*** Challenger hadn’t been happy, traveling from London to Manchester. He disliked train travel. Not the actual means of conveyance, but the peripherals that one must endure. It was the whole matter of being incarcerated in a tobacco-filled carriage with boring, empty-headed, and ludicrously asinine samples of modern humanity that filled him with a sense of cold annoyance. When push came to shove, as indeed it did today, he bore train journeys with a stoic resolve and took refuge in his Times crossword, studiously ignoring his fellow passengers.
The premise behind the whole business appeared ridiculous when he had first seen it mooted in the pages of the popular press. A rather modest article hidden on page four of The Express caught his attention. Challenger prided himself on his ability to see a shining nugget of scientific possibility even in the most mundane of matters, which this was most certainly not. On reflection, he pondered on his wearisome journey, any reputable scientist would not want to be associated with this…well…this metaphysical and fantastical matter. But his curiosity fought a hard battle with common sense, and curiosity was the victor in this particular contest.
The train finally arrived in Manchester’s London Road station. It wheezed, clanked, and chugged the final hundred yards or so to the platform. Once outside, Challenger summoned a Unic cab from the motorized rank in favour of more traditional horse drawn ones that abounded at the front of the station. He gave the driver his desired destination, which was the Guild Hall, where the scientific demonstration was to be held.
On his advent at the Hall and having to push his way inside, it was patently obvious demonstration was more to Challenger that this particular
widely anticipated than he had envisaged. The auditorium was literally packed with the curious; however, this was not a barrier to him. With a customary snort the Professor utilized his considerable strength and a voice that could bellow like a bull when necessity arose, to force his way to the front and take up a vacant chair on the second row. A neatly folded top coat placed on the seat made no difference to Challenger. He merely picked up the offending article of clothing between thick thumb and finger and dropped it carelessly on the floor as one might with a particularly offensive item of dirty laundry. Within a few moments, the seat’s previous occupant reappeared. He made a half-hearted, blustering attempt to remonstrate with the interloper, but the look on the Professor’s face coupled with Challenger’s huge spread of shoulders made him think the better of it. The defeated man merely reached down, retrieved his crumpled coat and scuttled timidly away. With a satisfied smirk, the Professor settled back in his seat and waited for the demonstration to start.
And so it finally got underway. Challenger listened intently.
The lead speaker introduced himself as Professor Jonathan Martin from a private venture group Memoria Aeternum Ltd: “ Ladies and Gentlemen, members of the press, esteemed colleagues. An incredible method now exists,” he expounded to the rapt audience, “that through the use of an electrical analytical engine, a receptor-gauntlet, and highly specialized feedback connections, attached to key points on a human cranium, it is possible for a modern person to actually ‘feel’ what long extinct ancestors of Man had experienced in terms of emotions.”
There was a low murmur of disbelief that rippled through the audience, accompanied with a few sniggers of obvious derision. As Challenger understood it, simply put, and if Professor Martin was to be believed, an instrumentality had been privately developed that would elevate the science of archaeology and anthropology to incredible new heights. The possible implications for the newly-emerging science of forensic medicine were selfevident. However, Challenger had his private doubts as to its validity. The room fell silent as Martin began to speak again.
“ This phenomenon, good people, is achieved through direct contact of the sensory glove with a fossilized skull - or even more recent cranial bone fragments.” Professor Martin turned to encompass, with an imperious gesture that Challenger thought rather theatrical in nature, the equipment and scientific paraphernalia set up behind him. The speaker on the stage continued:“May I say, to labour a point, this technique does not allow the subject to perceive any palpable memory; although, here at Memoria Aeternum the hope is to refine the modus operandi and make it at least a possibility. To reiterate - it is only possible to feel emotions that had once existed when that ancient being was alive; the strongest of emotions elicit the greatest response in the recipient.”
There was no doubt that Professor Martin now had the full attention of the audience, Challenger noted. The speaker went on to say that the instrumentality had been named Esoteric Rapport Instigated Connection, or ERIC, as the group referred to it. The acronym was absurd, thought Challenger. It puts me in mind of a fat, sweaty, haberdashery shop owner. The whole thing smacks of super-science for the masses and the populist press will no doubt eat it up! But as the speaker continued, Challenger began to have nagging doubts as to the veracity of the man.
Professor Martin’s explanation of engrams, magnetic resonance in the sub-construction of neurons, synaptic action, and glutamate receptors… sounded like poppycock. In saying that, it began to whet his curiosity. It left Challenger feeling a little excited and somewhat intrigued.
What really fired up the audience, was when Martin called for volunteers to demonstrate the machine. Half suspecting a shill from within the audience, Challenger was up so quickly that he almost knocked a couple of protesting journalists flying on his way to the front. Yet, despite his speed, he was still not the first. An equally enthusiastic young woman seated on the front row beat him to the punch. She made her way nimbly up to the stage and was warmly welcomed by Professor Martin:
“Young lady, your haste does you credit”.
“Thank you, sir. Hopefully your apparatus justifies the scientific curiosity you have stirred in all of us here present.” “ Have no fears on that score, madam”, Professor Martin said confidently. “Here is scientific wonderment to sate the most jaded of palate!”
Jaded indeed , thought Challenger as he watched the proceedings on the stage intently with a good deal of suspicion and more than a little envy. Three of Martin’s assistants sat the woman down, then crowded busily round like worker drones servicing a queen bee, rubbing her face with cotton swabs soaked in alcohol. Several tar-sticky pads that had electrodes embedded in them were attached to the skin of her forehead and temples. Braided copper wires from those were looped into what looked like a medieval chainmail glove that was connected by more braided wires into another metallic device about the size of a large dressing table, replete with glowing dials and levers. Despite careful observation, Challenger could only guess at its function or where it was drawing its power from.
The whole process of connecting the woman to the instrumentation and having her slip on the gauntlet took about five minutes.
Professor Martin crossed over from his place at the podium and stood next to the large device; patted it lovingly, like it was a favourite hound. Turning to the assemblage, he said: “This machine is, in fact, a bridge, or, as I like to refer to it, an ‘interface’ between the sample, the human brain, and the sensory gauntlet. This machine”, he went on, “interprets faint electrical activity generated when the glove comes into physical contact with a given sample. Those signals are fed straight back into the subject’s brain, which, in turn, construes those impulses as emotional states.”
Challenger watched the proceedings unfold before him. His thoughts crystallised logically and linearly in his head, as if he was speaking them out loud. Is it possible the woman volunteer was no more than a planted stooge, placed there by Memoria Aeternum? He shook his head fiercely.No Challenger, no! That’s not the way! Reserve your judgment man. Continue your observations! Empirical data is the grounding of all true scientific proof and knowledge! Trying to excise the uncharitable and suspicious thought from his head, he fixed his attention firmly onto the stage. The woman was now listening intently to Professor Martin as he explained that a random
sample would be handed to her. Bone fragments of different sizes and colorations were arrayed in trays on the table that was brought to her side. All she had to do was sit still and keep the metal gauntlet in contact with the sample. The larger device would interpret it and her brain would do the rest.
So it began. Challenger could feel the crowd breathing as one as they leaned in to observe. Flash pans exploded as photographers started to take their pictures. As a result, the auditorium had trails of drifting, bitter, chemical smoke that added a certain mysterious ambience to the proceedings. The seated woman was handed the sample. Her fingers, encased in the shining glove, gingerly closed around a curved piece of bone.
All in all, it was a bit of an anti-climax. After a few seconds of anticipation the onlookers grew restive; nothing seemed to be occurring. The woman turned to Professor Martin in puzzlement, exclaiming that she could feel no sensation of any kind.
Somewhat brusquely, Martin told her to be patient and hold it for a while longer. She looked down to study the fragment. In the same heartbeat, she suddenly sprang up out of the heavy chair, which tipped over violently and banged noisily to the floor. She turned on Professor Martin and started to shout and scream incoherently in unbridled and unreasoned anger… eyes wide in her rage and spittle flying… her fury was totally out of proportion to any cause. The unruffled scientist had already taken a measured pace backwards, he had obviously been well prepared for the outburst.
The crowd, and more especially the press, delighted by the antics of the subject, moved forward in anticipation, a general excited chatter broke out amongst them.
The young woman’s arms began to wave wildly. At a signal from Professor Martin, the assistant manning the larger machine dropped a lever. Challenger noted that a few of the lit dials lost their luminescence. The change in the woman was miraculous. Her balled fists, still raised, fell slowly back to her sides, fingers unclenching. Her shoulders dropped and her eyes returned to a more normal appearance. The woman was guided back to the chair, which had now been righted, and still looking a little dazed, sat down. The bone fragment was taken from her. Challenger watched this unfold in rapt attention. Could this possibly be real? If it were not, he had never witnessed a more convincing performance from an actress.
Professor Martin addressed the audience again, once everyone settled down. He informed them that they had just witnessed a successful, if somewhat dramatic, merging of a sample and a human brain, via the instrumentation. In this particular case, the skull fragment the female volunteer had been holding was from an adolescent male who lived approximately 12,000 years ago in the Arizona area of the North American Continent. He added that the emotion this particular fragment yielded was unbridled rage and aggression; it was precisely why the young woman behaved the way she did. The transferred emotion was overwhelming, which was not at all unusual, he added, when first experienced by a test subject.
Professor Martin then turned to the woman and asked her if she would like to try again. Although she had somewhat regained her composure, her enthusiasm was gone. She was quite pale and was fiercely yanking off the shiny metallic glove from her hand. She got up, shaking her head in the negative, and pushed her way to the back of the room, several reporters in her wake trying to ask her questions, which she ignored, obviously still very shaken by her involvement.
Challenger couldn’t care less; he stepped closer, eager to try this fascinating experience, to see if it indeed were real and not some cheap, well presented production. As she was walking away, he had already mentally dismissed her and was already pushing himself forward. Somewhat surprisingly, he found himself on stage. He had half expected to be passed over for a second shill, but he had not been. He sat down in the same seat the woman had vacated. Extending his hand for a conventional greeting, Professor Martin asked, “And your name, sir, for the benefit of the assembled audience? “ Challenger replied– “I am George Edward Challenger.” “Ah”, Martin raised his eyebrow:“have I sir, the honour of addressing the Professor Challenger? The same one of some scientific repute?” The audience laughed as Challenger replied tersely, his voice carrying clearly across the hall, “…and of no small notoriety, sir. As I’m sure the gentlemen of the press here can well testify to.”Martin smoothly replied to that comment, as if the pair were a well-rehearsed comedic double-act on the music hall stage. “May I inquire, are you here to discover if our claims are justified, Professor Challenger? To ascertain if this a genuine, bona fide scientific process, or mere false flummery?” Challenger glibly retorted, “Sir, a watched grocer, I have invariably found, will predictably keep his thumb off the scale. Let me just say that I’m here as an independent observer - to keep you honest.”
More laughter washed onto the stage from the audience. The brief verbal exchange finished, and at Professor Martin’s invitation, Challenger tolerated the same regimen as the previous test subject had. The wires were a little intrusive and he felt slightly claustrophobic as they were momentarily draped around his face while being adjusted, but that quickly passed when they were positioned correctly. Finally, the sensory gauntlet was placed on his eager hand and he was ready. A bone shard was passed to Challenger. He grasped it lightly as instructed. At first, nothing happened; then, a strange sensation crept into his mind - like when one first awoke and tried to recall a dream. The harder he tried, the more elusive it became. So, with a deep breath he willed himself to relax and think of nothing.
Instantaneously, he was flooded with an intense feeling of sorrow. He had never experienced anything as awful as this. An incredible sense of loneliness pervaded his being. Challenger was the last human alive in an empty and hostile universe. He was utterly alone in the barren waste that was his existence; cold, friendless and dying in a miserable darkness. It was an agony of loss too deep for words. His head came back, and a primal wail of pure undiluted longing forced its way up his throat and out of his mouth.
There was a gasp from the onlookers, but they did not exist as far as Challenger was concerned. He was truly alone. Mercifully, a scientist pulled the lever and shut off the machine. The appalling sensations that Challenger was experiencing ceased. He was in no doubt. This instrumentality did exactly what Memoria Aeternum Ltd claimed it did. It was quite fantastic! Challenger was bursting with questions, but kept them firmly inside for the moment. He could not fully comprehend it as yet; and as intense as the experience was, it had been absolutely incredible! More! He wanted more!
Questions were being hurled at him from several journalists
- and he declined to respond. Instead, he swivelled eagerly round in the chair, asking Professor Martin if he could try a different sample. The scientist agreed and his minions gathered round the trays to provide one.
Professor Martin stepped forward and explained to the audience that the fragment Challenger had experienced was from a middle-aged female who died in the Eastern European region that was now Ukraine, roughly nine and a half thousand years past.
One young journalist at the very front of the auditorium, who introduced himself as Tom Mason from the Manchester Herald asked the pertinent, and on the face of it, not unreasonable question how did the scientists, while developing this extraordinary technique, know what the actual reaction in a subject would be? He followed up with another quick interrogative that did not give the chance for Professor Martin to answer the first part immediately. A clever tactic on the reporter’s part thought Challenger; wasn’t it dangerous to infuse someone who was unprepared with such obviously powerful emotions? The two-part question, Challenger realized, was posed in such a way as to illicit a possible sensational response from Professor Martin; which, no doubt, would make for an equally sensational headlines. If Martin had noted this manoeuvre on the journalist’s part, he gave no indication that he had done so. He merely patiently explained to the young man that every bone sample used had been rigorously tested. There had never been any unanticipated effects in several years of experimentation. It was perfectly safe and
harmless. The worst that could happen, he went on to say, is that no reaction would be derived. To demonstrate the point he went back to the table containing the bone fragments.
He came back and held up a large, curved piece of bone, the occipital ridge clearly visible. This, he said, was a male, aged between nineteen and twenty-eight years old at the time of death. The fragment, he elucidated, was approximately twenty-two thousand years old and like the first sample, came from the North American Continent. This particular piece has been tested on several occasions and on different subjects, yet no response has ever been noted. They were still trying to determine why that should be.
Acting on impulse, Challenger held out his metallic-gloved hand, asking if he could try it himself. Shrugging, Professor Martin indicated to the assistant who was operating the machine and upon getting the nod that all was prepared, the apparently inert fragment was handed to the volunteer. Professor Challenger gripped it lightly, as he had done with the first piece of bone.
Lightning instantly exploded in Challenger’s brain. The room dissolved into glittering whirling shards of light, crystalline razors that cruelly and intensely slashed into living flesh; so deeply, in fact, that they grated on bone, yet he felt no pain. The auditorium was gone. Suddenly, it was cold night and icy droplets from a frozen sky spattered wetly onto his dithering body. He was terrified, creeping deep in the forest where no light shone. There was only wet foliage, and the all too familiar stink of his pursuer for company.
It was coming. Run! Run!! Terror lent him unexpected speed. He crashed through thin branches that whipped his numb flesh, he careened off larger boughs, rough bark mercilessly scourging his skin. His breath came in tortured gasps, filling his chest with fire. He stumbled, slipped, and then rolled down an unseen steep slope, throwing up wet leaves and dank moss as he tumbled over a ground that consisted of half-frozen slush. His fall was suddenly stopped by a large jutting rock. His ribs were smashed the instant he impacted with it; splintered lances of bone pierced his lung but he hardly felt it - his terrible dread masked any pain. Lightning flashed again, this time not in Challenger’s head but all around him; at the top of the slope a monstrous shape crouched, etched in the light from the storm. Its giant shoulders were quivering, its huge frame tensed, and ready to leap and tear him apart. The lightning flickered again reflecting off massive tusks; the animal’s soulless eyes held a sharp, luminous, yellow hue that penetrated the stygian blackness. He prepared for its spring, but the creature changed its mind. It began a sinuously lazy stalk down to where he lay. Its huge pads were sure and deliberate on the treacherous surface as it crept ever nearer.
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