Week Seven

“Poverty in the laboratory”

Lab Rat

“Perkins! The incubator! Wake up boy.”
John Perkins stared at his supervisor for a moment before blinking and hurrying to silence the beeping and empty the incubator. Usually he would toss off some kind of salute in response to being called boy, but at least half of his mind was still elsewhere. He hoped the few minutes delay would not affect the test results. The previous day he had been so excited about this latest batch of tests, it really felt as if they were on the verge of a discovery. The atmosphere in the lab was noticeably different, quieter, a thread of tension coupled with quick smiles as the workers looked across at each other after another set of successful results.

They all knew the unspoken deadline. Theirs was a niche research unit, privately owned by a previously rich, but still mad, genius. Curiosity around the Big Boss’s life was actively discouraged, but it was somehow common knowledge that he had re-mortgaged his house and the lab to back this venture. Big Boss was convinced it would work; it was whether they would finalise the new drug in time that was the issue. Once the drug was viable the banks would lend whatever was needed to get it into production. They had three months before the money ran out, no more jobs for them, no more anything for Big Boss.

John had no idea how close to the line they were running, Big Boss wasn’t much of a communicator. Just three months and he could be out of a job and then he’d really be in trouble. Although on what he was on, it wouldn’t make too much difference to his current problems. As his mind came back to Fiona he felt his mouth dry with panic. Any minute now he was going to get shouted at again, but what was he going to do?
It had all started as a bit of fun. Although looking back he wasn’t even sure about that. All he knew was that he’d seen her walk into the bar and the world had spun. When the dizziness faded he had been possessed by a stranger. John was not a compulsive man. He was a scientist, a logical methodical worker who enjoyed knowing what he was going to do each day and how he contributed to the grand plan. He was not, for instance, someone who would walk up to beautiful girl, buy her a drink and insist on taking her for dinner. He was certainly not someone who would then send her flowers at work and have a limousine waiting for her outside to whisk her away for the evening. And he definitely wasn’t the kind of man who would propose to a lady in a grand romantic gesture, with said lady believing him to be a wealthy man and the owner of the laboratory. He would have said that wasn’t him last night, but in that case it hadn’t been him for over three months. If he was someone else for that long did it still count as someone else?

John wasn’t saying it hadn’t been fun. He had very much enjoyed being this other man, men double-looking at the beautiful woman on his arm, fancy restaurants and low-lit bars with cocktails he hadn’t even known he could pronounce. He wasn’t sure if he really loved her, he couldn’t think about her without his brain dribbling out through his ears never mind see her in a rational state of mind. He had spent his entire savings on wining and dining and had vaguely thought that once the money ran out the charade would come to a natural close. Now she was expecting to be taken ring shopping and would want to see the country house he’d told her was his main home.
This morning the glow of Fiona’s acceptance had been replaced with numbness, the ringing in his ears repeatedly drowning out the beeps and buzzes of the equipment he was minding. After buying a lottery ticket on the way in to work, his second thought had been of alchemy. He knew it had been proven, so all he needed was a cheaper way of doing it. This could solve everyone’s problems and he couldn’t think why he hadn’t tried it before. His cotton-wool head could think of no particular objections, except for the sharing part. He could make gold, buy the laboratory and be the person he’d been acting. Answer number two sorted. Solutions always came in threes but what with the ringing and the tumbleweed in his head he was finding it hard to focus.

His head cleared to a single high pitched whine. He had it! All he had to do was sabotage the tests! He couldn’t believe how simple the answer was. If the experiments didn’t work then in three months time the laboratory would close. Big Boss’s name would not be listed anywhere as the owner, so John could show Fiona the facts as they would probably be reported in a trade journal, and she would accept he had lost everything. It was perfect.