And it was Lysaars who was grinning obscenely at his gruesome insectal guest. 'I hope you don't mind being billeted on the Ennovator here. It's just that Dumpiter's such a mess, you see. There's really nowhere else for you to stay. The Guvner's palace has got some half reasonable rooms… but well, it's not my idea of a palace. And it's such a dreary place. And the Guvner! Well he's nobody's idea of your perfect host. He's like the landscape round here: unremittingly gloomy!'
'It is of no consequence,' buzzed Rattlepitt. 'I'm very content here.'
By now, Lysaars' anticipation was beginning to get the better of him. He was in sight of a goal he'd set himself a very long time ago, and he was becoming desperate to get there, to realise what would very soon be the culmination of years of hard work.
He had originally wanted to be an optician. He had never really understood why, and even now he failed to realise that it was mostly to do with the rather taboo nature of eyeballs. Something people rarely touched - other people's or even their own. He had studied the subject from the age of seven and had become something of a child expert on all things optical and ophthalmic. Then, when he reached his twelfth birthday, he became aware of gynaecology and his ambitions changed. But shortly after this they changed again. He decided he wanted to rule the universe. There was very little guidance available on this particular career choice, and the teenaged Lysaars had to rely on his own devices to work out how he might achieve such an ambitious objective.
He soon came to realise that, lacking an all-conquering army or some planet-destroying weapon system, his chances of success were minimal if not entirely non-existent. He had to come up with a much more novel approach. He also didn't want to spend years and years fighting for control of the universe - and then end up with only a few years to enjoy it. No, he wanted it for a lot longer than that. Like maybe forever. And that requirement suggested the solution. It was simple: become immortal. When you were immortal, you'd not only have all the time you needed to take the universe, but you'd also have plenty of time to enjoy the spoils when you'd won. And being immortal would also be a distinct advantage in the campaign of conquest.
Working back from the ultimate objective, you therefore first of all needed some funds. For with these funds you could then get yourself some smart-arses, the sort of smart-arses who could work out how to make you immortal. Well, that had all been taken care of now. It had taken years of bloody hard work, but it looked as though he'd cracked it. One of the smartest-arses of them all had come up with the goodies. They were within snatching distance. “Lysaars the Immortal” would soon be on everyone's lips. He could restrain himself no longer.
'Dr Rattlepitt, forgive my poor manners. And I hope my impatience doesn't distress your digestion - but I am desperate to learn more about… you know, the process. I mean, I already know what it entails - at least, I think I do. But I'm not sure I understand it. That's to say, I don't understand the way it all works… you know, how the process works, what the… what the mechanism is, as it were…'
'You want to understand it, eh?' snapped Rattlepitt in his crackly-radio voice.
'Yes, I do. I do indeed…'
'Mr Lysaars, I can explain my process - as you call it - to a degree that you may or may not understand. You may not be prepared to understand. What I certainly cannot do is explain the mathematics behind my work, which would require a brain of… well, let's say, prodigious capacity. Without wishing to be rude…'
'That's quite alright, Doctor. I don't want to know about the maths, just about what the maths produce. And I assure you, you're not being rude.'
'Good. Do you want to share this discourse with our table companion here or are we to have a privy session?'
'Oh no. Doggerbat needs to know. And anyway, I'm interested to see his expression when you explain how our "helpers" are going to help us…'
Lysaars had first engaged Doggerbat because, despite his slowness of mind, he did what he was told, and more importantly, he was nearly as fat as Lysaars but shorter. And this physical attribute more than made up for all his mental limitations, and Lysaars had continued to use him… occasionally for his amusement but more often as somebody simply to look down on - literally.
And now, the thought of how Doggerbat might react to the forthcoming revelations made Lysaars chuckle - quite horribly. And he was still chuckling as he pulled his oefedge box from his pocket. He offered this to Rattlepitt who declined with a wave of his hands.
'Quite right, silly habit,' conceded Lysaars, and proceeded to stuff a generous load of eggshell into his mouth. Then he slumped back in his seat, ready to hear everything there was to hear about his destiny - his very special and very infinite destiny.
'Gentlemen,' began Rattlepitt, as if addressing a seminar class back at his university on Ferricanter, 'I am going to talk about immortality, and in particular how this can be achieved. But I must crave your indulgence while I first explain the nature of life itself. What makes us what we are.
'And I'll start by explaining a few features which, I fear, Mr Lysaars, will illustrate how probably most, if not all your other "researchers" are researching away in vain. They have simply not grasped the basics of the issues they're attempting to explore.
'Everybody with me so far?'
The audience of two nodded in unison, although Doggerbat looked as though he was still wondering how he would deal with not having an indulgence when his was finally craved.
'Good!
'When a new life is created, when a new human or insectal say is born, the common belief is that as its brain develops so its consciousness forms, and within a few months to a few years, depending on what form of sentient being we're dealing with, its own "self" emerges. What we regard as ourselves in our bodies is a result of linking up more and more pathways in this computer brain thing we have. We are a product of our own physiology. Agreed?'
Lysaars nodded, his teeth scrunching slowly. Doggerbat nodded too, but without conviction.
'Well it's rubbish!' shrieked Rattlepitt in electric vehemence. 'Over the years, we've built the finest artificial brains possible - with capacities far in excess of those of any mortal beings. And have they ever developed their own "self"? No, they have not!
'Why oh why do we go on believing that this magic consequence, this realisation of our own being, this unique mystery, is a result of some cranial plumbing?'
Rattlepitt's hands had now become quite agitated and one pair was thumping the tabletop while the other was gesticulating wildly around his head. Then this pair stopped, mid-gesture, and his table-thumping pair also stilled. 'I'm sorry. Forgive me. But I abhor ignorance.'
Rattlepitt took several deep breaths before continuing, in which pause Doggerbat's expression betrayed his concern that “abhor” might mean “can detect”.
'What really happens is much more beautiful and in my mind dazzlingly simple. And I should stress I have now proved it mathematically. What I'm about to tell you is not the product of some lazy empirical meanderings.
'When you or I were conceived, a new life-force was sparked, a life-force which emerges in the very act of reproductive creation. And then it lies dormant, completely dormant, as the body, which has been created, begins to grow. And it continues to lie dormant until well after anything we recognise as birth. Until, in fact, the body acquires some of its basic powers, especially in the brain circuitry department. Only then, when the vehicle, which is the body, has its basic functions, working to just about a minimum level, does the life-force burst forth. Then it takes control and becomes the person. Real life starts at that time. The real you, gentlemen, starts at that point.
'Can you remember what happened before you were two years old say? No. Because you didn't "exist" then. You, you the life-force, only came out of dormancy after that time - when the vessel of your body was worth inhabiting. Your body and you are two different things. One is the mundane, made of the stuff of rocks and dust. The other is magical and mystical. You, the people I am talking to, a
re magical and mystical.'
A little oefedge slipped from Lysaars mouth as he released an involuntary “gosh”. Doggerbat made no noise at all, but was obviously grappling with the revelation that, as well as being predictably mundane, even he, apparently, was magical and mystical. And that did need some grappling with…
Rattlepitt relaxed into a pose with his upper arms clasped behind his helmet head and his lower arms folded across his stomach. He continued. 'So you, the life-force, live on in your body - and you help it on its way - for your own convenience and for your own comfort. And bodies that don't work properly get in the way of this useful arrangement… And an important point to note here. We can affect the healing ability of our bodies. In extreme cases we can save them from perishing. We've all heard about people who have willed themselves to live or who have cured themselves of some horrible disease through willpower. The life-force, although separate from the body, can, albeit to a limited degree, help the body regenerate itself. Please bear this in mind.
'Now, death,' he continued. 'It comes to us all. Nobody is immortal. Yet.'
Lysaars' piggy eyes sparkled.
'What happens? I'll tell you. Your body dies. Its functions close down, and for most practical purposes that's the brain function. The life-force cannot exist in its failed host and slips from its fragile container. My mathematics put the time between the death of the body and the time the free floating life-force shrivels into oblivion at twenty two seconds. And again I'm sure you all know about "out of body" experiences - especially in surgery - being above your body for a short while - when the body dies for a few seconds - only for the home fires to be rekindled and the life-force to make it back in - before that twenty two seconds is up.'
'Gosh!' exclaimed Lysaars again.
'It all makes sense, doesn't it, Mr Lysaars? And I've proved it mathematically. And one last point before I explain how we turn this to your purpose. In the last fraction of a second before the life-force disappears into oblivion, assuming of course that no home fires have been rekindled, it loses its "personality", its "youness", and it becomes just pure, vacant life-force. If we could snatch a life-force at that point, it would have all the essence of life without any of the encumbrance of character, memories, being - and all that sort of stuff. Again, very important to remember. Oh, and I've proved it mathematically.
'So immortality. How do we make you immortal, Mr Lysaars sir? Any ideas yet?'
'No, no. I'm fascinated, Dr Rattlepitt. This is every bit as exciting as I thought it would be. But please go on. I wouldn't dare to presume… you know, that I know the way forward…'
'The way forward! Ah yes. Very well put. The way forward. I like that,' cackled Rattlepitt. 'I like that a lot.' He clapped one pair of hands together, and then the other pair, and then he resumed his story. 'Well, let's work on the proposition that your ability to help your body mend, to help it survive when it's touch 'n go, would be greatly enhanced by your having a second life-force in there with you. Just an empty, vacant life-force, not written on by anybody's character, but there to double up the capacity of your own life-force. You'd probably be super-healthy - and well able to fight off any number of normally fatal ills. At the risk of becoming repetitive, the mathematics prove this proposition.
'So let's move on rapidly - not to where you have five or ten or even a hundred life-forces in you, but one hundred thousand! What happens then? Well, it's obvious, isn't it? You become essentially indestructible. You could take a direct hit from a 20cm photon shell and be spread over much of this rather depressing little planet - and your combined life-forces would reassemble your body and reactivate it, and all well within that vital twenty two seconds. And you can get that number in. One hundred thousand into just one body! They have no mass and no energy! In fact, you can get in as many as you want!'
Lysaars uttered his third “gosh” of the day, but followed this one up with the observation that recuperative power like that would really put the shits up anybody trying to stand in the way of your becoming master of the universe.
Dr Rattlepitt could only agree with this surmise.
'So, Mr Lysaars, where can we find you one hundred thousand vacant life-forces and how can we slot them into that body of yours - to help you on your "way forward"?'
'The one hundred thousand people at Scorran!' exclaimed Doggerbat. 'You're going to use them!'
'I'm pleased you've been paying attention, Mr Doggerbat. There were times when I thought your concentration was wandering a little. But yes, our helpers at Scorran will be this new immortality - for our most generous of hosts here.'
The doctor went on: 'I must say, one of the most irritating aspects of pioneering research is that some of the purely technical bits can take such a disproportionately long time to sort out. And putting together the equipment I'll be using at this Scorran place has proved to be quite tedious. So much so that I'm disinclined to go into every detail of it just now. Will it suffice if I just explain it in outline? I mean what it all does without quite how it does it?'
'Of course! Of course!' bubbled Lysaars. He was now beside himself with joy.
'Good,' buzzed Rattlepitt. 'Well, essentially we use a bofar to get one hundred thousand absolutely synchronised fatalities…'
'What?' screamed Doggerbat. 'You're going to kill them?
Lysaars began to chuckle again. This was even better than he'd hoped for. Doggerbat wasn't just surprised, he was astounded. And where he'd expected just an amusing bemused expression on the face of his gormless assistant, he now had instead this verbal manifestation of his out and out shock. But no matter how gratifying, he couldn't let it get in the way of the doctor's discourse.
'Well, of course he is,' answered Lysaars. And if you shut up, you'll understand why. Properly.
'Doctor,' continued Lysaars, 'please proceed. And my apologies for the outburst.'
'Thank you. I will,' replied Rattlepitt. And then he continued as if there'd been no interruption at all.
'And when,' he said, 'all those free-floating life-forces we've released, empty themselves of their character and become pure elemental life-forces - we have, ready and waiting for them, a brand new home. And that home, sir, is your brain. And, of course, this was what proved to be the especially tedious aspect: sorting out how to get them all inside it… But it was only a matter of time - before I developed the necessary gadgetry that is. Essentially what happens is that the machine I've built monitors and replicates the alpha patterns of all those thousands of brains - while their owners are still alive. And it projects them onto your own brain, sir. It then continues this projection after the owners of the genuine patterns have been "removed". And at the critical time, twenty two seconds after the "removal point", the now elemental, and somewhat "short-sighted" life-forces lock onto the projections - thinking they're the real thing - and they all rush in. Into you, sir. And "Hey presto", I think the expression is. You will then be the proud owner of one hundred thousand new life-forces - who should make very short work of any headache you may have suffered in the process. Oh, and, of course, you'll be immortal as well.'
Lysaars had never met real genius before. Up to now he was the most impressive mind he'd ever come across. But this chap was seriously endowed with brain tissue. Lysaars knew of his outstanding career in electronics and his innovative work in cryogenic applications in electronics, but that was nothing compared to this. He was worth every penny he'd been paid - and more. A lot more. Lysaars was elated. He was about to tell the company just how elated he was when Doggerbat spoke again.
'Why haven't you made yourself immortal?' he said.
'Doggerbat!' screamed Lysaars. 'How dare you?'
'A valid question,' responded Rattlepitt. 'Why indeed have I not? The answer is easy. The mathematics indicate very clearly that eighty to one hundred thousand life-forces are needed to guarantee the sort of indestructibility one needs to support a viable immortality. It is not worth the exercise with any less. Unfortunately I could find no
thing like this number of willing participants to offer up their lives for my own ambitions of immortality. Instead, by finding a patron who is able to bring together these resources for his own projection into eternity, who knows what further resources might be put at my disposal - if the patron is sufficiently pleased?'
'There Doggerbat,' snarled Lysaars, 'you deserved that. That was really rude. Why when I…'
'But do you really need to kill that many people, Dr Rattlepitt?' interjected Doggerbat.
'Yes,' responded Rattlepitt coolly. 'Or haven't you been listening?'
Lysaars was unused to being cut out of conversations, and certainly by slow old Doggerbat. His puffball of a face screwed itself up into a mask of brutish repulsiveness and he turned on his long-suffering lieutenant in a fury.
'How dare you speak to Dr Rattlepitt like that, you crepuscular fish-headed toe-stoat? You are as nothing compared to him - or to me, come to think of it. You're only here because of me. And your future, if you've still got a future, depends on me - and on the work of the good doctor. You ungrateful pin-brain. Don't you know what you're up for? There'd be millions who would give everything to be in your shoes! Millions. I must be mad, making do with you. Mad…'
'Sorry,' squeaked Doggerbat.
'Sorry? Sorry? Just thank the gods I'm in such a good mood and that… and that… and that we've got company!'
Lysaars turned to Rattlepitt. 'Oh Doctor, would a few more life-forces in that shambles of a thing there cure any of its stupidity, or is it just a completely lost cause?'
Rattlepitt made a noise that could have been a laugh or a sickly belch. But whatever it was, it provided the necessary full stop to Lysaars' outburst. He smiled again and addressed his principal table guest as if they had just concluded an agreeable if uneventful lunch where conversation had moved between pruning the roses and spaying the cat.
'Well, this has all been quite fascinating. And I thank you most sincerely, Dr Rattlepitt. But now I am very conscious of the fact that you have travelled a very long way to be with us here today. And I imagine you'd welcome some rest. I know you'll forgive me for pointing this out, but you are a little older than either Doggerbat or myself. And I'm sure if we were your age, we would be devastated by now. So I suggest we conclude forthwith. And we meet again tomorrow. I know there is much to be done to… to make our evening at Scorran a successful one…'
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