[ WP ] You are the first and only patient to be given the cure for aging . 50 years have now past and you are finding it hard to become friends with people that look your age . Though you still maintain friendships with those who are your age .

My name is Michael Kreshnov. The man whom I write about, and who is ageless, old as he be, is named Norman Antonin. Much of these stories are so told by Norman himself, as I sit writing in the candlelight of our wandering ship, and others I have written I have had the pleasure to experience in person. 
 
 Norman is a little, round, cheerful man who's eyes are always alert, darting around, always looking for the next person that needs help. Norman is the kindest, greatest man that I have known, and the day I die will be the saddest of my life. Norman has often alluded to this day, although he's never said it outright -- but I can see the sadness in his eyes whenever the subject comes up. 
 
 As of this writing, dated so: May 1st, 2204; I am currently on-board the mining vessel called Siguror, which is headed for a distant asteroid somewhere outside of the Speln sector, although I know not exactly where. 
 
 As to our mission, Norman has, for a while now, desired to speak with the illustrious and highly feared creatures that inhabit a planet in that same sector. I have been a bit apprehensive of this particular journey, but that is a story for future time. 
 
 The reason that I have started this journal of dear Norman Antonin's adventures and life is because, although I'd be unwilling to say it directly to him, Norman was truly a source of great contention among other humans. Often I have seen Norman gazing out of the porthole in our small room, his eyes exploring the deep space in front of us and his face somber. 
 
 `` Norman?'' 
 
 `` Hmm?'' He turned and caught my gaze. He broke into a smile. `` How is your reading coming along, Michael?'' ( I had been reading a book based on the resources and life found in the Speln sector. ) 
 
 `` It's a bit dry,'' I admitted, closing the book. Norman's smiles were contagious and I soon found myself smiling wildly back at him. `` You seemed a bit somber just now, friend, is there something on your mind?'' 
 
 A grave and serious light settled on Norman's eyes for a brief moment before returning to normal. `` There is too much on my mind, my old friend.'' 
 
 I nodded. Often I had thought of asking Norman how many `` old friends'' he had been in relations with, though I was reluctant to hear the answer. For some selfish reason I rather liked the idea that I was his only and first, close friend. `` My ears are open if you'd like to talk about it. This book was boring me, anyway.'' 
 
 Norman laughed. `` I'm afraid this old man's thoughtless ramblings would be much more dry than that book, Michael.'' He returned his gaze to the window. `` Only...'' He sighed. `` Do you see the way the others look at me?'' 
 
 I had, although I had ignored it. It irked me, the way they stared at Norman, eyes slanted and eyebrows furled. Norman was a very known man, for he was the first and last patient that the good doctor Logan had tested his anti-aging formula on. Logan was later found dead in his home, hanging from a rope in his closet. Much speculation about his death flooded the newspapers and news stations for *years*, although Norman was soon acquitted and Doctor Logan's death was considered a suicide. And even though his death was ages ago, Norman continued to remain of the most popular figures in human history, and following generations continued to desperately find the truth behind his beginnings. 
 
 Norman was captured several weeks later by the Russians, who tried and failed at many terrible experiments. Norman once recalled to me, painfully, of his time in that Russian lab. I will not delve any further into that matter and will save it perhaps for a later time. 
 
 `` Yes,'' I had responded softly to Norman's question. `` I have seen the way they look at you.'' 
 
 `` They ca n't help it, Michael, it's human nature. They're curious. Suspicious.'' 
 
 I sat back and nodded in agreement. `` I agree. But they do n't have to be so obvious about it. You're not some animal in a zoo.'' 
 
 `` Of course not, Michael.'' Norman laughed again. `` I am much more curious than an animal in a zoo. I am an animal that is free.'' He shook his head and stood from his chair, pacing the room as he did when he became thoughtful. `` I have been thinking of this species waiting for us, Michael, near our asteroid.'' 
 
 I shoved my book aside and removed my glasses. `` Now that you've brought it up, I've become a little worried about this... ah, adventure.'' 
 
 He stopped in surprise and turned to me. `` What?'' 
 
 `` Well,'' I stammered, desperately trying to sound reasonable, `` it's only reasonable that I hold some apprehension, is n't it? Norman, these creatures are *dangerous*. Humans have died visiting the planet. What makes you any different? What makes *us* any different?'' 
 
 Norman resumed his pacing. He was quiet for a moment, thinking and calculating a response. He sighed and ceased his nervous pacing. `` I'll admit I do n't know the answer to that, Michael, but I have to visit them. Any race that defensive and vicious about their home indicates intelligence.'' 
 
 This, also, is why I am writing of Norman: he has developed a particular... gift. He had quickly begun to adapt and learn languages of all sorts. It started with animals on Earth, and then he progressed to alien species, to other life forms. Although no-one but me knew of this particular fact. It would either find him locked in a mental institution or locked into a government prison trying to extract all he knows. 
 
 Norman has dedicated the rest of his apparently ageless life to helping others, and so by doing this he has been, for the last one hundred years, traveling from planet to planet. I have only begun to experience travel with him, and it is quite fascinating, I admit, to interact with creatures and animals I never before had the privilege to interact with before. 
 
 `` You know,'' Norman had said, pacing the room thoughtfully. `` I should don some sort of alias. I do n't want the universe to be following me about casting suspicious glances my way while I'm trying to work.'' 
 
 `` Oh? A new identity?'' 
 
 `` A name change, perhaps, followed by a bit of simple disguise-work. Grow a beard, don glasses, maybe grow my hair long.'' 
 
 `` A bit drastic, is n't it? What harm could it cause to remain as you are?'' 
 
 `` It could cause a lot of harm. If ever the word gets back to Earth of my work on other planets, the last thing I want is my name to be spoken. What if I help a race, and they go on to do great things and one day reach Earth? I will still be around and would rather not be known as the one who could have caused a species to suddenly grow and one day challenge the existence of the human race.'' 
 
 `` A bit melodramatic, do n't you think?'' 
 
 `` Anything could happen, Michael.'' He smiled. `` I've seen a lot of'anything's' in my time.'' 
 
 And so Norman Antonin changed his name simply to Dolittle. Of course, because of this change in identity, I will never be able to publish my works without his consent.'You could simply change his name!' you ask? No, Norman deserves full credit for what he has and will do for the human race. I suppose I will have to leave this with Norman when the saddest of my days comes, and a successor, when Norman finds one, can continue the stories until one day Norman, or Dolittle, decides to publish his story. 
 
 Until then, I will now go into further detail of our last adventure, which involved a species of undeniable intelligence, *also* undeniably similar in appearance to cows from Earth. 
 
 It began like this...
