The Clutter Box

  Chapter 5

  London was still recovering from the flooding it received last spring. The banks of the Thames were breached and the city had been evacuated. Life was being restored to the city, now, but the damage amounted to countless billions. Politicians were still looking to pass around the blame.

  The streets were lined with Christmas decorations. Plastic snowmen littering the side of the road and brightly coloured lights hung across the city streets. There were no streetlights here anymore; no convenient masts for the council to hang decorations from, but that’s progress.

  I planned to visit my father soon. I had a few days off over Christmas and wanted to spend Christmas day with him. He had friends but he always seemed lonely this time of year.

  One Christmas, a few years ago, I didn't get to see him. It was when I first moved to Birmingham and life seemed new and hectic. Later I realised how much it hurt my father - not that we ever mentioned it. I wondered how a move to London might affect my plans. Regardless, I still intended to visited my dad on Christmas day.

  Not that my father liked Christmas. He once described Scrooge as a heroic outcast, refusing to play nice for the sake of a single traditional day. Despite his negative opinions he always made an effort, putting tinsel up around the house, even if he no longer bought a Christmas tree or had other family to share it with.

  We arrived at the hotel carpark and I let myself out before Bruce had a chance to open the door for me. He got my bag from the boot and I followed him into the hotel.

  It had a modern interior: orange and brown.

  Walking up to the receptionist, Bruce said, “We have a room booked for Ernum Gustabler.” He gestured towards me.

  I reached for the card given by the receptionist and followed Bruce to the Iift. The room was on the second floor. The carpet was bluish green, the doors to the rooms were cream, as were the walls. The ceiling had a trail of ceramic diamonds where once there would have been light fittings.

  The paint was still fresh; I could smell the chemicals. All the buildings in all the cities were slowly being brought up to date.

  We entered the room and Bruce walked to the window, looking out over the street.

  “Granny labs is just down that road,” he said, pointing outwards, “We’ll head that way in the car so you can see. I won’t be driving you on other days, but it’s no more than a five minute walk.”

  I said, “I’m sure I can manage it,” and he nodded.

  He left my bag by the bed and we headed back down to the carpark. This time I walked in front, confidently leading the way across the hotel’s carpet. It’s a little easier being confident when you’re merely retracing your steps.

  Bruce opened the car door for me, again, and I rolled into the back seat like an obedient pet. Then he climbed into the front and drove me to Granny Labs to meet with Dr Aaralyn Thorn.

  The Granny labs building was old and grand, constructed of large stone blocks with a large glass extension added to the rear.

  The car went around the side and down a ramp to the company’s private carpark. The carpark was underused. A number of large black cars of similar design to the one I sat in lined up along one edge. They would all have been company cars, and our car nestled itself amongst them.

  “How can you identify the car from the rest?” I asked.

  “Easy,” Bruce said, “I have the key.”

  We got out. Again, I opened the door before Bruce could walk round. Then he led me to a lift and selected the second floor.

  Exiting the lift, we passed some security and were greeted by a lady in a doorway. She wore small black shoes, sizable shoulder pads and had frizzy light brown hair over a diamond shaped face - skin the colour of bamboo, and flickering brown eyes.

  “Welcome, I’m Dr Aaralyn Thorn. How was your trip?”

  I said, “It was fine.”

  “That’s good. Bruce, could you continue sorting out the side office for me?”

  “Certainly, Doctor,” he replied.

  She turned to me, as he walked off, and said, “Bruce is invaluable - a real find.”

  She retreated into the room, beckoning for me to follow.

  “Let me show you around.”

  We entered a large room with a high arched ceiling. The floor was one vast unbroken area. The outer walls were built of large bricks; one side, consisted of vast arched windows. It looked like church. The outside world was screened off by whitened glass. Workbenches, filled with equipment, were scattered around the floor.

  It looked like it could hold a small army of researchers. I could only see me, Dr Thorn and a lone man in a lab coat. The man began walking in our direction.

  “We’re a very small team here,” said Dr Thorn, “But we’re granted almost any facilities we request. The CEO has a special interest in our project and drops in occasionally.”

  “What is it you research?” I asked, wanting to get to the point.

  The man was close. He was young with dark ebony skin and high cheekbones that made it hard to picture how he’d look when he stopped smiling.

  “This is Duncan Lurn. He’ll be working alongside you - should you prove suitable.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” I said, and held out my hand.

  He grasped it in two warm palms, gave my hand a firm shake, and said, “In short, we study the physical aspects of telepathy.”

  “Isn’t research like that best done from the psi-clinic?”

  Dr Thorn shook her head. “They do their research, but its basis is always rooted in their own perception of telepathy. That perception is wrong, though they refuse to accept it. This is why so little progress gets made. Tell me, have you ever been subjected to a TEP test?”

  I shrugged. “I’ve never shown any signs of being a telepath.”

  “That wasn’t what I asked. I think it would be a nice introduction to begin with the test. Duncan, could you go and gather the equipment, please?”

  He nodded and trotted off to a side room.

  Dr Thorn lead me around the workbenches to a chair by the side of the room, and I sat down. A computer terminal sat on the desk next to me.

  “What do you need me for? My work’s in optics.”

  “That’s exactly why we’re interested in you. I can’t go in details on this, not yet.”

  “But telepathy isn’t optical.”

  “Thats right, but some of the tools we’re developing are. Take this TEP test. You know what’s involved here?”

  I nodded, “You measure activity in the spinal cord. There are measurable differences in telepaths.”

  “That’s true, we also optically monitor fluctuations in the iris.”

  “But you don’t need me for that, anyone could do that; you could probably do it on your phone.”

  “That’s right, this is just an example. Our research has thrown up a whole new area that will require us to do some very accurate optical testing. It’s of a nature I’m not yet free to talk about.”

  Duncan came over with a cardboard box which he placed of the table. Dr Thorn rummaged through and pulled out a mesh of electrodes attached to a number of wires.

  “Lift up the back of your shirt,” she asked.

  I did and tensed my back as she rubbed cold gel over my spine. Then she stuck the strip of electrodes down my back.

  “Bruce thinks he’s telepathic,” I said.

  “He told you that? Well, he’s not telepathic like the others are. Hold this to your eye and look at the ship.”

  She handed me a handheld device, shaped like a lollypop. I peered through the glass and saw a illustration of an old sail ship.

  “Done, we just need to interpret the data.”

  “That’s all?” I said, removing the device from my eye, “You didn’t need to ask me questions?”

  “That’s it. Everyone should be checked, it’s easy.”

  “Bruce passed the TEP?”

  “No, we found some minor abnormalities but nothing like that of a telepath. You're a
ll clear. Nothing of interest. A boring old spine.”

  “What would you detect in a telepath.”

  “Biological traits. We’re looking at the biology. The company’s psi-clinic, by contrast, has focused all it’s work on subjective interpretations by telepaths.” She glanced over at Duncan in the distance, “We’re all clueless about the method in which the data is transmitted. There is progress though. There are many very real biological abnormalities - adaptations that allow telepaths to process the data. Perhaps we’re all inherently telepathic but can’t make sense of it. I wish we could tell you more.”

  “Surely I have enough clearance. Look at the projects I’ve been involved with.”

  “We trust you. We want you with us. There’s a problem with the telepaths in the psi-clinic. They think they have the monopoly on this line of work.”

  “You think your work will be revealed in a scan, when I return?”

  “No, the scans are a lie.”

  She pulled a small metal pen like item out of her pocket and pointed it at me. Heat washed over the surface of my body.

  “It's a small microwave emitter. Makes you think they're scanning your brain, but it does nothing. All the telepaths carry them.”

  “So you're saying...?”

  “That they're fake? No, telepathy is real enough, but scans done in the name of security are largely a psychological trick, used to enforce control. You don’t feel any heat when you’re scanned by a telepath.”

  “The last one I spoke to seem to know things.”

  “Indeed, only authentic telepaths can become practising telepaths. But they can’t extract whatever information they want. They can’t see your mind. Just some embedded fears. At most, they can spot personalities who may pose a security risks. They’re probably lying to themselves to some degree. Their job has become largely smoke and mirrors.”

  “You don’t want to see this then?”

  I handed her the paper that claimed that I was balanced. She took it from my hand, glanced over it, and grinned.

  “Cute. You forced a telepath to almost admit he knew nothing.”

  “How did you get hold of that device?” I asked, pointing to the microwave emitter.

  “We designed them.”

  “And this won’t come out in the scans?”

  “Well, if their telepathy did work as they claimed, they would already know what we think we know.”

  She got me to demonstrate what I knew of optics to Duncan. I got the feeling they weren’t really interested in what I could do, but they wanted to occupy and humour me. I wondered if they’d already judged me unsuitable and were putting on a show so I wouldn’t think my trip was wasted.

  Towards the end of the day, Bruce suggested that, if I wasn't busy tonight, I could come for dinner at his flat. It would just be him and his daughter. He said he’d make curry.

  I said, “That would be lovely,” and I thanked him. Then he led me to his car.