That Elusive Cure 38

Bob attached the lead from the canister to the pipe on the pod. With his thick gloves back on, he slowly turned the release valve for the nitrogen vapour. 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. I was sure someone had been hurt by it. The stuff was cold, so cold it froze anything.

Jimmy stood to the side of me, intently watching 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 1980s. 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 I don’t want this machine broken, and 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 vapour 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 vapour. 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 vapour 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 vapour. 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 stain glass windows. Despite the layers of dirt I could still pick out colours as they covered Christ in a rainbow. Made me want to pay a window cleaner, I wanted to see the church bathed in colour.

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 vapour. Nanoparticle density is 50% and not high enough for functionality. Recommend recharging with MicroHealth nanoparticles. Please contact MicroHealth representative 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 vapour, I approached what was left of the altar. My emotions took me by surprise as I stood there, staring up at the wooden caving of Jesus, with his crown of thorns and the pain so effectively etched onto his face.

Not even realising 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 materialise. 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 humour. 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 realised I did. The words had been imprinted there 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.”