George George Chouse rolled out of bed, Monday morning about eleven o’clock. It was an hour later than was his customary hour of rising. He wasn’t sure if it was a dream, or a premonition, but he had the feeling that to-day would start a new direction for his #life. George was a nerd; he knew it was true even though he wasn’t sure, just what was meant by the term. It had to do with a person’s education, he thought, specifically education in the sciences. There was a social issue of course—it’s hard to react to people, who don’t have the education level to understand. George’s considered reaction, to this problem was to ignore those he felt were his inferiors. Even most of his contemporaries did not like him. He was, they argued: opinionated, rude and overbearing. You see George was literally a basket case as far as communication on an oral level was concerned. It was the one and only level of education he couldn’t master. The few times he had tried were etched in his memory in horrific proportions. George was tongue tied—the very thought of public speaking terrified him. Scratching his butt, he waddled to the bathroom, it wasn’t his favorite room, but none the less a necessity. Looking in the mirror he was always shocked by his own refection. ‘If ugly was a million dollars you would be a person of incredible wealth,' he told his refection. Looks and appearance were something beyond his control, so he ignored them, but he couldn’t help but wonder how perfection could be packaged in such an unbecoming shell. His professional papers were generally accepted without even being read, such were his credentials. Most of his conclusions were accepted without question, because he had always proved them to be right. Since leaving university with a master in medical science, George was working on a master serum. He had won critical acclaim based mainly on his written submissions. The reaction of the academic world was, if anyone can create a super serum it would be George. That won him a research grant of respectable proportion. Seven years had passed since his first grant and it had been renewed several times, but now it was being questioned, money was becoming scarce to say the least. George traced most of his problem to the feet of Alex Baldwin. He graduated from university the same year George had, but with a BA in political science and a master’s in public speaking. Now the cancellation of George’s pet project was in the wind and there was little he could do about it. Alex spoke elegantly against the project, arguing that we were throwing good money after bad. Well he thought there was one chance to save this project; he would have to push up the human trials. The trials have passed both the rodent and monkey stages, human trials were all that was needed. He had hoped to do some in-depth checks first, but thanks to Alex Baldwin, that was no longer an option. George walked south on Brant St. It was just a few blocks to the slums where homeless people would be available. George was rather particular in regards to his choice of a human for the final test. It couldn’t be some mindless wreck—no the specimen would have to be rather high functioning, someone who could at least communicate logically. He wandered around for an hour without running across anyone with the grey cells necessary to paste two words together. Disappointed he sat on a bench in what the City Administration laughingly called a park. It was in reality a vacant space between two buildings created when a restaurant burned down. No one was interested in rebuilding on what could only be called wine-o-street. There was a diner just across the street, so George decided to have a bite before resuming his search. When he stood up he noticed a man sitting on the stone wall that ran along the front of the park. He was rocking back and forth, both his hands firmly clasped to his head. George headed toward the restaurant, but when he drew near the man he stopped. “What’s the matter pal—you got a headache or something?” The man looked up at him through blood shot eyes. “Yea, it’s not unusual, I get one every time I go without food for more than three days.” “I’m sure you have your problems, hell I have some of my own. I’m going across the street for a bite—come on the food will do you good and perhaps we can solve each others problems for a while.” “I haven’t any money?” “Oh never mind. It’s on me.” The strange duet crossed the road and entered the diner. A non-descript waitress laid two menus on the table. “Coffee?” George watched his companion, who nodded. “Yes please, mine black.” “Just a little milk, in mine please.” The two men were left on their own, as the waitress prepared their coffee. “How long have you been on the street?” I don’t rightly know—time on the street takes on a meaning of its own. Its time: to find something to eat, or a dry place to catch a nap. Of course many, myself not excluded, take to booze just to help forget the pain of being hungry and cold. I don’t know, but I can honestly say it’s been too long.” The coffee arrived and George watch as the street man gulped a couple of mouthfuls of coffee seemingly impervious to the temperature. “Ohhh! That’s good.” “You better look at the menu and decide what you want to order.” George watched as his guest leafed though the menu several times, but still no decision. He waved the waitress over. “My guest seems to be having a hard time deciding what he wants. He is perhaps a little overwhelmed by the scope of your offerings. Maybe you could recommend something—well if you don’t know what’s good who does?” The waitress reached across to the menu and pointed to the beef stew. “That is without a doubt the best bang for your buck. Thick rich gravy, lots of meat and an interesting selection of vegetables all in a large bowl, you can’t go wrong.” The street man was nodding eagerly and pointing to the stew.” “Two bowls of stew, two orders of bread and butter, oh yea our coffee cups are almost dry.” George was genuinely concerned about the welfare of his potential lab rat, but certainly not to the extent of seeing his passion of over seven years fail. What’s the value of a human #life?—when weighed against the betterment and welfare of society as a whole? George’s thoughts were interrupted with the arrival of the food. The man’s reaction to the food was not what George would have expected. He seemed almost aloof slowly savoring the flavor of the food. He seemed to genuinely enjoy the food, but at a slow and measured pace. “I would have expected you to wolf your food, seeing that you have been without for so long.” “I don’t know why I would do that. I know what its like to be without food and I don’t like it, so why would you expect me to hurry back to it?” “Yes I can see your point. Maybe when we are finished you would accompany me to my lab where can discuss our individual problems and how we might assist each other.” “I’m more interested in the possibility of another helping of stew right now.” “Of course, when ever you’re ready signal the waitress.” George wondered why he was reluctant to learn this man’s name. Was it tied to the fact that he was trying to exploit him. It’s after all a lot easier to use and abuse someone you don’t know, than it is to stab a friend in the back. What in the hell do I know about friendship at just short of thirty years old I can’t even remember a friendship. Even as a child I was on the outside of the loop the nerd that just didn’t fit in—well when my serum is proven we shall see who fits in. George was brought back to reality with a jolt. The street man was examining him like he was some kind of specimen. “You okay pal?—gee you were in the other world there for a while. I sometimes go there myself, often wondered what it would be like if I never came back.” “Okay you ready to go.” As the two men walked back to George’s living quarters/lab they were indeed a study in contrast. George dressed in the latest fashion, still managed to look seedy, while his slim almost gaunt companion dress in rags almost looked regal. Safely in his loft George made a pot of coffee. “Okay I’m rather anxious to get this underway. Here’s what I expect and need from my volunteer. Let me finish first, then I will answer any questions you may have. I have been working on a super serum, one that would render those taking it, immune to all known diseases. I have been working on this serum for about seven years and I believe success is at hand. All the tests I have subjected this serum to have been satisfactory. Mice, rats, dogs and yes even moneys have all been tested and found disease free. The next step is for human tests. Normally human tests take upward of seven years, sometimes even decades to get approved and quite frankly, I just don’t have that kind of time available.” “What do I get for doing this?” ‘I’m offering five thousand dollar and that’s very generous considering that there is no risk involved in these tests, at least in my humble opinion.” “Okay what are you going to do to me?” I will inject you with a dose of my serum combined with a sedative. It will take only second for your body to completely absorb the serum. I will after an hour infect you with Yellow Fever, Hepatitis A & B and a rather nasty strain of Flue. At four hours I will test you and find you are free of any of the nastiness I have exposed you to. Then I will wait until you come out of the sedative, so we can celebrate a great success.” “Okay, I have little to lose, let get on with it.” “First I want you to take a bath. I will lay out a pair of pajamas. I think they will fit you well enough to cover the essential areas. When your done I will get you to sign a consent form and then we will be hours away from fame and fortune. George went to the kitchen pour himself a cup of coffee, sat down and then pinch himself just to be sure this was reality. Seated at the table drinking coffee George could barely contain himself. Already plans of a gigantic celebration were being formulated in his mind. Rummaging around in a cupboard he found an almost forgotten bottle of bourbon. He poured a generous shot of the fiery liquid into his cup smiled and raised his cup in a silent toast. Finally on his third lap around the kitchen the sound of the shower finally became silent. George forced himself to wait until the man had time to get into bed. Then armed with the consent form he made his way to the bed room. The change a bath made to this man was dramatic to say the least. Gone were the deep angular lines, sharply imbedded in his filth incrusted face. His whole persona was so dramatically changed he could have been a different person. George pointed out on the form, where he needed to print his name and were his signature was required. He prepared the hypo while glancing at the name on the form: Arthur Gant, so the mystery man had a name. With time to kill George was too antsy to just sit and wait. A couple of circuits around the kitchen and he was off. He walked several block till he found a men’s clothing store that was not top of the line. A pimply face attendant who looked like he was the result of not enough education and too many sweets greeted him. “May I serve you sir?” “Yes I want a complete outfit for a man with a thirty-two waist and a thirty-one inseam. Two pair of socks and underwear, one each of the rest, pants, shirt, spring jacket and winter coat.” The purchases came to just a little less than a hundred and forty dollar. George pay by cash and took a receipt. He glanced nervously at his watch as he hurried home. The two hour deadline for the next injection was drawing near and although the timing wasn’t that important, in was an insult to George’s work ethic to prolong it. The shot was given fifteen minutes late and the clock started counting down to the climax. The sandwich was as much a nervous habit as it was a sign of hunger. Coffee and sandwich in hand he paced the limits of his rather small kitchen. The time seemed to have stopped. Glancing at his computer, George thought that was a good way to kill time. He called up a poker game and waited fifteen minutes until an opening appeared at the table. One thousand dollar stake and a participation fee of two dollar was the cost of playing. George was smart enough to realize he wasn’t a good gambler, but he also realized he was a much better player on line then he was in person. He could count cards pretty good and without his presence his excitement was invisible. He played as a means of passing time, rather then a real interest in the game, but an hour and a half later, when he punched the bank/exit button he was a rather impressive winner. Scooping up the needle and vials necessary to draw blood samples he hurried in to the patient’s room. Ten minutes later he was in the lab running toxicology tests on the samples. George was a no stranger to the procedure, but when he got perfect results, he reran the tests just to make sure. George, back in the kitchen laid down the test results, as if he was presenting a copy of his homework, to a very strict teacher. Just as Georges’s excitement was nearing the uncontrollable stage, he heard a sound from the bedroom. Rushing into the room, George found his charge sitting on the edge of the bed. “We have succeeded; the serum is everything we could have expected. We will be famous Arthur.” George stop, all of a sudden award that Arthur’s reactions to the information was not normal. Arthur was looking at him quizzically, like he didn’t understand a thing that had been said. The next hour was spent learning the Arthur was indeed mentally challenged. George told him, using a method of gestures and hand signals that he should get dressed. The process seemed to be rather slow and thought provoking, but with George’s help the task was soon completed. When dinner of steak and fried potatoes was finish, George found a T V show that entertained Arthur. He didn`t shown any interest, until George stumbled onto a cartoon show and now he was enrapt. George speed dialed the medical lab of the local university. It was after hours and he knew if anyone was there it would be Frank. He was undoubtedly the closest thing to a friend George had and undoubtedly the reverse was equally true. Their friendship was work related, not by design, but due to the fact that neither had considered anything else. “Frank here, it’s your dime so state your problem and we shall see if I can help.” “Hi Frank, George here and I need to ask you for a huge favor. I have a patient who is showing a rather puzzling medical condition. I would like to run a brain scan on him, so I can understand what’s happening.” “Yea that can be arranged, but I think I’m being monitored. Oh they of course know I’m living here, but lately they have been questioning any spikes in hydro or heat. How does nine tonight sound to you?” “Nines okay, but I don’t want to cause you any problems. “Don’t worry about it. They think I’m a genius in the field of radiology and they’re right. Considering what they pay me, I save them literally thousands a month, cobbling up this bunch of trash, they call learning machines. No, they won’t fire me—it would probably be the best thing in the world for me if they did. “Okay we’ll see you at the back door about nine tonight.” All ready George’s mind was formulating plans, to address the worst possible outcome, that the serum did indeed cause the changes to Arthur’s persona. The injection needed to safeguard a person from disease was minuscule—one cc of George’s serum was all that was needed. The depth of penetration was not important a simple scratch was adequate. George was shaken out of his meditation, by the realization time was getting on. In the living quarters, Arthur was still engrossed in the cartoon channel. “Come on Arthur, we need to get something to eat, then we have to visit a man I know from the university.” George watched carefully to see the reaction to his words, but although it was evident Arthur heard the sound, the light of understanding just wasn’t there. Frank met them at the rear door of the radiology lab. “Hey, George, long time, no see.” “Yes, it’s been a day or two. How have thing been going for you?” “Oh I can’t complain. So this is the patient, I take it.” “Yes, this Arthur and we need to know what is happening in his grey cells.” “Why don’t you grab yourself a coffee, while Arthur and I conduct a few tests?” “I had kind of hoped I could be a part of the tests.” “Well get over that, will you—nobody gets into my test booth except me and the patient.” George was ninety percent certain of what the results would be, but he had to know for sure. There was also the need to know if this condition was permanent or would normality return with time. A deep sadness engulfed him, at knowing his #life would change completely, with the failure of his serum. An all consuming hatred was forming in George’s mind, aimed at the one he most blamed for his failure. Alex Baldwin would have to pay a price, for all the pain he had caused, George just hadn’t figured out how yet. “A portion of Arthur’s brain has lost its ability to process information of a communication nature.” Frank tossed the test results on the table in front of George. "Read them and weep.” “Okay, all you have told me is what’s obvious. A blithering idiot can see this man’s mentally diminished what I need to know: is it permanent, could it be related to an injection, and finally, will he continue to regress?”