Bob hesitated then perched on the arm of the sofa. “Okay, I guess…”
“You’re making the right choice,” I said and wrapped the scarf around his head.
Hoping none of the neighbors happened to be out on the street Jimmy and I led Bob to the car and got him safely onto the back seat. The last part of our security plan was to make him lie down. Hopefully this would be enough to keep the location of the church a secret.
Jimmy drove and the three of us remained silent for the journey. To be honest the whole situation was surreal. I felt like I was taking part in a movie and didn’t know it. For goodness sake, we had a genius scientist blindfolded and lying down on the back seat! How very strange my life had become.
The church seemed to loom at us as Jimmy pulled into the tiny car park.
“Stay there a minute. I’m going to unlock the door,” I told Bob. “Jimmy will stay with you.”
“Not planning on murdering me are you?” Bob said and laughed nervously.
“Not today, anyway,” I replied, probably not helping his nerves, but I couldn’t help myself.
Jimmy laughed as I got out. Before going to the church, I checked the street briefly. Who or what was I looking for? Not entirely sure I crossed the small car park to the entrance and wrestled with the lock once more, opening the door wide. My eyes rested on the pod for a moment before indicating at Jimmy to come.
We led Bob into the church and sat him on a pew while Jimmy donned the thick gloves and retrieved the canister from the boot of the car. He staggered inside with it as I locked up.
“You can take the scarf off now,” I told Bob.
He couldn’t get it off fast enough. Bob blinked in the light, squinting and frowning as he tried to understand where he was and what he was looking at. I watched amazement dawn on him. Bob looked from the pod to the cross to the piles of pews to the pod to Jimmy and then me and back to the pod where they stayed.
“What on earth…” He got up and approached slowly.
I beamed, feeling stupidly like a proud mother. This wasn’t my machine, I needed to remember that. This was a machine I was invited to use and then pass on to another needy person. My smile grew wider as the scientist circled the room, his eyes not leaving the pod.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Jimmy asked before crouching down at the back.
Bob nodded, words evading him as he reached out and touched the smooth metal.
“Come have a look at this.”
Bob went around to where Jimmy was and I watched his eyes widen. “Wow,” he said finally. “Just wow.”
He sat on the floor next to Jimmy, hardly even blinking. His eyes darted around, making me think he was soaking up all the details he could. Maybe Bob had a photographic memory. If he remembered the way the innards of the machine were, what harm could it cause us and this machine? Feeling a little uneasy I got up and stood behind him. “Shouldn’t we be topping up the gas?”
“It’s a vapor,” Bob told me with a wave of his hand.
“Same bloody difference,” I said, but neither of them was listening. “Just top up the vapor and let’s get out of here. I don’t want to be in here any longer than we need to.”
“Can you bring the canister; I want to study this a little longer.”
Jimmy got up and hefted the container over. Bob seemed done with his mind snapshots or whatever he was up to and the two of them hooked up the pipe to the valve my father had installed.
“You two might want to step back in case there’s a leak or something.”
“Not going to blow it up, are you.” Jimmy laughed, but stepped back nonetheless.
“No chance. But the cold burns. You wouldn’t want that.”
I sat on a pew, curling my legs up under me and waiting for Bob to do his bit. How would he know when it was full? What if he overfilled the system and damaged it even more? Feeling a distinct lack of control over the pod and the journey I had unwittingly caused it, I hugged my arms around me and did the only thing I could. I hoped for the best.
Bob attached the tube from the canister to the pipe on the pod. With his thick gloves back on, he slowly turned the release valve. I’d done a little research and now knew that this was the stuff they put in those fancy cocktails in some of the bars in Liverpool. Some people had been hurt by it. The stuff was cold, so cold it froze anything.
Jimmy stood to the side of me, watching intently as Bob turned the valve another notch. “How will you know when it’s full?”
“I’m not sure. The tubing might pop off. That’s why I asked you to stand away.”
A vision of the church with a layer of freezing fog hiding the floor made me think of music videos from the 80s. Just needed Duran Duran to come in and blast out one of the early techno songs.
“I know how to test it.” Of course, I had the answer all along. “Turn off the nitrogen stuff and take off the tubing.”
“And why would I do that?” Bob seemed irritated. I wondered if I’d interrupted further mental mapping of the insides of the pod. To be honest, I was surprised he’d not taken out his phone and snapped a few shots on the camera.
“Because if you close the hatch at the back the machine will talk and tell you how much it needs.”
Bob frowned. “Exactly where did this machine come from?”
“Look, just do as I say.”
Bob turned the valve to stop the vapor and removed the tube. Jimmy came up behind him and showed the scientist how to close the panel and reseal the machine.
“Power restarting. Diagnostics initiating.” My lovely machine started up.
Unsure of where to put himself, Bob backed up, listening for more.
“Pressure in the nanoparticle chamber is 60% and not high enough for functionality. Recommend recharging the system with nitrogen vapor. Nanoparticle density is 50% and not high enough for functionality. Recommend recharging with MicroHealth nanoparticles. Please contact MicroHealth representative for necessary repairs.”
“Wow,” Bob said. “This has to be from the future. You know what this means? A discovery like this? It’ll change the views of the world. It’ll heal the world.” He brushed his hand along the smooth hull. “If this confirms actual time travel…” His voice petered off as he circled around to the back. “You two at a safe distance?”
“Yup,” I said and watched from the pew as Bob set up the vapor for a second time. He filled for a timed minute then closed it down again, shut the panel and listened for the machine’s voice.
“Power restarting. Diagnostics initiating.”
Bob stayed where he was this time and listened.
“Pressure in the nanoparticle chamber is 65% and not high enough for functionality. Recommend recharging the system with nitrogen vapor. Nanoparticle density is 50% and not high enough for functionality. Recommend recharging with MicroHealth nanoparticles. Please contact MicroHealth representative for necessary repairs.”
The scientist muttered to himself for a second, then reattached the canister and set the timer on his watch going as he turned the release valve. We sat in silence as Bob pumped in the gas. It didn’t take long for me to get bored of watching him, and my attention turned to the cross. The sun was skimming the top of the building across the road and coming through the top of the stained glass windows. Despite the layers of dirt I could still pick out colors as they covered Christ in a rainbow. Made me want to pay a window cleaner, I wanted to see the church bathed in color.
I was about to say as much to Jimmy when Bob’s watch beeped. For a third time he shut down the process and closed the hatch.
“Power restarting. Diagnostics initiating.”
Would it be enough? I tapped my fingers on the wood, waiting for the answer.
“Pressure in the nanoparticle chamber is 92% and not high enough for functionality. Recommend recharging the system with nitrogen vapor. Nanoparticle density is 50% and not high enough for functionality. Recommend recharging with MicroHealth nanoparticles. Please contact MicroHealth r
epresentative for necessary repairs.”
“I’m playing it safe,” Bob said. “I’ll go slow from here. My guess is the machine has a tolerance. If I can charge the system to the point where that tolerance is reached then that part of the machine will be operable again. Then it’s up to me to produce more of the nanoparticles.”
Jimmy settled down as Bob hooked the pod back up. I stayed on the pew for the next cycle of filling and testing (now up to 94% and still non-functional) but the cross, with Christ and his rainbow coating kept drawing my attention.
Rounding the pod, and more than a little wary of being frozen by escaped vapor, I approached what was left of the altar. My emotions took me by surprise as I stood there, staring up at the wooden carving of Jesus, with his crown of thorns and the pain so effectively etched onto his face.
Not even realizing what I was doing, I dropped to my knees and put my hands together. I hadn’t been to church since I was at school, didn’t have a clue about prayers, so I simply said: “Please help us.”
A hand touched my shoulder and I looked up to see Jimmy standing there. “You think this’ll help?”
I let out a snort. “No idea. But it can’t hurt, can it?”
Jimmy stared up at the cross, and the expected teasing didn’t materialize. Instead he kneeled down beside me and put his hands together as well. “I thought it really strange when I first saw the pod in the middle of a church. Thought that whoever put it here had a wicked sense of humor. But I think I get it now. It’s all about hope, isn’t it? Hope and miracles. What better place than a church for the pod?”
I nodded, my eyes filling with tears. The rainbow was moving on as the sun rose higher. Behind us the machine said it was now 96% full and still hungry.
“Do you remember the Lord’s Prayer?” Jimmy asked.
I thought hard and realized I did. The words had been ingrained by daily recitals in school. I confirmed with a nod.
“Join me then?” Jimmy asked.
As one we spoke, our voices carrying through the church: “Our Father, who art in Heaven.”
“Power restarting. Diagnostics initiating. Pressure in the nanoparticle chamber is 99% and functionality is restored. Nanoparticle density is 50% and not high enough for functionality. Estimated time to recharge nanoparticles is fifteen days. Recommend recharging with MicroHealth nanoparticles. Please contact MicroHealth representative.”
Sitting quietly, propped up against the wall and staring into the half closed eyes of Jesus, I didn’t react at first to the machine.
“I’ve done it!” Bob shouted out. He sounded more surprised than I would have thought. Didn’t he know what he was doing?
“It’s fixed?” I joined him beside the machine. “Not the nanoparticles, at least not yet, but the nitrogen vapor issue?”
“Didn’t you hear what it said?” Bob was almost jumping up and down.
Jimmy and I glanced at each other and simultaneously shook our heads.
“The pod said what it always says, didn’t it?” Jimmy asked.
“How did you miss that? This is… wow.” Bob hopped about, one hand on the hull.
“Can you make it repeat itself?” I pointed to the back. “Open and close the hatch.”
“Yes, yes, yes!” Bob was going to have a heart attack if he didn’t calm down. The scientist dashed to the rear of the pod and opened and closed the panel to the engine. “Listen,” he said, and stood there, arms crossed, beaming at us.
The voice started to speak: “Power restarting. Diagnostics initiating.”
No difference there.
The machine continued: “Pressure in the nanoparticle chamber is 99% and functionality is restored. Nanoparticle…”
“That’s fantastic…” I was cut off by Bob.
“Shush, keep listening,” he said, one hand up to silence us.
“…not high enough for functionality. Estimated time to recharge nanoparticles is fifteen days. Recommend recharging with MicroHealth nanoparticles. Please contact MicroHealth representative.”
For a moment no one spoke. Then Jimmy let out a whoop and ran over to Bob. He gave him a man-squeeze then rushed at me.
“I told you it would be okay, did you hear that?” Jimmy picked me up and jigged about. “It’s self-healing. Now the pressure is okay, it’s growing its own nano-stuff! Fifteen days!””
No words came to me, I couldn’t quite believe the machine.
Jimmy dropped me and back-slapped Bob, the two men grinning manically. “You’re going to be fixed, Kath. All better, good as new!” he yelled back at me. “Two weeks, that’s it, two weeks and you’ll be healthy again!”
I’d collapsed onto one of the pews and sat there staring at the machine. Cured, remission. I was beginning to love those words.
Bob separated from Jimmy and circled the machine, stroking the hull of the pod as he walked. “This is one hell of a machine. I have to know, where did it come from?”
“We actually have no idea. I was given a key to the church and told to fix myself under the agreement that I’d pass the key on to the next person.”
“Does that mean…” Bob looked from me to Jimmy and then back again. “Does that mean you’ve got cancer?”
Not sure how a man as smart as him hadn’t figured that out already, I nodded. “But things are looking much better for me after a few sessions in there.”
“How better?”
“I had lots of tumors in both my lungs and my liver. Now I’ve only got two left. Even if the machine broke completely and you never figured out how to make enough particles to recharge the system I’ve got treatments open to me now that I could only dream of before.” My emotions threatened to take control. I took a moment to steady myself. “The docs are talking surgery.”
The pod seemed to grow and fill the room. There’d be no surgery. In two weeks from now I’d have that last session in the pod to wipe out the cancer and wouldn’t have to face the needles and recovery and fresh scars driving me mad with that itch. No worry about infections or MRSA or overworked nurses. No days in the hospital wondering if one of those terrible complications I had to sign off on would happen to me. No seeing people further down the cancer path and knowing that was my future as well.
“Wow.” Bob walked around to the open side of the pod. “How does it work?”
I touched the hidden panel and the lid opened. “The patient takes their shoes off and climbs in. Then when they place their hand on the panel,” I pointed to the place as it came into view, “the lid closes. The machine does a scan and tells the person how many sessions it needs to fix them.”
“That’s it? Does it hurt? Does it use needles?”
“You know, I have no idea how it got the stuff into my system. There’s no pain or injections, just feeling better afterwards.”
“That’s why it has to be self-charging. I bet it pumps the pod full of nanoparticles and continuously grows its own supply. Amazing.” Bob was muttering again. “Have you had a go?” Bob turned to Jimmy.
Jimmy laughed. “No, mate. Not sure I’d want to.”
How could he not want to? I frowned at him. Hadn’t two years of watching the downside of not being diagnosed early been enough for him?
“But it’s probably something I should do eventually,” Jimmy added with a sheepish look.
Ah, I thought. Bigging himself up in front of the scientist.
“Fair enough.” Bob touched the mattress and recoiled as it expanded around his fingers.
“The scanner still works.” I crossed my arms and waited for a reaction.
Jimmy was first. “How do you know that?”
“Found out when I was here with Dad. It confirmed what the MRI said.”
“Could I have a go?” Bob was already untying his shoes. He climbed in and lay there as the foam grew around him. “What now?”
I shook my head gently. Hadn’t he been listening? “Put your hand up there.” I pointed.
Moments later, the lid was lowering.
“Diagnosing.”
Bob was young. I doubted it would find anything at all.
“Patient is confirmed as having fasted for minimum of eight hours. Elevated blood sugar level of 6.7 mmol/l detected. Diagnosis of prediabetes. One session required to repair pancreas.”
I slid to the edge of my seat, listening. After all the cancer repairs the machine had made, and what it had found with my dad, part of me had decided this machine was for that disease only.
“Session can begin after required recharging of nanoparticles. Shall we end the session?”
Bob said yes and the lid opened. “Good thing I didn’t stop for breakfast.” He slapped Jimmy on the arm. “You know, I thought I was peeing a bit too much,” he said with a grin. “I love this machine.”
Somehow I had to get Sally out of the hospital. The machine would balance her brain chemicals or something, and she’d be fixed, happy, normal. Fifteen days. That’s all. Just fifteen short days, I thought, and smiled.
High on the thought of curing Sally of her depression, I turned on Jimmy. “Right, your turn.”
“Oh, no…” He looked sideways at the pod. “Not really interested right now.”
Bob smirked as he laced up his trainers. “Afraid of the big bad machine?”
“No…” Jimmy took a cautious step towards it. “I just don’t want to go in right now.”
I knew this side of Jimmy, the refusal to try anything new until he was absolutely good and ready.
“Why wouldn’t you want to go in right now?” I asked.
Taking a few steps towards the exit, he waved a hand dismissively. “I’ve got to get back to work.” He checked his phone. “Got a meeting with my manager in half an hour. I’ve got to prepare for it.”
I stifled a laugh.
Then he dropped the ultimate Jimmy avoidance line: “Some of us have to work, you know.”
There would be no Jimmy scans today. I shook my head at Bob mouthing no. The scientist looked like he was about to start in on Jimmy in a big way. All that would do was get his back up, and I had to live with the man.
That Elusive Cure Page 13