Oliver had the large heavy Sony Camcorder linked to his television using a scart plug adaptor and with the Cam plugged into the mains for power. The battery had long since died and its replacement now obsolete. Oliver had searched through a dozen or so Hi-8 video tapes until he found the ones he thought were the most important.
Oliver used the small remote (on a wire, this had made him smile) to shuttle to the start of the first tape. He sat on the sofa and pulled a tray onto his lap, he had heated a batch of his homemade pea soup from the freezer and topped it with large bacon and gruyere cheese topped croutons.
The image on the screen flickered onto his widescreen television. It was grainy but of serviceable quality for his studies. He smiled as a younger handsome Robert Dyer appeared in front of the camera. Dyer was probably forty, fit and healthy looking. He fiddled with the camera. His accent was as crisp and lilting as Oliver had heard less than a week ago.
“Okay, here we go, if I pan round I’d like to introduce you to Steven,” Dyer rotated the camera to bring his research subject into view. Steven was laid on what looked like a dentists chair and was reclined.
Steven smiled and gave an embarrassed wave to the camera. This was the eighties and ordinary Joe’s like Steven were not comfortable with being filmed.
Dyer provided a commentary to record progress with his research. Each Hi-8 tape was carefully indexed as they would be with any formal research project. Steven was connected to an IV infusion line and a syringe driver rested on his abdomen.
“Steven has been with the programme for six weeks, as you can see fit, good health, no mental illness present. The past fourteen sessions have been records of Steve recounting, accurately in my view, past events from before his birth. Namely years, I estimate, 1942, 1902, 1832, and so on back to possibly 200BC. Eight sessions Steve was unable to regress. Okay, now, this is test one, with agent 42A to be introduced, intravenously. Okay Steve, straighten your arm, lovely. We will slowly release the agent into your system. Now let’s see if this can help switch on the regression. Steven if you will.”
Dyers outstretched finger appeared in front of the camera as he wagged it to Steven advising him to administer the serum from the pump he held. The movement of his hand close to the lens made the image loose focus but it was clear Steven was infusing one ‘dose’ of the substance Dyer had invented.
The camera refocused and Steven laid back and closed his eyes. Within a few seconds he began to shudder.
“Hrrrrrrr, mmmmmmm,” he rasped as his body shook gently. Oliver recognised the process from that he had witnessed with Jenny.
“Well done Steven,” Dyer cheered from the side, in a jolly English sort of way, “he is looking pretty relaxed I think it’s working.”
Steven’s eyes opened sharply, a vacant stare then they rolled back and the skin on his face tightened. His body went from a gentle shake to a rapid shudder. The sickening crack of bone that followed made Oliver jump so much he spilled pea soup onto his white T-shirt.
Dyer spoke, “Steven. My God. I can report Steve has rapidly entered a trance like state. Steven, Shit. Steven? He appears to be in some kind of status epilepticus, his body is fitting. His eyes are ocular gyric, his skin, the pallor. I may try an IV diazepam, given his rigid state. Steven, can you hear me? His body, his whole body is tremulous, skin almost translucent, this is the most acute case I have seen.”
Then Steven relaxed, his breathing calmed and a blue energy streamed under his translucent skin.
“Professor Dyer, you there?”
“Yes, yes of course, how are you? Are you in pain?”
“No, no pain. No, no, I’m back, in time, really far back. This is some ride man. I feel, like I’ve got some choice, control, over where I stop. Unlike ever before I’m steering this baby. The time looks Anglo-Saxon, I’m in a feast of some kind. Like wow, the clarity.”
“What do you mean clarity?”
“Smells, professor, I can smell the food, ham, roasted in honey. Body odour. I can feel the knife in my hand, taste the ham on the blade. Vivid visions, three D. Jesus, I’m enjoying this.”
Oliver paused the tape, he asked himself one question, “What is agent forty two A?”
He put down his tray and turned his drip into a stain by rubbing at the spillage of pea soup with kitchen roll.
Oliver pulled the box over where several dozen Hi-8 tapes were stored. He sifted through them. He then stood up and went to his dining table. Dyers leather holdall was opened on the table top. Scattered around were envelopes with medical papers, photographs, reports and a large manuscript entitled ‘The Tempus Genesis Experiments’. On one side was an album, in which was a lifetime (eighteen years) of pictures of Jenny growing up. The adoptive parents had agreed to submit pictures three times each year, more than usually agreed but they were sympathetic to Dyers plight.
Oliver pushed the album to one side, he still did not know how to open the topic with Jenny, but he would soon. Perhaps if this research pointed to a cure then Dyer would be both a hero and a father for Jenny, which might ease the confusing pain of his death that she would feel.
Oliver rummaged in the bag, he found a small box with three more tapes in it. Oliver took out one tape, the label interested him, ‘towards results; agent 42A/Causal probability’.
Oliver was to spend the next five days and nights full time reviewing the contents of Dyers large leather bag. Several years of research and dedication, it was professionally gathered, the study formally progressed. Dyer had had steely determination and seriousness in his work. Oliver knew the plethora of data here had the key to understanding Jenny’s condition and ultimately the cure. He slept little and spoke with his friends less, he had asked Jenny for space which she allowed him. Dyer’s death and Oliver’s theft had placed a tension between them. However, it had not damaged the connection entirely and their conversations and texts were not without affection.
By the fifth night Oliver was exhausted, he could barely focus. At eleven pm he had one hour of sleep. At midnight he made himself wake up, showered in almost cold water, whilst drinking a Red Bull (thinking he should be careful to not develop an addiction to the ‘energy’ drink). A second Red Bull followed him getting dressed.
Oliver pressed play on the camcorder and opened his own journal of notes. He listened to the younger Dyer, who looked more tired than Oliver.
Dyer spoke to the camera, “Several months in now, over two hundred sessions across the four subjects. Agent 42A, is now showing a sixty eight percent success rate where the agent has effected instant regression. But, significantly, richer experiences of regression, with contact through the five senses. Not just recalling, but reliving, or possibly witnessing. Given the weakening physically, the fading almost, of subjects, I believe an energy exchange occurs. Between now and the past perhaps? The agent is clearly a powerful switch, and though I’ve based it on the haematology profiles of the subjects while in regression, it is not an entirely accurate match. More an approximation, but bloody hell, it’s exciting.”
Oliver reached for a pile of medical records, “Haematology profiles? What of them?” he mused.
Oliver rewound the tape and listened to Dyers words again.
“Clearly a powerful switch, and though I’ve based it on the haematology profiles of the subjects while in regression, it is not an entirely accurate match. More an approximation, but bloody hell, it’s exciting.”
Oliver laid out four medical records and opened each at the haematology reports. He then sifted papers for a report by Dyer entitled ‘Blood Profiling’.
Dyer’s work was almost but not quite complete. At first Oliver thought he would be merely replicating a well documented study. But as he progressed through the hours and then days he realised that the research was a jigsaw, not a manual. Elements were missing, a chapter from Tempus Genesis had been removed. The work was encoded and the detail patchy. He had evidence of its effect clearly recorded and documented but the formula for Agent 42A was absent. Had Dyer removed
key pieces of knowledge as an insurance policy? Oliver felt sure the missing information had died with Dyer or he had secreted it elsewhere in his grand house. It was not contained in the brown leather bag.
Oliver worked through the medical records and research reports, cross referencing each with his own calculations for the next several hours. He felt close to pulling the pieces together to give him the picture he needed. Eventually he muttered over his work as key elements unfolded before him.
“Okay, 0.4% increase in thiamine. 0.6% increase in dopamine, hmm surprising. O2 blood gases high, interesting. 0.3% increase serotonin. Could’ve guessed that. And specifically 0.1% increase in 5-Hydroxitryptaline. Which all lead to adrenocorticotrophic hormone flooding from the pituitary gland, to deal with the energy exchange that starts, and yes. I’ve bloody well got it. Hip fucking hoo fucking ray. I am a genius.”
Oliver put down his pen and punched the air.