infection too, but that cleared up in the jungle in Congo. Now there’s just a stupid metal box holding my ribs together.’ He was nursing his side and rocking back and forth. ‘I’m pretty much fucked up, really,’ he said, his head dropping, a broad gormless smile on his face as he luxuriated in the fingers of heat that seemed to be massaging him. ‘But, hey,’ he said, ‘you can’t expect to save the world and get out in one piece.’
Cardini let the heavenly heat of the serum take over his own thoughts. Once the effect had run its half-hour he would consider Evans’s reaction, but until then he would let the sensation of healing take him on a wonderful ride.
Jim put the bottle into his pocket. He picked up his glass of beer and drank the last few drops. It was the most amazing beer he had ever tasted. He looked at Cardini. He could see the professor’s face in exquisite detail. Every pore and line was delineated in crisp form and colour. It was how he had seen things when he was little. He had forgotten how everything had been so vivid and startling; now he was remembering. It was as if the TRT had peeled a thick layer of invisible padding from his senses. He remembered looking up with awe at the big blue sky capping the grey tower blocks of east London, the wonder of pulling at tufts of vibrant green grass pushing up by the fences of an empty building site. It was an intense world and it was now back in his mind.
‘This is scary stuff,’ he said, lying back in his seat.
‘There is nothing to be afraid of,’ said Cardini. ‘The initial effects are not long-lasting. However, any ailments you had before your dose will be addressed, not that I imagine you had many. I’m hoping to see signs of optimisation.’
‘Optimisation?’ said Jim, sitting up a little.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Cardini, his deep voice rumbling. ‘It’s just a hypothesis of mine.’
Suddenly Jim felt sleepy, as if someone was putting a warm woollen blanket over him. ‘I think I’m going to …’
Cardini regarded the young man, as his own body healed at an accelerated rate. He recalled how it had felt the first time. That had been a momentous day.
His own minor dose would rob him of a few minutes of his total life expectancy, but he needed to be at his best for McCloud. As Cardini’s patron inexorably approached the point at which he might die before a new treatment could be administered, he was becoming less and less predictable. While he might avoid the final plunge into death for perhaps thirty years, his transit around the tipping point became longer and more unpleasant.
The old man had come late to the fountain and stared death in the face for weeks at a time only to be yanked a few yards from the edge for a month or two by the serum. The stress of his closeness to death seemed to be warping his mind. For McCloud, Cardini’s miracle was no longer enough: as his health became more and more precarious, he demanded more serum, a longer, deeper return to youth. It was a demand that Cardini could not satisfy – yet.
Yet Cardini was sure he would find the answer. The secret lay in the humble jellyfish and he would unravel it, if not in time to save McCloud. He would resolve the mystery of how a humble jellyfish could throw off its old tissue and grow again anew.
Yet that was not the answer. Return to the infantile state would reset the minds of his subjects, blanking all they had learnt. Cardini had to find a physical reset that did not clear the mind of its memories and learning. The goal was an old head on a young body. If he could not achieve this, he would look to transplanting the head. That might take a century of research but it would be a solution and there was time enough for him to find it.
29
Kate’s alarm was buzzing. She came out of her reverie, shoved her hand into her bag and switched it off. She was a little confused: the time had shot by. She must have been asleep in front of the painting. Thank
Cardini let the heavenly heat of the serum take over his own thoughts. Once the effect had run its half-hour he would consider Evans’s reaction, but until then he would let the sensation of healing take him on a wonderful ride.
Jim put the bottle into his pocket. He picked up his glass of beer and drank the last few drops. It was the most amazing beer he had ever tasted. He looked at Cardini. He could see the professor’s face in exquisite detail. Every pore and line was delineated in crisp form and colour. It was how he had seen things when he was little. He had forgotten how everything had been so vivid and startling; now he was remembering. It was as if the TRT had peeled a thick layer of invisible padding from his senses. He remembered looking up with awe at the big blue sky capping the grey tower blocks of east London, the wonder of pulling at tufts of vibrant green grass pushing up by the fences of an empty building site. It was an intense world and it was now back in his mind.
‘This is scary stuff,’ he said, lying back in his seat.
‘There is nothing to be afraid of,’ said Cardini. ‘The initial effects are not long-lasting. However, any ailments you had before your dose will be addressed, not that I imagine you had many. I’m hoping to see signs of optimisation.’
‘Optimisation?’ said Jim, sitting up a little.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Cardini, his deep voice rumbling. ‘It’s just a hypothesis of mine.’
Suddenly Jim felt sleepy, as if someone was putting a warm woollen blanket over him. ‘I think I’m going to …’
Cardini regarded the young man, as his own body healed at an accelerated rate. He recalled how it had felt the first time. That had been a momentous day.
His own minor dose would rob him of a few minutes of his total life expectancy, but he needed to be at his best for McCloud. As Cardini’s patron inexorably approached the point at which he might die before a new treatment could be administered, he was becoming less and less predictable. While he might avoid the final plunge into death for perhaps thirty years, his transit around the tipping point became longer and more unpleasant.
The old man had come late to the fountain and stared death in the face for weeks at a time only to be yanked a few yards from the edge for a month or two by the serum. The stress of his closeness to death seemed to be warping his mind. For McCloud, Cardini’s miracle was no longer enough: as his health became more and more precarious, he demanded more serum, a longer, deeper return to youth. It was a demand that Cardini could not satisfy – yet.
Yet Cardini was sure he would find the answer. The secret lay in the humble jellyfish and he would unravel it, if not in time to save McCloud. He would resolve the mystery of how a humble jellyfish could throw off its old tissue and grow again anew.
Yet that was not the answer. Return to the infantile state would reset the minds of his subjects, blanking all they had learnt. Cardini had to find a physical reset that did not clear the mind of its memories and learning. The goal was an old head on a young body. If he could not achieve this, he would look to transplanting the head. That might take a century of research but it would be a solution and there was time enough for him to find it.
29
Kate’s alarm was buzzing. She came out of her reverie, shoved her hand into her bag and switched it off. She was a little confused: the time had shot by. She must have been asleep in front of the painting. Thank
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