by Stan Mason
‘The Member for Lavington!’ called out the Speaker in a sonorous tone as Dominic Ford rose to his feet to face the Leader.
‘What’s happening with the body exchange programme?’ he demanded. ‘Can you explain the actions of the Government in relation to it to this House?’
There was a hubbub of noise amongst the members and many puzzled expressions as different groups turned to each other for information.
The Prime Minister turned his attention directly to Ford grimly with a sombre expression on his face. ‘I’ll talk to the member by the end of the day when I find out more about the subject,’ he replied stolidly avoiding the question.
At that point, the Speak called for an unprecedented end to the Prime Minister’s Question Time two minutes before the half hour was completed. This curtailed period was the first time it had ever happened in the Chamber and it was unlikely to occur again.
Later that day, Ford was summoned to a room in the House of Commons to face Jeremy Ratcliffe.
’I’m glad to be able to discuss this matter with you, Minister,’ began the Member of Parliament eagerly. ’only no one seems to know anything about the body exchange programme... or they won’t tell me anything about it.’
’What in Heaven’s name do you think you’re doing?’ shouted the Minister vehemently at the top of his voice. ’Do you intend to embarrass the Government by taking up the baton on your own? You do realise that governments all over the world carry out clandestine operations to benefit their communities. Sometimes they’re obvious; sometimes they’re obscure but most of them are kept hidden from public view. Yet you going around intent on smashing up everything like a bull in a china shop. Use your common sense, man! The body exchange programme’s been going on for some time. It benefit’s the people of our society in different ways. Don’t cause problems by sticking your nose in where it’s not wanted.’
’But I understand that people are dying out there as a result of the programme,’ Ford managed to say in retaliation.
’People are dying everywhere every day!’ riposted Ratcliffe carelessly. Look at the children and the people in Africa. One’s reported to die ever five seconds. If you have to interfere, turn your attention to them!’
’That’s not the point... ’
’That really is the point!’ interrupted the Minister of Science rudely. ’Don’t stick your nose into something that’s not your business! Take my advice on it, Mr. Ford, or you own existence may be in danger.’
The Member of Parliament found his hackles rising at the comment. ’Is that a threat, Minister?’
’You bet your life it is. We can’t have idiots like you interfering in strict government business. You know the channels you have to go through to get information. But you’re only interested in cutting corners. You want to make a name for yourself. Well you will if you continue but it won’t be a good one. Go out and tell those members who’ll ask you what you meant by your question in the Chamber that you were given false information and you were completely mistaken.’
Ratcliffe rose at that point having addressed the situation. It now depended on the other man to conform to reality or it was likely that he would be the next name at the top of the hit list if he continued to pursue his enquiries.
Ford remained in the office for a while by himself, reflecting the words of the other man. He was extremely annoyed at being berated on an issue which was clearly a cover-up by the Government Killing prisoners, whatever they had done, for the benefit of others, was a heinous act to carry out and it went very much against the grain. It was obvious that the Government intended to carry on with the body exchange programme and there was nothing that he could do about it despite his bravest efforts. He had always thought of himself as a leader but it seemed that he was willing to buckle under threat. He admired people like William Wilberforce who had campaigned bitterly against the slave trade. The man must have fielded the most vicious threats by slave owners but he still continued to fight against the bullies who made their living by the slave trade and he won in the end. Sadly, the Member of Parliament for Lavington was not such a man. He would never have his name entered in a history book as a champion of the people.
At the weekend, he settled down in his white Ferrari car to return to his father’s farm. He was speeding at eighty miles an hour down a reasonably wide country road, not expecting anything to come at him from the opposite direction. He came to a sharp bend in the road that he had travelled around many times before when, on this occasion, another vehicle was about to negotiate the corner from the other side. The moment he saw it, he slammed his foot hard down on the brake but, at the rapid speed that he was travelling, the distance between the corner and the other car was insignificant. He turned the steering-wheel sharply to the left and crashed at speed straight into the body of a large oak tree. The driver of the other car called the police immediately but by the time they arrived at the scene of the crash, Dominic Ford was no longer in this world.
There was no question that the Government had been involved in his death but a sigh of relief could be heard in the upper echelons of the House of Commons when members were told of the news. Without any effort on their behalf, the Member of Parliament for Lavington had been silenced for ever!
***
Murphy’s Law is considered to be an axiom of engineers and scientists. It states that if anything can go wrong, it will go wrong! In this particular case, the body exchange programme was no exception.
Jordan was sleeping soundly in his bed early one morning when, at exactly seven-thirty, he was rudely awakened by someone knocking continuously on his front door. He looked up to stare blearily at the clock on his side-table to check the time before crawling wearily out of bed in his pyjamas to answer the summons. At the same time, he put on his dressing-gown, shaking his head to rid himself of sleep.
He opened the door to stare bleakly at the caller, trying to focus his eyes on the man’s face to define his features.
‘Good morning!’ greeted the caller brusquely. ‘I’m Vernon Grainger, Under-Secretary to the Minister of Health. You may recall that we met a few times in the House.’
‘What do you want?’ asked the government agent tiredly, blinking his eyes in an attempt to bring himself into the real world.
‘Sorry to have to wake you so early,’ apologised the man, although it was clear that he didn’t really care, ’but we need to speak urgently. May I come in?’
Jordan stepped back to allow Grainger to enter, closing the door behind him. He pulled his dressing-gown around him more tightly as he awaited the reason why the man had come to see him. ’What’s so important that you come to me at this ungodly hour,’ he demanded before giving out a great yawn.
They went into the lounge where Grainger took a seat and clasped his hands in front of him but, to his surprise, the government agent left the room to go into the kitchen, pressing the switch on the electric kettle to boil the water. He took two cups from a cupboard which he placed on the kitchen top, reaching out for a jar from which he dispensed two teaspoons of coffee in each cup..
‘There’s been a serious development in the body exchange programme,’ he called out blandly. There was a moment of silence before he continued with an element of anger in his voice. ‘I would like to talk to you face-to-face, if you don’t mind!’
Jordan returned to the lounge to sit directly opposite the other man. ‘I’m all ears,’ he told him, wondering why the visit was so important.
The Under-Secretary pursed his lips before relating his message. ‘I’ve been assigned on a special mission in relation to a default in the body exchange programme,’ he uttered with an element of pomp in his voice as though it was some kind of accolade.
‘I thought I was in control,’ stated the government agent becoming angry at the succession of events that were about to overtake him. He presumed that it was a
t the order of Ratcliffe following the disastrous meeting where he had tendered his resignation. The Minister of Science no longer trusted him any more!
‘This is not to do with the operation of the programme but of the latest development concerning the recipients. It’s a health problem. That’s why I’ve been selected.’
‘Why are you telling me this?’ enquired Jordan, annoyed at having been woken up for no real reason at all.
‘I’m telling everyone,’ boasted the Under-Secretary. A brilliant scientist by the name of Karl Schweitzer, who works at the Pasteur Institute in Geneva in Switzerland, was flown over here last week. Apparently two recipients of the body exchange programme were having severe health problems and he was selected to be the most appropriate medic to resolve the problem.’
‘Didn’t the Government have any medics of their own to result the difficulties?’
‘They wanted to keep it under wraps and so applied to get a medic from a foreign country. Well, to cut a long story short, he wrote a report on his findings, and they turned out to be horrendous.’
‘What do you mean horrendous?’ The kettle started to whistle in the kitchen and Jordan excused himself. He went into the kitchen and turned it off, pouring out two cups of coffee which he placed on a tray with a small bowl of milk and returned to the lounge.
‘It seems that the body exchange programme has always been carried out on an ad hoc basis. People have been going through the programme at random but no one has ever thought about matching any of the donors with recipients. Let me put it this way. If a person needs a blood transfusion and was type ‘O’, it would be a disaster if type ‘AB’ was injected into the person’s body. It’s the same with the exchange programme. Everyone has a different match with regard to their metabolism, blood type and nervous system, as well as their organs. In layman’s terms there are people who are soul mates while others tend to have personality clashes. We are all different in one way or another. The body exchange programme went ahead irrespective of whether the parties were compatible or not. Subsequently, we’re hosting a number of serious problems. Firstly, many of the donors are finding that their bodies are rejecting their heads. The brain is a very complicated organ and it needs to be able to match nerve centres which control the body. We cannot ascertain the percentage of people who went through the programme who will expect to suffer rejections or allied problems.
The government agent stared at him, screwing up his face in anguish. It seemed that everything that had been done had been wasteful. ‘How long can a person with an old head and a younger body be expected to live then?’ he asked with concern, ‘and what are the symptoms?’
‘The recipient becomes breathless as the lungs become the first organ to become affected,’ stated Grainger calmly. ‘Then a wave of malaise spreads through the body. Lastly, the brain becomes delusional because of the failure of the nerve endings to match and they can’t communicate or fail to respond properly.’
‘And we don’t know how many people will be affected in this way,’ rattled t eh government agent in despair.
‘All the recipients who went through the process appear to be effectively youthful for quite some time but then deterioration sets in... especially when they decide to come off the tablets given to them in readjustment. They have to keep taking them much longer otherwise... otherwise. Of course, those who are admirably matched will continue without any problems.’
‘Has anyone done any research on what happens with the Cappella units. I mean the body’s one thing, the brain’s quite another.’
‘We haven’t got around to that yet. The problem has been the overall health of individuals and, in many cases, it hasn’t worked out well.’
‘The whole experiment’s been an absolute failure in general terms,’ bleated Jordan glumly. ‘All that secrecy... all those prisoners... all that excitement has ended in disaster except for the few.’
‘Fraid so,’ confirmed Grainger sadly.
‘We killed hundreds of prisoners and many mental patients to lengthen the lives of famous and talented people. Now they too are dying. What was the point of it all?’
‘I wouldn’t feel too bad about it,’ declared the other man easily. ‘There’s always a light at the end of the tunnel. You see, Schweitzer has found a way by which the programme can be corrected. It will mean that all the participants in the body exchange programme will need to be tested beforehand to check whether or not they compatible. He’s set ut a series of matching procedures so that we can achieve a hundred per cent rate for the recipients.’
‘This who thing’s sickening... it’s become a shambles!’ snapped Jordan angrily disregarding the last comment. ‘Do you know I submitted my resignation because of the horror caused by this programme. I withdrew it but I ought to have had the gumption to let it stand!’
‘Man proposes, God disposes!’ uttered the Under-Secretary unnecessarily.
‘What the hell’s that supposed to mean!’ groaned Jordan, overwhelmed by the fact that so many people had died or were dying due to the programme. He was actually furious at Karl Schweitzer’s report which proved that the Government had been negligent in failing to undertake the research required before embarking on the process.
‘The Government is forced to make hundreds of decisions on various projects,’ sad the visitor, lifting the cup of coffee to his lips. ‘Some are pleasant, others are not. After all, there are two things that no one can prevent in life... death and taxes. We all have to suffer disease, or accidents, old age, or in some cases misfortune of one kind or another. The main problem is that we’re not in control of such matters. If you worry about the starving millions in the world, all the refugees, all the people with no homes, those being tortured or enslaved, you’ll drive yourself crazy. You’d never be able to close your eyes at night. We can only do what we have to do. God’s responsible for all the consequences... it’s the only reasonable explanation.’
Jordan sipped his coffee glumly. There was no doubt that Grainger was right but he was still annoyed with himself and the Government because the body exchange programme was technically unnecessary. Eminent people of the past had contributed and enjoy their years of success. It was time for them to let go to allow younger people the chance to take their places. The world had changed substantially since the period in which they reigned therefore it was time for a new generation to make their way into the history books... not some ninety year old man trying to continue his career. To his mind, old people really had no right to demand a new lease of life for a further thirty, forty or fifty years, even at the expense of prisoners serving life sentences for serious crimes that they committed. It was now time to put the programme to rest.
Grainger left in due course, intending to meet the government agent on the following morning to discuss the matter further. After he had gone, Jordan poured himself another cup of coffee to consider the latest development. Somehow the programme had to be stopped and he believed that he might be the only person who could put an end to it. Releasing the information to the Press and media was not an option. The death of Sky Summers proved that to be the case. Not only would it be dangerous for him but it would only stir up trouble especially with old people who desired to become young again. There would be a volley of do-gooders to complicate the issue and strong opposition with regard to mentally disturbed patients. He would simply be opening up Pandora’s box, emptying out all the ills in the world. No... he had to find another way of ending the programme and he spent the next hour raking his mind to think of a plan. However nothing practical came to mind and he started to become frustrated. What could he do to stop the disaster from continuing? It was an enigma that promised to drive him crazy.
***
The mills of Jordan’s mind kept rolling ceaselessly throughout the day. The absence of the formation o0f a plan began to obsess him... he could think of nothing else. His mind focused on
the matter all the time imprisoning all his other thoughts in his sub-conscious and he failed to focus on anything. As a last resort, he visited a colleague by the name of Colin West who was an expert in the field of computer programming. As soon as he arrived there, he outlined his problem.
‘I have to stop the programme, Colin,’ he told his friend with a determined expression on his face. It’s absolutely evil and opposes every moral attitude to human life but I can’t find a way of preventing it from continuing. I ask you what can be done?’
‘It’s simple,’ returned West calmly, as though he knew exactly what needed to be done and that there could be no alternative to his suggestion. ‘We create a web-site to explain all that you disapprove of with the programme and its fatal results, outlining the reasons why everyone should be up in arms. After that, all you need to do is to sit back and leave it to the public. The Internet’s a wonderful instrument for people with causes. It’s beginning to change our lives. Create the web-site and let it happen naturally.’
‘Will I have to put my name to it?’ asked the government agent with concern in his voice.
‘No way!’ came the answer. ‘You can use a pseudonym if you wish or nothing at all. It would be of great help if you could add the names of one or two celebrities or famous people.’
‘There’s no change of that,’ returned Jordan sadly. ‘How about someone who isn’t well known, like a prison Governor who was involved a while back?’