That Elusive Cure 51

I went to the machine early Monday. With my mobile in my pocket I both wanted and didn’t want a call from Wendy. My sleep that night had been fitful. I kept dreaming of Sally lying in her hospital bed, the pain uncontrolled. The doctor spoke with Wendy and me before we left Sunday night. He was surprised she’d pulled through as many days as she had. If she got through today there chances of her surviving the overdose began to rise.

That was why I was here, in the church, at six o’clock in the morning. For a while I didn’t touch the pod. I didn’t want it to say what I knew it would. That it wasn’t fixed and wouldn’t be until tomorrow. More than ever, Sally needed the damn pod to be working.

I’d made a deal with God and Jesus. I’d asked them to keep Sally going, and they seemed to be keeping up with their side of the deal. I sat on the pew, miraculous machine and religious symbol filling my sight. If I ignored the dust and piles of pews, the neglect and the lack of love the church had suffered from for goodness knows how long, I could see the way the church interior would be after I was done repairing it. No more peeling paint on Jesus. The red velvet replaced where you kneeled. The altar refurbished. To be honest I couldn’t remember ever being in a church other than for births, deaths and marriages so wasn’t entirely sure what needed to be done, or even what was missing.

Finally I got up and went to the back of the machine. I opened the hatch, waited a few seconds and then closed it.

The machine spoke, the voice seeming loud in the quiet church. “Power restarting. Diagnostics initiating. Pressure in the nanoparticle chamber is 99% and functionality is restored. Nanoparticle density is 97% and not high enough for functionality. Estimated time to recharge nanoparticles is one day. Recommend recharging with MicroHealth nanoparticles. Please contact MicroHealth representative.”

“No. You’re wrong.”

I opened and closed the hatch again.

The machine repeated her diagnosis. Still one day to go.

I opened and closed the hatch a third time.

The voice told me the same information. 97% full of nanoparticles. One day to recharge. Stupid machine.

I opened and slammed the hatch closed.

The words repeated.

“No! Tell me something different!” I shouted and opened and slammed the hatch closed.

The same words. I had them memorised. I could say them along with the woman.

“Be fixed!” I yelled and opened and slammed the hatch again.

On some level, I knew I was being as stupid as Jimmy when he had a yank at the pipe inside the machine. I was going to break something and then I’d be back to who knows how long until the stupid functionality was restored. I backed off, coming to rest against an askew pew. Tears didn’t flood down my cheeks, even though I felt like they should be. Sally was in the hospital and her life seemed to be hanging from the proverbial thread. I could almost picture it, a golden thread wrapped around her heart and connecting her to the heavens. When would it snap? Today? Tomorrow? Or would that golden thread somehow give her years?

I pulled my phone from my pocket and rang the ward. As ever the phone at the other end took ages before someone picked up.

“Hello, I was wondering if someone could give me some information about Sally Jones.”

“Yes, I can help. Who are you?”

“I’m Kathy Wyatt… um… one of her sisters,” I said remembering what Wendy had told me. “How is she today?”

“Just a minute, let me find her chart.”

I hung on the other end while the nurse searched for the information. The shifts changed around this time, so I guessed she was fresh on for the day shift.

“Sally is still critical, but no worse through the night.”

“Does that mean she’s beating this?” Without thinking I crossed my fingers.

“It’s too soon to say that, sorry.”

“Okay. Thanks.” I hung up and sat on the floor a while longer, until my bottom went numb and my stomach let out a rumble that reminded me that I needed to eat. Nine o’clock had come and gone. Jimmy would be up by now, working in his study and wondering where I was.

I made my way home, and found Jimmy in the kitchen making scrambled eggs for breakfast.

“I had a thought while you were gone,” he said as I walked in. “Maybe Newland had machines set up all over the country, and all of them are now being looked after by the current user, just like you? It would explain how you hear about spontaneous remissions. Maybe they’re all using pods?”

“Seriously? With everything going on right now, that’s what you think about?” I accepted the cup of tea he gave me and sat at the kitchen table.

He shrugged.

“I hadn’t thought of that, but kind of makes sense, I suppose.”

The phone rang and I froze. Bad news, good news? I picked up and with Jimmy keeping an unwavering eye on me said, “Hello?”

“It’s me, Bob. Look I have a bit of an emergency. I need some more of those nanoparticles today. I can be there just after lunch and you can take me to the pod. Do all your cloak and dagger stuff and blindfold me if it makes you feel any better.”

“Bob?” I’d all but forgotten about him. “Sorry Bob, but you can’t have any more particles.”

“It recharges, of course I can. I need them for my research. I made a break through last night, but need a fresh supply. The vial Jimmy gave me wasn’t very pure. I think that’s where I’ve been having problems. I can draw a concentrated sample using lab equipment. Don’t worry, the machine won’t be harmed.”

“Now’s not the time, Bob. Call back in a week.”

“I don’t have a week. You don’t understand, I’m on the cusp of figuring out the beauty. I need more to work with.”

“No, Bob. You’re not understanding me. Not right now.”

“Kath, this is ground breaking stuff going on here. I’d explain but you wouldn’t understand-”

I interrupted. “No, Bob. You’re the one that doesn’t understand. Look forget it. If you can’t wait a week then that’s it. Forget it.” I hung up the phone and sagged back against the chair. “What a git. Did you hear that? Couldn’t wait a week to get a new sample of particles.”

The phone rang again. Jimmy made a move to answer it, but I got there first. I was in no mood for a belligerent scientist. “What?”

“If you don’t let me get a sample I’m going to the press.”

I sat up. “Why would you do that? If you take it to the press you’ll ruin it for everyone.”

“This invention deserves to be out there and available for everyone.”

“Don’t you understand, if it became public you’d never get close to the machine again. It’d either be swallowed up by some government organisation we’ve never heard of, or it would be swamped with the sick.”

“Just let me get my sample and we don’t have to worry about either of those scenarios.”

“Are you really that much of an arsehole? Really? This is your solution?”

I was about to hang up again when Jimmy caught my arm and snatched the phone from me. He put the handset on speaker and said, “Look if you went to the press there’s a good chance they’d label you as a loony and you’d never be taken seriously as a scientist again.”

“I’ll tell them about the church.”

“Okay. Where is the church?”

There was silence from the other end for a moment. “I’ll tell them about you two.”

“And what are we going to tell them?” I said.

“What church?” Jimmy smirked at me. “I don’t know anything about a church.”

There was another pause. Then Bob said, “Fine. I’ll wait a week and then I’m phoning back, and you’d better give me access then.”

Bob hung up.

Jimmy put the handset back in the cradle. “Don’t look so concerned. Bob’s not going to do anything. He doesn’t want to lose the machine any more than we do.”

I nodded, but privately I wasn’t so sure.