Episode 97

In all my countless calculations, the one factor I’d never considered about the process of leaping was the pain that could possibly be involved.  But every time I leapt, there it was, intensely acute pain caused by swelling in my frontal lobe.  I’d narrowed the cause of this down to the transference process.  As my mind leaves one body to enter the next, the memories I’d gained in the last body were extracted, painfully, to make way for the new ones to come.  It was an altogether unpleasant experience and one that left me wondering what effect the continuous swelling was having on my actual body; the one in 2021 that was being monitored in an underground lab in the Mojave Desert. 

Apparently I wasn’t alone in this line of thinking and my colleagues took every opportunity to remind me how foolhardy I had been to leap before I looked, so to speak.

But I stood by my decision; what else could I have done?  We were about to lose funding for the project I had already put my heart and soul into.  But I knew they couldn’t shut us down if I leapt; so I did.  That was five years ago.

The long and the short of it was I was stuck.

Apparently the failsafe to return me to my body hadn’t been factored correctly, something I took a lot of shtick about.

Hell, I’d figured out how to leap from body to body and take control of that person’s nervous system; I couldn’t be expected to think of everything could I?

Eventually I would get back to my body.  In the meantime I helped where I could on our mission to “right the wrongs” and then moved on.

My frontal lobe was swollen and the intensely acute pain was present – I was leaping. 

I can never open my eyes at first because of the pain but I am always anxious to, anxious to see what reality I’ve landed myself into.  When I could, the first thing that I saw was a monkey.  A chimp to be precise and he wasn’t in a cage.  He was perched on a stool, in what appeared to be a dressing room, eating a banana and, oddest of all, wearing a red military style jacket that looked to have been made just for him.

Still squinting from my headache, I slowly leaned backwards, greatly respectful of the power of the beast before me.  Three things happened simultaneously; I noticed a huge boa constrictor looking for a way out of its glass cage behind the chimp, the chimp gave a cry, that I prayed wasn’t its equivalent of a battle cry, and I raised a hand covered in a white sequined glove in front of me to subdue him.  Ludicrously, it was the glove that stayed my attention.  All thoughts of wildlife fled my mind as I took in the un-gloved hand in my lap.  My mouth ran dry.

Temporarily unmindful of the potentially dangerous chimp I jumped out of my chair and lurched in front of the mirror.  Michael Jackson stared back at me.

“Oh boy!”

I looked around the room frantically, the chimp and snake barely registering, as I searched for Al, my leap companion.  Bar me and the wildlife, the room was empty.

Knuckles rapped on the door and the chimp cried out again.

“MJ, you’re on in five.” A disembodied voice shouted out.

I understood what he meant; I was to go and perform on stage in five minutes, in front of people.

I am a scientist, a man of facts and I write this account purely for the sake of historical accuracy regarding the project.  And in the interests of accuracy it is my duty to recount my experiences in detail.  So it is with great regret that I report that as I stood staring in horror at the dressing room door, a little bit of pee came out.

“Al!” I yelled out which startled the chimp into crying out again.  At this point chimp attack didn’t figure as highly on my avoid list – go out on stage and face utter humiliation or get my face ripped off by a chimp? Rock and a hard place.

I needed to get out of this body and for that I needed my womanising, cigar smoking friend who was only able to appear in holographic form.  A rather annoying aspect of leaping was it appeared to be completely random, or maybe we just hadn’t discovered the pattern yet.  This meant when I leapt, it took a while for my colleagues to find me.

Al still hadn’t found me when the stage hands came back to escort me to the stage.

“Look guys, I’m just not feeling up to this tonight, we’re going to have to cancel.”

The stage hands looked at each other and rolled their eyes.  “C’mon MJ.  We go through this every time.  You have pre-nerves but you’re always fine when you get out on the stage.”

This gave me pause.  Was I merely feeling Michael’s anxiety over performing instead of mine? If I’d had the ability to recall even just one of my wiped past memories I would’ve known if I still possessed the abilities of my host.  There was a very slim chance that I could go on stage and Michaels muscle memory would see me through the performance, the singing on the other hand was a different story.  I controlled the voice box and I didn’t know the words.

I renewed my efforts to get out of my predicament.

“Wait, my monkeys sick!”

Both stage hands surveyed the banana eating monkey with frowns.  “Bubbles looks fine to me.”

“He’s not, he’s really not.  He’s sick!” I could hear the hysteria in my voice.

Both men again frowned at the monkey but this time Bubbles popped the last of the banana in his mouth and made an extravagant motion of kissing his hand and then thrusting it towards us.

The stage hands tutted, actually tutted, and then hooked my arms in theirs and pulled me towards the door.

“Come on MJ.”  One of them sighed.

Panic such as I’d never known gripped me and I am ashamed to say I cussed that chimp out like there was no tomorrow. 

 I could hear them chanting as I was practically dragged along.  They were demanding and I fancied I could almost feel the vibrations of those chants in my chest.  It reminded me of the many movies I’d seen where the virgin was sacrificed to the raging volcano.  No happy ending in sight.

In the blink of an eye I was on the stage, fireworks went off, the music roared to life and the crowd screamed manically.

I froze.  The microphone in my sequined gloved hand hovered around my mouth but that was it.

In confusion the band stalled their playing and everyone was looking at me.  Possibly ten thousand people were looking at me, the most people that have ever looked at me my entire life.

I vomited.

I would like to say it was a discreet, into my hand type of affair, but alas, this was more like a scene from the Exorcist.

The band members retreated from the spill zone and pretty quickly the manic crowd stopped cheering.

Now ten thousand people were just looking at me with frowns; if I’d had more to come up, it would’ve.  Instead I motioned for the band to continue.

Like the incredibly well paid band that I assumed they were, they resumed their performance.

It is at this point you should know I am not, what you would call, a pop aficionado.  Over my career I have worked with a multitude of scientists and physicists.  Many had music blaring in the background, others would sing rock anthems as they worked – I was not one of those types, I liked to work to silence.  So whilst the occasional tune would work its way into my subconscious, mostly I tried to remain ignorant of the pop scene.

At that moment I had never regretted anything more in my life.

I was making noises along to the music and trying my best to moonwalk when the booing started.  The harder I tried, the louder they booed.  I was drenched in sweat, my heart was thundering in my ears and I’d had enough.  I ran off the stage back to the dressing room.

People shouted after me but I kept going.

I was safely back in the room with the potentially dangerous animals when a rectangle of light appeared next to me and Al stepped through it to stand at my side.  I’d never been so glad to see that receding hairline or saliva tipped cigar in my life.

He took one look at me and shook his head.  “Talk about biting off more than you can chew.”

“Al, get onto Ziggy and find out what I need to do to get out of this body.”  I snapped.  I didn’t mean to but I was having a very trying day.

“Keep your hair on.”  Al muttered as he poked at his hand held console.

I shrugged off my sweat drenched military style jacket that I noticed matched the chimps.

“Okay, clearly you know who you are already.”  Al had jammed the cigar into his mouth and spoke around it; he knew I hated that.

“Apparently I’m the king of pop.”

“Not yet you’re not, it’s only 1984, that crown won’t be given to him for a few years yet.  Although your performance tonight may have delayed that a bit.”

I made a gesture as though my sides were splitting.  “Hilarious.”  I dead panned.

“I aim to please.”  He muttered around the cigar in his mouth.

“Al, what am I doing here? This guy’s got it made.  What would I have to change about his life?”

Again Al punched furiously at his hand held device.

“Ah, according to Ziggy it doesn’t end so well for MJ.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, after a long struggle with an addiction to pain meds, he finally succumbed to cardiac arrest under the supervision of his personal physician.  The physician got four years for involuntary manslaughter.”

“Addiction to pain meds?” I queried.

More tapping on the hand held console.

“According to Ziggy MJ does a commercial for Pepsi, on the sixth take his hair catches on fire which burns him badly and starts his downward spiral into the addiction.”

I laugh out loud.  I couldn’t have been given an easier assignment.  “Right, so MJ doesn’t do the commercial, everything turns out fine?”

“On premise, I can’t argue with your logic.”  Al nodded while chewing his cigar butt.

“One step closer to home baby!” I shout as I offer my hand up for a high five.  Al’s hand sailed right through mine.

**

 “Let me read you the reviews!” Frank, my manager shouted as he poked his cigar at me.  He was like a fatter, more receding, unfriendly version of Al.

“He didn’t even know the words to his own songs.  He danced like he was constipated.  The act at my bar mitzvah was better and I didn’t rate them!! MJ, what are you doing to me?!”

“I had a bad night.”  I replied lamely.

“You had a bad night? MJ, you already spend money like its water and now you’ve cost us a fortune.  We have to refund all those people.  Do you know what that does to our bottom line!”

“I’m guessing by the throbbing vein in your forehead that it’s not good.”

Frank launched out of his seat and jabbed his cigar right at my face.  “You’re damn right it’s not good!  Fans pay.  No fans, no pay!  You had better make it up on your next performance or we’re in trouble.”

A rectangle of white light appeared next to me and Al stepped through it.  “Don’t even worry about it Frank, the next performance will be perfect.”  I assured him, as I knew I would be out and MJ would be back.

“Ah, maybe not Sam.”  Al frowned as he tinkered with his hand held device.

“What?” I asked out of the side of my mouth and under my breath.  Frank still frowned at me.

“There are five more performances between now and the commercial.”

“I can’t perform five more times!” I shouted as fresh sweat broke out over my body.

“Why not?” Frank asked with a huge frown.

I didn’t know how to argue my point until my holographic friend pointed out the obvious.

“Diva card Sam.”

“If I say I’m not performing, I’m not performing.  Reschedule the concerts for next month.”

“No way MJ!  We’ll lose millions.” He argued.

“Frank.”  I stared at him pointedly.

“Fine.” Frank mumbled and I felt the heady sense of power.

“And another thing, I’m not doing that Pepsi commercial.”

“Like hell you’re not.  Contracts have been signed – you’re doing that commercial.”  Frank insisted with enough persistence to cause spittle to fly from the sides of his mouth.

“I am not!”  I had power, I was the star, and I would prevail.

Frank smirked at me.  “Well we’ll see what your daddy has to say about that.”

I was on a roll; I was in the power zone so I couldn’t figure for the life of me why my body started shaking uncontrollably.

Al clued me in.  “Sam, MJ’s daddy - not such a nice guy.  He’s been accused of being abusive and controlling, MJ ditched him as manager four years ago.”

“He’s not my manager anymore.”  I asserted to Frank.

Frank laughed and sucked on his cigar.  “Yeah, but he’s still you’re daddy.”

**

“What am I going to do Al?”  I would like to think I asked the question in an assertive manner but I’m pretty sure it came across as whining.

“You can’t let MJ’s hair get burned Sam, that leads to his downfall.”  He punched his hand held device.  “Yep, that is definitely the crux.”

“You saw the way I shook like a girl when Frank bought up my Dad.  Clearly there are some latent father/son issues there.”

“Well, one thing is for sure, no one is going to help you get out of this commercial.”

I paced the hotel bedroom while rejecting plan after plan as they occurred to me until I came up with the perfect solution.

“Bingo!” I grinned.

“What do you have in mind Sam?” Al asked as he worked his cigar around his mouth.

“I’m going to make Pepsi not want me.”  I said with determination.

**

The t-shirt was crudely designed, I will admit, but it was the message that was important.

And I got that message out there.

Fans were crowded around my hotel, being held back by security but when I showed my face the security team had to triple their efforts to keep the baying crowd at bay.

A mustang was parked in the forecourt of the hotels entrance and before my security team could stop me I jumped up onto its bonnet to proudly display the message I wore on my chest.

Pepsi is poison, Coke is king.

**

I lasted up there about thirty seconds before my security team dragged me down and hustled me back into the hotel but that was enough time for hundreds of camera’s to capture the moment.  When I was alone in my room I called out for Al.  He stepped through that rectangle of light already poking at his console.

“So? Did I do it?”  I asked anxiously.  I always got a real high from helping people.

“MJ didn’t do the commercial so he didn’t get burnt.”

“Yes!” I fist pumped the air in victory.

Al made a funny noise in his throat.

“What?”

“Pepsi sued the hell out of MJ, as did the venues of the concerts you cancelled.”

Now I made a funny noise in my throat.  “Well, I’m sure he would’ve bounced back from that, he was a pop icon.”

“Not in this new reality.  Prince did the Pepsi commercial with his hit 1999 and eclipsed MJ’s fame.  Mj was declared bankrupt in 1989 and was committed to a care facility.  He was put on suicide watch on the eve of the millennium when Prince’s iconic song shot back up the charts.”

I cringed with regret.  “Well at least he lived.”  There was always a silver lining. 

Al rolled the cigar around in his mouth and then took it and pointed it at me.  “Sam, you are a gifted physicist with six doctoral degrees but have you ever stopped to consider that maybe you’re not the most qualified person to be messing about in these people’s lives?”

My ego didn’t like it but he did have a point.

Before I could argue the familiar pain seized my brain.

The leap took me.

Memories of MJ’s life were stripped away leaving an aching emptiness.  Before I could open my eyes I was aware that I was sweating profusely and panting.  The first thing I saw over my huge belly was a man in a white coat peering between my spread eagled legs and my feet were in stirrups.

“Okay Mrs Shipman, your little Harold is almost ready to come out.”

“Oh boy!”

Room

John remembered when he'd awoken that first night. His eyes had opened suddenly and sensing the change in temperature, he knew that consciousness had wrenched him from the warm ambience of sleep back into the grey glassy air of early morning. He had sighed and fidgeted, and by the light, the way it revealed only certain aspects of the room, he tried to judge what time it was.

His feet and shoulders felt cold and he knew at once that things weren't quite right, not the same as they should be. Odd, unfamiliar patterns emerged as he looked about him, and struggles to form nearby objects into recognisable shapes.

He turned to reach for his smartphone charging on the nightstand beside the bed but his hand struck something solid, wooden, nearer. He ran his hand against and around it and thought it some kind of chest. His hand fell to the bed covers and he saw they were not his and as he moved under them he realised that he was naked, not how he would usually be in bed.

John's stomach hollowed and he quickly recounted the night before, organised events into some order in an effort to remember with certainty why he wasn't at home; but nothing came. No memory of place, of arriving here in someone else's house.

He sat up in the bed trying to stifle a discomfort of rising panic but as his eyes adjusted to the light, more and more of the room became apparent. He recognised the general configuration; the window alcoves, where the door was, but the chimney breast now had a fireplace and the walls, once an inoffensive and unimaginative neutral colour, were now pink and splattered with what appeared to be bluish blobs of paint. Why was this room so similar to his? Was he in another property in Castle Road? He didn't know his neighbours.

As he became more alert he rubbed his eyes quite firmly trying to illicit some sensible reason, to jolt his memory into revealing an explaination. He hadn't drunk last night and he certainly was not someone who'd ever found himself unable to remember events from just the night before. Especially if it ended with him in a strange bed.

He saw the child just at the moment she spoke to him. John threw up his arms and hid his head behind them momentarily before, breathing heavily now, he looked again at the little girl who had been sitting quietly watching him. She giggled.

'Hello,' she said.

John's throat clenched in a dry painful swallow and he remained silent for a few moments before responding.

'Hello,' he replied. His voice croaky and trembling.

'What are you doing in my bed?' She asked.

John tried to calm his breathing. 'I...I don't really know,' he said quietly and drew his feet up against himself tucking the duvet under his legs to hide all of his nakedness. The duvet barely covered him and it was now that he saw he was in a small single bed, a child's bed; her bed. He desperately wanted to wake up but he knew, he just knew this wasn't a dream and the consequences of everything that was unfolding began to illustrate something quite terrifying in his mind.

John began to see the girl a little more clearly. She sat on a large bean bag in the darkest corner of the room wearing a yellow nightdress and hugging a pink bear with two hearts on its front. Rocking her feet from side to side she continued to study him, this stranger in her bed. Unbothered that John didn't know why he was there, she bit her lip and looked away thinking of another question. Long perfectly straight strawberry blonde hair fell around her face which was also still partially obscured by the mottling of shadows. Suddenly, she drew a large breath and excitedly asked 'What's your name?'

Did he know her? 'My name is John,' he said before asking her, 'what's yours?'

'Holly.' She smiled and squeezed the bear.

'Hello Holly,' John said and Holly giggled again.

He looked about the room which the blooming light had now clearly revealed. The pink walls were interspersed with a repeating blue stencilled pattern of jungle animals and here and there posters and children's paintings were fixed crookedly to the walls with sticky tape. He looked down at the skirting board, the radiators under both windows and an electric socket just to the left of it. These were things he saw from his own bed at home. Exactly the same, and in the same places. Apart from decoration and the missing bed, dresser and side table, this was undoubtedly his room albeit now filled with an assortment of children's furniture, toys and belongings.

Something else struck John suddenly as he took in his surroundings again.

Where were the girl's parents? Surely they must be sleeping in another room and would soon discover him here in their child's bed. Naked. A cold sickness swirled in his stomach and he closed his eyes until the feeling passed.

He wondered if he might get up right now, open the bedroom door, run down the stairs that he knew would be immediately on his right, step through the hall and open the front door and escape to.... to where? He didn't know.

This was an unusual fear that gripped him, and one he felt deeply as everything he understood and believed about things was unravelling before him. He simply couldn't make sense of his situation and began to consider if he was actually ill and perhaps hallucinating in some way. He remembered times in the past when the boundary had been blurred, moments of lucid dreaming but they were always washed with a muddiness that anchored him in unconsciousness. This was different and he felt the explicitness in the fibres of his body; excited nerve endings unfettered by sleep firing into the depths of his brain telling him that he was very much awake and this was the reality he needed to deal with now.

Holly was still quietly watching him, unperturbed but curious. Despite the light now, the shadows had not entirely lifted from her face but John realised they were mostly bruises in various shades of healing. He studied her more carefully and again he could see dark marks on the areas of her arms and legs not covered by her nightdress.

John winced when he saw the shapes of fingers in the bruises on Holly's arms. He took another look around the room and noticed a plastic horse and unicorn, each with brightly coloured manes and tails standing on the mantelpiece. There were also posters of cartoon characters and pop bands from long ago which John recognised from his own childhood. They were favourite things of his sister Kate. She adored those horses. He remembered hiding them once at the back of the airing cupboard and she screamed and screamed at him to tell her where they were. She had actually vomited with the turmoil and John had felt so guilty. It was, he knew, the moment in his life when he truly understood the consequences of his actions but more than that he felt a deep empathy for his sister whom he knew had other more frightening things to deal with; things that he couldn't stop.

After that day, they had become very close. She was three years younger than him and as they grew up together he protected her with a ferocity that made his mother feel quite uncomfortable at times. John would watch Kate's every move seemingly waiting for an opportunity to rescue her from danger, an unseen and yet to transpire threat. After everything, his mother realised that John must have known what was going on. This was why he took it so badly they said; when Kate died.

John turned to Holly.

'Holly. How old are you, I mean do you know what year you were born?'
John thought she looked about five or six.

She had noticed him looking at the posters and said, 'do you like the Smurfs?'

Holly looked down at her fingers. 'I'm five, six in November.'

John repeated his question, though he wasn't sure a five year would know what year they were born.

'Holly, do you know what year you were born? I know it was five years ago, so what year do you think that would be?'

'That's easy,' she said. 'Nineteen seventy nine.'

John's mettle took another blow and he struggled to contain his emotions. Nineteen seventy nine. The same year Kate was born.

'Are you OK?' Holly asked. 'You look a bit sad now. Before I thought you looked scared but now I think you do look a bit sad.'

John forced a smile. 'I'm fine Holly. I know, tell me about your bear,' he said in an effort to distract her.

'This is Love-a-lot,' she said enthusiastically holding up the pink bear towards him and shaking it from side to side.

John already knew the name of the bear as he probably knew the names of the other toys in the room.

Who was this girl? Was she supposed to be Kate in some way, as a child when it all would have started. John now faced the dilemma of his own escape and the rescue of Holly. Clearly she had her own abuser. Could he take her with him, down the stairs and out of the front door as he had mapped out in his head. Find a police station or hospital, explain that he had found her and suspected she was being hurt, in danger from someone. But who? Her parents? Her father, that's what they'd think anyway.

John couldn't offer a rational explanation to himself, so expecting to convince others was probably delusional. No he decided that he needed to get himself out of here first and then return with the authorities.

He thought maybe this was a test, and how he acted now would determine whether he passed or not. Someone must have set this up to make him think he was back in the eighties, reliving his childhood with Kate. But this wasn't their family home in Gloucester. This was twenty seven Castle Street, where he had lived on his own for the last nine years and now in had been turned into a shrine to nineteen eighty four.

Surely though with such an elaborate plan, going the extra mile to fully recreate his real childhood home wouldn't have been that difficult. Bit of plasterboard and paint, they do it all the time on those shows. Twenty four hours, they rebuild people's houses. This was poor really, very poor.

Was it the girl's parents? He was certain he didn't know Holly. Unless it was friends of friends, that sort of thing. People just sticking their fucking noses in.

'Holly,' he said. 'Where are your parents?'

Holly giggled again. 'Silly, you mean our parents.'

John swallowed. 'No I mean your parents. Are they somewhere else in the house?'

Holly screwed her face up. 'John you are teasing me again. You know where they are. You always know where they are and you still ask me every time.' Holly slapped her legs punctuating her reply.

John became agitated. His fear and confusion escalating once more as Holly actually appeared to confirm his suspicions about this whole situation. He scratched at his arm where the needle marks were.

He calmed himself quickly by acknowledging that Holly was just acting a role in this experiment and to be fair he thought, she was doing a very good job.

'Holly. This is really important. I need you to tell me. You may have told me before but I can't help you, I mean we can't escape unless you answer my question now. Please Holly, I only want to know where they are.'

Holly continued to giggle, eventually breaking into hysterical laughter; tears and saliva escaping from her eyes and mouth

John imagined the bones of dogs, half chewed, sinewy and ragged, bubbling with spit. He tried hard to control his anger and talk evenly without raising his voice. He spoke is a forced whisper.

'Holly, Daddy is very upset, now please answer my question.'

Before Holly could answer there was a sharp double knock at the door. It opened and a man appeared.

'John, you have a visitor,' the man, said stepping aside to let a woman into the room.

'Hello John,' she said smiling.

'Hello Kate,' he replied.

By Darren Seeley

Story Idea 5

I could have sworn it wasn't 1984 when I went to bed...
 

The story should be no more than 4000 words. 

Deadline: 26th May 2013

AM

There once was a young carrot called Gnaw

We target humans. We have done since they started farming. How do we do it? Easy, we get them stoned, they can't resist it.

We the purple carrots, after eons, are close to achieving our ambition. Yesterday, a young purple carrot known to us a Gnaw, gained what humans call sentience. Not only did he cultivate an awareness outside the vegetable world, he had grafted to his purple shaft, legs grown from the stem cells of an Hare and the arms of a Golden Tamarin monkey. Gnaw the purple carrot has straddled the worlds of animal and plant, and our plans are realised.

The humans, of course, like to take all credit but pity them! They know not what they say or do, for the truth is very different, and after all, if Gnaw is their work, then they are our work.

The purple carrots have been working on an initiative for tens of thousands of seasons. It has been every plants dream, every tree every shrub every grass and every lichen's vision, to leave Earth. Xylem and Flow! But how? The answer of course was to harness the walkers. We waited for the right species before we, the purple carrots, put our mega plan into germination. We bought our wonderful design, our beautiful herb, forth, and the humans, as they became known, liked the herb very much indeed. They called it Marijuana, and it's affect on them was incredible. By stimulating their pineal gland, we were able to communicate with them, and let them see wonderful dreams. Even though they giggled at a lot of the ideas, many imaginings took them closer to our design, stepping stones like fire control, art, music, verbal then written communication, mathematics and importantly, cosmology.

Our dreams showed them how to domesticate other animals, and yes, even our brothers, they turned corn wheat and barley into something fat, unsightly and stupid. They even turned us into loathsome orange cones, tasty, and good for their eyes. The horror of that was that we, the purple carrot, were nearly a victim of our own success.

So unbridled were the humans, they changed the sweet earth Herself. A necessary evil, the required resources to leave Earth is huge, incalculable, and only achievable over time. To learn they had to use up much of the planet's easy energies. We did show them other ways, but when humans find out how to do something they can't, they won't and they don't stop, it has something to do with their nervous system, which we can't communicate with alas (we suspect the insidious grape does).

It was with great sadness that we watched them clear the ancient forests, and guilt, for was it not us that showed them how? In reality, the Purple Carrots cleared the forests, drowned the valleys, polluted the seas and caused genocide amongst the walkers - at the hands of the humans. 

The time has come, we through the humans have a walker. Set forth Biter, find a way to leave this planet!

Gnaw stretched his legs. Sinew and bone. A great tremor ran up them, that turned to a vibration when it entered his purple trunk, then became a great muscular awakening as it entered his monkey arms. If he had a face he would have smiled. Instead, he jumped five foot into the air, flailing for branches, then landed on the laboratory table and paused, then ran. If he had ears he would have heard gasps, and an out of place giggle. 

He ran off the table and cart wheeled on polished concrete. He jumped five foot into the air again, surprising a young lab assistant, who hearing someone giggle again, giggled herself and could not stop.

Gnaw paused to think, but there was not much he could think upon, Instead he flexed his powerful Lepus legs, and ran into a wall. Some damaged occurred, shearing of a section of sprouting green, and at the tip of his crown, purple began to dribble. There was something like pain, as if he had been nibbled upon.

The sound vibrations entering his core spoke of anger excitement and hilarity. He found his legs, and thumped the concrete floor in alarm three times. The vibrations around him painted a picture, and he noticed a series of bars and protrusions he could clasp. He jumped five foot into the air, clutched the breast of the giggling lab assistant, and swung five foot higher, where he clung to a smoke detector. He paused to feel the vibrations. The tone had changed, there was movement. The giggling had stopped, he flexed his monkey arms.

A great awning opened and sharp tones hit him. Anger. With his Hare legs he launched himself off the smoke detector like a tiny purple javelin, clasped and swung off soft astonishment, and ran like the wind. The vibrations were his eyes, and he darted into nooks and crannies, and avoided stomping feet and the angry tones until finally, easing through a toilet, he found himself in a realm of moist nutrient rich heaven. He let himself relax, tendrils coiled into shit and he took sustenance. He could not linger, but he was free. The sun called him and eventually, Gnaw uprooted from shit, and found his way into the sunlight.

By Andy Parker

The Truth and the Life

It was a time of ignorance. Knowledge was scarce and man was quick to accept answers for the things they didn’t understand. Nature was a notion not yet realised so her acts were often considered punishment from a vengeful and fearsome God. When excessive flooding caused utter devastation, it was seen as retaliation for man becoming much less God fearing and much more self-serving. When two towns were destroyed by volcanic action it was deemed the result of their God’s apparent aversion to excessive buggery. But whether they realised her or not nature was constant and unrelenting. The population was growing and the planet that had existed for billions of years previously was adjusting to its new tenants.

Man had little understanding of plant life and how it worked. Their knowledge as simple as, water seed, seed grows. The subtleties of the plants around them sustaining not only their lives but the life of the planet they inhabited, was a concept that wouldn’t be appreciated for many centuries to come. But lack of appreciation didn’t prevent nature working her subtleties around man, resulting in evolution and improvement.

This is the tale of one particular strand of that evolution; a cheerful gourd named Colin.

Colin’s first conscious thought was how amazing the sun felt on his tough, green skin. His second thought was that he understood everything and the knowledge filled him with a feeling of euphoria. From the process of photosynthesis occurring in the leaves that connected him to the ground, to the chemical makeup of the men arguing a short distance away, Colin completely understood how everything functioned. This knowledge led to the perception that he no longer needed to be attached to the vines sprouting from the earth for nutrition. The very air was laden with all the nutrients he needed. His euphoria heightened and he wished the arguing men could feel as cheerful as he did. With no eyes Colin was unable to see the men but he could perceive their location by sensing two things; the elements they consisted of and the current flow of adrenalin that was coursing through their systems. He wanted them to be happy like he was and he thought he may be able to manipulate the nutrients in the air to adjust the flow of hormones and increase their serotonin levels. So it was with great determination that Colin pulled free of his bond with the vine and made his way toward the men to spread cheer.

As a kettle gourd Colin had a bulbous base and narrow neck so traversing in a straight line to the men proved impossible. Instead he had to roll in an arc and then swap directions leaving a long chain of s shapes behind him. It was very difficult to do but the rolling action made Colin even happier so he didn’t mind the limitations of his mobility. During one such joy inducing arc he came to a stop as he rolled into the long robe of a man. The robe tickled his skin which was pleasant.

The man was laughing as he picked him up and Colin found the sound very much to his liking.

“What are you doing rolling around like that?” The man tucked him under his arm.

Having no mouth, tongue or voice box Colin was unable to speak aloud so he tried communicating telepathically. “I was trying to reach those men to make them happy.”

The man cried out, his adrenalin level spiked and he flung Colin to the dusty ground.

Even though Colin speaking in his head had clearly frightened him, the man didn’t run away. “You spoke – in my head, you spoke.” He accused.

“Yes, I did. Don’t be afraid. I’m Colin.”

Colin sensed the man’s adrenalin subsiding but he still kicked nervously at the dirt. “I’m Jahzeel. Gourds can’t talk.”

Jahzeel’s speech was slow and encumbered suggesting a slight mental deficiency. “I’m special. I want to make people happy; do you want to help me?”

Jahzeel inched closer to Colin but his eyes darted towards the men as though he feared reprisal for talking to the gourd. “What do you want me to do?”

“Could you carry me to those men over there?”

Jahzeel backed away. “No, they’ll shout at me. They don’t like me because I’m not as smart as them. Sometimes they hit me.”

“I can make them happy, and then they won’t shout at you or hurt you.”

“Can you?” He asked in awe.

“Can you feel that I am making you happy right now?”

Jahzeel laughed and stepped forward to scoop Colin up. He took great care in wiping the dust from his green skin. “You do make me happy.” He laughed. “Sorry for throwing you like that. You gave me an awful fright.”

They made their way over to the men and with each step Colin could sense the trepidation building in Jahzeel. The men stopped their arguing and both wore irritated expressions as they turned.

The closest man, wearing a long white robe and turban, looked particularly aggressive. “What do you want fool?” He shouted.

“We want to give you cheer.” Colin answered as he began to work on dissipating their adrenalin.

“Well, fool!” The man shouted even louder.

“I don’t think they can hear you.” Jahzeel whispered to Colin.

“You tell them then.” Colin instructed as he continued to work.

“We want to make you happy.”

The man in the white robe frowned. “We?” He turned to the other man. “The fool has an imaginary friend.” They both started laughing, cruelly at first, but then their laughs morphed into heartfelt belly laughs and tears sprang from their eyes. Still laughing, both men came forward and hugged Jahzeel while trying to apologise for the way they’d always treated him. As the men moved away down the path they were still laughing.

Jahzeel grinned down at Colin and if Colin had had lips he would’ve grinned right back.

Deciding they should spread more cheer the two of them ventured along the dusty road.

The first town they came to there was a blind beggar sitting in the dirt before a row of market stalls. The townsfolk moved past his out stretched hand as though he were invisible and went about their shopping. This distressed Jahzeel very much.

“Can we make that man happy? He’s blind.”

“He’s not blind Jahzeel, he has cataracts.”

“What are caratacts?”

“Never mind, let’s go and see him.”

Again when Colin spoke the blind man couldn’t hear him so Jahzeel spoke for him. When asked how he found himself begging for coin the man told them how he’d once been a skilled coin maker but after years of working with the fierce heat of the smelter he’d gradually lost his sight and ultimately his usefulness.

“Making coins made him go blind?” Jahzeel whispered to Colin and the blind man tilted his head to discern the sound of a second person.

“Heat denatures and whitens the eye lens as a result of direct protein coagulation. It’s the same process the clear albumin of a raw egg goes through when cooking.” Colin explained.

Jahzeel scratched his head. “He cooked his eyes?”

“Over a very long period of time. I think I can fix them if I can remove the emulsions but I’m going to need you to spit into his eyes for lubrication.”

“Lubri….?”

“Just spit into his eyes, I’ll do the rest.”

Jahzeel explained to the blind man that he was going to help him but when he tried to spit in his eyes the blind man recoiled backwards.

“Trust me, I will not hurt you.” Jahzeel assured him and the man let him spit into his eyes. Colin immediately set about utilizing the nutrients in the air to separate the emulsions from the lens.

The cataracts fell like scales from his eyes and the man leapt to his feet, shouting in jubilation. The townsfolk gathered around and marvelled at Jahzeel’s miracle.

“He made the blind man see.” They whispered in awe.

Within minutes an abundance of food was proffered. Jahzeel happily ate his fill and Colin, at his side, cheerfully increased the townsfolk’s serotonin levels and the cheer resonated throughout the town.

The next day after promising the townsfolk’s they would return, Jahzeel and Colin set off for the next village to spread cheer. Jahzeel was especially happy as he had never been welcomed in any town before and now he’d been to one where they didn’t want him to leave.

The village they were headed for was definitely in need of cheer as it was situated on the banks of the Salt Sea and without a fresh water source or fishing prospects life was particularly hard for them.

Upon arrival they discovered a small crowd of people keeping a wary distance from a man who was shouting incoherently and tearing at his hair and clothes. Jahzeel carried Colin over to the crowd and the heard the frightened whispers of the people. They believed the man to be beset with demons.

One of the villagers walked too closely to the man and he was attacked, his nose bloodied and his robe torn before he managed to get away.

“Let’s get out of here, that man is possessed by demons.” Jahzeel whispered as he hugged Colin tighter to his side.

“He is not possessed by demons Jahzeel, he is mentally ill. There is a chemical imbalance in his brain that is making him act this way.”

“Can you help him?”

“Yes, step closer to him.”

“I can’t, he’ll attack me.”

“My cheer will subdue him, he won’t attack you.”

Jahzeel walked closer to the man and the villagers shouted warnings at him. He ignored them and continued towards the man who was staring at him with mad eyes. As promised Colin’s cheer subdued the man who had approached Jahzeel but stopped short and swayed on his feet in front of him with his arms at his sides. The villagers gasped in disbelief. Colin once again used the nutrients in the air to adjust the chemical levels in the man’s brain.

Nearby a pen of pigs started squealing and kicking their back legs at their rickety enclosure.

“What’s wrong with them?” Jazheel asked.

“They are disturbed by the shift of the nutrients in the air.” Colin explained as he worked.

As the process continued the man swayed, the villagers watched open mouthed and the three pigs grew more and more unsettled.

Colin finally managed to balance the chemical levels in the man and he straightened and blinked with clear eyes.

“I’m cured!” He cried and at the same time the pigs broke free from their enclosure and ran straight into the sea where they drowned.

“He cast the demons into the pigs.” The villagers whispered in awe.

Once again food and wine was proffered and Jahzeel was touched that people so lacking in means would share their precious provisions with him. Colin spread his cheer and the villagers laughed and danced merrily around them.

“I love you Colin.” Jahzeel grinned.

“I love you too Jahzeel.”

Four days later and many happy people behind them they happened upon a town where many of its inhabitants had died and the rest were not far behind them. They were dying of thirst as the town’s water supply had been poisoned and there was no way to purify it. Urns of all sizes crowded the street in the hopes that rain would fall and save them.

Colin knew there would be no point in flooding their brains with serotonin when they were this badly dehydrated, for many it would just expedite their deaths.

“Ask to see their well.” He told Jahzeel.

Many of the townsfolk were regarding him with hostility, no doubt concerned with sharing their meagre resources with an outsider. So when he called out to be taken to the well his request was met by sniggers and jeers that he should move onto the next town.

“I wish to help you.”

“Then slice open that gourd and pass it around.” One desperate looking man shouted from the doorway of his house.

Jahzeel’s grip tightened on Colin. “I’ve come to fix your water.”

Weak laughter surrounded him, though weak as it was it lost none of its derisive tone.

“It can’t be fixed fool, now move on, there is nothing for you here.”

“Wait!” A man cried as he moved toward Jahzeel. “I know this man, I saw him in Arad. This is the man who made the blind man see!”

The man took Jahzeel’s hand and kissed it before dropping to his knees and placing his hands reverently upon his sandaled feet.

The townsfolk whispered to one another as a flicker of hope took root in them.

“Take him to the well.” A woman cradling a small, very sick looking, child pleaded.

Jahzeel was led to the town well and the weak townsfolk followed at a distance watching him curiously.

Colin could discern that their water source had been contaminated by a microbial pathogen, most likely the result of animal waste leaching into the water system.

“Can you fix it?” Jahzeel whispered.

“Yes.” He managed to use the hydrogen in the water to mass the pathogens together and force them to the water’s surface then he instructed Jahzeel to use one of the nearby urns to skim the water’s surface. When he was certain all the pathogens were removed he told Jahzeel to use a new urn and fill it with water.

“Drink from it.”

Jahzeel’s trust in Colin was great as he drank immediately. The townsfolk gasped and whispers rushed amongst them.

Jahzeel offered the urn to the man who had led him to the well and though the man took it from him he eyed the water within suspiciously and did not raise it to his lips.

“It’s good.” Jahzeel assured him.

The man eventually raised the urn to his lips and took a tiny sip. He held the liquid in his mouth as he contemplated its purity, all the while ready to spit it straight out. A moment later he swallowed then smiled briefly before taking another much larger sip.

The crowd whispered.

How does it taste?

Did he fix it?

Are we saved?

The taster grinned widely at Jahzeel. “This is the best water I have ever tasted. It takes better than wine!” He took another long swallow before passing the urn to his wife.

Again the crowd whispered.

What did he say? What did he say?

It’s wine.

He turned the water into wine.

The townsfolk rushed to the well and drank their fill and Jahzeel was revered as a man of miracles.

By this stage word of Jahzeel’s deeds had spread so it was no surprise to him or Colin when they were approached by twelve men asking for help. The help they wanted, however, was not what they were expecting. The men, each having been subjected to crimes of a varying nature, formed a victim support group and sort a way to stem man’s tendencies toward harming others. To achieve this they wanted Jahzeel to accompany them around the country performing miracles as a messenger from God.

“You see, people just don’t believe in God anymore so the Ten Commandments are not an effective way of governing them. There is no fear of reprisal for their acts as they believe there will be no reprisal.” A man called John said emphatically.

“Maybe people just need more cheer?” Jahzeel offered with a shrug. The twelve men all exchanged glances conveying their misfortune at their saviour being a simpleton.

“No Jahzeel, they need fear.” Matthew, another of the twelve, said. “Fear of the consequences of their actions will stop them doing bad things.”

“I don’t know what consie- thingys are but I do know when men are full of cheer they don’t do bad things.”

To support Jahzeel’s argument Colin flooded the men’s brains with serotonin. Smiles turned into giggles and giggles turned into laughing and the laughing didn’t stop for a very long time. Amongst the laughter were affirmations of love and encouragement.

Two of the men were both called James; one of them being referred to as The Greater and the other The Lesser.

“No you’re the greater.”

“No you are!” They argued back and forth while grinning stupidly.

Phillip and Bartholomew stood hugging and occasionally sighed with contentment. Simon was trying to convince Thomas not to doubt so much and the rest of them stood around Andrew while he did an impression of King Herod that incited laughter bordering on hysteria.

Eventually they all ended up sitting in a circle that included Jahzeel with Colin in his arms.

“Seriously Jahzeel, you have to come with us.”

The men all nodded in agreement until John shot up right. “I just had a great idea. What if we told people he wasn’t just a messenger to God but his son instead? Then people would definitely fear him!”

“You’re right.” Phillip agreed while vigorously nodding. He pointed at Jahzeel. “The son of God.”

“I don’t want to lie to people; I just want them to feel good.” Jahzeel said with a frown.

“It’s not a lie, it’s just a story.” Matthew assured him.

“Oh!” This time it was Thaddaeus that shot upright. “We could write stories of his deeds and send them all over the world so we can reach even more people and inspire fear.”

“But we want to spread cheer not fear.” Jahzeel protested.

“Think about it, if it makes them believe in God then they won’t do bad things and people will be much more cheerful.”

Jahzeel grinned. “That makes sense.”

Another of the men shot upright. “We can charge for the stories. Think how much money we will make!”

“Judas, why is it always about the coin with you?” Simon admonished. “What do you think Jahzeel, will you come with us?”

“Let me think about it.” Jahzeel took Colin and stepped away from the circle of men. “What do you think Colin?”

“People already think you are a miracle man, what difference can it make if they think you are the son of God?”

“Right, and if people are curious enough they may even come to find us and then we can give them cheer.”

“Right. I can’t see any downside to it. Let’s do it Jahzeel.”

Jahzeel grinned down at the gourd in his arms. “I love you Colin.”

“I love you too Jahzeel. What’s the worst that can happen?”

 By Dayv Metcalfe

The Aristotle Project

The LOF5 phase three experimental trials had been an unprecedented success. In three out of every four cases the synthetic proteins had been accepted by their hosts and investors were already glibly celebrating the results despite not one of them truly understanding any of the real world practical applications of such progressive biological engineering.

In an hour Professor Rufus Trant would make a formal presentation of the results and as usual would have to dumb down the data to allow the majority of the assembled crowd to understand the salient points of the four year study. Apart from the odd well meaning challenge from an over excited research student, in general the questions that came in at the end would be dull and ill conceived. Inevitably one of the many funders swelling the numbers in the room, would break from propriety and press him to give an indication of the monetary value of his research findings.

He usually declined, reinforcing the points in his presentation that suggested that many hurdles must still be overcome to develop the findings into something tangible and commercial. Rufus detested this crassness but enjoyed seeing their barely hidden disappointment at his remarks. He wasn't ignorant to the necessary evils of obtaining funding for research but he still felt disgusted by their single minded greed.

Rufus left the stage to rather generous applause, though given what he and the team had achieved in the last thirteen years, it did seem fitting. As the audience began to leave the room, Sarah met him at the bottom of the steps to the left of the stage.

'Well done, that was a long one. You okay,' she said, smiling.

'Thanks, yes. Glad that bit is over as always.' Rufus took Sarah's arm and moved himself closer to her. He whispered. 'Try your best to keep Jack Caird away from me will you. I've been promising to set up a meeting but I just haven't had the time. He's pretty tenacious but I want to keep him close if you know what I mean. Don't be deceived b his bumbling, he's as sharp as a knife, but I'm sure he'll be putty in your hands.'

Sarah laughed. 'I'll take care of him.'

Rufus bit his lip. 'I'll have to do something, so arrange a day thing for the next couple of weeks.'

'No problem. Shall I meet you in the bar, say in fifteen, twenty minutes?'

'Yes, I'll just pop up to my room to freshen up and then on to round two I guess. Or I could just slip away and leave you to carry on the pleasantries in my place. Isn't that what assistants are supposed to do?' He poked her playfully with a finger.

'Yes, assist,' she replied grinning, 'not do!'

'Fine,' he said. 'I'll do it all myself!' She slapped him gently on the back as he walked away.

Rufus's company Sentience had hired a conference room in the Royal Garden Hotel, Kensington for the LOF5 Project study presentations. In the hotel bar, Rufus continued his discussions and answered many more tedious questions about the results of his research. Sarah stood close keeping a particular eye out for Jack Caird. It wasn't long before she spotted his hunched bearish frame waving a credit card over the bar with one hand a shoveling nuts into his mouth with the other. Nearby, Rufus was gesticulating to a Japanese man who was nodding seriously and Sarah knew she needed to intercept Caird before he made his move.

'Jack,' she said reaching the bar. The barman had just handed Jack his drink which was complimentary but had asked to see his Sentience invitation to prove his entitlement. As he fumbled around for it Sarah had arrived with an outstretched hand and he became confused at the sudden multiple demands on his coordination.

'Oh, er.. hold on sorry. Er let me just do this. Oh.' Jack swung himself around in a fluster.

'That's fine,' said Sarah to the barman. 'He's with us.'

'Oh Sarah, hello. Thank you.' He was now holding his drink in one hand and a crumpled invitation in the other. They both became aware of Sarah's still outstretched hand.'

'Sorry,' Jack said again, and went to put the invitation down on the bar. He quickly changed his mind and twisted around to settle his glass inevitably spilling it as he did so. He wiped both hands on his jacket and finally took Sarah's hand in his.

'Hello Sarah, thanks. How are you?'

'I'm good, really good, and you? Did you enjoy Rufus' presentation?'

Jack nodded enthusiastically. 'Yes, I'm, oh yes he was fantastic as ever. He really does have a knack of public speaking. Made what could have been a rather boring afternoon quite a pleasure.'

'He is, he did,' Sarah agreed now nodding in time with Jack.

'Well Jack,' she said, 'as you can see Rufus is pretty tied up at the moment and...' Jack interrupted. 'Yes I see he's with Mr Yamatoshi.' There was frustration in his voice.

Sarah was slightly fazed remembering Rufus' warning. Composing herself quickly, she replied 'Yes, well Rufus wanted me to arrange a sit down meeting with you and him. Perhaps a lunch so you'd both have time, you know to really discuss things, rather than grabbing half a conversation here and there between snacks.'

Jack reached for the nuts. 'Oh that would be very nice. Just the two of us. Excellent.' He tumbled a handful of the nuts into his mouth.

Sarah took out her Blackberry deliberately giving Jack time to chew and swallow the nuts before she said, 'How about next Thursday?'

Jack had now produced his own Blackberry and was eagerly scanning his appointments. 'Thursday, yes looks good.'

'Great, let's say 1pm. Fratellis?'

'Perfect,' said Jack smiling broadly. The smile fading, he touched Sarah's arm and looked again towards Rufus and Mr Yamatoshi. 'Sarah. He's not, er, what do I mean? He's not discussing this with anyone else is he?'

Sarah smiled reassuringly and returned a hand on Jack's arm. 'No he's not Jack. Please don't worry. It's a big day today and everyone will want a piece of him. You understand?'

Jack grinned. 'Of course, yes. Well next Thursday then.' He offered his hand and Sarah shook it, waving her Blackberry with the other hand. 'It's in the diary.'

***

'How was he?' Rufus asked

'He's a very cheerful man. He was definitely happy to arrange a one to one with you, though he seemed a little twitchy when he saw you with Mr Yamatoshi.'

Sarah and Rufus were both sitting opposite each other in brown leather armchairs in the thinly occupied bar area of the hotel. The last remaining conference attendees had dispersed and they were now able to enjoy a drink and some time to themselves in the calm.

Rufus nodded. 'That's what happens when you get two billionaires in the room I guess.'

Sarah raised an eyebrow. 'What do you mean?'

'Well, let's say you are the only billionaire in the room,'

Sarah interrupted smiling, ' nice. I'm imagining that right now.'

'Well, you would expect that to be a fairly unique thing. So you inevitably exist in this position of the higher order where you will always have the upper hand when it comes to your wants and desires. You simply have no competition. Put another billionaire into the mix and suddenly you can be outbid, suddenly you may not get what you want.'

'That's a bit cynical though. It suggests that all one's desires in life can be bought.'

'Can't they?' Rufus asked.

'No, surely not.' Sarah took a sip of her drink looking at Rufus for his response.

He shrugged his shoulders and waved a hand through the air. 'I don't know,' he said. 'Given what we're offering Jack Caird isn't that our answer right there?'

Sarah returned her drink to the small table between them and said. 'As miraculous as it is, I wouldn't want it.

'That's understandable, it's fraught with difficulties,' he said seriously.

'No I mean straight of, take a pill, there you go. No problems or side effects just the continuum. Anyway, does this mean you've made a decision.'

'What. To sell my soul. Yes, I think I have.' Rufus spoke with anger.

Sarah reached out and put her hand on his. 'Hey, no one will judge you for this. It's desperately needed funding, and he is just another investor in the technology, in you. You said there may be an opportunity to publish at least some part of it, so it's all pursuant to your work?'

Rufus sighed. 'We'd have to be very careful, the Ethics Committee will be all over it. I would have to cherry pick individual processes, and right there I'm in contravention. Besides, there are incredible risks. No. This has to be done,' Rufus searched for a word picking up a drinks coaster and tapping the edge on the table. 'Quietly,' he said finally.

Sarah lowered her voice. 'I understand that but if Jack gives the proper permissions then surely you would be absolved of any ethical wrongdoing.'

Rufus shook his head. 'That's the point though. Being permitted to do something is one thing. It's whether it should be done is the bigger question and anyway I'm not so sure Jack fully understands the risks behind his billionaire tinted spectacles.' He laughed.

'He doesn't seem an arrogant man Jack and as you have said, he's no fool,' Sarah said.

'I know but I worry that he can't help but have a disproportionate sense of invincibility. He can't actually bring himself to believe that any harm will come from this or more importantly to him; at least nothing his money couldn't remedy in the event of a catastrophe.'

'And if it does work Rufus. If all your work is validated and what you believe can happen actually does?' Sarah stared at Rufus intently.

He held her gaze for a moment before replying. 'You're talking about immortality Sarah. That would change everything.'

***

Jack Caird had followed Dr Rufus Trant's career and work quite closely for the last ten years. Whilst he couldn't claim to have any expertise in biological engineering, over the years Jack, who made his fortune from property, had invested heavily in early phase medical trials. For the most part he never saw a return on his money but despite his rapaciousness, it wasn't financial gain he was seeking. Rufus' research blended both biological engineering and neuroscience and in the last five years alone, over eighty patents had been taken out on the basis of his work.

Notwithstanding the odd sensationalist headline making unrealistic claims about the potential of Rufus's findings, Jack had carefully studied the results and peer reviews over the years. From this he had built a keen understanding of the true potential and this had inspired him to make contact with Rufus and discuss his extraordinary proposition.

The truth was Rufus hadn't actually interrogated the data in the same way as Jack had done and consequently hadn't immediately seen the relationships that Jack had inferred from the data.

When he first saw the journals Jack had written over the years, filled with pages of handwritten notes and pasted articles scored with question marks, arrows and exclamations, Rufus was quite overwhelmed. He remembered feeling odd as he read through it, recognising his life's work.

Jack, however had organised it in such a specific structure and chronology that Rufus understood immediately the conclusions he had drawn and he found himself dizzied with it. Many of the handwritten paragraphs ended with questions, double, sometimes triple underlined by Jack, and as Rufus read he found himself answering them out loud with an ever increasing alacrity.

With the journals came Jack's offer. He would pay Rufus twenty five million pounds to undertake the procedures. If successful, a company would be formed to provide ongoing support to Jack which would include additional transplants as necessary

Until now Rufus had been avoiding Jack as he battled with the ethical enormity and complexity of his proposal. Obviously he had to reconcile this with the huge sums of money involved; funding for his research ad infinitum but he was uncomfortable with the level of risk Jack was taking. Rufus and his team, assuming confidentiality was maintained, had nothing to lose. Jack had everything.

After Rufus has said goodnight to Sarah, it was still relatively early so he headed back to his offices at Imperial College. He needed to look into Jack Caird a little more closely.

***

'You understand Jack?' Rufus said leaning over the menu.

'I do Rufus, I really do,' Jack said solemnly.

'We could wait, just a few years. That would allow us to just nail down a couple of things. The mortality risk could be reduced by what, thirty, forty percent. That's a big number Jack.'

'Rufus. I don't think I have two years.' Jack picked up a bottle of wine from the table and refilled both their glasses. Jack raised his eyebrows.

'Ah,' Rufus frowned. 'I didn't know that Jack I'm sorry. Well....'

'Hence the urgency. It won't affect things?' Jack asked. 'Stage three lung,' he added.

'No,' said Rufus still frowning. 'As far as we understand, normal physical mutations should not affect any of the process but we wouldn't know until we know. Jack there's so much that can go wrong.' Rufus sat back in his seat.

'Of course, but you see now I actually have nothing to lose. Should make things more, er, palatable for you.'

'It helps Jack. If I'm honest.' Rufus took a large gulp of his wine.

'It's hard to explain but I'm not scared of dying, nor am I some rich suit throwing his weight around to acquire the holy grail.' Jack smiled, 'I know you've been thinking that.'

Rufus lowered his gaze to the table before looking again at Jack. 'Yes,' he said. 'I had been.'

Jack laughed. 'Why on earth wouldn't you but then why are you here now. You made the decision before I told you about the cancer.'

'The journals were impressive Jack. I had to take you seriously but I couldn't get around the fact that whichever way looked at it I was selling something I didn't have the right to.'

'Only God eh?' Jack said.

'Hell yes!' Rufus said in a forced whisper. 'So I did some research on you. I needed to find a motivation other than, well the more negative things I have been thinking.'

Jack was nodding, 'I understand that.'

Rufus continued, 'and that's when I found out about The Giving Pledge.'

'Ah you did, well it's no secret really Rufus,' Jack leaned forward and clasped his hands together on the table. At that moment a waiter arrived holding two plates and Jack slid back into his chair again.

'Rissotto?' he said looking at Rufus.

'That's me,' said Jack, raising one finger. 'Thanks.' The waiter put the plates down and adjusted the wine glasses before he left.

Both men picked up their cutlery and began to eat.

'It's a tremendous thing Jack,' said Rufus.

'It won't have any effect on our agreement, so you understand.'

Rufus had just put a forkful of food into his mouth. 'No, well of course. I wasn't...,' he stuttered.

'It is important I tell you though. The proper paperwork will be drawn up so everything is in order before, well before things are commenced. As you probably know, after your research,' Jack emphasised the word research and they both smiled. 'I have pledged to give away at least half my wealth to philanthropy either before or soon after my death. Either way, as we now both understand, that doesn't leave an awful amount of time. My affairs will be organised such that your team's funding will come from a number of ring-fenced gilt edged investments. Which, as I described when we first spoke, makes my offer of ongoing funding to you somewhat infinite.'

'It's incredible,' said Rufus shaking his head slowly. 'I only wish there was some way to guarantee an outcome for you. It's such a lot of money.'

'Which, as I have described, perhaps rather crassly, I have an infinite supply of. I believe that it is my faith I am more heavily investing in you.

Rufus nodded. 'Of course. Notwithstanding the enormous wider moral and ethical responsibilities, I feel the personal one very strongly and I just hope I can achieve everything I, well we, believe we can.'

Jack raised his glass again and paused, "The work of man is achieved in accordance with practical wisdom and moral virtue; virtue makes us aim at the right mark and practical wisdom makes us take the right means." Aristotle. Sorry, second class philosophy degree at King's. Don't get to use it much.'

'I think we have the moral and practical both covered. I'm just worried Aristotle doesn't think to mention a steady hand!' They both laughed. Rufus continued. 'So is that what piqued your interest in my work, The Aristotle connection?'

'Initially yes. The idea that the presence of a soul is what makes animals and plants living things and that there are three stages, nutritive, rational and so on. Very interesting stuff.' Both Jack and Rufus had finished eating and had pushed their plates aside. The waiter came to collect them. 'Can I get you gents anything else?'

'I'd like some coffee please,' Rufus replied. The waiter looked to Jack who gave a small closed mouth smile. 'Nothing for me thanks.'

'So Professor Trant. Are we going to prove the great Greek wrong when you show that a human soul can inhabit a lower order.'

'Only in the sense that we'll prove the soul is a separate entity and can be transplanted to another physical body. In this case vegetable matter'

'Into which the LOP5 proteins will have already been seeded, 'Jack added.

'Yes. I wonder whether he ever imagined we'd be able to manipulate organisms in such a way. He must have thought about it, sketched out some magical experiment that waited for the technology to allow it to be performed.'

Jack nodded. 'Yes, and he would have been twiddling his thumbs for most of the last two and a half thousand years considering most of the progress seems to have been made in the last fifty or so.'

'Less than that actually,' Rufus said. 'The first synthetic gene was early seventies and the real milestones have been in the last ten years.'

'And of course, the success of the LOF5 project can be added to that.'

Rufus smiled modestly and reached for his wine, 'It seems it will, yes.' Rufus continued, 'you understand that we have to use an existing complete structure vegetable, literally like a carrot or potato?'

'It sounds rather preposterous you actually saying it out loud. Especially as everything else is so cutting edge; but I understand it is a means to an end.'

'For now, yes. It gives us a known quantity to work with, sequences we entirely understand which to be honest will be few and far between in this project. Relatively speaking vegetable matter is indestructible and infinitely replaceable. Once we are happy you are stable we can undertake additional transplants when your original host, well, decomposes. But parallel to all of this, we'll be developing a complete custom host for you in human form. I'd say eighteen months.'

'But I'll be carrot until then,' Jack laughed raising his eyebrows.

'Or a potato,' Rufus said sheepishly, 'but you will have mobility and we hope at least a way to sense your surroundings.'

'You mentioned before about vision and hearing.'

'Yes, we think that we'll be able to replicate those senses using electromagnetic resonance and by implanting a decoding receiver we can translate those signals into sound and vision. We'll be using several rudimentary processes to replace what is essentially one of the most sophisticated living organisms, but we think it can work.'

'So I should be able to see in one sense or another?'

'We'll be working hard to make that happen, and there are other options available to us.'

'Good, good. You know Rufus, seriously, this has Nobel Prize written all over it. It's widely accepted that Sentience is the vanguard.' Jack lifted his glass raising it to Rufus.

'Ha! Somewhere amongst it all perhaps. Sometime.' Both men fell silent for a moment each clearly excited by their conversation.

Jack finally spoke. 'So what is the time frame for us Rufus. I mean from sitting here now. When will I see you floating above me wearing scrubs as it were.' He waved his hands comically around his face.

Rufus laughed. 'I'd say we'd need six months. Yes. To finalise the team, do the prep. I'd need you in a few times for bloods, MRIs that sort of thing. I assume there will be quite a lot of paperwork your end too.'

'It's mostly in place to be honest. Aside from our plans, I needed to put my affairs in order after the diagnosis.'

'Of course. It must be a mammoth task.'

'It is, but with no family to speak of, that makes things more straightforward. Jack looked around him. 'Where's your coffee? It's a good while now.'

Rufus detected a sadness in Jack. His research revealed that he had never married and Rufus couldn't find a single photograph of him with a partner, date or companion. Given his profile and the number of events someone of Jack's status would get invited to, this seemed unusual for a man now into his fifties.

'Not to worry, I can grab one on the way back to my office.' The waiter appeared suddenly with Rufus' coffee. 'Ah Thanks,' said Rufus. 'Can you put this on my account please, ' he said waving his arm across the table.

The waiter nodded. 'Certainly Professor Trant.'

'Thank you Rufus,' Jack said.

'You're very welcome Jack. I'll be in touch again soon. Expect to hear from me within two weeks for the first round of things. We'll need a couple of hours.'

'Good. I'll look forward to hearing from you. I know there's a large degree of shall we say, confidentiality surrounding this but shouldn't we have a name for our venture?'

Rufus paused before answering. 'Yes and I think he would approve, ' he said holding Jack's gaze.

'Of course!' Jack exclaimed. 'The Aristotle Project.'

***

Jack died at four o'clock on Tuesday 22nd May. He was surrounded by nine doctors and technicians. Rufus was there, at the centre, directing procedures. It was eight months later before they really knew how successful they had been.

In a controlled location just before dawn on a mid January day, Jack took his first steps and the fifty four year old billionaire philanthropist began his immortal life on the earth.

Jack was overwhelmed with the possibilities, and it was emotional for Rufus and the handful of team members there to witness the incredible thing the Aristotle Project had achieved. For Jack, now he had been gifted time, a future with a never nearing horizon, and he was going to do good, change things. Make it better.

 By Darren Seeley