The feeling was mutual, I thought.
“But that was only because I didn’t understand what terrible suffering you had been going through and what an awful predicament your life had so shockingly and suddenly become.”
He looked at me and shook his head to himself.
“Honestly, mate,” he said, “I don’t know how you put up with it.”
I shrugged but was quite pleased that someone was finally trying to understand how I felt in all this.
“And, Dave,” said Daryl with a little chuckle. “Of course I didn’t know what you were doing out there in our garden. How could I? Neither you nor my mother would tell me.”
“Fair enough,” I said.
“But it was extremely lucky that you did come to my house,” he continued. “Because if you hadn’t, my team never could have developed this.”
Now he picked up the document satchel thingy he had with him and proceeded to take out a large A3 sheet of white paper. He held it up so everyone could see the intricate diagram on it. Of course, I hadn’t the foggiest what it meant. It looked a little like those images they sometimes put on ads for cleaning wipes or zit wipes, a barrier of something with lots of little dots trying to get through and some super-smart-looking molecules or whatnot putting up a sort of a lattice of shields to stop them.
“This,” he said theatrically, “is the latest iteration of a revolutionary material in development by my company. We’re calling it Super-Strong-Poly-Mega-Dega-Carbon-Alloy. That’s not the official name, of course, but as nerds we need something dramatic to call it to keep our nerd juices flowing.”
There was a general murmur of laughter round the room, from me included.
“Please go ahead and laugh,” he said. “That last part was a joke, but rest assured, it is no joke when I tell you this is the strongest substance known to man. Designed with the help of the latest AI brains and utilising a state-of-the-art atom-dense superstructure, this is the stuff that will take us to Mars and back.”
There was a hush round the room.
“Mr York,” said the judge. “This is not a sales pitch, and whilst I do find it fascinating, we all have business outside this courtroom and I am sure we could all benefit from you speeding up on your approach to the point. How does this all relate to Mr Smith?”
“Of course, your honour,” said Daryl with a nod. “In fact, I was just getting to that.”
He looked at me again now.
“Dave,” he said. “After you left, I went to the field and tested your urine on our material. In fact, I called in some of my colleagues and we tested it on a variety of materials. It was very lucky that you took a pee that morning because we discovered that your urine is quite remarkable. It’s extremely dangerous, of course, as you already know, but it’s also more than just that. It is, we believe, the most destructive substance known to man.”
There was another hush, various people breathing in sharply.
“Moreover,” Daryl continued, “it clearly breaks all the known rules of chemistry, physics and biology. What is happening to you is, quite simply, amazing. It shouldn’t be happening, but it is.”
“Mr York, please, we have heard all this from other testimonies.”
“Yes, your honour,” said Daryl. “I just want to underline that I have studied the urine myself and come to these same conclusions.”
He turned back to me.
“Alright, Dave, I’ll level with you. I do not have the answer, and however indestructible my Super-Strong-Poly-Mega-Dega-Carbon-Alloy is, it is still no match for your urine. However, it showed considerable resistance, to the order of hundreds of times above any other material I tested, including steel, titanium, tungsten and inconel.”
“Eh?” I said.
“These are the strongest metals in the world.”
“Oh.”
“So here’s my pitch to you, Dave. My Super-Strong . . .” He looked around. “My material,” he said, “has the potential to resist your urine. It already does resist it, to a certain extent, and can be used as a temporary buffer to shield externals.”
“Eh?” I said.
“You can wee in it and it won’t turn to mush straight away,” he explained. “It currently lasts for ten minutes or so, enough time to transport the deadly urine and dispose of it somewhere it can do no harm.”
“Oh,” I said. “That sounds good.”
“Yes,” said Daryl. “But what I want to say is, I believe with further study we can develop our material so that it becomes fully resistant—or rather, resistant enough so that you’d never have to worry again. With further strengthening, we can develop a toilet and plumbing and tanks for you so that you can live like a normal person, go to the loo when you need, and not have to worry about bringing down buildings or trees or any of the other terrible things you have had to deal with.”
“Right,” I said.
That did sound good, I had to admit.
“What’s more, Dave,” continued Daryl, “we understand how difficult this has been for you. We won’t pretend it’s going to be easy moving forwards, but we want to make life as liveable for you as possible. Therefore, we would offer you much more than a just a stipend.” He said this to deliberately mock the other fellow, Clive, and I loved him for that. “We would offer you a full salary, a very generous one, in the high five figures, and also shares in our company. You would be an essential part of our success, should you join, and we would want to reward you properly for that.”
“Really?” I said, shocked.
“Yes, Dave,” he said. “I’m being serious. We want you on board. We need you. The only question is, will you help us?”
“Er—” I was going to say yes, of course, but he wouldn’t let me get a word in edgeways.
“Just let me know if there is anything else you want or need and we can talk about it,” he continued. “I am sure we can accommodate anything you request. As I mentioned, we are an Omega Group company. I should say, the Group is aware of these proceedings and has been extremely supportive of me. Believe me, there are people all around the world just as keen as I am to see you on board. Join us, Dave. You will be well looked after.”
Then he went silent and stepped back to his seat.
I took a deep breath. It wasn’t that there was any doubt in my answer, but my head was spinning with it all. Five figures, shares, everything I ever wanted. It was like winning the lottery!
CHAPTER 18
“MR SMITH,” SAID THE JUDGE. “You have now heard the petitions and the court has heard all the relevant testimonies. Before you make your decision, I must first put it to all the other parties present. Does anyone here have any further points or objections to make, specifically with regards these petitions?”
“I do, your honour.”
It was that Clive bloke, who I must say looked rather miffed.
“Yes, Mr Woodbridge?”
“Well, your honour,” said Clive, “I do believe there has been a breach of procedure. We were not provided any early samples and have had no contact with the substance. Mr York, on the other hand, has clearly had significant access.”
“Mr Woodbridge,” said the judge seriously. “You are quite aware of the circumstances in which that access took place. Mr York was not provided with anything. He merely had the good fortune—or some might say bad fortune—for his garden to be soiled.”
There was a murmur of laughter at this.
“But, your honour,” Clive pressed, “if this was known, then why was my institute not informed and provided with a similar sample to ensure a level playing field?”
“I am afraid that we did not know either, Mr Woodbridge,” said the judge.
“Well,” said Mr Woodbridge. “Shouldn’t you have?”
Some people coughed and muttered.
“There are always certain things outside a court’s control, Mr Woodbridge,” said the judge. “And advantages and disadvantages on both sides, I should say.”
Mr Woodbridg
e didn’t look happy at this at all.
“Does anyone else have anything to add?” said the judge, looking across the room.
“Yes, sir,” said Clive again.
“Alright, Mr Woodbridge, what is it?”
“I don’t believe the court is properly factoring in the national benefits—nay, imperatives—of giving Mr Smith in custody to a state-funded institute over a private and, I should say, rather shadowy international investment network such as the Omega Group.”
“What do you mean?” said the judge with a frown.
“Simply put, sir, Britain needs this. With Mr Smith at our disposal, the Institute for Advanced Materials can become the world leader in materials research. We can take our place at the top of the pile and regenerate the country as we sorely need to. Think of all the jobs we can create if we control the production of the strongest materials, the most potent substances. It can put us back on the map, make us great manufacturers again.”
There was a murmur all around now.
“On the other hand, your honour,” Clive continued, “if we give control of such a resource to Mr York, his ridiculously named company and the Omega network, we risk losing everything. I would also add that we do not really know the true intentions of this Omega Group or where the power in that organisation truly lies—”
“It’s just a network, Clive,” said Daryl now. “Free collaboration between the best minds in the world. Foreigners are involved, yes, including those not fortunate enough to be born in the West, but it’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“The best minds, Daryl, are in universities,” said Clive acidly. “And Britain has the best universities.”
“Like Cambridge?” said Daryl.
“Yes, exactly.”
Daryl shook his head and huffed.
“Just because you were not good enough—”
“Mr Woodbridge,” said the judge sternly. “Kindly refrain from making this discussion personal.”
I glanced at Daryl, and he glanced back, a pleading look on his face.
“My apologies, your honour,” said Clive. “I merely wished to point out that we would be doing our nation a great disservice by handing over such a potentially game-changing asset to a single private, profit-driven company.”
“May I counter that please?” said Daryl. “We are a British company, just as much as your institute. British owned and British run. This country has always prospered because it supports free enterprise and is not afraid of it, as you appear to be.”
“The Omega Group is not British—”
“The Omega Group is simply a collaborative network. It means we can benefit from the knowledge and experiences of others around the world, who provide us with much-needed investment to achieve our dreams. It helps us. And we have to take all the help we can get, since we cannot rely on government handouts and taxpayers’ hard-earned—”
“How dare you!” raged Clive.
“Both of you will be silent now!”
The judge’s words were final, of course, and both of them shut up. I was a little sad as I was quite enjoying seeing them bare their teeth, but I suppose it was a little over the top. It showed me how much they truly wanted my wee, which was, I supposed, a little bit disgusting, though I was well past worrying about things like that.
“I think we’ve heard enough now,” said the judge. “Mr Woodbridge, I am sorry, but this is indeed a free country and one that is a firm supporter of free enterprise, as Mr York points out. From where I am sitting, I am not able to compel the decision you want, and even if the government or authorities themselves were to agree with you, they too would need a solid justification in law. A desire to support our national institutions is not, I am afraid, enough to decide the fate of a man.”
Clive sat slumped in his chair, accepting defeat.
“And now, Mr Smith,” said the judge, looking at me. “Since we have no other objections, the time has come for you to make your decision. You have heard all the arguments. Perhaps you were swung one way or another. Please inform this court of your thoughts.”
I took a deep breath. Margaret leaned over to me and whispered.
“May I?” she said.
“Course,” I said.
She addressed the judge. “Your honour, can I just clarify that my client is not obliged necessarily to choose either of the petitions? And if he does not wish to, what would be his status then? I assume he would still be the responsibility of the state. Clearly, though, state institutions are not keen to take on that responsibility.”
The judge shuffled in his seat.
“Well, Mrs Trundle,” he replied. “You are correct. If Mr Smith were to reject both offers, he would remain as he is now, in the custody of the police, and his future arrangements would require further discussion.”
He was looking at me now, twinkly eyes hard.
“Thank you, your honour,” Margaret said and sat down.
“Alright, Mr Smith,” said the judge. “Please let us know your thoughts.”
I cleared my throat.
“Simple, your honour,” I said. “I’ll go with Daryl. Mr York, that is.”
I looked over, and once again, Daryl gave me a little smile.
*****
Sometimes things all just come together. At least, I’ve heard people say that, although I’d never experienced it for myself. And when I saw that winning smile on Daryl’s face as I gave them my decision, I felt sure things were coming together for me finally. Not only would I be able to pee in peace, but I’d also be rich. I’d be set up for life.
Everyone stood up and there were a few minutes of awkward chit-chat.
Margaret turned to me and offered her hand.
“Good luck with everything,” she said as we shook hands.
“Thanks,” I said. “You too.”
She raised a tired eyebrow and shot out of the place.
I stood up and sort of hung there for a minute. I wasn’t sure what the next steps were exactly.
Butter and DCI Hollingsworth approached me, Butter carrying a black bin liner.
“Well, Dave,” he said with a smile, chewing his eternal toothpick. “I told you things would work out. Looks like you’ve found your ticket.”
“I suppose so,” I said.
“You’re bloody lucky, I say,” said Butter.
“Yeah, yeah, alright,” I said.
I was lucky, I knew, in a strange sort of way. But now that I had made the decision, I hardly believed I was going to be receiving all this salary from Daryl and everything. It didn’t seem real.
“No need to go getting into any more trouble either,” said DCI Hollingsworth.
“And lay off the Mars bars, eh?” added Butter.
“I’ll try not to,” I said.
I could have murdered one at that point.
“Well, okay then. Time to say our goodbyes. Here’s your stuff back. Not that you had much.”
Butter handed me the bin liner and I realised that that was that. No more trips to the field with Butter.
“What? Am I going with him right now?”
“Of course, Dave,” said DCI Hollingsworth. “We can’t keep on using up resources on you. We’ve got real criminals to catch.”
“You won’t miss the cell,” said Butter. “Maybe Meg’s cooking though.”
“Goodbye, Dave,” said DCI Hollingsworth, extending a hand.
I shook it, feeling utterly adrift, like a teddy bear that had lost its owner.
“I will miss our little drives,” said Butter, also offering me his hand, which I shook.
“Seriously?” said DCI Hollingworth.
“It’s nice to get away from the desk.”
“Whatever . . .” She shook her head.
And they walked away.
“Goodbye,” I said.
*****
After that, the room emptied and I was alone with Daryl.
“I am so pleased you made the right choice,” he said, picking up his satchel.
Daryl did a little laugh.
“I’ve known Clive for years,” he said. “He’s not so bad, but he can be quite arrogant. That’s for sure.”
“Not like you,” I said.
“Well,” he said with a little smile, “depends who you talk to.”
“Fair enough,” I said.
“Come on then.”
He walked to the exit and I followed him out into the corridor and to the lifts.
We didn’t talk as the lift descended. Daryl was checking his phone and I was considering the contents of the bag Butter had given me. I’d been wearing police-issue grey slacks for the past couple of weeks, but I’d only been wearing Daryl’s dad’s Gant wear when they arrested me. So it would only be those unfashionable items plus my phone in the bag. The clothes I would dump, of course, but there was the question of what I would do once I got the phone charged. Who would I call and what would I say? Or would I call anyone at all? Was there any point? Maybe just Martin, I thought, though I did recall that his parents had wanted to press charges. What a mess it all was, really.
The lift opened in the basement and Daryl walked out through the corridor and into the car park. I followed. Outside was parked that big car the doc had driven me in those weeks before. Daryl lifted a hand and I heard the beep as he unlocked it. He opened the boot, we put our stuff in, and then both of us climbed into the high throne front seats of that beast.
Daryl drove us out of the car park and onto the High Street. The radio was playing classical music, just as it had before, and I felt a little sleepy, reminded of that awful day when the doc had picked me up, the feeling of relief after that awful episode with the tramp, being rescued.
“It’ll be nice to see the doc again,” I said with a yawn. “Your mum, I mean. I hope there are no hard feelings.”
Daryl turned to me as he drove.
“We’re going to my facility, Dave,” he said. “In London.”
The ground seemed to fall away beneath my feet.
“London?”
“Yes, of course.”
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