The following morning I woke to a phone call. It was Bruce. He told me, again, that he felt awful about last night, and reminded me that he was coming to pick me up in his car. I thanked him and put my phone down on the bed.
After a good nights sleep, the events of the night before seemed less bothersome. It was unimportant what one person might think. Why should I be angry with Bruce? He gave me food, he called me Sir and he always opened the car door for me. He catered for all my needs. I just wanted any awkwardness between us to end.
I got dressed and went down to the hotel cafeteria to get some food. I had pancakes, which were lovely. Going back to my room, I brushed my teeth and relaxed, as I waited for Bruce to ring again.
He did, and I went to meet him in the carpark. He took me down the road, glancing back at me, awkwardly. I reassured him that everything was alright, and he tried to joke that it was the same thing that drove all the other candidates away. The joke failed, but I appreciated that he was trying.
When we got to Granny Labs, Dr Thorn was pacing about, swamped with anxious thoughts. She walked up to me and said, “Ernum, I’m glad you’re here. We need you to do a bit of data collecting for us. The psi-clinic, in Birmingham, is denying us access to results we’ve been granted full clearance to - they’re stalling us again. We need you to find out what the holdup is. Get the data patched through to us.”
I asked, “What do you need data for, if they’re fakes?”
“The scans results are faked, but they’re real telepaths, doing real research. You still have clearance to the facility.”
“You want me to head all the way back down there?”
“Yes, none of us can get onto the site, not without further delays. Bruce can drive you down. Find out what’s holding up our access. I don't want to get you involved in an internal dispute, but somebody down there is being a real pain.”
She handed me a piece of paper. It was a request form for the data she wanted.
Bruce shrugged his shoulders and began heading back to the carpark. I considered objecting but Bruce was waiting for me in the lift.
The trip back to Birmingham began in silence. I daydreamed that Dr Thorn would phone me when we arrived, informing me that she’d received all the data and the trip was waste of time. I imagined getting a job as the next Bruce. Running about doing menial tasks at the command of Dr Thorn.
“What does she expect of me, in this job?” I snapped aloud at Bruce.
Bruce said, “She wouldn’t have asked you if it wasn’t important.”
“Do you believe there’s someone in the company holding up her research?”
He nodded. “There’s a bit of rivalry going on behind the scenes. Thorn thinks she can open up telepathy for everyone. As you might imagine some telepaths are hostile to the idea.”
“That’s her project, to make everyone telepathic?”
“It’s one of her aims. Do you know why some people are telepathic and some aren't?”
“Presumably,” I said, “Those with these specific mental defects compensate by developing telepathy. Perhaps we'd all have that potential, if we could train our minds.”
“Perhaps,” he said glancing back, “or perhaps it’s nothing to do with the person's brain at all. I’ve been thinking, maybe it’s all the intestines. Perhaps our intestinal brains are telepathic. Gossiping about us to one another, behind our backs.”
I stared at him like he was crazy. “Is this Dr Thorn’s idea?”
“No, this is my own observation.”
There was a silence as I wondered if he was joking, then he continued, “We don’t fully understand the relationship between our minds and bodies. Our bodies could be whispering telepathic information to brains that are deficient - brains which need additional help to function. Maybe it’s just an act of survival. The body of a crazy person trying to keep their brain under control. There’s more to us than just the contents of our skull, we have an entire nervous system, our intestines are packed with countless neurons. Maybe it’s the intestines who are crazy? Schizophrenics could be the bi-product of a delusional intestine. As you can see, Sir, I'm well read on psychiatry.”
This sounded like the kind of ludicrous idea I would expect from Haggis. For him, I had a lot of patience with these meandering far-out thought processes, but for some reason, perhaps I was feeling irritable and moody, perhaps it’s because I knew Haggis didn’t really believe the things he’d sometimes come out with, but Bruce’s comments didn’t rest easily with me.
“Careful who you reveal this to,” I said, jokingly, “You might end up getting locked up.”