Dr Scure Stories - Chapter 4

(Written by Ace Dreamer; posted 08 September 2012)

Dr Scure - Season Zero - 03/Jul/2012

Chapter 4

Unexpected Visitors

Mid Spring, 2008, UK.

"You are not Brian Severn." The heavily-built red-haired man sat in his wheelchair. Looking at the visitors. In the slightly dusty front room, of the village cottage.

The man who'd accused him was also red-headed, though he was built more like a runner. And not in a wheelchair. He also looked mid-twenties, rather than mid-forties to fifties. Sitting near him was a dark-haired woman, of similar age, who hadn't spoken, though her eyes took in everything.

"That's a bit rude", said Brian, though he guessed with the accusation he'd better remember the hated name 'Brainless'. "You burst into someone's home, throw around accusations, and don't even introduce yourselves."

The man fiddled with the attachment on the side of his spectacles frame. He looked supremely confident, thought Brian. And, he moved in ways that his artistic eye told him weren't quite right. Almost as though he expected to fall. Both he and the woman shared that. And, they didn't look comfortable in their clothes. The woman kept touching her face, too.

Brian sighed. "If you give me a few minutes, I'll make some tea. Unless you'd prefer coffee. Then we can discuss what you want. Milk? Sugar?" And he turned to roll into the kitchen.

The man half-rose, as if he planned to stop him, the woman placed her hand on his arm, and he fell back into his seat. Brian heard quiet conversation start as he left the room. He didn't hurry, but he didn't dawdle, either.

He supposed he was fighting a delaying action. If they decided to do anything he was a man in a wheelchair. In a quiet English village. He supposed he could call the local police, but he didn't like that accusation. Uran was around, somewhere, outside the cottage. He didn't like to depend on her, but he couldn't see another way to deal with the situation.

Uran arrived as he finished making a pot of tea, and placed it on a tray with cups and saucers, a milk jug, sugar bowl and tea spoons. He'd used tea bags, so no strainer would be required. Co-op "99 Tea" should do.

Brian tried not to show he knew she was there, invisible. He wasn't supposed to be able to spot her. She floated up to him, through the open window, and whispered, maybe hoping to make him jump. He just turned to face her voice.

"Who're the two visitors? I saw their car, out front, and thought I'd better ask. Brains isn't expecting anyone, or he wouldn't be off working on the Moon House, today."

Brian waited until she finished, then checked the tray to ensure he hadn't missed something. He supposed as she was invisible he could pretend that she wasn't there, but that would end badly. He didn't dislike her, she just wasn't part of his life.

"Neither have introduced themselves", he murmured, knowing Uran's sharp ears would easily hear. "There is something 'off' about them. The man said I wasn't 'Brian'. That could be bad."

"I'm coming back in there with you", she whispered urgently. "Don't do anything silly", was his quiet reply, and he could imagine she was fuming.

The quiet conversation from ahead stopped as he wheeled back into the room, the tea tray clamped to one arm of his chair. He could sense Uran drifting in behind him, then off to one side. The man fiddled with his spectacles, again, looked around the room, then back at Brian.

"OK, who are you?" started the man, once he had his cup of tea. "How about you introduce yourselves?" returned Brian. The man looked at the woman, "I'm Jack. This is Ellen", the woman nodded, "Who's your invisible friend? Tinkerbell?"

"That's Uran", as he waved his hand generally, pretending to not know where she was. Uran appeared, still in mid-air, a metre up. The woman flinched. Brian glanced at a perfect little girl, neat dark hair in bunchies, big brown eyes, short pink-red near-sleeveless dress, pink-red shoes; 'That's her combat look', thought Brian.

Brian looked harder at Uran, tapped his ear, and indicated upwards with his eyes. Her puzzled look turning blank hopefully showing him she understood his request.

Things had moved from bad to desperate.

Co-op Food: [1]

Lunatic Thoughts

Mid Spring, 2008, Luna.

How had he got here? Not something he often thought about. Normal childhood, as one of two sons. Middle-class parents. Small town. He guessed he was lucky. His parents hadn't always agreed, but they'd stayed together. And, hadn't moved a lot.

On the Moon again. Supervising construction of his, their, new house. The important things were done, the deep heat sinks, the solar collection field, the vibrational, gravitic and magnetic cloaking systems. No one was going to spot it, unless they came really close, or, of course, used some sort of scanning method he hadn't anticipated.

His mind was wandering. An autobiography was a recent idea. Yes, he was a private person, and the closest he got to writing was technical papers and reports, but. Did he feel he owed something to the future? 'Pay forward' some of the riches civilized society had given him?

The Moon House wasn't ready for civilized living. While all the external work was done, and the redundant life support systems were running fine, the internal walls were bare rock. He'd used-up the tonnes of manure he'd bought. Nom Nom had processed them into feed-stock, and the Builder Beavers had extruded then installed the finished products. Mylar waved to ultra materials. Sandwiched in the walls. The magic Moon Fort, he'd imagined as a child.

Early opportunities... His schools hadn't been bad, either primary or secondary, and he'd always worked hard, had the advantage of being clever. But, rugby was the sport his school encouraged, not football, or cricket, and later... But he was getting ahead of himself.

The family holidays. Always somewhere there were mountains, or the sea - Wales provided both. It'd got him looking at natural beauty, places without people. And the stars. You could see them, out there, beyond light from towns or cities. Imagine other worlds, sky colours other than blue. Places he'd like to visit, maybe live.

Hmm. If he waved a screen on the ceiling in the Living Room, he could play the 'Hogwarts' trick. Show the Lunar sky as if there was no roof. Even use it as an immense media display. He'd need safety cut-outs, anti-glare, the ability to create sub-screens... Do-able...

Maybe something holographic? But, he was reluctant to do that on any large scale, inside a home. What if it was subverted? You could find yourself in a totally unfamiliar place. What if Uran used it for a prank?

His brother. They'd never got on. He wanted to be 'practical', make money, network, they'd call it these days. He seemed to be good at everything, effortlessly; Brian had to work, study. Later, he thought, maybe that'd been an illusion. His brother carefully selected things he was good at, then 'stumbled' across them. But, it was too late to worry, now.

He'd worried a lot if the Moon House would be safe. He'd be OK if he was in his wheelchair. Any robots he built would be OK, vacuum-proof. He could install life support in his bed, the bath if he was feeling paranoid. An emergency structural-support force field would stop bits of walls or ceiling, even floor, hurting people. He remembered his dad doing decorating work...

Being practical, that was the side of Brian his father encouraged. Mother, more his academic side, reading. His father's books on science, engineering. All his mother's novels, and art books. He remembered looking at the 'naughty' pictures, later criticising the art styles.

Art, he guessed he'd need some pictures on the walls, here. Prints. The big picture window in the Living Room, that looked over the currently barren 'courtyard' garden. Should he follow Heinlein's "Farmer in the Sky", make his own soil from scratch, or just transplant an ecosystem? He just didn't understand the problem right... Maybe a Totoro robot gardener? Brilliant!

They'd called him clever at school, and, he was near the top of his class, but he never seemed clever enough. He'd had to fight to learn metalwork, with his father's full support, and been the youngest at evening classes, wanting to build a robot; otherwise woodwork would've been the limit from school. Engineering was in his dad's books, and he'd taught himself electronics. Then later programming.

He wasn't sure about wiring the Moon House with computers. Finding he'd an unplanned-for AI on his hands could be bad. But, wiring for gigabit Ethernet, it made sense to install at least the cables. Also, if he used Power Over Ethernet then 50W should be good enough for most light use. Two cables to every room, so, 100W if he pushed it to the limit. He wouldn't need mains power except to Kitchen, Garage and Workshops.

His first major use of a workshop was for painting his own miniature figures. A solvent fire had quickly put him off smoking. There'd been a war-gaming club he went to, one evening a week. Barely enough time to set the figures up, fight a simple, or part of a, battle, and tidy-away again. He'd kept going when he went to tech college, and he clearly remembered the fatal evening someone brought in the "Dungeons & Dragons" rules, in their wood-look box set.

He'd not really thought about it, but he guessed he could have his own dedicated gaming room, here. Wood look... If he got some more manure, no, leaf mould this time, he could get it processed into wooden floor boards. That'd be much nicer than bare stone, even bare stone under carpet. He could tile the Kitchen floor, that'd make it easier to keep clean. And, if he wanted a wood-panelled study, he could have one!

He remembered visiting a relative, who had a wood-panelled study. But, it was difficult to... Yes! It was his Uncle Jack. Shortly after he'd been injured abroad, got both legs blown off by a landmine, 'lucky to live'. Uncle Jack in a wheelchair, the way he got himself fit, afterwards. Walking again, on fake legs. It'd helped him keep going, when he himself'd ended in a wheelchair. Paralysed waist-down from his university rugby injury.

Going to university. His mother's win over his father. When he hadn't quickly got an engineering job, after college, his mother revealed some money she'd put aside, from her own father. Apparently it was earmarked to send a child to university. His older brother was clearly never going to go, already embarked on making his first million. Brian'd started a combined Engineering and Physics degree, with an eye to a job in the nuclear power industry.

Nuclear power. There was a dream that had failed. "Power so cheap you wouldn't need to meter it." Ha! He guessed he was using nuclear power, here. But, it was from that wonderful fusion reactor, Sol. That combined with bank after bank of accumulators. Enough stored power for a year. He'd never trusted his alternative idea - allotropic iron generators. The implication of possible total conversion explosions... bothered him.

Explosions. They'd cost his Uncle Jack his legs. Funny how he used to just disappear, then pop-up, months or years later, with presents. He'd got his first toy soldiers from him, one of the few things he could play with his brother without a fight. His mother didn't approve - she was CND, anti-war, something he came to understand later in life. Violence begat violence. Sport as ritualised combat. His father was happy as long as he built his own models, though he didn't like the way Brian learned costume-making from his mother. Then won that SF con fancy dress competition.

Something to make clothes. Useful if he didn't want to do it himself, from scratch. Clean them, as well. Connect up a CAD system for precise design, but, make sure no computers get waved. Does it count as theft if you use the general look of existing clothes? Likely no problem, as long as you don't sell them. Which reminded him. Have to be careful to update the diorama for the Moon House, as he added stuff, so it stayed in step. Implied he'd better start with the Workshop.

He'd showed Uncle Jack his workshop, once. It must be twenty years ago, now. Uncle Jack was walking well, for a man in his late 70s. Brian wasn't sure what the point was, because he was nearly blind, but he handled things with a feather touch, and asked Brian to describe the colours, so he could see them in his mind's eye.

Funny thinking about Uncle Jack. Great Uncle Jack, really, because he was his father's father's brother. He'd had a terse letter saying he'd died, in 2002. Age 92. No invite to the funeral, nothing after that. Brian'd even contacted his elder brother in New Zealand. He hadn't even been informed, and didn't seem very interested, so nothing there. Two weeks being depressed. Lucky he'd got that con to go to, that cheered him up.

Still, back to work. Try out some ideas on the copy of the Moon House diorama. Back in the SS Champ. Have a bite to eat, too.

His waved Bluetooth earpiece rang.

"Uran? What's the problem?"

Uncle Jack

Mid Spring, 2008, UK.

'Jack' touched his ear, and looked at Uran. "Encrypted phone calls. Naughty. I guess you're some kind of robot." He looked at Brian, "So, what does that make you?".

Brian sighed, even more deeply. "You're not what you look like, either." The man flinched, the woman touched her face, again. "I don't think you have any legal authority here", and Brian paused.

"But I suspect you could make life quite inconvenient for me." He carefully didn't look at Uran, hoping they wouldn't question her.

Brian continued. "Why don't you tell me what you know about handwavium? And, what brought you here in the first place? It isn't illegal to own or use handwavium, in the UK. No matter what the 'Daily Mail' says. Just to misuse it."

For the first time since he'd arrived, and pushed his way into Brian's home, the man looked a bit uncertain. The woman, Ellen, leaned in, and whispered something to him. A side glance at Uran suggested she hadn't overheard it, either.

The man grinned. It was the sort of grin that spoke of years of experience, and the ability to think nasty thoughts. It didn't sit well on his mid-twenties face. Brian quailed, then thought frantically. 'That reminds me of something. Maybe in the family photographs?' And he reached out, with his other hands, grabbed the top album, and started flipping pages as fast as he could, while fighting to keep his face and these hands still.

"Like I said. I'm Jack. I'm here to see Brian Severn. You're not Brian Severn. Why should I tell you anything?" Ellen, next to him, sighed and shook her head. Jack looked at her, for a moment.

'Found it!', thought Brian. And his other eyes carefully inspected the photograph. "You know", he said out loud, "You look a bit like my father, in family photographs, when he was young. And, you pronounce the family name right, like the river, not the number. You're not him, he's long dead, and you don't look quite like him, anyway".

"So. Tell. Me. About. Handwavium."

"I told you to tell the truth", murmured Ellen. "We can watch you two playing word games, all day. Or, you could actually start talking to each other. You promised to try and change, Jack."

Jack looked a bit guilty. "OK." "I know handwavium can really...", and he looked at Ellen, "mess you up". "I know there are idiots turning cars and vans into unregistered aircraft. And not bothering to get a licence or safety certificate. I know there are people breaking all sorts of public health and safety regulations. And doing things that have ethics panels in fits."

"So, are you one of the idiots, or one of the victims. Or, God Forbid, a 'responsible member of the public'." And, he did the air quotes.

Uran looked at Brian in shock. "But we haven't done anything wrong!"

Brian scratched his cheek, "I have to agree with her. At least in principle. And, Uran, don't forget I'm not Brains. You know how much that upsets him."

"Brains?" murmured Ellen. "It's Brian's on-line name", murmured Jack, then seeing her confused look, "A literary name, like a pen-name", and her face cleared. He'd obviously pitched his voice so Brian and Uran would hear.

Ellen looked at Brian, "And how about some truth from you in return, young man?", and without raising her voice Brian realised he was facing someone far better at this than him.

He sighed, in a heartfelt way. "You can call me 'Brainless'. I'm Brian, 'Brains', stand-in for when he's away on business. No, I'm not being oppressed, not particularly, anyway. Brian will be back, in a while, but he has to travel a considerable distance."

Jack looked intrigued. "I could have really used someone like you, a few times." "You don't know me, yet", replied Brainless, "and if you did, you wouldn't say that".

"Drink your tea. I can promise you it's not drugged, or poisoned. And, if you come through into the workshop, maybe I can explain a few things to you."

Jack got to his feet, and held a hand to Ellen, who accepted his assistance, though she likely didn't need it. He strode across to Brainless, and held out his hand.

"I'm Jack Severn, but, I guess as you're one of the family, you can call me 'Uncle Jack'."

Family Reunion

Mid Spring, 2008, UK.

The workshop visit had gone well. Jack seemed particularly impressed by Brainless refusing to let him enter with his tea cup. And pointing out the smoke alarm-like handwavium sensor over the doorway. Brainless insisted on running the w-scanner over all of them before they went any further in, confirming they were initially 'clean'.

A few of Brains dioramas were well received. While he inspected the Highlander one with interest, it was the World War II one that drew Jack's attention. After a little time, and use of a magnifying glass, he pronounced it 'mostly accurate'. Ellen was fascinated with the moving figures, and flinched as they fell over, shot, or were blown-up. Brainless plucked one out, showing her it was an inanimate metal figure, then explained they followed a fixed scenario, and felt no pain. The diorama of workshop and house was not revealed.

Uran opened her chest inspection panel, showing them she was a robot. Brainless was pretty sure that was some sort of illusion trick, as the internal details weren't right. And why didn't her dress get in the way? 'Ah ha! Mirror-imaged! She's practised this trick using a mirror!' he thought.

Brainless wasn't very good with handwavium, but there were a few basic routines he'd practised to perfection. He got out a nearly full box of scintilliscopes, and pointed out they were a popular child's toy, mid 20th century. Jack nodded. He then let Jack try them out, on a box surmounted by three unmarked discs.

"I can only see the little flashes from the middle one." Brainless gave him a key, and he released the middle disc to reveal the label 'Thorium Sample' on the bottom. Taking Jack's chosen 'toy', Brainless carried it across, in clear sight, and placed it with care in a transparent glove box, turning on the extractor fan.

"Now for the dangerous bit", he said with a grin. Jack and Ellen took half a step back, then leaned a little forwards. Uran just floated there, obviously amused. Again with care, Brainless opened a small container already in the glove box, and painted markings on the toy, all the while mumbling to himself. Then he placed the brush through a vent into a disposal chute. Next he attached an electrode to the toy, and pulled one hand out of a glove to flip a switch. Nothing obvious happened, and he picked up a small paint spray, and gave the toy a transparent coating.

"Now, we give that time to cure. About fifteen minutes should do. Enough time to check-out, get another cup of tea, then check-in again." Jack looked as if he would protest when Brainless ran the w-scanner over all of them again, but Ellen shook her head. "Of course, no one will tamper with it while we're out of the room", Jack said. "If you want to sit and watch it you are at liberty to do so. But, no food or drink gets consumed in this room."

Jack followed the rest of them out the doorway, with a backward glance, locking the appearance of the room into his memory. It looked unchanged when they returned, a quarter hour later. Brainless extracted the toy, gave it a careful check with the w-scanner, and handed it to Jack. "Try it."

Jack picked up a red felt-tip pen, and put a dot on the waved toy. Ellen nodded approvingly, and he grinned. Then he experimented with it and others from the original box. "Well, the others show sparkles on the middle disc, but this one only on one of the end discs." Brainless handed him three keys.

With some fumbling Jack found which key matched which lock. The middle disc was still labelled 'Thorium Sample', one end disc, the unresponsive one, was 'Empty Sample', and the third one 'Handwavium Sample'. Then Brainless waved the w-scanner over the three discs, and only the third one gave an audible 'beep'. "You can try it on the doorway scanner if you like", he offered.

Jack shook his head, and went to give the toy back to Brainless. "Keep it", said Brainless. "You now have a way to detect handwavium. I'd tell anyone who uses it to hold their breath while they lean in close to the thing they're checking, though."

Jack glared at Brainless, then barked a laugh. Ellen smiled. "What's next on the tour, then?"

"That would be me", came a voice from behind them.

One Last Job

Mid Spring, 2008, UK.

"I'd retired, as much as you ever do from my job. You'd think they'd have limited use for a man in his mid 90s, blind and deaf except through prosthetics. Missing both legs and an arm. Not to mention several square yards of skin over the years. But, no. 'One last job'."

"It just shows how valuable you are to Her Majesties Government", Brains remarked. Uncle Jack gave him a sour look, "Valuable, like a horse they haven't yet killed, with over-work".

"There, there", Ellen patted his hand. Jack gave her a Look, "You were in the same boat. Probably threatened to cancel your pension, or something". "No", Ellen replied, "I hoped this job would actually kill me. I knew my mind was going, and suicide is a sin". Jack looked shamefaced.

"Anyhow. Someone was hitting 'assisted living', for the elderly. Selecting one or two very elderly, using what criterion we didn't know. Dosing them with handwavium. Abandoning what we assumed were their failed experiments for the health authorities to deal with. No signs of anyone missing."

"One man was perfectly healthy. Nearly ninety years old, and looked it, but stable. His mind had gone, and he looked likely to live indefinitely. One woman lost more than thirty years of age, putting her in her fifties - she wasn't happy; she'd originally been a man. One woman, now with perfect sight and hearing, but still eighty-five years old. She was the one who gave us the word, 'Jaegerdraft'."

Brains choked. Jack waved his hand. "Yes, we looked it up on the Internet. Best guess was some 'genius' thought elderly people were expendable. Good experimental subjects. In a 'mutant super soldier experiment'. You'll understand I'm quoting, here."

"Three attacks we knew about, and we couldn't find any more, in the UK, anyway. That gave us our analysts a pattern, and people were 'assigned' to various likely targets."

"They'd already dosed Ellen, maybe they'd found out..." Ellen grabbed Jack's arm, "No, I was just lucky". He looked at her with suspicion, then continued. "I tackled the 'care assistant', who was pushing a trolley with a tea urn on it. Got her, with a taser built into my walking stick. She lashed out, and I was half-drowned in tea. Scalding, nasty-tasting, tea."

"When I came round, our people were mopping up. Literally for the tea, in hazmat suits. The woman had taken some sort of mind drug. She acted like an amnesiac eight year old. With the strength of a male body builder twice her size. Her van had some sort of AI. That suicided using thermite. Took any evidence with it. About that time I dropped-off again."

"Came around three days later, in a secure Intensive Care Unit. They said I'd nearly died, and had to restart my heart half-a-dozen times. My prosthetics are part of me, they couldn't get them off without surgery, which I think they considered. Stronger, faster, and I'm otherwise as fit as a twenty-five year old. The six thousand Euro man."

"I was more fortunate", said Ellen in a quiet voice. "They only had to revive me twice. My memory loss... I can't forget anything, now. I've perfect sight and hearing, but bright lights and sudden noises hurt. They tell me that may get better."

Jack glanced at her. "We're going into training. They're sending us up into Fenspace. Some idea of 'Protecting British Interests'. I should change my name to 'Dan Dare'. We get our own camper van space ship. Yes, I saw the poster on the back of your wheelchair." And he nodded to Brains.

"I wanted to see one of my last living relatives, first. Little Brian, 'I am a river not a number' Severn. Ellen was kind enough to accompany me." Brains looked at the pair of them, and thought there was a bit more to it than that.

"Maybe we can hire you as some sort of back-room consultant?" Brains looked suspicious. "Confidentially guaranteed. Likely won't even need to leave your own home."

"I'll think about it", muttered Brains.

"So, Brian. Sorry, 'Brains'. Not in any official capacity. As your Uncle Jack."

"Can you recommend any good science fiction authors?"