The Shackles of Cause



  The Shackles of Cause

  by Nathan Goater

  Copyright 2012 John Richard Dobson

  I sat opposite Harry and his wife in the common room, an oxygen bottle on his lap and two breathing tubes up his nostrils, listening to the wheeze of his breath. She was leaning into her husband, turning and checking with him, with everything I said. The clock above the door showed eight thirty, I needed to get this wrapped up before my boss turned up at quarter to nine; I couldn't let him find out what I was up to or he would have me out of the door, and I needed this job.

  "It really is a miracle we've discovered the science that makes this possible."

  His lips shut tight together; it didn't look like he was having any of it.

  "Harry, can you afford not to try new procedures?"

  He started wheezing again; he reminded me of a stutterer, how he would pause between words to get his breath. "I have been round, the whole circuit," he made a small sweep with his hand. "But I have not, heard of this."

  "Oh, that is just bureaucracy, I waived my hand as if pushing the issue aside.

  His wife's jaw tightened. "Bureaucracy? Is it licensed or not?"

  I raised my hands defensively. "No, no, I think you misunderstand. Licensing of treatments is simply a formality; it just means it's not on the list that is supplied to the consultants. That's why you've not heard of it before."

  She sat back and comforted her husband. "But how do we know this operation of yours is safe?"

  "Well, don't get me wrong; the procedure is perfectly safe, why we would be performing on humans now officially if the bureaucracy got moving and released the licence to perform on anything other than fruit flies, but it is safe. It is just the wheels of bureaucracy are very slow and take years, sometimes decades to turn. The Department of Health is in the middle of signing off the Phase zero testing. So once their additional investigation is complete they will then put it on their list of offer-able treatments, whenever that might be." I could see out of my peripheral vision the minute hand creeping forward along the minute markers. I bit my lip. Should I cut my losses now and let them go, or carry on?

  I decided to carry on. "The results from our tests are, well, remarkable. I'll be quick to cover this, but to explain; it is a beam of exotic particles that actually disrupt the causal link between discrete states." They both looked confused at that. "We can only affect illnesses that have a cause and effect, as opposed to those that come out of the blue. So if your disorder has a cause we can identify, we can stop it developing." They both still looked confused. "Put simply, we have demonstrated on rats that by identifying and then breaking the attachment between its cause and its effect, we can stop cancer in its tracks. It's as if the cancer had never developed." I could see a glimmer of hope in his wife's eyes at that.

  "Listen lad, I am no lab rat."

  "No, that is right, but cancer is cancer in whatever living creature you choose. This is why the red tape is so frustrating. We want to be using this procedure on people, so we can save lives. We know it works, and is safer than houses, but are hands are tied by the Health Department."

  "What do you mean 'hands are tied'? Is this stuff illegal to do on a human being?"

  "No, no. It is a perfectly legal procedure; we just want to be able to offer it through the health service. But once it is available for free to anyone who needs it the demand will be astronomical." It was twenty to nine; the boss would turn up in five minutes. I needed to hurry this up.

  His wife’s eyes narrowed. "How did you find out about my husband?"

  "Hm? Oh, it will have been on your admission forms. When you were first administered, you ticked the box that said research studies like ours could contact you."

  "No,” she shook her head. "We would not have done that."

  I tried to be as casual as I could, knowing the real way I had obtained their personal information. "Sometimes, when people are upset, they can miss little boxes on forms."

  She harrumphed and looked to her husband who dismissed it with a nearly invisible shake of his head.

  "We, are in," he wheezed.

  Sorted, I thought. And before the boss had turned up as well. I then rose and moved to the door to show them out. "So, I'll contact you once we have organised a time for your treatment..."

  * * * *

  "Now, come on Bruv. You owe me two months rent already, I don't want you owing me another. What's going on with you at the moment? You've seemed ever so distant recently."

  I stared across at him, as he lay back in the recliner, trying to be as cool as he could muster. I didn't have the money, what with food and travel that pretty much took it all up. "I'll get it for you. Just give us a bit of time." I rubbed my eyes that had felt sore. "I've got a thing going on, I should be able to pay you it all soon."

  "Soon? Come on Bruv, that's what you said last month." He sat the recliner upright. "Don't get me wrong, I like having you here, but what is going on with you?"

  I realised I couldn't tell him about my scam at work, it was difficult enough keeping it quiet as it was, but if I could organise some more treatments I'd be able to pay him six months up front. "Oh, it's just work stuff. Nothing really," I said. "And I miss Dad."

  He nodded. "Yeah, me too." He picked up a remote and started fiddling with it. "I had a letter turned up for me this morning."

  "Yeah, I saw when I picked it up off the mat."

  "Whatever." He bit his lip before starting again. "I had my DNA tested last month, cause I wanted to see if I had the same gene as Dad. That letter had my test results in it."

  "You didn't say."

  He stared at the blank television screen, and shook his head. "Yeah, I know. We'll you know how hard it has been, what with the way Dad was when he found out. It just kept bugging me, and I gave in. I had to find out if I'd got those same genes from him. And you know what? It turns out that I have."

  Oh, Christ, I thought. I could treat him for that. We were targeting genetic disorders in our research, and I knew that if I treated him it would never develop. That gene would never be expressed, just as if he never even had it. Nevertheless, he was my brother. I had so many mixed feelings about him; that I didn't want to treat him like a lab rat, but a part of me felt that justice had been served for all the hassle he gave me when we were growing up, and if he was anything like he was as a kid he'd tell everyone how I had cured him. I couldn't risk it; I was walking a razors edge as it was. Brother or not.

  I didn't know how to reply to him. He knew I worked in medical research, but I had never said how advanced the treatments and experiments had reached. If I had known two years ago, what I knew now our Dad would never have died. Dad knew what you had to do to get on in life, he would have kept quiet, and I would have risked it for him anyway, but for Carl. I shook my head to myself. My imagination ran over pictures of him blurting it out, all innocent to some stranger and I'd probably get the sack for starters. Christ, it could even ruin the research grants if they realised that I was doing unofficial treatments, and force the medical boards to criminalise the treatment. I couldn't risk running it on him. Not now anyway.

  "Bruv, I know it's tough news, but hey maybe you lot will have found a cure when it comes out in me."

  I stood up and grabbed my coat. "I can't handle this, Carl. I'm going for a walk."

  * * * *

  I arrived at the lab while the streets were still empty; the only people I encountered were the last of the late night revellers staggering home. The boss had booked a nice day for a holiday, the weather reports the previous evening had predicted a scorcher.

  Checking I was not being followed, I let myself into the lab and locked the doors behind me; no one else would be in for hours, chanc
es are most were still sleeping.

  I made my way to our treatment room in the semi-darkness, leaving off as many lights as I could and still see. With the letter clutched crumpled in my fist I pushed the door open and powered up our tabletop cyclotron, the heart of our treatment process. When I had opened the letter the previous morning, I had read the words and then thrown it away. I was so confident that I didn't have Dad's gene that I just got angry at the letter saying the results were positive, it didn't feel positive. I left before Carl was awake and stomped about the streets, angry that the testing lab could make such a stupid mistake as mixing my brothers results with my own.

  Letting myself back into our apartment, I heard Carl in the bathroom; I casually wandered over, retrieved the screwed up letter from the waste bin, and sat staring at it. I realised that there was no mistake and that they were my results, so I stuffed the letter into a jacket pocket and set off for work. Most of that day I sat at my desk planning how to run the treatment on myself without anyone realising, and flinching every time someone came in to speak to me.

  The whistle of the cyclotron was increasing in pitch as its controller booted up. I removed my shirt ready for the treatment. The couch resembled a dentists chair and I positioned it with the remote ready for disruption fields' tuning in. There was a noise in the corridor outside and I froze.

  Oh god, I mentally cursed and slowly lifted the door blind; but it was dark in the corridor, just as I had left it.

  I thought to myself that I didn't have to do this, I could find another way or live with the syndrome and I should stop now before I was in too deep; there was a feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach. Something wasn't right, I shouldn't be doing this. But I shrugged it off as fear of being found out and ignored it. The sun hadn't risen yet; no one would turn up for hours.

  As the high-energy fields fluctuated through my body tuning into the causal link between my genes and their potential expression, I didn't feel any difference. And when I set the field to sever that link the only thing I felt was a growing sense of unease.

  The treatment was over in an hour, I would have to wait months to know if it had worked, although I was confident that it had. While buttoning my shirt up, and the cyclotron spinning down, I thought I heard a noise again. From across the room there was no light showing around the door blind or from under the door, so I shook my head; it was just nerves.

  The door swung open and my boss poked his head around it, light spilling in with him. That shocked me, the door blind had cut out more light than I realised.

  My work life flashed passed my eyes, and I thought: I'm dead.

  "Ah, it is you," he said smiling down his nose. "I just popped in for-" He frowned at me tucking my shirt in. "Do pray tell, am I interrupting anything? I trust everything is alright?"

  The cyclotron had spun down and was quiet beside me; I looked around, half checking that nothing would give away what I was up to. "Um, yes. I was in the city last night, too tired to go home so I thought I would sleep here."

  He nodded smiling. "I can imagine."

  Did he suspect anything? His comment made me feel more anxious.

  "Yes, I have slept in my office several times too." He drew himself up to his full height. "I like that dedication in my staff, sleeping bag under your desk. Yes, you will go far, trust me on that." He moved back into the corridor. "I'm just going to get- um... In addition, I will be off. A nice day beckons."

  He left without picking anything up and I drifted to the common room where I sat convinced he knew what I was up to.

  * * * *

  A month later, and one more month owed to my brother, I found myself in the beer garden of a local pub with an ex patient of mine.

  It was mid-day and warm enough for us to sit outside on a round wooden table, a hole in the centre where the pole would go, a half pint of something called beer but too suspiciously fizzy in front of me, and across the table was Hendry, a dark spirit in front of him.

  "So, you are drinking again?"

  He smiled broadly. "I was told I'm in remission, and they can't understand how come. He raised his glass. "And I'm not going to tell them, thanks to you. I feel great, so great that we're going off to Florida next month."

  "Wow, I'm really pleased, I said toying with my glass. Looking at him, there was colour in his cheeks; his hair looked lush although still patient short and his eyes looked very clear and bright. "I have to say, you're looking really well."

  "I'm so grateful, Adrian. You gave me my life back." He slipped a bulging envelope out of a pocket and placed it on the table. I think this is something we owe you," he said and winked.

  I checked there was no one watching us and satisfied, reached and took the envelope. "I appreciate it."

  We talked a bit more about nothing particular, and then made our excuses and left. On the way back to the office I phoned my brother. "Hi. You know that rent in arrears that I owe you? We'll something came up - No, no, nothing bad. A good thing, something good came up so what it means is that I can pay you everything I owe you- Yes in full- No, it's nothing dodgy. What do you think I get up to? I'll speak to you later. Yes- bye."

  I shook my head, crossed the road, and entered the building our lab was in, jumping two steps at a time on the way up to our treatment room floor.

  The reception was empty as I emerged from the stairwell, she must have been still on lunch, so I crossed over to the staff room where our lockers were kept, as I needed to keep this envelope under lock and key for the afternoon. I was nervous walking around with it anyway, god forbid that it fell out of my pocket or something, it just felt too risky to keep it on me.

  "Ah, Adrian, just the man I need to see," my boss shouted from behind me. Damn.

  I turned round to see him striding across the foyer, directing me like an aircraft. "If you'd like to come with me to my office, I have a need to chat to you."

  He turned and headed to his office, holding the door back with an angular arm as he fumbled for the light switch.

  "Please Adrian, make yourself comfortable,” he said with a dock of his head towards the chair before his desk. I realised that he was fussing, which made me think he was nervous about something. That knot in the pit of my stomach re-introduced itself to me; I let out a long breath.

  Sat down, the boss started. "Now, Adrian, it has come to my attention through means I can't really divulge at this time that there have been some, dare I say it, suspicions arisen about our facilities over the course of the last few months. I can't really say too much about these things that have been 'going on'." He did the quote thing with his hands. Urrgh.

  The knot in my stomach dissolved as I realised I had been caught. His 'suspicions' was me treating people, no doubt. Accepting I was found out made me feel more relaxed about this meeting, maybe even a little excited. I leaned forward. "So, what are you saying?"

  He leaned back as if startled, hands up in front of him. "I really shouldn't get into details such as that. This isn't the time or the place-"

  "Um. Hang on a second. What's going on here?" I was getting frustrated now and a bit scared; I needed to know what they knew.

  He rubbed his face with his hands for a second. "Adrian, please. Just let me explain."

  "Okay."

  "Right," and he relaxed into the leather of his chair. "We have had complaints from -" he paused. "Some people that, maybe you are - um, how can I say this? Breaking patient confidentiality," and he rolled his eyes. "There it is I said it, so it's all out in the open now."

  "Oh, is that all?"

  "Adrian," he said, leaning forward. "This is a grave matter indeed. Patient confidentiality is sacrosanct, I mean, it is second only to murder nowadays. In fact you could get more time for it than murder, in the wrong hands."

  "But we are registered on the Secondary User Service, so we can do whatever we want with Patient data."

  That made him stop and think.

  "There are other issues too."

  I needed
to think of an angle. If he really had found out what I was up to and decided to sack me I wouldn't be able to keep treating people and I was in debt, I needed that money. Carl, I felt, was tolerating me for only so much, and if he found out what I had been doing, well, we'd fallen out before over smaller things and we didn't speak until years later. There was no hope if he found out what I had been up to this time; I had to save this situation.

  "It's no good, Adrian. I'm going to have to let you -"

  "Wait."

  "Excuse me?"

  "Don't you want to do good with this technology?"

  "I don't see how that is relevant."

  "No, no, wait. Um," I was trying to think of some leverage. "Just think of the accolades, that could come your way if we could get this released to the public."

  "To the public? I was thinking of how the energy market would benefit in the long term from these techniques, after all we have had zero success using it within medicine," he shook his head. "Anyway, it's no good Adrian. You are on suspension for two months. HR will give you more details."

  "Oh."

  "It's okay, it is on full pay. It is only while the accusations are tested to see if they hold any water at all. Which I am sure will prove false, I mean, we both know what we need to do to further our work here, don't we?"

  * * * *

  "Do you see your brother much?" the consultant shifted on his leather chair, it produced a satisfying squeak in response.

  "I haven't seen him for years," I replied. "Not since he developed the syndrome."

  Just that one question had brought up so much feeling. Even after this long, I still felt a pang of guilt for not helping him out when it had happened; when he started to get worse and it affected his moods. I had moved into my own place at that point. My brother never knew the treatment I had been giving to myself. Neither did the man sitting opposite me behind the desk, who had just asked that question. No one did, I had managed through sheer luck to sidestep discovery, and I wasn't going to reveal my secret any time soon.