Aardvarks to Planet X (book 1 of the hexology in seven parts)
Chapter 5: AGATAC Wrath of God

“This case is a very sad one”, the doctor intoned as he led in the big jolly man through the security gate. “He used to be a bright star in the field of genetics”, as he pinned the newly printed badge to his guest, doctor Hubert Natas the eminent psychiatrist. “We have to keep him under constant constraint, poor fellow would kill himself if he could, there seems no reasoning with him.” “What is his delusion?” the eminent doctor enquired.

They had reached a window, next to which stood an orderly observing the patent. The man inside was in a strait jacket, and bound to a chair. The chair itself and the table in front of him were clearly bolted to the floor.

“He believes he is in hell, it’s his fate and only wishes to kill himself to escape it.” “Interesting” Dr. Natas observed. Extracting a key his guide Dr. Monroe unlocked the heavy steel door, motioning his guest inside. The wretch that stared back from the other side of the table, was lost in a world of sorrow, then he suddenly became aware of the new arrival. The eye focused on the plush red waistcoat under his pristine white doctors robes, the goatee beard neatly trimmed below expansive cheeks, and on up to meet him eye to eye.

“That pen in your top pocket would make a fine hole in my neck. It would only take a moment, and I would be free of this horrible fate.” He twitched in his restraints, but they held true. The bigger man smiled with a warm glow, that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but friendship. Leaning in to confide, the doctor spoke in a clear and friendly tone.

“You are among friends now Mr. Duncan.” Turning to his fellow practitioner the doctor called out. “I think Mr. Duncan should do well under my care. See to it he is transferred to a safe ward, and now if you may leave us for a while. I would like a nice chat with Sam here.” The other nodded nervously, and withdrew locking them both in. Doctor Natas turned once more to the man across the table. “Now” he began with a reassuring tone “wouldn’t you like to tell me why you’re in hell?” So with slow recollecting sentences Sam Duncan began his tale.

Sam sighed and turned to his charts, yet another useless lead, another wasted day. He had got his doctorate in genetics barely a year ago. Now with a moderate research grant, Duncan had knuckled down to replace new insights into the code of life. With most genes being mapped there were few advances to be made in the field, but still there were sequences that made no sense, that had no apparent function. Duncan had managed to isolate many of these sets that seemed to have no apparent use.

Noted down in long lines of the four components annotated as A,C,T,and G. He clutched the sheets and paced up and down beneath the neon tubes. Then click and he was cast into darkness. “Damn it, that idiot in the next lab.” He’d done the same yesterday, blown a fuse. When it had happened then Duncan had to grope for the door. Thankful of the windows in the corridor, he had made his way to the maintenance department. All they would say was lab 102 had blown the fuse, some computer set up. That had cost him the afternoon’s work.

Enraged that it had happened again, he found the door and was soon banging on the lab marked Dr. J Dawcy. It flew open and a disheveled figure thrust his head through. “What do you want?” came the abrupt reply to Sam’s knocking. “What’s wrong with your lab, you’ve blown the fuse twice in as many days?” Just then the lights flickered back on. Duncan he saw a set of computer banks, and some very heavy duty cooling equipment. Not to be put off, he pushed his way in past the other man’s protests.

“That’s one of those new quantum computers isn’t it, don’t they cost a fortune?” “Yes so don’t touch it I’ve only got it set up yesterday.” Duncan whirled round still fuming. For now he had the additional axe to grind, that this fools research grant must be a hundred times his own. “Will you be interrupting my work constantly with your infernal power cuts, that machine is a menace.” He waved his sheaf of notes like a baton behind him to illustrate. Indignant the other defended his project, “No, the other day was a fault of the building maintenance, they hadn’t installed a sufficient power supply for my requirements.” Duncan snorted “and today?” “That was the apparatus starting up, and the additional generators kicking in. From now on it will run constantly. There will be no further disruption” Dawcy sneered.

“Now if you can kindly leave I have work to be done.” Glowering at this dismissal, Sam stalked out murmuring over his shoulder. “Good day.” The rest of the day was spent gathering more D.N.A. samples; his mind was too fogged with the argument for serious work. As he made it round the local clinics, Duncan mulled over how he could only get a pittance compared to this pipsqueak. “Not old enough to shave I bet”, he grumbled to himself driving home.

The next day with a box of samples in his arms, Sam came in through the outer door to the laboratories. He caught sight of his adversary of yesterday marching in his direction. Duncan was not keen for another encounter, to remind him of his financial deficiencies. What he could do with the fund Dr. Dawcy commanded, it had preyed on his mind all night. But the other seemed determined to repeat the experience. He was staring strait at him with a stern look in his eye. Storming strait up to Sam, Dawcy let of a tirade of abuse. “Damn fool wasting a whole nights work on your foolish texts, was it Latin? I didn’t take you for a religious nut.” Dawcy slammed some notes on top of the box the stunned Duncan was holding, as he swept past out into the open air.

When he had snapped out of the shock of this sudden attack, Sam looked down. The papers now sitting inches from his nose consisted of a computer printout and, he blinked, his notes from the day before. Had he dropped them in the argument perhaps? Sam’s lab was always locked when he left for the day. Shrugging he entered his lab.

Discharged of the weighty samples on a bench he took up the notes, there on his sheets were the lists of codeing. Patent 37-3BX5, and the long string of code in the familiar permutations of A, T, G and C’s. He looked at the corresponding top line on the printout. There was the patient 37-3BX5, but instead of the genetic fingerprint, he saw English text. “The Lord smiles on ye for living a good life. You shall live long and want for nothing all your days.” The next patient had a different line, “you shall toil unceasing and yet see none of your dreams fulfilled for you have prayed on others thus so. The Lord has spoken.”

Flinging the sheet down, he cursed Dawcy “the moron.” If he had nothing better to do than play practical jokes. Brooding he had worked through his new batch of samples, there had to be some correlation, he just had to get a break through. Thoroughly disheartened he locked up for the night, and slouched home where he drank himself to sleep.

Groggy from the night before, Sam crawled from his bed, and shuffled through the post on his way to the kitchen. An official letter caught his eye, and curious he tore it open. Dear Doctor Duncan we look forward to your six-month report on your progress made. Sam let his hand fall, was it six months already? He scratched his stubble and groaned. How was he going to get enough positive results to justify a continuation, they would drop him like a lead balloon on what he had. This was serious, and that git Dawcy was sat on a fat wad of grant money playing jokes.

He paused in front of the mirror, was it a joke? Pretty poor delivery, just raged at me, and stormed off. Wouldn’t he have dropped in that same day for the pay off? Sam was clutching at straws, but with little else to show, he decided to go with the mad idea forming in his mind. After all it was his only lead, but what if was a joke? I’ll go and see him, confront the moron and if and if. Sam let the thought trail off, too much was at steak. If he lost his grant money, he felt sick.

A brief breakfast and spruce up saw Sam dashing to the lab. Vague possibilities formed in Sam’s mind, if it wasn’t a prank. He had to stay calm be polite, a lot rested on it. Outside Dawcy’s lab door he checked himself, and knocked politely as possible. It swung in, and the neutral expression on the Dawcy’s face turned down. “What do you want God boy?” Biting back his anger Sam smiled and began.

“Good joke you played yesterday”, but Dawcy cut across him. “Did Miller put you up to this? Giving me fake codes, well?” “Never met the fellow”, replied Sam wrong footed. “Well tell him from me, he’ll never be half the quantum cryptographer I am.” Then Dawcy slammed the door in his face. “Well unless he’s the best actor I’ve seen, I’m onto something.” A smile slowly spread across Sam’s face, as he retired to his lab to form a plan of action.

First verify the initial results. Then I’ll win Dawcy over. “Or with something this big, the powers that be could force the git to work for me, that would show him.” Duncan broke into a laugh.

With a spring in his step, he headed to the clinic his earlier samples had come from. Technically patient confidentiality meant he could not get the identities of his samples donors. With this much at steak, Duncan would have to draw on most of his scant resources for a cunning plan. Grinning like a wolf, he kicked himself to calm down.

It was eleven when he sat down in the dinner across from St Patricks’ mission and medical practice. It was middle of the range surgery, which was visited by a wide cross section of society. His two weapons for this campaign were; a wad of dollars that had seriously depleted his funds, and a key piece of knowledge. Nurse Stacy Jones shared the receptionist job in the morning, and John Williams in the afternoon. Ms. Jones had a propensity for the letter of the law; she would rather die than leak a patient confidentiality. J.W. as his friends knew him, and close association in the line of his work had brought Sam into this disreputable clan, was more inclined to persuasion.

At five to noon his prey strolled in to the clinic, and ten minutes later the prim Ms. Jones dashed out. As usual glad to be away from the encounter with her counterpart. Time to strike, Sam paid the bill and casually made his way across the street. The glass door swung shut behind Sam as he sauntered across the reception to the desk on the far wall. All the consulting doors were closed, good he sighed. “How’s it going J.W?” Sam greeted the man at the desk. “Working like a trooper bro”, came the reply from the recumbent figure. His feet sat on a cupboard behind the counter, as he rotated back and forth on the swivel chair.

“I thought you were in last week, you been steaming it too?” Sam leaned in, “no but I’ve got a break and I need a little help.” He laid down an envelope bulging with notes. J.W. slid it from view with consummate skill and grinned. “I didn’t know you partook of medical enhancement, trying to burn the candle at both ends?” Sam shook his head. “No the kind of help I need is locked in your patient files. I need to trace up some cases, see if they tie in with my replaceings.” J.W. looked towards the closed doors. “That kind of thing could get a fellow in deep trouble, but I think I just need a bathroom break, can’t bust me for being human.” He pointed his thumb at a cabinet and walked off.

This was almost too easy thought Sam, as he rifled through the files. His notes sat atop the cabinet for reference. “What the blazes do you think you’re doing?” A hand was suddenly on Sam’s shoulder, as a thin man in a doctor’s coat grabbed him from behind. Luckily Sam was wound up from the day’s events, and jumped like a gazelle. He knocked the desks contents flying, and was out the door like a shot. Two alleyways later he sat panting and cursing his luck, all that money and nothing to show for it. Dejectedly he slunk off, and found a watering hole to drown his sorrows in.

Hours later and in a more sedate mood, Sam sat in a booth thinking what he could do next. Suddenly there was a tap on his shoulder. “Sam man you sure pulled a corker today”, J.W. was beaming as he hovered over the drunken doctor. Sam turned his morose face up to his friend and beamed. He had just seen what J.W. was waving like a fan, his sheets and another with names and addresses on it. “Doctor Finley was sure shook up by your little games, but he couldn’t have got a good look. He said the guy that got him was a great big fellow, with mussels like coconuts the big galoot. Anyway they bought my story that I was in the john, and I always said we needed security. When it all cooled off I spotted your notes, so is this what you need?” “I could kiss you J.W. your a savoir”, and Sam pocketed the notes. After that it got a little hazy. At one point J.W. bet Sam he couldn’t balance a shot glass on his nose.

Sam awoke next day with no memory of how he got home. He reached into his coat pocket, and pulling out the notes breathed a sigh of relief. Now he had some investigating to do. Over coffee and hot buttered toast he scanned down the list. Mr. R. Peterson 34 Wordsworth Place, not far from here Sam mused. “Ye shall inherit the earth, go forth and live in peace for you turned the proverbial cheek all your days so sayeth the lord.” One for the positive camp thought Sam; I’ll start there. A good shave and a long shower made Sam half presentable, a good suit and a freshly laundered shirt did the rest. “Clothes maketh the man”, quipped Sam as he stalked down the street. His plan was simple. He would pose as himself, his university I.D. could see to that. But he would be doing anecdotal research on what makes a good life. Cold calling was his cover.

Sam looked up at the well-tended facade of number 34, and the he knocked. Footsteps heralded the opening of the bright blue door. Sam smiled at the rosy-cheeked gentleman, spun his tale and was soon ensconced in the living room, surrounded by all the trappings of a well-lived life. Yes indeed the old fellow had enjoyed a good existence, and now full of memories of his past, he rested waiting the time when he would rejoin his wife Elsie. As the sun sank Sam bid Mr. Peterson goodbye, and convinced the first experiment had been a success headed home.

After a morning spent recovering, from an evening celebrating yesterday’s success, Sam picked a negative prediction. In the hope of using the same technique he headed for todays laboratory, but as he approached his destination an elderly man came out of the door. Damn thought Sam, as he hung back. The man headed down town, so Sam shadowed him. Intent on cornering his prey, and extract the necessary data. At a shabby store the old man opened the unlocked door and proceeded in. Sam waited a while for him to emerge, but it appeared that his subject was in for the duration. So Sam approached.

As the bell tinkled Sam looked around the shop, it was long overdue for a renovation. An elderly lady sat behind the counter. “Can I help you sir?” “Is Mr. Ronson in” Sam replied in a noncommittal tone?” “Not another bill” she sighed. “No” he corrected her. “I am doing a study on what makes a good life, and he is on my list.” Sam held up his I.D. “Well you don’t want to talk to him about that, he hasn’t known five minutes of a good life to my knowledge”. Then she proceeded to go on about how his wife had run off with his business partner ruining the business. “It’s only my pension that keeps me here, and something to get me out of the house”. Even his kids had turned against him. “It’s a wonder he’s not put a bullet through his head, poor man.” Sam thanked her; he had decided he would not disturb her boss.

As he stepped into the street Sam pulled out his notes, and scanned down the page. Here’s one he thought, James Doolan. The address was Charles Winchester hospital, not too far and another negative, so off he strode. Once in the grounds he found an attendant. “Is there a Mr. J. Doolan working here?” It turned out he was just finishing for the day, and Sam was directed towards a ruddy-faced man. His target was slightly stooped, as he headed off along the street.

Sam followed at a distance, if he was a negative he might be a bit jumpy. The old man moved with purpose, and finally stood before a bar on Henley Street. Sam followed him in after a pause, and took a seat next to him at the bar. His subject already had a beer at his lips. Impatient to get results, Sam dove in “You look like you’ve had a hard life.”

The man put the beer down and smiled. “No friend I’ve had a good life, fifty years a gardener. It’s paid my way, my wants are simple, and I married a good woman. I’ve been happy all these years.” He stretched his arms wide to indicate the years. “I’ve got four good kids, they still come round at weekend with kids of their own. I think Mark Twain said a job ain’t a job, if you don’t feel obliged to do it. I always said if I didn’t enjoy my gardening, then I’d just up and do something else”. He paused, took a sip and went on. “It’s more of a pleasure than a job. I exercise every day, get fresh air, and no boss over my shoulder. When you smile you replace people smile back, it’s a happy world I live in.”

Sam felt a sinking feeling as the gent unfolded his life. “But why have you come in here like a man wanting to drown his sorrows?” “It may seem that way but I’m here on a purpose. You see I’m drinking to the memory of my brother James. He liked to stop in here, and he died last week.”

Reeling Sam blurted out with a giggle. “Your not James Doolan?” “No sir, I’m Jamie. His younger brother. You’d think people would mix us up, but even as a lad he was always the serious one. While I was off dreaming of moon pie, he’d be inside studying. I knew he’d go far, he managed the hospital I worked at. But he was never satisfied; his wife was always henpecking him. Spending his money all the time, that’s why he always stopped in here. He needed a drink to face her. His kids never went to his funeral, just my family and his wife. If I were of a nasty turn of mind, I’d say she only wanted to make sure he was dead, poor chap. Well I’m off home; I only wanted one drink for his memory. Mary will be missing me if I stay longer, and I never let my dinner go cold.”

Staggered Sam got up too, and headed for his local haunt. J.W. was already ensconced in a booth, and Sam soon joined him in a round or several, giddy from his days work. “Why you so jolly” enquired J.W. “Won the raffle?” Beaming Sam slurred, “I sitting on the most important discovery since man began, want to know my secret?” “O.K. bro” J.W. was intrigued. “Everyone has his life mapped out before he’s born. You can’t escape it, judgment from above”, and he sat back grinning.

J.W. showed a full set of teeth. “Thought you had me there fella, good one.” Sam shot forward and whispered “it’s real, I’m goanna tell my assessors next week. It’ll sky rocket my research.” J.W. mulled it over a second. “Well I’d not want to know my every move. I just want to be free, to do what I want, do what I please, any old time.” Then he continued to hum the song to him self. Sam took another swig of his drink. Then suddenly leaning in J.W. enquired. “Didn’t you break some ethical code? Won’t they throw the book at you?” Sam suddenly sobered up. What if J.W. was right, how do I know I’m destined for greatness? As this though struck him, he knew he had to know his fate. Sam got up and walked out, leaving the stewed J.W. in a world of his own again.

The fresh air rushed past Sam, as he half ran the four blocks to his lab. Luckily due to the nature of the work done there it was open all hours, and swiping his card he strolled in. Soon Sam was fumbling for his key. On flickered the light, and routing out a sampler kit. He adroitly extracted a drop of his own crimson identity, and placed it in the D.N.A. reader. The new Megamax 5000 hummed away to itself, as Sam paced up and down next to the bench. Then with a start, out came the printed sheet. He immediately fingered, it as the paper slowly chugged out. Already he was crossing out sections he knew the purpose of. By the time it had finally left the machine, over half of it was eliminated. Sam hurried over to his books and started pawing through them, to eliminate even more sequences. Finally after an hour of fevered work, he sat holding a sheet with his un-deciphered fate on.

“Now if only I can persuade that Dawcy to run it through his machine.” Money wouldn’t do it; “he’s rolling in it with that set up.” Besides Sam funds were too low. He didn’t hold much hope of appealing to his better nature, given their previous encounters. Sam would just have to brazen it out, perhaps appeal to his scientific curiosity.

Locking up, Sam approached Dawcy’s lab door. Then he tentatively knocked. “If only he’s in, he did say he had wasted a nights work before.” The door swung in. “Hello” Sam called out. All was dark except the apparatus chattering away. He stepped in; there was no one there. “Perhaps he’s popped out for a coffee”, thought Sam. “I’ll wait.”

It was then that he noticed the computer screen. It displayed “translation complete, next please Y or N.” A pile of sheets lay neatly stacked by the printer. This was too good to be true. Trusting to luck Sam glanced round, and then fed his sheet in. He pressed the Y button, like a naughty child expecting to be apprehended at any moment. Not much happened. “That’s computers for you”, mused Sam.

He stood in front of the screen, but facing the door. Least the true owner of the process should return. “Beep.” Sam spun round startled, as the screen returned to its original message. Then the printer sprang to life. It seemed an eternity to come out, but with a final whirr Sam stood looking down at greatness or doom. With reverence his eyes scanned across his fortune. “For heresy of the highest order, and gross perversion of the lords works. Yea shall learn the very machinations of his ways, yet still be mocked all your days as a charlatan you be. The archangel of the lord casts his pronouncement of your doom.”

A tear dripped onto the page as an aquatic full stop, as Sam stood transfixed, held like a condemned man before the noose. Then “whack.” Sam flew forward, as an assailant hit him from behind. Reeling he stared wild-eyed at Doctor Dawcy. “What the hell are you doing in my lab?” Dawcy shouted. Enraged by this attack after such a pronouncement of doom, Sam was soon at Dawcy’s throat. Then the two reeled round the lab, like drunks trying to dance. Dawcy suddenly went stiff. Sam realized too late, that his nemesis had crashed into the cooling fins. A spark flew and Dawcy was on fire, a human torch. Lurching forward he fell on Sam, who screaming fought to get him off. Smoke and flames billowed all around, and swooning Sam passed out.

“I thought we’d lost you for a while, your friend was not so lucky.” A figure above Sam indicated a zipped up body bag. “Quite some blaze. Must have been ten fire trucks there, when you were dragged out.” Sam started to babble about how it was an accident, and what his work could prove. If only he could get his notes. “The world had to know, I’ll be famous.” The paramedic gave him a funny look, and then noted something down on a clipboard. “You just relax, it’s going to be all right.”

Doctor Natas stood before the inspection window. Only on this side it was mirrored. As he adjusted his tie, he listened to the final words Sam intoned. Turning to the psychiatrist, Sam noticed his identity badge in the reflection. “Of course doctor Natas, a man needs all the friends he can get.” “Yes,” agreed the doctor. “I know a few fellows with the same point of view.”