‘Dee, it’s you. Turn that bastard off will you?’
‘It won’t let me. You have to put cash into it to gain control over what it shows. I’ll turn it away from you if I can,’ said Deirdre, wrestling with the TV and forcing the arm on which it hung away from the bed. The arm creaked as she moved it and there was a loud crack as she gave it a final thrust. The TV flopped uselessly on its broken mounting and she heaved the mechanism up against the wall. The government promo froze and then the screen went blank. She looked at Thornwell triumphantly. ‘That’s what I think of him and his so called health reforms.’
Thornwell lay back on his pillow grinning. ‘Thanks Dee. That makes me feel so much better.’
‘Well you won’t when you get the bill for saving your life They wouldn’t touch you until they’d checked your credit rating. I was screaming at them to save you but they just sat in front of the computer looking at whether you could pay or not. This Pay As You Go healthcare is shit.’
‘OK, OK, Dee I know how you feel. Just tell me what happened.’
‘Sorry darling,’ said Deirdre, kissing him on the forehead. ‘I got carried away.’ She sat down on the chair next to his bed. ‘I found you collapsed in your office, so I called the paramedics. Had to give them a credit card number to make ‘em come but they finally arrived. They didn’t give you more than a fifty-fifty chance: fluid on the brain or something. Anyway, they got you here and they took you to theatre and relieved the pressure on your brain. You’ve got some sort of parasitic infection; comes from cats apparently.’
‘We don’t have a cat.’
‘They said it was normally down to poor hygiene. It’s transmitted in cat shit.’
‘Yeah, but we don’t have a cat.’
‘That’s what I said and I told them we don’t know anybody with a cat either.’
‘We’re dead clean, anyway. You’re very careful around food; always washing your hands. So am I. Where could I have picked it up?’
****
Maximo looked at the man at the door. Typical salesman, he thought: slicked back greasy hair, dark suit, officious expression.
‘Who did you say you’re from?’ he asked.
‘The HPA – Health Protection Agency, Mr Bellini.’
‘I don’t need health insurance. I got plenty,’ said Maximo, starting to close the door.
‘Hang on Mr Bellini, I’m not selling anything. I’m investigating an outbreak of a disease in this area and I think you could help me. Here’s my ID,’ said the man flourishing his e-pad with the screen showing his face and a scrolling description of his job and personal details.
Maximo gave it a cursory glance. ‘Look, Mr Jonas, I’m healthy, no diseases, fully vaccinated and fit,’ replied Maximo flexing the biceps in his right arm to demonstrate the point.
‘No doubt. Just let me in and I’ll explain.’
Maximo shrugged and stepped aside to let Jonas enter. He led him through to the back room where they sat looking out on to the garden. Maximo looked at him enquiringly, as if conducting a student tutorial. Jonas took his cue.
‘Sorry to bother you Mr Bellini …’
‘It’s Dr Bellini,’ interrupted Maximo, ‘but you can call me Maximo. What do I call you?’
‘I’m Jim, JJ if you like. Now Maximo, I’ll keep it simple. There has been an outbreak of an infection in this area and my enquiries all lead back to you. Do you have any cats?’
‘No cats, JJ: can’t stand them,’ replied Maximo, spreading his hands.
‘Do you have any other animals such as mice or rats?’
‘Er … we have a few red crested tree rats. They’re my wife’s pets, you understand. She keeps them out back. We don’t have them in the house: hygiene, you know.’
‘OK, can I see them?’
Maximo showed Jonas the shed where they housed the tree rats. He was glad that Alison kept the animals clean. Her babies, she called them. When he opened the door, there was only the slightest odour of rat urine. The animals scurried and skittered in the tree branches in their enclosure. Jonas peered at them and some of the rats stopped and peered back.
‘I’ll need some samples,’ he said as he pulled a polythene bag and a pair of latex gloves from his jacket pocket.
‘You still haven’t told me what this is all about,’ said Maximo. ‘I’ve been very helpful but you haven’t told me anything. What am I supposed to have done?’
‘It’s only fair that I tell you Maximo that we think that people have been infected with a malignant parasite, T. Gondii, here in your house. Everything points to it. There have been several cases of encephalitis and still birth due to this parasite and the epidemiology tracks it back to here. Anyway, I’ll take these samples back to our lab people and then we should know definitively that the source is here.
Maximo showed Jonas out with a smile and a handshake. As soon as the HPA man was out of the house, Maximo grabbed the phone. Alison responded immediately.
‘Hey Max, I just made another sale.’
‘Never mind that, Ali: we got to get out of here. Come home and pack. It’s time for plan B.’
Maximo put the phone down and picked up his e-pad. First, he logged into their main bank account and transferred everything to an offshore account. He’d had a feeling that this day would come and this was part of his contingency plan. Then he booked a flight to Spain. They could stay in their villa in Malaga for a couple of weeks while they decided what to do next. He continued with his preparations over the next hour as he waited for his wife to arrive. By the time she did, he would have his own stuff packed and ready to go.
****
Marcella had been flabbergasted when she’d received a text from her mother telling her that her parents had moved to Spain and wouldn’t be coming back for some time: no warning, no goodbye, no explanation. Her mother had asked her to check that the house was OK from time to time and had transferred money to her account to cover train fares. So, here she was, as requested, a few weeks later, looking around the house and finding everything in order. A pile of post greeted her when she walked in. Most of it was junk, apart from several brown envelopes from the HPA, whatever that was. It looked official and worth sending on.
She went into the garden, looking at the flowers and shrubs. They would need some work soon, she reckoned. Then an idea suddenly sprung into her mind. What had her mother done with her little friends in the shed? With a feeling of dread, she opened the door, expecting to see dead rats everywhere. The place was bare; not a rat in sight. The cages and tree branches had gone and there was a slight smell of disinfectant. She sent a message to her mother.
What did you do with the rats?
A few minutes later, there was a reply.
Lazing by the pool. Having a lovely time. I let the rats go. They can look after themselves. Max sends his love.
Marcella went outside and looked around hoping to see a tree rat. The breeze rustled the leaves in the apple tree and she looked up into the canopy expecting to see plenty of fruit as usual. There were no apples. She toured the rest of the garden looking at trees and shrubs that normally had fruit. They had all been stripped. Of course, Mum’s little friends were fruit eaters. They’d stayed around long enough to clear the garden of edibles and gone on their way. They were looking after themselves just as Alison had said.
Back at home on the allotment, Marcella had a premonition. The tree rats were now feral and likely to spread rapidly. As much as she loved wild creatures, she valued her crops more. It was time to get a cat. A big tom that could hunt would be ideal. There was something else eating away at her. Why should her parents have been forced to become criminals by idiots in the government who had no idea of the importance of the arts and humanities in daily life? She wanted revenge.
****
Professor Mzorkl Probtzl checked his messages and was pleased to see one from Marcella. He was always glad to see her, especially so at the moment since he was in season. Not that he expected to be able to mak
e it with her, but just being close to an attractive Terran woman was a particular pleasure.
Hi Prof
Can we meet? My parents lost their jobs and now they are on the run. I need your help.
Marcella
Very cryptic, he thought. The last time they had worked together, they had uncovered a government conspiracy to reduce the number of grads and the associated unemployment figures. The consequences had been quite a surprise for the conspirators since their scheme had rebounded on them. He replied, suggesting a previous meeting place: a pub near the M58 outside Ormskirk.
When they met the next day, Marcella suggested that they take a walk towards a local village, Bickerstaffe rather than going into the pub. She didn’t want to be overheard. As they walked down the hill way from the pub, sparrows flew out of the hedgerow as they passed and settled again. Yes, thought Marcella, I want to do more than just ruffle a few feathers.
Probtzl asked what she wanted and listened carefully as she told him about her parents’ expulsion from academia and their descent into criminality.
‘I am not sure that I can take direct action against particular members of the government,’ he said, rubbing his smooth scaly head.
‘Your colleagues did mount an attack on the politico’s advisors, the homunculi, didn’t they? If I remember, they went rogue and started reproducing. All sorts of people grew them on different parts of their bodies.’
‘That wasn’t necessarily us. It could have been a latent genetic fault in the homunculi.’
‘Professor, only Gliesen biotech is sufficiently advanced to have made that happen. Everybody knows that. And it’s also well known that you consider the homunculi as a parasite too far.’
‘True, we don’t like their use. Two conscious brains in one body is a mistake that we wouldn’t entertain.’
‘Pity it didn’t put paid to them.’
‘It worked, really. Most of the upper echelons had them removed but they were so dependent on them, they had new versions engineered. That is why they have reappeared on the shoulders of all the politicos. They can’t do without the constant stream of self aggrandising advice pouring into their ears 24 hours per day.’
‘There! You hate them as much as I do. I wish I could make them look like the fools they are. I’ve been thinking about the kind of thing that Gliesen biotech could do.’
‘Such as ….?’
‘How about infesting the ministers in charge of education with a parasite that makes them change sex? They are all men, of course. It would be excruciatingly funny to see them changing into ugly bearded women with floppy breasts.’
‘How about the PM? She’s a woman. Would you want her to become male?’
‘Why not? Let’s get the lot.’
‘I am not sure that it would change anything Marcella. It wouldn’t improve their policies.’
‘No, but we’d all have a good belly laugh. They wouldn’t get re-elected after looking so stupid.’
‘I’ll have to think about this and consult my colleagues. I don’t have access to this kind of technology myself, as you know. I am a mere neurobiologist. Do you have any other ideas?’
‘You bet,’ said Marcella.
****
Marcella held on to her handbag firmly, not wanting to take the risk of losing it in the crush entering the visitors’ gallery in the House of Commons. She didn’t know what the debate was going to be about. All she needed to do was get in there. The scanner blinked as she passed it but no warning was issued. There was no reason for one: her cargo would not be seen as anything threatening.
She sat at the back, listening to the braying in the chamber but not discerning any kind of coherent argument. Debates were just window dressing as far as she could see. The real decisions came in the small print in the bills and their malevolent effects ballooned later. After enduring the meaningless rhetoric for half an hour, Marcella left the gallery and made for one of the restaurants open to the public. However, she didn’t reach it. Consulting the map on her e-pad, she found a door leading to the basement. It was protected by a keypad but the prof had given her the code. It had taken him a few weeks to persuade his alien friends to help Marcella and then another month for them to create the instrument of her revenge.
She descended the stairs thinking about what would happen once her little box of tricks was activated. In effect, it would mimic what the aliens had done for themselves when they’d landed on Earth a century ago. Then, they had replicated themselves in a matter of weeks, using a combination of nanotech and genetic engineering. The aliens generated had formed the basis of their colony on planet Earth. Marcella’s scheme was a little less ambitious. At the bottom of the stairs, she turned left and found what she needed: a recess with an outlet for the ventilation system. Before doing anything else, she looked around for cameras but couldn’t see any. She slid the small plastic box into the opening, pushing it inside as far as she could and then stepped back. The aperture was just above eye level and her little addition was not visible from the outside. Footsteps sounded behind her and she turned round to find a uniformed security guard strolling towards her. He had his hand on his holstered gun.
‘Excuse me miss, are you authorised to be down here?’ he said as he pulled level with her.
‘Sorry, I got lost. I was looking for the ladies,’ replied Marcella.
‘Stand still,’ said the guard. He pulled a wand from his belt and waved it around her from top to toe. ‘You’re clean,’ he said. ‘Don’t know how you got down here. The ladies’ loo is back that way,’ he said, gesturing towards a nearby set of stairs. ‘This way.’
The man walked her briskly up the stairs and through a door that took them back to a corridor signposted to a public tea room. He accompanied her until they reached the toilets and left her there. Marcella suddenly needed to use the facilities and slipped in quickly. Once inside she breathed a sigh of relief. Mission accomplished.
****
Jim Beam, portly Minister for Golf Courses, sat on the front bench listening to the Prime Minister slagging off the opposition. The PM’s homunculus preened itself on her shoulder, smiling at every insult she hurled. Beam was smiling too and turned his head to grin at his own parasitic advisor. It whispered in his ear and he nodded his head. As the PM sat down, Beam raised his hand to the Speaker and was invited to speak. He stood up but before he could open his mouth he felt something nibbling his ankle. He raised his foot and looked down. A red crested tree rat looked up at him and then scuttled off only to be replaced by several others squeaking and chittering to one another as they made their way beneath the seats. Other members looked down to find their feet surrounded by rodents scuttling in all directions. As one, the MPs jumped up and made for the exits, falling over one another in their haste to escape. In the visitors’ gallery, people started to clap and cheer, while the news cameras caught every detail.
****
Marcella watched the live feed from the House of Commons on her e-pad. It had taken a few weeks for the colony to develop and she still had no real idea of how it had been done. This was an area of technology that the aliens kept to themselves despite all human attempts to acquire it. Probtzl had told her that the original set-up for the rat colony would self-destruct once the rats emerged, so no trace of how it had been done would remain. The cameras swung too and fro as the rats swarmed over the benches. Within minutes the chamber was clear of MPs and the visitors quickly tiring of watching rats, also started to leave. She couldn’t stifle the cheer that erupted from her throat as she watched the melee. The knowledge that the erstwhile pets had routed the politicos in their own debating chamber and made them look like fools went some way to assuaging her anger at the treatment of her mum and dad. She would make sure that her parents watched a re-run.
****
Trade was slow that morning on Gerry’s market stall in Ormskirk, so he sat at the back, sheltering from the squally summer showers and perused his e-pad for links to tree rats. He was fasc
inated by the enterprise shown by Marcella’s parents. At first, the idea that a pair of academics like them could suddenly become spivs had been a huge laugh but his amusement had later changed to admiration for their courage and inventiveness. Now he knew where Marcella’s spirit came from. Marcella’s revenge had made the news channels worldwide. There were a still a few ads on eBay for the rodents but the number had diminished rapidly since their performance in parliament. Their fashion sell by date had expired.
The sun emerged from behind a grey cloud and he glanced up to find a pretty teenage girl with a snub nose and frizzy red hair holding a piece of his jewellery under his nose.
‘You gonna sell this to me or what?’
Gerry surfaced from his thoughts and attended to his customer. Several others suddenly appeared and he had to forget about the tree rats for a couple of hours as trade picked up.
Cycling home, he was still thinking about the rats and their erstwhile popularity. He liked riding along the country lanes: he often spotted wildlife in the hedgerows and fields. As he toiled up a short hill, he caught a glimpse of a flash of red fur. He twisted round to get a better look. What was it, a red squirrel? Wrong shape. Then it came to him as he pedalled along. It had been a tree rat!
When he got back to the allotment, he found Marcella hoeing up potatoes. Their newly acquired, large ginger tomcat sat nearby, sunning itself.
‘Guess what I saw on the way home,’ Gerry said.
Marcella wiped a soily hand across her forehead. ‘Go on Gerry, tell me.’
‘One of your parents’ pets, a tree rat. I’m certain of it.’
‘No surprise there, Gerry. Have a look at the BBC news.’
Gerry went into the hut and got out his e-pad, quickly scrolling through the BBC news titles. He soon found what he wanted:
You’re never more than three feet from a tree rat
Parasite World Page 9