The Man Of One Million Years by Edward Chilvers Page B

was not proceeding to plan. He would be sure to jump off a bridge next time. That was certain to do it. Nobody ever survived a jump off a tall bridge. Benjamin closed his eyes and tried to sleep but it was no use. His mind was abuzz with memories of his past. He remembered the great wilderness of Afghanistan; leading his men into the most hostile and inhospitable regions, deep into the heart of enemy territory. He remembered how he had pushed his men, and they had pushed themselves even further, because they had wanted to please him. He remembered how the captured insurgents had trembled before him and begged for their lives, begged to tell him every one of their secrets, for here was the great Captain Rutherford, a man whose reputation had travelled the entire length of this arid land. Now, just a few months later, he was being called a ‘silly boy’ and a ‘chicken’ because he was no longer able to cope with even the most simple trials of life.  If only it was all over.
     
    “Good afternoon Mr Rutherford.”
    Benjamin was of a mind to pretend to sleep. He did not want any more unwelcome interruptions, condescending medical staff treating him like a child or psychologists trying to get him to open up about his past. But he knew they would only come back later. Reluctantly he opened his eyes. The fellow sitting on the chair beside his bed surprised him. He did not look like a doctor. Indeed it was a surprise to Benjamin that the man had been allowed to enter a hospital at all because he looked most disgracefully unhygienic. His mousy brown hair was long and greasy and he wore a pinstriped black blazer around a size too big for him that positively glistened with dirt and wear. He had a matted beard that was completely unkempt with tufts and strands sticking out here and there. And yet Benjamin was sure he recognised the man from somewhere. “Are you a doctor?” He asked warily.
    “Of sorts Mr Rutherford,” replied the unkempt man. He had the slow and nervous voice of one who was not used to talking. “But that is not why I am here. I wish to offer you an opportunity, so to speak. A chance to, how can I put it, escape from the life you so clearly despise.”
    “Are you from the army? The secret services?” Asked Benjamin, hope rising in his veins.
    The unkempt man shook his head. “My name is Professor Harley Huxtable, Mr Rutherford. I am a scientist.”
    “I see.”
    The professor regarded the former soldier thoughtfully. Benjamin Rutherford appeared a perfect specimen for what he had in mind. In his mid-thirties and of average height, slim and stocky with not an ounce of fat on his body, and his dark features gave him an almost Mediterranean look which Harley found a most pleasing aesthetic. Best of all the former soldier had had enough of this world and was seeking to enter another, but whether that was a world of death of something else entirely was open to question. The man would definitely ‘do,’ so to speak. “I suppose I had better tell you what I want,” said the professor at last.
    “I suppose so,” replied Benjamin apathetically.
    “First of all I would like to say I know all about you, Mr Rutherford,” began Harley. “I know about your military career and how it ended, and how you were unlucky. I know what you have been doing since, and that is not a lot. I know you have tried to end your life and that you are deeply unhappy. I am sorry if what I say is distressing to you, Mr Rutherford. Would you like me to address you as Captain?”
    “Whatever you want,” shrugged Benjamin in a bored tone.
    “I think I should like to call you Captain,” said the professor. “It has a far better ring to it, I think. So Captain Rutherford,” Harley cleared his throat. “My name is Harley Huxtable. I am, as I have said, a scientist. Perhaps you have heard of me, for my colleagues tell me I have a certain amount of celebrity.”
    “You r name rings a bell,” said Benjamin. “Can’t really say