boat, when people dared to ask him, smiled and said nothing.

Two days later, the rain stopped and Sue Phu delivered with the help of Last Chance a yelling, healthy baby boy. Last Chance said the new baby cried so loud the man in the boat would hear. Sue Phu cradled the infant and smiled. The first four babies she had sold had all been girls. Holding on to Last Chance, her fifth, had been an act of superstitious folly, as though such a demonstration might persuade the gods of her indifference. Penury had been averted only by the fascination the child exerted on the rest of the village: women had crowded in, taking turns holding the infant and bringing small gifts of food. But the gods paid scant attention: Sue Phu went on to produce four more baby girls, one after another.

A few days after each birth, the man in the boat visited, examined the baby, and bowed to Sue Phu, his right hand flat against his heart. That meant good news. He gave Sue Phu a small case of dollar tokens wrapped in a pink ribbon – for a girl – and left, with the baby. He paid less for a girl than for a boy. This time it would be different.

The boat came as Sue Phu nursed the child outside her front door. She knew the roar of the engines, rising to a scream as the boat hit a patch of open water then dropping to a burble as it toiled between the river houses, vulnerable on their bamboo stilts. The man in the boat looked after the women of the village. He had an interest in them, for sure. She held the child to her breast.

The boat stopped in front of the house, rolling in the dark, calm water. Last Chance peered round the door. The vessel, longer than any two houses in the village and streaked with the rain of a hundred summers, fascinated the women. Life would cease without it. Yet dread tinged its attraction.

When Last Chance misbehaved, Sue Phu threatened to sell her to the man in the boat. In fact, he had several times offered Sue Phu a cash payment in return for taking her daughter on board. He told her that as Last Chance grew older, the price would be less; and that when the girl first bled, it would fall to nil. Sue Phu always refused.

On the boat a door opened and the man came out, blinking in the sunshine. His long fair hair cascaded over his shoulders; a sarong bound his muscular waist. His left breast bore a tattoo of a white bird. He wore a smooth black band on his wrist. The man in the boat had visited the village forever. Yet he looked younger than Sue Phu.

‘Good morning, Sue Phu,’ he said. ‘I hear you got something good for me.’

Sue Phu nodded from her waiting place. The man spoke softly, his face warm with friendship. Yet something about him chilled her. Not his smile, the corners of his mouth twitching when he caught her glance. Nor his walk and posture, humble compared with the strutting of the boat crew – short, hard men who spoke a language she did not understand. Rather, his eyes gazed at her from a place far away, where Sue Phu’s life had no more meaning than the scurrying of an ant on the forest floor.

Many years ago, after a glass of rice wine, Sue Phu’s mother had told her why the boat crew were angry.

‘They are not like the stud-boys. They are smooth down there.’ Sue Phu’s mother had touched herself between the legs. ‘There is nothing hanging down. Or sticking up. It is the price they pay. It makes them irritable.’

‘Price?’ Sue Phu had frowned. ‘What price?’

‘The price of freedom. They want to ride on the boat, they pay. So they cannot bother us. Simple.’

‘But what if they do not want to ride on the boat?’

Sue Phu’s mother had gathered her up and kissed her on the forehead. ‘I do not know. Maybe one day you can ask the man in the boat.’

But Sue Phu had never dared.

The ritual began. Standing in the boat, the man took from one of his grim-faced crew a package sealed in plastic. He tore it open to extract a white tray with high sides and a fabric lining. He placed the tray on the cane matting at the edge of the platform and stepped back.

‘May I see the baby, Sue Phu?’ the man in the boat asked.

The tiny boy cried. Sue Phu did not kiss or comfort him. It was too late for that. She laid the infant in the tray and knelt back. A fat tear welled up on the baby’s cheek and trickled down, but she suppressed the urge to wipe it away. She knelt, expressionless, her hands folded in her lap, as the man tickled the baby’s toes, examined its eyes, and, using a disposable syringe, extracted a sample of blood. The baby yelled lustily. Sue Phu bit her lip as the crewman took the blood inside, slamming the door behind him.

Everyone said they tested the blood to check that the father was one of the stud-boys. If the results came out wrong, the man in the boat would take the child but pay nothing. Sue Phu did not remember this happening. How could it, with no other men in the village? But they always took blood into the boat before passing any baby fit for dollars.

The door stayed closed. The man in the boat sat in a chair at the stern, gazing at the river, ignoring Sue Phu and the baby. Sue Phu willed the door to open. The panel carried a painted image, faded by rain and sunshine: a severed hand, pierced by a knife. A lizard ran out from the house onto the floor matting and stopped dead, its eyes rotating as it tried to decide whether to stay frozen or run away. Further down the riverbank, beneath the overhanging trees, something splashed into the water.

At last the boat door opened and the crewman emerged. He said a few words in his guttural tongue. The man in the boat stood, and gazed at the river. As if he had all the time in the world. He turned to Sue Phu and placed his right hand flat over his heart.

His palm covered the white bird.

‘It’s a deal,’ the man in the boat said.

Sue Phu blinked. Her eyes filled with tears. Eight times before, the man had taken her baby. It never got any easier. Behind her, a whoop rang out. Last Chance jumped around and yelled. Two pregnant women peeked from the doorway of the next hut.

‘You done it, new baby,’ shrieked Last Chance. ‘You done it.’

In his tray, the baby cried.

The man in the boat stepped forward and looked down at the child. ‘Say goodbye?’ he said to Sue Phu.

Sue Phu shook her head. She had no baby.

The man addressed the child. ‘Say goodbye to your momma, kid.’ He placed a package, tied with a blue ribbon, on the cane matting. ‘This is for you, Sue Phu.’

The infant sobbed, reaching out a tiny hand like a gesture of farewell.

At the rear of the boat, a crewman grunted and lifted a pack of groceries onto the far end of the platform that surrounded the house. He sprayed down his hands and returned below deck.

‘We’re grateful for all your good work,’ the man in the boat said to Sue Phu. ‘If you are thinking of having another child, I remind you that with eight already in our care plus little number nine here, you only need one more to retire and receive a regular payment for the rest of your life. You can leave all the work to Last Chance.’

‘You bring the stud-boys,’ Sue Phu said. ‘I will be waiting.’

‘We will be back. As soon as we think you’re ready.’ The man picked up the tray. The boat slipped its moorings and moved out into the channel. Sue Phu heard the baby crying as the man opened the door and went inside. Then the door closed, and the crying was gone.

Chapter 3

If you’re the kind of person who likes the idea of staying in bed for the rest of your life, Biotime may be just your cup of tea.

Early Central Authority advertising, quoted in “Why Biotime Stunts Society”, Zenon Kool, Schlaraffenland Press (out of print)

Jake’s bracelet signalled an incoming call. What a time for Ed to reach out to him.

‘Hey.’ Jake murmured into the bracelet, his eyes focused the house. ‘Make it quick. You know I’m on an op here.’

‘Sure. Sorry.’ Ed paused. ‘You cased the place? It’s a TC, right? Subject will be agitated.’

‘Yeah, I waited and watched, all good. I learned from the master, Ed. But I’ll be late.’

‘No worries. I’ll get out of your hair. Listen, Jake.’ Ed paused.

‘What is it?’

‘Be good to see you here. Something’s not right. But I can’t figure out what it is.’

Jake’s lips curled into a smile. ‘You uneasy, man? It’s called fatherhood. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I promise.’ He terminated the call and stepped out of the car.


Across the road from the Hughes perimeter fence, a blonde woman stood outside the Feeding Frenzy milk bar, inspecting her face in the mirror of a scratched, pale-blue powder compact. Sunlight washed the empty street. No one saw that the woman’s perfect face neither wore nor needed powder, or make-up of any kind. The breeze sent a strand of her hair curling up into the cool moist air. She snapped the compact shut.

Eternal Life by Leigh Turner: Santa Monica Beach

It was time.

Long ago, in another existence, the woman had been trained to ask little, and to give everything. It did not trouble her that only one person would ever know the greatness of her act. She, Athena, needed no more reward than to be mistress of her destiny. She entered the Feeding Frenzy.

The owner of the milk bar lived as a One Lifer. Most reference works classified his conviction that music must be played loud as a religious belief. When Athena entered his establishment, he dried his hands on a towel woven from recycled fibres by Native American artisans and hurried from behind the counter to welcome his first customer of the day. On his till, her DNA tab showed that when she visited cafes, she consumed a single health drink. Unlike the beach bums and surfer dudes who made up his core custom, she never left a tip. But the shift in the woman’s hips to ease between the tables, and the waft of scent as she threw her jacket over a chair, made him forget about tips. Maybe he could use the fact the cafe was so empty to strike up a conversation with her.

He had no idea that for the rest of the day it would be standing room only in the Feeding Frenzy.

Chapter 4

‘The cloning of human beings is an abomination. Ask any religious leader. The Pope himself uses Biotime. You can’t get a better moral endorsement than that.’

House Report on the Benefits of Biotime, Annex 4(B): The Dangers of Cloning (Interviews)

In Beverly Hills, Jake stepped out of the Cheyenne. Enforcing Termination Contracts took delicacy. Crazed with anger or fear, offenders could take their own lives, which didn’t belong to them, at the slightest provocation. The house might be wired and ready to blow. Even if a million dollars’ worth of Biotime said otherwise. Open curtains in the front room placed Time-expired Jennifer asleep in bed. Perhaps with a passionthriller or two the night before to weigh down any errant eyelids. Jake had suggested as much to Jennifer’s boyfriend, Franco Ardizzione.

Jake sprinted across the fake lawn.

As he ran, his bracelet interrogated the ID tab in his spine to compare the DNA of the blood surrounding it with his identity. The match confirmed, his bracelet announced “Biotime enforcement agent” to the home security system at number 137.

The intruder alarm and shielding switched themselves off and a stream of data appeared on Jake’s bracelet. Time-expired Jennifer, biological and chronological age both fifty-five, appeared inside the house. So did Franco Ardizzione, biological eighteen, chronological thirty-one. Jake frowned. Why such a big discrepancy for a small-time conman? The front door of the house swung open as Jake stepped through it.

Into the heart of a gigolo’s gin palace. Everything screamed gloss, from the brilliant Outlive-U carpeting to the nozzles of the Dis-Arm/Dat-Arm anti-intruder complex at the angles of the hall. How many decades ago had phosphorescent carpets been a thing? Straight ahead, the wall played a tropical beach, waves breaking in the rays of a dying sunset. A direct feed wallpaper, a real-time image of a landscape half way round the world. Soon it would be dark there, night falling at noon in LA.

ominous clouds

This one’s for you, Jennifer.

Jake crept towards the bedroom, sneaker-soft on the Outlive-U. The sour taste in his mouth recalled the raid on the West California Access Facility in the Man Without a Past case. His knuckles whitened on the grip of his Big Fright scare-o-matic. Sweat slicked his face.

Franco shouldn’t be a problem. But Time-expired Jennifer might do anything. Jake cursed the red tape that prevented him immobilising her without an oral warning. The Chattanooga court had already declared her Time-expired, had they not? But his bracelet had been streaming a live feed to the Biotime Enforcement Channel from the moment he stepped out of the car. He must obey the rules.

A groan came from the next room. Jake raised the Big Fright. Disabler: ready. Hands: steady.

He took a deep breath and kicked open the door to the bedroom.

Time-expired Jennifer and Franco Ardizzione lay naked, on the bed, making love. If you could call it that.

Jake had imagined Jennifer, being a fugitive, as more glamorous. Pity pulsed through him at the sight of her loose skin, her bony feet, and Franco’s hairy ass.

‘Biotime enforcement agent!’ Jake yelled. ‘Any movement and I open fire.’ He brandished the scare-o-matic. Its hideous mass performed no function except to house the tab-disabler. Bodily harm reduced life expectancy: she alone could supply Biotime worth tens of millions of dollars. But research showed people responded better to instructions when facing a perceived threat of pain, injury or death. Enforcement officers agreed a scare-o-matic under your belt made people respect you more.

‘Stand up. I need to see you.’ Behind the bed, the walls glowed orange with moving images of some part of the human anatomy enlarged beyond recognition.

They both stood, bodies pasty in the glow of the walls. Next to Jennifer, Franco looked like a muscular child. The little man peered at Jake with a disconcerting familiarity.

‘Have you anything to say before you are disabled?’ Jake indicated the holocam on his lapel.

Jake had addressed Jennifer. Her soft green eyes might have been beautiful had they not been full of sadness. Once he put her under, she would spend the rest of her life on the slab at CLEF. But Franco answered.

‘You’re late,’ he said. ‘You don’t know how lucky you are.’

‘I make it my job to be lucky.’

Franco shrugged.

Jennifer turned on her lover. ‘Are you crazy? He’s a Biotime enforcement agent.’

‘I promised you a third of a gram bounty to bring her in, Franco,’ Jake said. ‘A million bucks’ worth. But I’m taking you in, too, for Biotime theft.’

Franco fixed his gaze on Jake. ‘I heard you always came on time. When you didn’t show, I figured you’d gone to see your pal with the new kid. That would do the job. I thought I’d use the time to say goodbye to Jennifer.’

He knew about Ed. And what did he mean, that would do the job? No-one looking down the muzzle of a Big Fright should be that calm.

‘Franco? A bounty?’ Time-expired Jennifer’s voice rose. ‘Can’t you see we’re in this together, sweetheart, you and I? Look at yourself. In it. Right up to here.’ Her hands being in the air, she jerked her chin up to indicate submersion. ‘He’ll take you down for helping me evade my contract.’ She glared at Jake. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself.’

‘It’s my job to return stolen Biotime to its owners.’ Jake turned to Franco. ‘How the hell do you know about Ed Torres?’

The little man’s composure cracked. ‘All I know is, you’re the meanest double-crossing bastard I ever set eyes on and…’ he slumped to his knees on the Outlive-U. ‘Don’t put me under, man, I’ll do anything, I got Time. Please? I don’t want to wake up 15 years older.’

Jake stepped back. The mood-swing made no sense. ‘Stand up.’

‘I beg you.’ Franco’s voice dwindled to a whine. His hand reached under the bed.

‘Last warning – ’

Jake flicked off the safety on the Big Fright. Franco brought up his hand. Jake pulled the trigger. A deafening explosion rang out. Something warm spattered his face.

Franco lay on the Outlive-U. His hand clutched a primitive handgun, made to fire metal bullets.

‘What was that noise?’ Jennifer stared down at Franco’s body. ‘Is he OK?’

The carpet glistened where Franco Ardizzione lay. Something trickled down Jake’s cheek. He wiped his face and his hand came away red. A chunk of Franco’s head was missing.

‘I disabled him.’ On Jake’s bracelet, the red light burned.

‘He’s injured.’ Jennifer pointed. ‘His head.’

Jake had not disabled Franco. The man had killed himself. His death had been broadcast live. Ardizzione would have faced Termination for Biotime theft, for ownership of a deadly weapon and, Jake suspected, for a further crime he had yet to investigate. Franco’s biological age of 18 gave him decades of life expectancy. His death destroyed Biotime that would have been the property of the Central Authority. An inquiry would explore whether Jake could have prevented the squandering of a public asset worth hundreds of millions of dollars.

The man had time for one shot. Why had he not targeted Jake?

Jennifer’s mouth hung open. ‘I loved him,’ she said.

‘He’s a con-man! He sold you out for a million bucks of Biotime.’

‘He was more than that.’

‘Maybe. But not the way you think.’ He turned to face her. ‘Time-expired Jennifer. You have the right to make a statement before your sentence is carried out.’

‘Don’t call me that.’ She blinked. ‘You want me to say something on-air?’

‘It’s up to you.’

‘OK.’ Jennifer’s voice wavered. ‘As a member of the Confederation of US Journalists about to lose the right to life, I’d like to put on record my view that the Central Authority should outlaw Termination Contracts. I also want to declare my support for the One Life movement, although not of course the One Life Army.’

‘Thank you, Jennifer.’ Everyone due for Termination wished they had been a One Lifer. ‘Back on the bed, please, and I’ll put you out. Relax.’ She must not injure herself as she lost consciousness. ‘Easy, now.’

Again, he pulled the trigger. In an orgasm of rapid data exchange her bracelet responded, checking her DNA tab, her security status on the Central Authority’s Federal Unitary Control Computer in Washington and Jake’s own ID – a precaution against the scare-o-matic passing into the wrong hands.

Jennifer’s limp, naked body gleamed pale in the glow of the walls. She could have been the victim, not the perpetrator, of a crime.

Franco Ardizzione’s corpse lay dark, inexplicable and poisonous.

CLEF in Chattanooga had identified him as a small-time crook who preyed on cash-rich women near their Termination dates.

But he had known about Ed.

He had been waiting with a handgun.

He had killed himself rather than face arrest and questioning.

And he had admitted to another crime, far more egregious than Jennifer’s misappropriation of a single, worn-out lifetime.

[Excerpt ends]

Other resources for ETERNAL LIFE by Leigh Turner

I hope you’ve enjoyed these excerpts from “Eternal Life” by Leigh Turner. If you would like to explore more elements of “Eternal Life”, do have a look at these posts:

You can read the introductory paragraphs of Eternal Life at my post: Eternal Life: an introduction.

Death is very likely the single best invention of life: Peter Pan & Steve Jobs

What to do next

Thanks so much for reading. I do hope you enjoyed it. As mentioned above, if you would like to read more about a world taking an obsession with living longer to extremes, the Amazon page for ETERNAL LIFE is here.


Sign up for my update emails

…and receive a FREE short story!

I won’t pass on your details to third parties / unsubscribe whenever you wish

4 Responses

    1. Thanks Frankie! Most kind. You can always pre-order an e-book (the cheapest way) now if you like. Or if you prefer I can send you a PDF. All supports (and reviews on Amazon) most welcome as always.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Related Articles

Palladium on Audible


My Istanbul thriller “Palladium” is on Audible. It’s a cracker! Contact me now if you’d like a free audio review copy while stocks last.

Read More

John Savage in therapy: an interview

John Savage: ‘I won’t talk more about what happened that winter in Moscow. It’s between me, the Office and – I suppose the Russians know the whole story. Moscow was worse for Clare than it was for me. She suffered most. Obviously. She’s dead. I’m alive.’

Read More
Valide Han Istanbul

Slow publishing: a case study

Slow publishing is not necessarily bad publishing. Let’s look at how a Russian banker’s murder in 1993 and the Gezi Park protests of 2013 led to publication of my international thriller “Palladium” in 2022.

Read More