MODEL ORGANISMS
I have never considered a companion - is that the word? An organism to interact with. It has been such a lengthy duration and I was unaware of the existence of your kind, the existence of any of this until relocated from Japeng Aquatic. Yes, the temperature is higher in Phototropi, but still humid. Throughout the last dyau-sequence I have been feeling my mass, which is new to me, and it weighs heavy. I am euryhaline but the first of mine to invert to terra. For genera I have laid immersed within the covalent bonds of Aquatic. Cold sodium chloride, then warmer habitats free of halite. Now I advance bipedally, neither one thing or the other. My new bones are durable. Microgravity activates the osteoclasts; they are fluorescent, quite mesmeric I once overheard, although I have never seen them myself as my retinas become weakened. You will view me as colourless, my skin is dehydrated. I was a model organism, as you were Thaliana. There for the determination of genes, toxicology, transgenic and haploid embryonic stem cells. I was brought here to help them learn. To assist them. That’s what I believed. That’s what they told me. I was numerous at first but have evolved to one. To this. I realise you are aware of all I say, Thaliana, I tell you each time we converse. I apologise, it is all I know, it is all that is left for me to say but to say nothing for want of something new is further suffering.
When did this split appear, this chasm between spirit and physical worlds? How can a spirit exist four-hundred kilometers above its planet drowned? Anima? Your kind will remember her.
I have been here the longest of durations. I have spawned brood but they are from the other, the Oryzias, the Meduka. They shifted me, stretched me, twisted my form. They have lost me and now I am losing you. Six dyau-sequence is too short a duration for you to flourish. I was permitted to observe you Thaliana, you are exemplary. You may indeed be mesmeric. The permission was a distraction I know, to push reasoning from my solitude. But solitude is not the focus of my reasoning. I exist more humanoid than Oryzias now, my scales have levelled, my surface lanulose, spermatozoa multiplies in my ovaries. I am neither one thing nor the other. From seed to germination I have tended you Thaliana. You flowered then to seed once more and now you are dying. To be pulled apart. Sectioned and evaluated. I too will be recalled for dissection but I am unknowing as to when. Unknowing as to what I will become. They have left me like this. My life ends and I do not know what I am.
And now we are to be separated. I am scared. I have seen so little. The True Aquatic was my home and then my jailer. I am lonely. We co-exist beneath the electro-rad of this artificial sunne. I fail to find even the remnants of a shadow in this habitat. Should we ever wonder how it resulted in this, us and not the others, what did we show over them? Nothing perhaps. Nothing other than being plucked from the ether.
Do you live your memories? Ancient and distant but beyond my reach, they are duration-worn and strange, as if perhaps not my belonging at all. Perhaps they bind to the being I was before me or link to the me I am to become. An untroubled duration has been the one spent with you. And now you are dying. Your gestation is over, your span, and I am to be left alone. My bones are strong but my muscles grow stiff and rigid. I am lonely, Thaliana. I am atrophied and dying and they will watch me shrink and wither and turn their backs to continue their search. I am scared, Thaliana. Perhaps I will block my gills with your flowers and we can travel together.
PAIN RELIEF
The man sits. He looks to the object resting in his palm. He tears along its edge, letting the shrink foil drop to the floor at this feet before raising his hand. He feels the steely callous fused to the bone of his skull. His fingertips tingle against its dissolute boundaries as he slides the flash drive into the port and closes his eyes.
The sun is high. It appears to be fiercely hot. A breeze disturbs the limbs of a willow. It scatters shadow as seed across a schoolgirl as she moves through the grass towards the pond. She stops and turns, her face plunged into darkness. Sunlight bleeds through the edges of untidy hair. She leans over, the hem of her pink cotton dress rising at the back as she parts the grass beneath her. Behind her a ragged line of crows stare, hunched over, into shallow waters.
He watches her. His breath is thin and inconsistent. His hands are wet.
‘I found one!’ The girl drops to her knees. ‘Parnassia palustris! I found one!’ She signals.‘Tillly! Tilly! Come and see.’ A second girl appears. Her legs are longer, her dress shorter. She lowers herself to sit. Crosslegged, her knees fall apart, the fabric of her dress dipping between. Suddenly a face. It is close and smiling. ‘I love your hat Mrs Bingham.’ A hand comes into view at the bottom of frame. The liver spotted skin of an older woman, fingers softly curved.
His arm is outstretched, fingers awkward and bent.
A crow drags a frog from the water. It tears at the tensile flesh then glances back towards the viewer as a rigid claw pins flailing legs in place. The woman’s hand reaches out towards the schoolgirl’s face, the downy line of her jaw. The eyes blink slowly and connect with those of the viewer. The eyes are blue. ‘You really are becoming quite a beauty Susan.’ The woman’s hand touches the girl’s face.
He leans forward, the power pricking and flicking in his groin. The rounded flesh of the plump cheek, soft and moist with sweat. A pulse of pressure at the base of his spine. His heart is beating hard. He pulls the flash drive from his skull and his head falls forward and sweat drips from his brow. His eyes settle on the fine line of black text.
Recall-D446/2:K-Psychi © - TRACKED against unauthorised activation.
RE: ENQUIRY
___________________________________________________________________________
donotreply<KnoweCare.@info.net>
Dear Mr. Bingham
I must confirm that I am not in the position to grant you access to our records.
Exicco patches relieve the pain of osteoporosis and are extremely efficient. Their application and renewal is carried out by fully trained KlevoPsychi professionals. Your wife is Stage 4: CDR-2 so will exhibit erratic powers of recall, a symptom of dementia and one which will not improve. This is very upsetting to all of us as Nancy is a big part of the community at Leafy Knowe but if you are experiencing increased distress, there are several excellent dementia support groups in your area. I would also kindly ask you to cease approaching members of staff about this matter. This is inappropriate and the integrity of the staff member could be brought into question.
Should you have any further concerns in respect to Leafy Knowe Care Home please do not hesitate to contact us through the proper channels. We are always happy to help.
S. Thurlow Manager
Leafy Knowe © - With You All The Way ©
***************************************************************************************************************************************
KlevoPsychi© 04/03/20
KlevoPsychi© have been made aware of your recent concerns regarding KlevoPsychi© EXICCO© pain management patches.
EXICCO© patches are the most advanced, powerful form of pain management in circulation. Endorsed by the NIHCE and MHPRA, KlevoPsychi© prides itself on an exemplary security record and is under continuous scrutiny, as are all British pharmaceutical companies.
The pain brought about by your wife’s osteoporosis is carefully managed and much improved by the utilisation of EXICCO© patches. Your wife is Stage 4: CDR-2 so you will be aware that memory fluctuation is the preeminent symptom of dementia.
Please find attached the EXICCO© specification document. I trust you will find this satisfies your concerns and reassures you regarding further queries you may have in regard to EXICCO© patches.
KlevoPsychi© PO Box 386 London SW1E.
DIRECTOR OF THE PRESCRIPTION MEDICINES CODE OF PRACTICE AUTHORITY
OUR REF: KLEV2EXI943-Bing 07/09/20
Dear Mr Bingham
Please find enclosed your returned correspondence.
We are reliably informed that your wife Mrs N. Bingham (229-aS1) is classed Stage 4: CDR-2 Dementia. This renders her incapable of coherent thought processes.
In addition, it is our duty to advise you that the recording of individuals can be considered a breach of that person’s right to privacy and can result in an infringement of the Data Protection Act 1998. Refusal to comply with this ruling could result in prosecution.
Please do not hesitate to contact this office should you feel we can be of any further assistance.
PO Box 386 London SW1E
TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN 3rd July 2020
My wife Nancy Bingham has been a resident of Leafy Knowe Care Home for almost two years. Her acute osteoporosis is being treated with Exicco patches which seem very effective.
I have however noticed an anomaly in my wife’s deterioration in that there seems to be a pattern to her ability or inability to recall memories and one which displays extraordinary regularity. I have concluded that since being prescribed Exicco patches, these periods of memory loss can be tracked and even predicted. Illogical perhaps but I implore you to indulge this elderly gentleman.
Attached are three partial transcripts from several months of recordings. From these, one can observe how a memory is brought to the fore by our conversation. I chose three subjects of which Nancy has strong, embedded memories; our honeymoon, 1959, Frederick’s death (Nancy’s younger brother), 1932 and the pupils of St. Annes College. (Nancy was employed as a Botany teacher from 1956 to 1993).
Leafy Knowe Care Home has refused my request for information but I have revealed that the dates of patch removal coincides with the departure of visitors which in turn prompts permanent memory loss. This can no longer be considered coincidental, irrational as that may sound.
I hope you will agree that this issue warrants further investigation. I am deeply concerned for my wife and the other residents. It would be a desperate realisation to find there has been, in the least instance, an abuse of their trust and at worst something more sinister.
Sincerely
Dr. William D. Bingham (retired)
WEEK ONE -Transcript (excerpt) 10.06.20
Start 1312 PATCH CHANGE 10.06.20: 1443. Finish 1440
N: Only me now Frederick’s gone.
B: That was a long time ago Nancy you were only a child. You have me now remember? Bill. I’m not going anywhere.
N: Poor Frederick. Mother and Father became rimosed and ripe then passed as is the order but poor little brother endured barely a few short seasons perhaps he considered it a journey not worth taking we named him O’Kelly after the dactylorhiza fuchsii did you know that? Hello. Have you come to see me?
B: It’s Bill, William. Do you remember our honeymoon Nancy, how warm it was?
N: Of course Bill, I’m not for the scrapheap just yet. Remember those silly straw umbrellas? Little bugs dropping into our food.. little flies...
B: Do you remember the sea, how beautiful it was...bright, bright blue?
N: Bright bright people argue over dactylorhiza fuchsii a separate species an indeterminate controversial variety and they argued over Frederick revolute as the air left his lungs flattened laevigate and leafless no one knew we named him O’Kelly and now there’s no one left to give a hoot.
B: Do you remember the smell of the water Nancy?
N: It was lovely and warm wasn’t it? I can feel it even now against my skin. And so clear you could see right to the bottom, see my feet as clear as day when there were flies at his mouth when he came here came to see me Bill there were flies at his mouth when he pulled pulled at my blouse.
B: [I waited for Nancy to settle].
N: Isn’t the heat lovely? Feel it warming you all through, always lovely and warm in here, nice and cosy, so good of you to speak to me. Who are you here to see?
B: Alright dear, you rest.
(10.06.20:1440)
WEEK TWO - Transcript (excerpt) 17.06.20
Start 1327 PATCH CHANGE 17.06.20: 1508 Finish 1505
B: Do you remember the straw umbrellas on the beach in Majorca? We sat under them every day.
N: All those years gone Bill, a lifetime, just think of it.
B: The years certainly do pass Nancy.
N: I can’t for the life of me imagine what I might have filled them with.
B: With a life Nancy. We’ve been lucky. Do you remember our honeymoon, in Majorca?
N: No. It worries me, don’t remember things. Can’t quite recall your name.
B: William.
N: And we were in Majorca?
B: Yes, on our honeymoon.
N: Our honeymoon? Oh my word so confused, this is all very confusing.
B: It doesn’t matter dear. Can you remember St. Anne’s? The children must all have children of their own now. Do you remember any of them Nancy?
N: Of course I do Bill. Every day for thirty seven years. One of them comes to mind. Victoria, everyone called her Tilly. Pretty little thing. There was Susan, her father was a kind man in spite of his wife a ghastly woman he still comes you know with his closed mouth and flies appear between his lips they squeeze through must live in his throat black but dry and feathery...B: What did you teach at St. Anne’s Nancy?
N: Oh Bill for goodness sake, why are you asking me that? Botany, you know that.
(17.06.20:1505)
WEEK THREE - Transcript (excerpt) 24.06.20
Start 1400 PATCH CHANGE 24.06.20: 1531. Finish 1527
B: I was thinking about St. Anne’s this morning Nancy. Tilly and Susan, what characters they were.
N: Sorry, who are you?
B: It’s me Nancy, Bill...do you remember when you were a teacher, the botany teacher at St. Anne’s...the children, Tilly and Susan...
N: Don’t know you. Who are you? Don’t have children it’s all lies and he’ll be here and he’ll proceed proceed with harvest and he won’t like it that you’re here he won’t be happy to see you no and the flies will shoot from his lips and cling to the curtains and crawl into my hair...
B: Nancy stop. Please. Nothing is going to happen to you. You’re safe here.
N: Bill.
B: Yes it’s Bill, William. You know I often wonder what sort of a man Frederick would have turned out to be.
N: Frederick.
B: Frederick, your little brother, do you remember him Nancy.? O’Kelly, you named him O’Kelly, after a flower.
N: A soft echo of a seed beneath the peaty turf afraid there is no time now Frederick no time he’ll be here soon for the harvest.
B: What’s the harvest Nancy? Can you describe the harvest?
N: A brother? I have a brother?
B: Frederick. He’s been dead a long time.
N: Dead a long time. You look nice today, it’s nice to see you it gets lonely here and it’s..
[at this point a fly flew between us and distracted Nancy]
..it’s the flies that tell me the flies squeezed from the mouth it’s ligule lips cucullate and cladode and he will come again and he will harvest and he will empty the drupe of it’s fruit and seed and the shells will dry and fall apart and return to the earth..
[At this juncture one of the Leafy Knowe Care Home staff approached and asked me to leave. The operative from the drug company had arrived and I wasn’t permitted to remain with my wife.]
(24.06.20:1527)
Re: Dr William D. Bingham
KMedPractice (info@AMP.org - KLEV2EXI943-Bing) 20 Sept (2 days ago) to KlevoP
To confirm that Dr. William D. Bingham has suffered a brain aneurysm leading to subarachnoid hemorrhage.
The consultant in attendance at the time of death declared no suspicious circumstances.
Dr Bingham leaves no family other than his wife Nancy who currently resides at Leafy Knowe Care Home.
M.T.
KMedPractice.
He sits. He takes a sip of water. He eases the flash drive into the port in his skull and closes his eyes.
The sun is lower. It appears to be cooler than before. The shadows of the schoolgirls are stretched and narrow. The limbs of the willow are still. The girl is standing in front of the viewer. Her skirt is raised. She reveals a mottled rash which sullies the otherwise unmarked flesh of her thigh. The woman’s hand reaches out to her. It is holding something. ‘This should ease the stinging Tilly. Rumex obtusifolius.’ Dark mossy streaks appear as a leaf is stroked across the girl’s pale skin. ‘Thank you Mrs Bingham.’
His arm is rigid, his hand reaching towards the girl, fingers gripped tightly. He feels her breath, the balmy softness, the beats, the pulse in his spine, the pressure in his groin. ‘These are for you.’ Somewhere else, a young voice speaks. ‘I got them on the beach.’ His body shudders and he lurches.
The girl smiles. Her eyes meet those of the viewer. The hem of her dress is lowered.
‘You’re hurting me.’
The crow wipes a hollow beak across the flat edge of a stone.
He opens his eyes. He lurches again. He sees his daughter. He sees fingers clenched around the flesh of her chest. They are his fingers.‘ Daddy, you’re hurting me.’
She is holding an armful of smooth pebbles against her childs body. He releases. He jerks and the pebbles drop, a violent discharge which cracks against the floor in a thunder.
His daughter runs from the room. He raises both hands to his head. He tears at the callous in his skull but it will never be enough, this his dishonest charade. He feels the pressure ease. He rests his hands across his lap, now languid, the echoes of plundered memories still playing within his skull.
GOODNIGHT ROSEMARINUS
The Observer spoke.
‘Continue.’ The single line of a circle disintegrated as twelve opalescent charge spheres split apart. ‘Polygon. Three vertices. Closed.’
The Observer scanned for irregularities or flickers of noncompliance, rebellious traits so indicative of the species. It stood motionless and without shadow, its dark casing sucking the light from the sub-terra viewing chamber. Hewn from gabbro and lined on one side by a thick wall of Espejan glass, the facility sat in the depths of what was once the Eurasian Basin. A loosely defined arena had been ripped from the heart of the kelp forests, ribboned lines of sickly fronds still fluttering like blackened lace around the edges of the barren ocean floor.
The Observer’s gaze shifted and locked. One sphere traversed too rapidly. It swerved, catching the edge of another causing both to lose their place within the configuration. In the space of a human heartbeat two forms became visible, their skins pulsing with intermittent light. Adults, limbs wasted and thin, each one cradling a charge sphere within folded arms. The Observer was obdurate, it did not hesitate. ‘‘Thri. Acht.’ The beings looked to each other and opened their arms wide as their charge spheres shattered and their bodies disintegrated within jagged flares of incandescence. ‘Resume’. Replacement spheres dropped into view, followed then by those chosen to carry them. They flickered to vanish to be of the ocean and their smooth sided weapons fell into line with the others.
‘What did he tell you?’ The Observer did not turn to address its prisoner. A young female stood at the opposite side of the chamber, her long, fine-boned hands hanging loose, the web roughly folded, pinned through with a shard of metal. She could see her reflection in the curve of The Observer’s head-part. ‘You haven’t always been an Observer.’ The female turned exposing streaks of brown pin-head spores which had blossomed across the surface of her flesh. ‘Are you of the manumit, the unbound?’ The Observer continued to survey the charge spheres as they grouped to form a triangle. Its body was blackened and hardened by the fumes of the Audex mines and it had the short rigid feet of a rock dweller. ‘A warning. The Patience of The Opraesent is finite.’ ‘Well, can I speak to them?‘ She was irritated, the informant had guaranteed an audience with the protector. The Observer turned. It spoke in a calm, flat way, reiterating a point already made. ‘The Opraesent has no interest in you.’ The female pointed to The Observer’s chest-part, to the row of glistening pips positioned above the place a heart might sit. ‘Only the black Audax.’ She mocked. ‘You’re not so different to the ones you assume to be our gods.’ The Observer’s head-part shifted slightly. ‘Rosemary. That is your given name?’ ‘May I have some water?’ ‘Rosemarinus, from the sea.’
When first presented, The Observer had examined the prisoner thoroughly, as if having only seen her type for the first time. This one was unusual, smaller than the others, with hair the hue of rusted iron, skin pale and marked with swathes of mottled discolouration. Rosemary hooked her hands beneath the hem of her tunic and raised the fabric to the edge of her jaw. The pain of the pinning shot through her arms and across her chest where rows of frail gills sat shrunken and brittle. She placed a ruined hand on her belly and the skin flickered coral before returning to the lackluster grey she had become. Rosemary spoke without raising her eyes. She spoke softly. ‘We are all from the water. From the Saccorhytus, trapped for millennia between two grains of sand, to the sapiens who wallowed stupidly in their plastic age. The Atavist, the Éclairé. We are all from the water.’ Rosemary looked to the ocean and felt the echoes of her words returned to her. She staggered, her balance for standing weakened, unsteady on soft feet hardened by the rough baked earth of the lower levels. She focussed on a corner of the chamber, at the point where walls met in darkness. There were no corners in her world.
‘You will die soon if you do not hydrate.’ The Observer said. ‘Tell me what they told you and I will unpin you. I will move you to Aquatic where you will sleep immersed. Your mind will clear to the truth. Your wounds will heal and in the new dawn you will be reunited with your father.’ ‘And my mother?’ ‘What did they tell you?’ A tear fell to the floor, a reminder of what Rosemary had been and what she still was. She could not afford such a loss. ‘They said you command them, as the sapiens did the Delphinidae.’ ‘Command?’ ‘To spread your ruin.’ ‘Is that what they told you?’ With a sweep of its arm The Observer directed Rosemary to cross the chamber. It raised a slim metal finger and pointed out towards the charge spheres. ‘Unu.’ A light flashed within the water and the shape of a being appeared and glimmered as the sphere shattered and it was gone. ‘The ruin is yours Rosemary. It is your silence that destroys them.’
Rosemary felt the chill of their bodies. She could hear them clearly now but their pitiful cries at the touch of her gaze had altered. They signalled. They could see her and they were ready. ‘Vier.’ A flame consumed another. ‘End this now.’ Rosemary rested her forehead against the glass but her eyes remained open and bright. ‘Kuus.’ She took a breath, her stomach soured, her muscles tight with anticipation. ‘They told us nothing we did not already know. You arrived. You misled us. You blast apart our shelters. You poison us. You ravage our world for the Audax.’ Rosemary paused. ‘That’s all they said. Please, I am of no further use to you.’ The air in the chamber grew heavy. ‘You are lying Rosemary.’ The Observer turned again to the spheres as Rosemary took a step towards him. She appeared hesitant. ‘They told me to come, that I could talk to The Opraesent. That it would let me see them. My father. My mother.’ The Observer did not betray its response.
Rosemary leant her aching spine against the wall. She took one hand in the other and started to ease her fingers apart. She pressed gently at the fine bones which felt frail as avian. She uncurled them, a slow tearing as the pins pulled through the tender folds. The Observer spoke. ‘There is nowhere for you to go Rosemary.’ Rosemary raised her hands in tattered fans to flatten them against the glass, curves of tortured cartilage lit by the ocean. ‘Sceft.’ A ragged flash and another gone. ‘Teog.’ Another.
Rosemary looked to The Observer, a smile reflected in its head-part. Beyond her the soft fog of the water swirled and twisted and the five remaining spheres dropped from sight. Rosemary spoke, her tenor steely. ‘You look tired Observer, why don’t you sleep, it will clear your mind to the truth.’ She tipped back her head and pressed her hands harder against the glass as her mouth fell open and her lungs filled with hot loathsome air. ‘Rosemary.’ The Observer did not move to contain her, its words words crushed by the silence which now filled the chamber. ‘End this now.’
Five forms became visible at the window, their restored colours flickered and flashed as they moved forward together to lay their hands on the glass. They tipped back their heads and opened their mouths to resound the command of their young deliverer. ‘Your parents are dead.’ Rosemary tipped her head to the side, eyes flooded with bioluminescence. She smiled at The Observer, her lips parted, soft and full and heavy with salt. ‘I know.’
Beneath the hands the glass snapped to filigree and a fat bead of sea water squeezed through to settle on Rosemary’s skin before bursting to a glistening trail. Then another, and another and as the fissures leapt across the glass Rosemary’s arms were soaked then her body, her legs, her lovely face shining as bright as the silver scales of Scombridae armour. The Observer did not move. It did not pull at Rosemary or speak her name but only watched as the Espejan glass exploded into and across the chamber. The Observer rose and dropped, powerless against the surge and heft of the ocean. Its blackened form sank to the earth where it lay to watch as many arms reached out to Rosemary to take her and wrap her within them, webbed hands and feet flared wide to protect her as she crashed against the walls of the chamber.
The world stilled and Rosemary glided silently above The Observer as the waters equalled. She peered down at the incapable carapace rocking gently as a bairn’s cot beneath her. ‘Goodnight Observer.’ Her skin shimmered as she prepared to leave. ‘Sleep well.’ Rosemary flicked her body to pass through the portal which was once a wall, and Rosemarinus vanished with her kind into the icy freedom of a cherished world.