MR CAULKISS AND HIS MACHINE

Then Mr Caulkiss reappeared. Again he closed the door behind him - only this time it stayed a tiny crack ajar. In one hand he carried a kind of syringe. It had a glass chamber encased in a metal pod, with a long shiny needle protruding from the end of the pod. The needle was almost a foot long.

'Roll up your sleeve.'

I had a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. Suddenly it all fitted together. Now I knew what my contribution was to be.

'You want to take some of my blood?'

'Exactly.'

'What for?'

'For my machine.'

'Your machine?'

'My machine in the laboratory.'

'But why does your machine need blood?'

'Come, come, Mr Smythe. You've read the manuscripts. You've seen the design plans. My machine runs on blood.'

'Blood? But that's impossible! Blood isn't a fuel!'

'Yes it is. Didn't I prove it Post-Mathematically? Now my machine will demonstrate it in practice.'

'I never understood your Post-Mathematics.'

'Never understood? But it's so simple. Human Blood equals Human Energy. B(h)2=E(h)2'

'I still don't understand. And I don't want to contribute my blood. I'm not strong enough yet anyway.'

'Yes you are. You're completely recovered. I can tell. Your blood is charged with energy.'

'No.'

'Just a small contribution.'He showed me the size of the syringe. 'See? You can spare that much. This is the culmination of my whole life's work. Your body will soon make more blood again.'

'My body wants to keep the blood it's already got.'

'But that's very selfish, Mr Smythe. Very possessive. What gives you the right to lay claim to so much blood? Sheer cardiocentricity!'

'It's my blood.'

'Your blood! Phhh!' He snorted contemptuously. 'You, Mr Smythe, are merely the vessel . And a most unworthy vessel. So are we all. The human body is not worthy of the blood that it contains. All those tiny veins and capillaries! How can the blood realize its energy in such narrow constricting pipes? And all those intricate twists and turns! Slowing the blood down, compelling it to turn corners, frustrating its true velocity! Of course the blood can't push through at maximum force! It needs properly designed channels to flow in! It needs to be set free!'

'Set free?'

'Yes! Set your blood free, Mr Smythe! Don't hold it back! Don't keep it in an artificial state of repression! Look at me!'

'You?'

'I have liberated vast quantities of my blood. Freely given, year after year. The machine in my laboratory contains nearly twenty gallons of it. Twenty times more than there is in my own body. Look!'

He flung open his tweed jacket, displaying his chest. I could see what he meant. There wasn't an ounce of ordinary flesh upon him. His body was like a loose sack hung over a frame of sticks. Now I understood why he was so extremely thin and gaunt. No wonder - with all that blood drained out of him!

'Unfortunately, my blood is growing old,' he went on, pulling his jacket closed again. 'No longer so full of energy. What I need - what my machine needs - is the blood of a young adult, preferably male. Your blood, Mr Smythe. Only a little! Don't begrudge it!'

'But wait a minute! You said gallons and gallons!'

'Oh no. Relax now. Roll up your sleeve and lean back against the wall.'

It was just as well I didn't trust him. I took a closer look at the syringe that he held in his hand. There was a tube coming out at the rear end of it. A tube that he was keeping tucked in under his arm, almost but not quite out of sight. I looked further and saw where it reappeared around the other side of his back. It hung in a long loop down to the floor, then snaked its way into the laboratory. It was because of the tube that the laboratory door was still ajar.