Curse of the Potency Page 9

  “That’s the latest iteration of the material,” he said excitedly. “It’s a beautiful structure, isn’t it? And almost perfectly impenetrable. Impossible for anything to break through it—radiation, heat, microwaves, solar rays.”

  He winked at me with his little joke.

  “And over here”—he hurried me to another desk where a couple of people were working busily on computers—“we’re inputting data into the Omega mainframe. So far, that’s provided us with several usable insights, though I’m not saying we wouldn’t have arrived at the same conclusions ourselves. Not really of interest for you, come to think of it… Come on.”

  He walked me to a what looked like a cross between a microwave and a coffin, a big white rectangular box.

  “This is where we do the high-intensity laser testing.”

  He said the word “laser” with a double flash of his eyebrows, like he was describing a souped-up sports car.

  “Our newest material is already off-the-charts strong, taking power modulations in the hundreds of gigahertz and barely a scratch. Of course, we do really need the T17s to move forward at this point, but Daryl is still having some trouble with paperwork, apparently, and—”

  “Byron,” said Marcus parentally, “I’m not sure if Dave really cares about that.”

  Byron went silent, giving me a questioning look. I shook my head.

  “Fair enough.” He shrugged. “I’m sure you’ll like this though.”

  He began tugging at my T-shirt, but we were then suddenly interrupted by a flashing red light on a nearby wall and a loud klaxon siren.

  “Sample in transit!” someone shouted.

  “Just a minute, Dave,” said Byron, rushing over to the wall.

  “What’s going on?” I asked Marcus.

  I watched as a small square section of the wall slid open, revealing a sort of a slender metal green bottle inside.

  “We have to follow strict procedures when receiving the substance,” said Marcus. “It is, after all, highly dangerous.”

  He looked at me with a smirk.

  I watched as several scientists carefully took out the bottle and placed it onto a tray. A bottle of my wee! With gloved hands they carried it over to a big metal door and gently placed it inside. When the door was shut, the light stopped flashing and the klaxon died down.

  “That will need to be used within the next two hours or disposed of downstairs,” explained Marcus importantly. “Currently, all new material is exposed to it during the production process. It’s an essential element in forming a metal of such absolute strength.”

  “I see,” I said, not really seeing at all, just in awe that my pee should be treated with such care and respect by these professionals.

  I mean, yes, I knew all too well how godforsaken toxic it was, but to witness them actually handling it like that just sort of brought home the grotesqueness of the whole thing. This entire lab existed because of me. Because of my piss.

  *****

  “Well,” said Byron. “Did Marcus explain about the—”

  “He did.” I nodded, thinking it was probably time to ask about my flat. “Actually, I wanted to ask you—”

  “Yes, yes, but let me show you this first.”

  He motioned me to a huge metal box which he patted affectionately. It looked like a sort of a giant oversized fridge. I thought it best to just let him continue.

  “This is one of the most advanced and powerful pressure imitation units on the planet. I mean, we’re putting this material through a hell of a lot. A hell of a lot. Want to see?”

  “Er, don’t worry—”

  I was going to politely decline but Byron was unstoppable.

  “Come here!” He pulled me excitedly.

  “Fred!” he called to one of the technicians. “Get over here and bring some of the latest production. I want to demonstrate the load resistance.”

  Fred, a guy with a ponytail and wearing a grubby black heavy metal T-shirt, looked up from what he was doing. Marcus gave him a little nod and he proceeded to go to the far end of the room. He returned wearing thick black gloves, carefully carrying a very thin sheet of what looked like luminous green metal. Roughly wafer-size. Sort of like a nice chocolate wafer if you pulled one apart, if you know what I mean.

  “Watch in there.” Byron pointed to a small glass viewing point on the back of the large fridge thingy.

  Fred opened a latch on the other side.

  “Now we’re going to subject our material to a strong force of gravity,” said Byron. “Or weight, if you will.”

  I looked through the viewing glass. Inside, I could see Fred carefully inserting the green sheet between two large, dark slabs. He placed it delicately on its side so it was standing up long-ways. It clicked into place, wrenched between those two slabs, the almost impossible thinness of it directly in view.

  “Set it to twelve thousand,” Byron called to his colleague again. He turned to me. “We’re going to subject it to an equivalent force of twelve thousand kilograms.”

  “That’s roughly the same weight as an average bus,” added Marcus.

  “Wow,” I said.

  To look at it, it didn’t seem possible that what was basically a puny cracker could possibly withstand a bus being dropped on it. I mean, I knew it probably would, since they wouldn’t show me otherwise, but still.

  “Alright, Dave, the viewing portal. Get ready,” said Byron.

  I put my face there again and watched.

  “Hit it, Fred!” called Byron.

  The whole machine started humming. I could feel deep vibrations coming off of it, tremors coming up into my feet from the floor. Some serious power running through that bad boy.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Watch!”

  I kept watching. The machine hummed away. Inside, the wisp of material stayed still. The two slabs above and below it shook ever so slightly. I guessed they were actually pushing really hard.

  Then the noise died down and the humming and the vibrating stopped.

  “Is that it?”

  “Yes!” said Byron. “Marvellous, isn’t it?!”

  “But nothing happened.”

  “Exactly!”

  Marcus rolled his eyes at Byron’s theatrics.

  Actually, I got the point. A bus had just been plonked onto that upturned sliver of metal, and nothing had happened. It had just sat there, happy as Larry, as if maybe a feather had tickled it. And that had been made possible via some complex chemical process, by the application of my wee.

  *****

  I am sure Byron would have spent ages more taking me round everything, perhaps demonstrating further miracles, but enough was enough and I didn’t want to risk winding up Marcus.

  “Sorry, Byron,” I interrupted as he led me past a section of the wall adorned with a series of labelled green metal slivers.

  “Yes?” He turned to me, no doubt expecting a technical question of some kind.

  “I’m gonna need the loo soon.” I used the only excuse I knew was really foolproof. “And I did want to ask about that, actually.”

  “Oh, I see,” he said. “Of course. See you later, Dave. We can continue this another time.”

  Marcus sighed with relief.

  “No. I wanted to ask you about it.”

  They both looked at me in confusion.

  “About what?” said Byron.

  “Well, just that. About the toilet.”

  “What toilet?”

  He looked really confused.

  “My toilet.”

  “Your toilet? It’s downstairs, yes?”

  “Yeah, but no, the real toilet. The one you guys are gonna build for me.”

  “Build for you?”

  He looked at Marcus for help.

  “What are you talking about, Dave?” asked Marcus.

  This wound me up. I didn’t want to assume they had no idea, but it certainly seemed that way.

  “When I signed up here, Daryl told me you would be bui
lding a toilet I could use—”

  “But we have already—”

  “No,” I said, interrupting him again, trying to stay calm. “I don’t mean the one in the basement. I mean, yes, thank you for that. It’s very useful. But I’ve been led to believe that once this mega-dega-super-carbon—”

  “Just call it ‘the material.’ We do. Never liked that name. It was Daryl’s idea…”

  “Alright, the material. I was led to believe that once it was strong enough, you’d be building me a proper toilet—”

  “Yes,” said Byron. “In the basement you have—”

  “No!” I shouted.

  That shut them up. And they both took a little step back from me. Couldn’t help myself. They were doing my nut.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, quietening down again. “I don’t mean to get all worked up, but you’re not getting what I am saying. Daryl promised to build me a proper toilet in a proper flat. You know, with proper rooms and proper windows to the outside world, not stuck in a dark basement with some poor bastard collecting tanks at all hours whenever I need a tinkle. Do you get what I am saying?”

  They looked at each other with deep concern, then at me, frowning. No, a little nervous, actually. I guess that shouting had rattled them.

  “Well?”

  “Oh, Dave, I am sorry,” said Marcus, trying to be sympathetic yet also sounding as if I didn’t have a clue about a thing in the world, which apparently I didn’t. “You really shouldn’t go listening to everything Daryl tells you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  A dark cesspool of fury was bubbling somewhere deep down between my tummy and my backside.

  “He’s very good at promising things,” added Byron. “Not always so good at delivering.”

  “Well, in fairness,” said Marcus, “it’s us who would have to deliver on that one. But I’m sorry, Dave. Daryl hasn’t spoken to us about that. And from where I’m standing, it doesn’t look very feasible. At least, not for a good long while.”

  I shook my head. This was just crap.

  “Don’t worry.” Byron touched my shoulder. “The material is getting better all the time, although development has been a slowing down this past week. Your samples are losing potency. Were you aware of that?”

  “Hang on! Hang on!” Things were getting far too confusing. “You’ve said a lot of stuff and I need to get this straight.”

  Their big puppy dog eyes were full of caution.

  “So.” I sighed. “Daryl is nothing but a bullshitter. I get that.”

  Byron let out a snort of laughter.

  “But the material,” I continued. “Like you said, it’s getting stronger. If that’s true, what’s stopping you building me a proper toilet somewhere else right now?”

  Marcus rubbed his chin. “There are a number of factors, really. For one thing, a toilet would require plumbing. Plumbing with this material is not really feasible at the moment. We’re still in testing and development, as you can see. We’re not set up for manufacturing. Those tanks downstairs are not simple at all to mould. We’ve got a usable design we can replicate for your current toilet, yes, but anything more elaborate would be very…”

  He looked to Byron for help.

  “Complicated,” said Byron, nodding. “Pipes that turn and twist. Connections. Seals. A toilet bowl. A flushing and pressure mechanism. Tanks that—”

  “Yes, the tanks,” Marcus cut in. “Or rather, the storage problem. Now yes, our material can currently hold your urine for a limited time, but it still possesses extreme corrosive intensity. Locating you off premises poses huge logistical problems. How do you transport the off-flow safely? Where do you transport it to? We need a continuous supply here to continue with our development. Where would you propose your new flat be located? Do you have a property nearby?”

  “Next door,” said Byron.

  “What?” I said.

  “Your flat,” he said. “It would need to be next door.”

  “But even if it were next door,” added Marcus, giving Byron an admonishing look, “we’re nowhere near the stage where we could guarantee the safety of the plumbing. It would rapidly degrade, and it’s far from a simple matter to replace the kind of network that would be required to transfer the urine from your toilet to our storage facility in the basement. Can you imagine what would happen if there was a leakage?”

  “Oh God.”

  That was all I could say, really. It seemed hopeless in the extreme.

  We stood in silence for a moment. I assumed they were politely waiting for me to leave.

  “Hang on,” I said, an idea suddenly occurring to me. “I still don’t get it. If the storage facility, the big tank, can store my wee, as you said, surely you can build something strong enough to hold it while it is transported—”

  “No, Dave,” said Byron, shaking his head. “The so-called storage facility isn’t really anything of the sort. It can only hold your urine for a period of hours. In fact, once we do what we need with it up here, what remains is treated as dangerous waste and is simply—”

  “I’m not sure Dave needs to hear about that part,” said Marcus sharply.

  “The remaining waste is simply what?” I pushed. “Come on!”

  Byron looked at Marcus and he gave him a sombre nod. “It runs off safely to deep ground via a specially prepared… route.”

  Didn’t seem so bad, but I filed that one for later.

  “Alright,” I said. “So last question. Can you just tell me when you think it will be possible to build me the plumbing I need? Or to put it another way, how long have I got to stay cooped up in that sodding basement?”

  “I’m sorry, Dave,” said Marcus, giving me a commiserating look. “We’re talking years.”

  “What?!”

  I shouldn’t have been shocked, after everything, but still, you know. I hated that basement. I hated Daryl too, more than ever now.

  “How many years?”

  Marcus looked at Byron and gave him another sombre nod.

  “It’s hard to say exactly,” explained Byron. “It depends on so many factors. The rate of development. There are a lot of unknowns at this stage still. It’s still early days. Containment is a massive issue. And then, as Marcus was saying, we’d need the appropriate production facilities and that really depends on the level of investment and how soon we can start—”

  “Please, Byron,” I said. “Just give it to me straight. How many years?”

  “Um…” He was really struggling. “Maybe two years? Going on current data, all things being equal.”

  There we had it. Two years seemed to be the general number around here. And really, as far as I was concerned, enough was enough. I had the strong urge to bang my head against a wall several times, but instead I decided to head straight to Daryl’s office, give him a proper piece of my mind.

  Just as I was about to leave, something else they’d said jumped to my mind.

  “One more thing,” I said, looking at Byron. “You said something about the… the potency going down?”

  “Yes,” nodded Byron. “Daryl wasn’t too pleased when he found out. He’s even had Frank Stalbaum on the phone, apparently. Not pleasant.”

  “Frank Stalbaum?” I said.

  “Omega.” Byron nodded. “Bit of a ball-breaker. Investors, you know—”

  “You really should speak to Daryl and Molly about that though, Dave,” Marcus interrupted irritably. “They’re in charge where you’re concerned, not us. Now we really do need to get on with our work, please.”

  “Alright,” I said, getting the hint. “I’m off now.”

  As I left, my head was spinning with way more shit that just disappointments and anger at Daryl. I recalled the conversation about my diet with Molly the previous night. That had to be connected to this potency thing, the potency going down. Then there was the way that Omega and this Frank guy had come up—and not necessarily in a good way, though I guessed that was natural since they were obviously the sou
rce of money for everything here. Add to all that the capabilities of the weird material I had just witnessed, which my urine somehow made possible. Clearly, I was making possible some amazing stuff. My wee was, anyway. As Daryl said, if things went to plan, NASA could use it. Build spaceships, take us to Mars. And there I was, the simple act of pissing into that bin in my bloody basement making it all possible. I mean, stop me if I’m wrong, but Jesus Christ, things were just starting to get a little bit mental.

  Chapter 10

  “Don’t you ever knock?” said Daryl as I barged through his door.

  Whatever sort of let-off I’d given him before, it had expired. Two years till I got paid properly. And now two years till I got to experience the joys of life in a normal flat. Two years, all things being equal, if ever. Well, if they ever started thinking about it, because of course that bastard Daryl had never even mentioned it to anyone!

  “I need to have words with you,” I said, a little breathless after storming up from Marcus and Byron. “And you, actually.”

  Unfortunately, Molly was there too, looking up at me questioningly, causing my heart to sink and my anger to deflate. I didn’t want her to witness me letting my foul mouth loose on Daryl.

  “That’s funny, Dave,” said Daryl. “I needed to speak to you too. Both of you.”

  He made it sound like we had been naughty or something.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yes, that’s why I asked Molly up here,” he said. “I was going to ask you to join us too. Sit down, why don’t you?”

  So I plonked myself in the chair next to Molly, and in a flash, his manner completely changed from seriousness to bubbly enthusiasm.

  “It’s about your diet,” he said. “Your vegan diet.” He shook his head to himself, giving me a knowing smile. “How are you enjoying that, Dave?”

  “Er, well, it’s been hard, yeah,” I said, thrown by his sudden change in tone. Also, Molly was looking at me in a funny way—sort of sadly. What was going on? “Not a complete waste of time though, I think. I certainly feel more… healthy.”

  “Health” was not a thing I aspired to; the very idea of eating my greens and going to the gym made me feel sick. Yet physically I was feeling more sprightly—more “healthy,” I suppose you could say. Horrible food though. Definitely.