The Hipster Who Leapt Through Time (The Hipster Trilogy Book 2) (15 page)

I’ve been working within the Hungarian branch of the academy for several years now. It’s a C-Class facility and we have found a success rate of 0.2 per mille. We’ve been pushing a lot of potentials through this funnel and we’ve been incredibly successful in finding several indigos that find their ways to the IPC Academy A-Class in our new underground London HQ.

Fantastic, right?

If Dr Tappe was correct, the indigo child is here to bring us closer to our destiny. To offer us a helping hand to humanity’s true fate. We think of our minds as trapped within our heads but the indigo child knows differently. How do they know this? What chemical or physiological phenomena are occurring inside their brains to make this happen?

Now, in the early 2000s, we know full well that those early indigo children were only a taste of what was possible. In recent years we’ve seen a male boy from Spain able to read the structure of his breakfast cereal down to its subatomic level. We’ve seen a girl in Asia able to psychically connect with any living animal, be it a bird, cat, dog, or even a fly, and she has been known to calm them to a gentle sleep. And, of course, we’ve seen the binary fits.
 

The fits have been known to be similar to epileptic seizures and can be induced in very similar ways. Be careful around flashing lights and anything that could cause head trauma (especially for you corporal-punishment types).

Along with Dr Grant and Dr Warwick we’ve been working towards a class system for the indigos based on their level of abilities. I must admit, although we’ve never seen anything past a Level 3 we should be wary, as these children could become incredibly dangerous. To themselves, society, maybe more? And what of any levels above that?
 

Well, as we’ve never seen a matured indigo child we really have no idea. It’s possible that they could create a physical presence in the world using nothing but their own thoughts … telekinesis, as it were. Amazing, right?

Going forward, I believe it’s the IPC’s duty to catalogue and school these children. They will need to be taught about their abilities and more importantly they will need to teach us. Why are indigos appearing in exponentially greater numbers? Will the children become the next evolutionary phase of human life? Or will they be the end of it altogether?
 

Some questions that the IPC must strive to answer over the coming century.

Also, I’ve just started using Twitter. It’s pretty neat-o. Not many people on there yet but I think it’s cool as beans. Come follow me on @prolukelamond

#bye

Professor Luke Lamond

IPC, Budapest Institute

Holloman Air Force Base, December 24th 1960

Dr Liz Cooper

“WHERE DID YOU SAY THESE apes were from again?”
 

“Well, first of all, Colonel, they’re not apes,” Dr Liz Cooper said. She readjusted her glasses as she spoke, trying to get a clear look at the man sitting across from her. He seemed a mile away over that giant wooden desk. The Rolodex to his right. The hunk of metal that was his typewriter. She squinted and he came into focus. His face had been chiselled from years of use. Shouting and screaming and fighting and whatnot. That’s what colonels do, right? They fight. The years of running around packed with testosterone had eroded away the curves of the man’s face. And that moustache? It looked like the foaming ends of the sea — a coastline against the cliffs. She followed the coastline trail, a scenic route, up the ridge of his nose to his hair. A standard crewcut. White on the sides to match his moustache and topped with a dark shoe-brush. Wrap all of that in the standard military uniform with his pins and badges and you had the cliché all sewn up.
 

“Okay whatever,” Colonel Glenn said. “Monkeys. Where then — tell me where these monkeys came from.” When he spoke, he knocked his wedding band against the desk.

Monkeys? How derogatory.

Stymying a riotous outburst, Liz felt a hand touch hers. The soft skin on her own. It clenched her hand tight. Squeezing until the outburst sank back down and settled on the base of her stomach like a flat balloon. She turned her palm over and massaged the warm digits in her own, being sure to keep it below the desk, out of the colonel’s sight.

“Cameroon, Colonel. The chimpanzees were captured in Cameroon initially.” Donald spoke with a confidence that seemed to pass through his hand into hers. “They were initially brought here in the fall of ’59, which is where me and Liz, sorry, I mean to say, Dr Liz Cooper and I, amongst a small handful of others, set about training them and preparing them for Project Mercury.”

Donald made it sound so easy. He made it sound like it was all natural, what they were doing. Preparing chimpanzees to fly into space. Liz never set out to be the kind of person to be teaching chimps. She wasn’t an animal person. She wasn’t a people person either, really.

“Thank you, Dr Thompson. And before I go on, I want you to be clear on what it is we’re doing here,” Colonel Glenn said.

“Oh, we’re well aware of that,” Donald said with a smile. The happy crow’s feet showing on his sweet chocolate face.

“You’re aware that President Kennedy has made it a personal mission of his, this Project Mercury. He’s told the world that it will be one of his legacies. That what we’re doing here will change the future. That this, what we’re doing here, will determine the very fate of humankind.”

“Yes sir,” Donald said.
 

“Okay … and you Dr Cooper?” He turned to Liz. She nodded.

“Yes sir,” she said.

“Okay, okay good. So now please tell me about the selection process.”
 

“Well,” Liz said. “Initially there were forty chimpanzees. After some basic cognitive testing, we whittled the list down to eighteen, which is where we started a simple version of the shape testing, and a month ago we went down to six and …”
 

“There’s two left,” Donald jumped in. “Sorry, Dr Cooper,” he said with a squeeze of the hand.
 

“Right,” Liz continued. “So now it’s kind of down to a brother and a sister.”

“Siblings?” the colonel said, a smile forming on the corner of his mouth. She could almost hear the avalanche of rocks as those cliffs shifted. “How interesting.”

“Completely sir,” Donald said. “There must be something in their genetics that allow them for some sort of higher cognitive function. These two repeatedly had a much higher success rate with the shape testing than the others.”
 

“Okay, okay, settle down Doctor,” he said as the smile disappeared. All trace lost forever amongst the rubble. “It’s my understanding that you’ve taken to each of these monkeys separately?”

“Yes Colonel,” Liz said. “The brother, Ham, has been trained solely with Dr Thompson, and the sister, Sam, or Miss Sam, as I call her, has been under my own supervision.”
 

“And you’ve bonded with these animals?” Colonel said.

“To a degree,” Donald said. “It’s difficult not to, sir.”

The colonel pushed his chair away from the desk. He turned his head and looked out of the window behind him. The barracks looked faint in the morning mist. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a white handkerchief and proceeded to blow his nose, before folding it back up and placing back in his pocket.

“So tell me, Dr Thompson, what happened on Friday 20th, between the hours of thirteen hundred and fifteen hundred hours?” The way he spoke. He already knew the facts. Why did he want Donald to repeat them?

“You’re referring to the afternoon shape testing, sir?” Donald said. His hand released her own and fell to his side.

“That’s correct.”

“It was a routine testing procedure, but …” Donald lifted his relaxed leg and placed it on the floor. He shifted in his seat. Liz could see his mental cogs grinding. Hell, she could
hear
them. “Unfortunately, as with any scientific experiment, there were some errors and some malfunctions.” His words drifted into nothing. She could hear his mouth drying up. The wet tongue sizzling in the heat. He grabbed a glass of water from the desk and sipped. She looked at him. This smart and collected individual. The man she’d spent the last few years working with. She observed him as he crumbled. Poor Donald. The colonel’s eyebrow rose.

“Colonel, if I may?” Liz said.

“Proceed.”

“The shape testing we do with the chimpanzees involves three shapes. One of the shapes is different from the others. The chimpanzee has to pull on the correct lever to determine which of the shapes is the odd one out. If they pick correctly, a banana pellet is dispensed, but if they pick incorrectly, two wires attached to the soles of their feet deliver a small electric shock.”
 

She took a second. Watched as Donald sipped more from his glass. He placed the glass down. Placed his good hand on the other, hiding the bandages.

“Well,” she continued. “Through no fault of Dr Thompson’s, the equipment malfunctioned, and delivered a higher shock than it should have to Ham, and didn’t subside for a brief period.”

“How long?”

“A minute and thirty-three seconds, sir.”
 

Donald seemed to recoil into his seat with every word. It wasn’t
his
fault. It was the technician’s job to ensure the equipment was working correctly.

“Ham became agitated, and as Dr Thompson went to pull him out of the testing booth he physically attacked him.”
 

The colonel smiled again and looked to Donald.

“So this poor fucker got a good zap to his feet and was pissed off about it,” he said, stifling a laugh. “And your hand, Dr Thompson? How many stitches?”

“Five, sir,” Donald said, looking down at the red blotchy bandages on his right hand.

“So we can see, given that this mission is as important as it is, that the choice has been made clear. I’m sorry, Dr Thompson, but we will be sending Miss Sam on the PR-2 mission. Merry Christmas Liz, sorry, I mean Dr Cooper. Well done. It looks like you won this one. Your monkey’s going to lead the way for the rest of us. Congratulations.”
 

“But, sir, I have to say I honestly don’t think that this hiccup should fail Ham from—”

“Enough, Dr Thompson. It’s not your fault. It’s not the damn monkey’s fault, but it is what it is. The path has been laid. Call it destiny if you want. Hell if I care. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
 

With that, the colonel reached over and shook Liz’s hand. A firm grip that almost made her wince. He shook Donald’s too, but the outrage was all over his face. He didn’t hide it well.

As Liz and Donald walked out of the office stairway, down and outside into the cold morning air, with mist so thick you could taste it, they didn’t say a word to each other.
 

“I’m sorry, Donald,” Liz said as he walked away. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t turn around. Didn’t do anything. He just disappeared into the mist like a hollow spectre. “Okay,” Liz said to herself. “It’s fine. It’s fine.”

She took a deep breath. She could hear someone shouting in the distance. Men and their testosterone. Soldiers and their shouting. She shook her head, wiped her eyes, and walked through the mist towards the animal house. The chimps screamed as she entered. She grabbed a handful of banana pellets as she walked through, past the failures, towards Miss Sam’s enclosure.
 

“Hey girl,” she said. The enclosure wasn’t much bigger than the back of a van. On the floor a bowl of half-chewed pieces of fruit. A length of string that she found comfort in. And Miss Sam, hiding away in a dog bed. She peeked her head above the side as she heard Liz’s voice. “Happy Christmas,” she said as she brandished one of the banana pellets towards her. “Guess who’s going to space?”

Moomamu The Thinker

A stone hit Moomamu’s toe.

“Ooh, you bleeder,” he said as the sharp tingling sensation woke him up. It was the least painful thing he was going to experience that day. He pried his eyes open and looked out at the sights in front of him — thousands of cats looking at him, and him alone. Their gaze converging on him. He tried to move his hands, but they were tied above his head and to a wooden beam. The old rope burned his wrists as his body weight pulled against them.

“This is fantastic,” he heard one of the cats say. “I’ve not seen a good mauling in ages.”
 

“Bonnets Ka!” another of them said.

The sun was out in full force. It was oppressive. If he had the moisture to sweat, he would’ve done so. He looked down at himself. He was in his pants again. His bare flesh, malnourished, dirty, and purple and black from the guards’ onslaught.
 

“Help,” he tried to say. He felt his bottom lip, dried from the sun, split down the middle.

“Daddy, look, the human’s awake,” said a kitten perched on its father’s shoulders.

“I see, son,” said the father as he handed something to the kitten. The kitten pulled his arm back and threw it towards Moomamu. He almost saw it through the sunlight before it smacked him on the face. The fruit exploded as it slapped his nose. The rotten smell irritating him more than the pain.