The Quest For Perfection (Is A Damn Fine Thing)

Part II: The World Beyond The Water - Chapter 16

16

Peter hated The Fishbowl. He hated the secret entrances. He hated the damp smelling walls that nobody seemed bothered by other than him and he hated the residence that he was holed up in when he wasn't working. They reminded him of his old army barracks, before he was discharged. He supposed that's why they picked him. He supposed that's why they picked a lot up people for the project. Wanderers once found and now lost. Wanderers that didn't speak to each other, and when they did it was through gritted teeth and their words may as well just have been shadows, because nothing of substance came out. Even his boss, Ray, treated him like he had was a convicted felon who taken a shit on his kid's birthday cake while the Pope was in town.

It wasn't all bad, though. The money was crazy for sitting at a desk, staring at a few people in tanks all day and monitoring their heart rates and putting numbers into a spreadsheet. The residence they stayed at wasn't something he needed to pay for either. But he missed going to a bar, getting wasted and hooking up with some girl who wouldn't remember his name the next day. He missed talking shit with his friends about whatever was going on in the world. He missed being more than an employee. It felt like those jurors on the OJ Simpson case. He was starting to go stir crazy. Although recently, he wasn't so sure if it was the crazy train he was on after all. He had had bought himself a few assurances. If things went south, which in his experience they always did, he had a plan. Err on the side of caution, his father always said, especially if you can't share a table with those who are pulling the strings.

Beeping through the turnstiles, he made his way to the heart of the building, itching the tracker bracelet on his ankle. They'd explained to him that it was just to make sure that, should anyone wander out and get lost in the forest or the hills or fall off the edge of the island into the sea, they would always be able to bring them back safely. Peter had audibly snorted when he was given this explanation, creating a bubble of tension in the room. He knew it was so they couldn't go wandering off and tell the world what was going on down here. He may not have been smart enough to pull off an operation like this, but he wasn't stupid either. In the early days, he'd considered tampering with it or ripping the whole thing off. But his first bunkmate Charles (he'd had a few now), had done just that. He'd left the barracks to see if there was a populated town nearby to grab a beer and whatever else he could find whilst he was there. But he never came back and nobody heard from him again. The rest of the crew in the barracks joked that, perhaps the wild Scots who lived in this abandoned Scottish island had claimed them as their very own Bonnie Prince Charlie. Peter never laughed with the rest of them. He was the only one not to find it funny.

His routine was simple. He'd get the shuttle bus, trying to make whatever small talk he could muster with his fellow passengers. When he arrived, he would head straight to the cafeteria to grab a black coffee and a roll filled with something greasy and lathered in sauce, and he would eat with the only friend he'd made in this hell-hole, Colin, who would be coming off shift. He was the night guy, a glorified night porter who cleaned and checked the data too. As he grabbed his coffee, crushed a couple of sugar sachets into it and filled his tray up with a couple of rolls he headed to their usual table at the back corner. But it was empty. Colin was nowhere to be seen. He looked around, checked his watch, and looked again. Colin was as regular as clockwork and hadn't missed a day at the breakfast table since they had first met, sparking up a light in the smoke room. An uneasy feeling started to snake through Peter and the last conversation the two of them had was beginning to come back to him.

Peter had no sooner landed his tray down on the table yesterday morning when Colin started talking.

"I've had a thought," he said.

Peter smiled. "You always have a thought. It's why you're so god damn fucking miserable. Look at me, I don't think a jot and I'm one of the happiest guys you could meet."

Colin stared at him causing Peter's smile to wane. "I'm serious Pete."

Peter nodded. "OK, hold on and I'll start the clock. You can tell me what's on your mind and I'll bill you at the end of the session."

"Fuck you."

"I charge double for that."

Colin fell silent and stared at his breakfast. Peter raised an eyebrow, shook his head and sighed. "What is it?"

Colin looked around and leaned in closer. "What if we're next?"

He stared, waiting for Peter to react, but he didn't. He just stared at him. "Colin, I have no fucking idea what you're talking about."

Peter surveyed him a little closer then, the bags under his eyes were so dark it looked like he'd went a few rounds in the ring and lost every one. His hair was thinning, he was fidgety and his skin was the colour of paper that had been used to mop up piss. Peter dropped his own smile and leaned in. "What's happened?"

"Nothing. Yet. I just, don't you think it's weird that the people in those tanks are dropping like flies and nobody seems concerned about it? I figured one or two, tragic accidents, sure, maybe they had expected it, but this many? Surely they would pull whatever it was they were doing? Surely they would stop for the good of the people left? But they're not. They just keep going."

Peter shrugged. "I figure those people knew what they had signed up for, just like we knew what we'd signed up for. When the last one falls, if, the last one falls, then whatever they're doing here will be put to bed and we can go home."

That's when Colin smiled. Unsettling, not just because he had teeth as misshapen as a rusty saw, but because what he said next wasn't something to smile about. "What if it doesn't? What if we're next? Look around you. Infinite resources. They could roll this thing out till whenever they got the results they're looking for. And we signed up for the whole damn thing." With that, Colin had got up, emptied his tray and left.

Peter shivered now. He looked at the empty table where Colin usually sat. He really did hate this place. The way you could hear the insects crawling in the walls, the way nobody spoke to anybody. He hated the tank room especially, it was a big metal container with water in the walls and it frightened him, the way the walls creaked with the strain of the water behind it, like a dam about to break. He hated those people in the tanks but most importantly, what the people running this show were doing to them. Rumour had it this morning another one had died. Now Colin had disappeared. Maybe he had been right. Peter made a decision then and there. There so no way he was getting put in one of those tanks and hooked up to those machines. He didn't care if he came out super smart, or super strong or super happy or whatever it was they were doing to those people. It had been fun to guess at first. He and Colin had started taking bets over the past few months. Colin thought it was like that movie Flatliners where they went to the great beyond to get answers as to what lies there. Peter figured they were trying to create super soldiers, or super heroes. Or expand the ability of the human mind. Regardless, he didn't want it. And he wouldn't have it. He slammed his tray at the empty table, his appetite gone, and whirled out of the room. His mind was made up. Thinking of Colin, he knew what he had to do. He had the assurances for it after all.