UniteDead Kingdom. Stuart Irving Irving
are fuckin’ FAGGOTS!!” She screeched this out loud for the whole street to hear; this made the kebab shop audience cheer even more. Jack stared back at this dramatic drunken scene and then quickly looked forward again as they strode down North Street.
“Oh shit, not again.” said Jack to himself.
“Yes indeed. I think you’re returning to Earth buddy. Let’s get you home …”
The next morning, aside from the usual barf-fest that accompanied their crazy nights out in St Andrews, there was a very subdued Jack.
“What's up buddy?” asked Zan
“Well … I’m just crazy hung-over. And a bit shocked by what happened last night. She was so aggressive! And then because I was so drunk I was totally on autopilot. Just like in your favourite movies - I was a fuckin’ zombie.” His voice trailed off and Zan saw him relax into a thousand metre stare. He'd seen this stare a couple of times before, always before some crazy suggestion for a weekend away or a plan to pull more women. Not this time though.
“Well, you know what, it’s made me think actually,” said Jack. “What … what if there was a way to control … let’s say, hardened criminals by using the active ingredient in booze - ethanol. Just like I was controlled last night. Just like being drunk, it would shut down a person’s higher functions. Their aggression would dissipate to nothing. And then their lizard brain could be controlled with simple reward-system conditioning whilst they’re stupefied by the ingested ethanol.”
“Dude, words fail me.” said Zan. “I think you’re still stupefied by ingested ethanol from last night. What the hell are you babbling about?”
“OK, hear me out. If a dangerous criminal was in a permanent state of dull stupor, without having to constantly inject them with expensive drugs, then you'd be able to switch the stupor on and off with nothing more than a stinking hangover. You could have him picking up litter in public parks and painting youth clubs walls unsupervised. Think about it, jails would be a thing of the past.”
“Eh look, I'm the maths guy; you're neurochemistry-guy, fine. But that doesn't mean what you just described makes any sense. Note carefully - I'm NOT saying I don’t understand the vocabulary or because it’s not my field of expertise or something. It just doesn’t make any sense because … well … the mechanics are just faulty. Ethanol cannot be used to pacify people as simply as that. Aren’t you forgetting the hundreds, if not thousands of drink-related deaths every weekend from accidents, violence and … undercooked doner kebab meat. Haha! Seriously, even if ethanol could be somehow injected into the brain and the effect switched on and off, that would still just cause more problems than it solves.”
“OK, I'm just thinking aloud here,” said Jack, holding both hands up in front of him. “Penicillin started from a mouldy piece of bread, right? It seems to me far-reaching solutions are often the simplest, most counter-intuitive ones. If we could isolate and nullify the aggressive aspects of ethanol's impact on the brain then we would have a cheap, pill-free pacifier for dangerous criminals or the mentally unstable. I mean, obviously, we'd have to do tests but we're talking about a multi-billion dollar drug here!”
“Oh come on, if it was that simple, someone would have already done it!”
“No, no, don’t you see?” Jack pleaded. “No-one’s done it because it’s dangerous research and could mess-up or probably zap someone's brain entirely.”
“We'll it's words like 'zap' that make me worried.” said Zan, turning his head back to the TV. “I know you’re a bit of a brainiac, and I don’t care how your finals went; you still don’t fully understand the brain’s chemistry. Nor does anyone for that matter. Not yet anyway.” Jack went silent. His already thin lips narrowing as he looked at Zan through his hangover daze.
“Zan, don't do that. Don't dismiss me out of hand. Do I need to remind you I was picked for University Challenge not you—”
Zan groaned. “Really? This again? Here we go; your answer to every debate … Jack the intellectual master of the universe and yet somehow, he still can't handle his fucking drink. Why don't you have something to eat and get over your hangover and stop being such a fucking … evil genius douche-bag. Or maybe just buy a white cat to stroke and be done with it. In fact just go have a stroke full stop. If it stops you ending up with another swamp monster it can’t be bad. I’m going to archery. See you later.”
“…” Jack began but stopped. Zan felt a cruel sense of spite that Jack, whilst by far the smartest guy he had ever known - including every hot-shot researcher in the science faculty - was still waylaid by a jibe about his drinking or his ability with girls. There was no way he was thinking his way through those two brick walls. It felt good seeing his ego knocked down to size.
Zan smirked as he started to walk way. He turned at the doorway to look back and the smirk quickly faded from his lips. Jack now looked serene; not all puffed up and frustrated like usual. His eyes had a calmness that he didn't much like …
Zan’s eyes closed as he remembered how he looked back then and opened them to return to the present day. He gazed at the array of electronic lights scattered around his otherwise pitch-dark bedroom and the call waiting symbol on his arm with Jack’s name next to it.
With the thoughts of their last meaningful interaction years ago still filling his head he looked at the ceiling, eyes refocusing on the drone-cam. The riot had become more like a human banquet. He peered at the name buzzing on his wrist, Jack’s third call in a row. He tried to steel himself to answer and face the awkwardness. Was that last hangover-inspired argument after their finals really the last time they talked? Some stupid blow-out fuelled by binge drinking and a bad taste in women. It had been nearly thirteen years since they’d spoke a word. Well, here he was again. This had better be good …
“Yes, hello Jack.”
“Hey Zan.”
Silence.
“Long time eh?”
Chapter 6: Too Close to Home
Just as Zan began his long, fraught, emotional call with Jack a postgraduate medical student named Tanja had wrapped her bitten fingers in medical gauze and near the end of her rushed taxi journey from the outskirts of Kamnik to Ljubljana Airport.
The airport was only fifteen klicks away and, as usual, she’d been late in booking a cab. By the time it arrived - also late - she was nursing the fresh wound. She collapsed heavily onto the back seat of the car and hurriedly slammed the door. The taxi-driver looked round in concern.
“What hap—”
THUMP!
A large man in overalls banged awkwardly against the back window where Tanja had just got in. She looked panic-stricken and the blood was trickling down the arm which cradled her bitten hand.
“What’s going on? Did he do that?” said the now-panicked taxi-driver.
“Yes! Right outside my front door, crazy bastard came from nowhere! I didn’t want to miss my cab or the flight so I ran round the block. Lazy bastard didn’t even run, just creepily walked after me. Anyway, I’m already late; take me straight to the airport.” She appeared calm, maybe in shock.
“Surely the hospital first my dear, no?”
“No, I will miss my graduation in London tomorrow, I’m a medic, I’ll fix this. Just hurry please!”
“OK, OK.” He shook his head, thinking about blood stains on his carpet. They accelerated away, spinning gravel on to the face of the still pursuing man in overalls.
“What time is your flight?”
She looked at her watch. “In just under thirty minutes. The security gate closes in ten.”
The taxi-driver smiled. “You’ll be there in seven”
Despite the intense pain from her two bitten fingers she smiled at him in the rear view