Fletcher's Remedy

NOTE: This is a short beginning for a story idea. I'll add more as I write.


         There is an hour during the night, when the mind is at its weariest.  Fletcher was approaching that hour in no uncertain manner.  His eyes stared dully at his work; a sore, swollen sensation was causing his eyelids to droop uncharacteristically.  Although the sounds of the city beyond his office were the same, the traffic passing by sounded muffled and distant, almost as if he had cotton in his ancient, hairy ears.  If he had closed his eyes for so much as a blink, he may have woken to find morning had come without his consent.  As it was, morning would soon be upon him.  And that is why he would not blink.  There was nothing Fletcher feared more than greeting a new day unprepared.
         A little girl stood before him and smiled brightly under the harsh glow of fluorescent lighting.  He casually glanced in her direction while recalculating a few variables on the tablet table between them.  When he finished inputting the new data he looked at the toddler directly, and frowned at her in deep concentration.  The simulation began shortly.  The girl was momentarily frozen while a two-dimensional graph built itself around her three-dimensional image.  Once the graph had formed, she was once again as life-like as any hologram could appear. 
         Years ticked by the simgirl in half-minutes, and at first, all went as planned.  She grew taller slowly, gained a few pounds and then traded the weight for a few more inches in height.  Her baby face thinned and sharpened and her fingers, arms and legs seemed to lengthen and find a more useful proportion.  Through all this she smiled benignly at Fletcher.
         When the ten minute marker bleeped a lanky, freckle-faced and budding young girl blinked calmly in the center of the room.  The old man’s heart skipped a beat.  He barely had time to register that he had got it right when it all went wrong.  The eleventh minute mark portrayed a disturbing growth spurt, representing a fourteen-inch height change in the period of two years.  Half a minute more the girl was thinning considerably while her bony hips and shoulders appeared to be getting disproportionately large. 
         Fletcher tore his eyes away from the girl to study the numbers on his tablet table.  He wildly entered a few functions to counteract the horror occurring in front of him, but nothing stopped the ghastly procession.  She was taller than he now, and thinner than the tablet table, hunched over and deteriorating fast.  Fletcher pounded at the keys, losing all semblance of professional objectivity while she wasted away.  His eyes were wide now and for one crazed moment he thought that she was more alive than anyone else in the world; more solid than he, himself, and more real than every moment that had come before.  The next minute her hair was falling out and the lips that formed her happy smile pulled tight against the bone--a deranged cartoon-sketch of a girl smiling through her sunken features.
         “Stop...” he said, and it did.  His throat was bone dry.  The girl reverted to her toddler shape and unknowingly carried on her happy eternity.  Fletcher stared at her, unblinking, for a long time.

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         Two men were walking away from the campus cafeteria with long, quick strides.
         “I am not going to that meeting to tell them what they already know, dammit!”
         “Then tell them something they don’t know, or tell them a lie or tell them whatever you like.  I don’t care what you tell them, but you have to be there and you need to speak.”  Aaron Nickols, PhD., rolled his eyes, but kept his voice steady.  He needn’t worry that Fletcher would see his impatience; the old man wasn’t known for his outstanding social prowess.  But even Fletcher would notice if someone was shouting at him, and only Fletcher was allowed to shout. Nickols was not about to challenge the order of things.
         “The investors are drying up, Alex, and you’ve blown off too many project evaluations to miss this one.  I can’t carry this on my own.”
         “I am very aware of your limitations.  As I told them before, science takes time.  Breakthroughs take time.  We are not in the business of miracles, if they don’t like my timeline they should take it up with God.  And do not call me ‘Alex’, I had my doctorate before you were out of high school.”
         “I wasn’t aware that having a degree from before 2010 precluded one from being on a first name basis with colleagues.”  Fletcher ignored this quiet kind of griping, Nickols obviously felt better about himself by taking potshots where he could get them.
         “If you are concerned about the evaluation, Dr. Nickols, I suggest you put on your best brown suit and charm your way into their hearts.  In the meanwhile, I will be in the lab analyzing the information I have instead of presenting the conclusions I’m lacking.  I don’t need their approval to be a productive scientist.”
         “But you do need their money.”  At this Fletcher turned quickly, and Nickols nearly collided into the old man.  Fletcher was looking at him through a scornful stare.  How did this crazy man ever get to be head of a project, Nickols thought, but then Fletcher was speaking and his mind went quiet to listen.
         “Do I look like I’m stupid?”  No, just nuts, thought Nickols.  “Do you think I would put off reporting my progress if I thought some greedy shylocks could shut me down whenever they pleased?  This is too important to them.  Too important to the nation.  This is for our children.  They will not shut this project down, and I will not waste my time kowtowing when I could be fixing this problem.”
         For a moment Nickols thought that would end the rant, but a blush rose up in Fletcher’s face and indignation burst out of the older man like he could scarcely contain it, “It has always been like this!  Cures have always taken longer to come by because of bureaucratic bullshit, but not this time!  This is our kids, this time everyone knows that it’s all about time!  No, they won’t shut us down, so get the cockroach out of your ass and get back to work!” 
         Fletcher did an about face, marched to his office and slammed the door behind him.  Nickols thought he mumbled something that sounded like “Damned bureaucrats...” on the way.  He waited a moment for the full force of the lecture to wash over him, and a smirk crossed his face.  Never a dull moment, he thought.
         He could have been angry.  He would have been perfectly justified in storming into his own office and slamming the door.  I could, for once, go home after work and damn the meeting.  Let Fletcher fry when no one shows for the evaluation.  But these were whimsical, half-hearted thoughts.  The image of Fletcher’s flushing, scowling face appeared in his mind and he laughed at the sheer craziness of the geezer’s response.  He felt somewhat relieved by the madman’s passion, regardless of his nastiness.  Fletcher was hardly ever wrong and they kept the angry coot on for his genius, not his charisma.  At any rate, he hoped Fletcher would be right about the investors understanding the importance of their work.
         Something in Fletcher’s speech had run up a red flag in Nickols’ mind, but he couldn’t remember any particular reason why the word “shylock” should be any worse than “investor”.  When he decided that there was no such negative connotation Nickols shrugged and went to organize his notes for that evening’s presentation.

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         Light was pouring into Fletcher’s office, it annoyed him greatly.  He shuffled past his workstation and solicitously pushed the button that shaded the window glass and blocked the sunshine.  He cast his eyes toward the darkened windows and saw nothing.  The fluorescent lights popped on and Fletcher resumed his place at the tablet table.
         Another day, he thought, another day and I still haven’t got it.  Another.  Another...  His head fell into his hand mechanically.  This can’t wait another day.  Today I will figure it out.  I just have to concentrate.  His pale face reappeared from under his hand and he gripped the table for support.  His pen hand shook just slightly as he began entering new variables.

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