Scales Read online

  The presentations caused so much interest and questioning that I began to wonder if my presence was really necessary. Then they turned their attention to me. Most of the questioning was straightforward and factual, trying to elicit as much information as possible about what I could and couldn't do. I performed various tests at their request, but found it hard to explain how I could do what I did; after all, how do you describe what you do when you lift your arm? You just do it.

  Eventually the focus switched to the causes of my transformation, and the debate grew more heated. No-one had produced any more likely explanation than the four I had identified from the start, but some of the audience had assembled impressive structures of argument to support their viewpoints and rubbish the alternatives, in the true academic spirit. One conclusion they (nearly) all eventually agreed on: there was no way that the changes could possibly have happened by accident. They were too specific, too effective, and outside the normal human genome. As one said, 'It's as if some extremely advanced geneticist sat down to redesign the human body in order to improve various aspects of our efficiency.' The problem being that the current state of knowledge about genetics was – at least – many decades away from being able to formulate the genetic changes required, let alone to re-engineer an existing adult body.

  Finally, they remembered me again, and asked my views. 'I don't think that any of them ranks as more than a minus three probability, which puts them all in the bracket of unsupported speculation.'

  Some confused looks for a few seconds. Academics hate demonstrating ignorance of something they should know about, so it was one of the journalists who broke ranks and put them out of their misery. 'What scale of probability is that, Cade?'

  I smiled smugly. 'You evidently haven't been reading my articles. If you had, you would have found the one I wrote a few years ago called, rather ironically in retrospect, "Scales of Belief". It was prompted by the attempt in some states of the USA to accord equal status to the teaching of creationism and Darwinism, on the grounds that both are unproven hypotheses and are therefore equally valid. I thought that was ridiculous so I looked for a way of classifying beliefs in order to provide a scale of relative probability. So I devised a numerical scale running from plus five for beliefs which are based on incontrovertible, demonstrable fact – that the Earth is a spheroid, for example - to minus five for the flat-earthers. The midpoint – zero on the scale – would indicate a belief for which there is no evidence one way or the other and which may be inherently unprovable, such as the existence of God.'

  I was enjoying getting into my lecture; what communicator doesn't appreciate an attentive audience? The words flowed as I found I could remember the article perfectly. 'So plus four would represent a belief backed by massive evidence, but for which there is a rival explanation which cannot be completely disproved. Conversely, minus four indicates a proposition which cannot be disproved, despite there being overwhelming evidence in favour of an alternative explanation. So to apply this to the creationist debate, the cumulative mass of evidence from many areas of research that life, the Universe and all that, have developed over a huge period of time is strong enough to score plus four; the belief that all of this was created in six days about six thousand years ago is therefore clearly a minus four proposition. To continue down the scale, plus three covers propositions for which there is strong evidence. Darwin's theory of evolution is well evidenced and generally accepted. However, the status of natural selection as the sole driving force for evolution is still challenged by some scientists who fully accept that evolution occurred but dispute the relative importance of the mechanisms involved. Darwinism therefore scores plus three. Plus two beliefs would be those for which there is some evidence but not yet enough to make a generally accepted case, while plus one would refer to beliefs for which there is no evidence, but which seem very likely on the basis of probability, for example the existence of life elsewhere in the Universe. Minus one beliefs are those for which there is no direct or indirect evidence for or against, but appear unlikely on the basis of our understanding at this time. Minus two would involve an idea under attack from some evidence but not yet completely dismissed – this could encompass much of parapsychology – while minus three beliefs would be those which are countered by solid, generally accepted evidence, but which can't entirely be ruled out. In the case of what happened to me, every explanation suggested so far runs head-on into strong evidence that it just isn't possible, which is why I classify them as "minus three" probabilities.'

  There was a thoughtful pause, before the emboldened journalist asked: 'you don't believe in God?'

  'Believe? No. Admit the possibility? Theoretically, yes, but I don't think it helps us.'

  'Why not?'

  'I think of human knowledge as being like a gigantic jigsaw puzzle. In prehistory, it was an incomprehensible, jumbled mass. When people started to wonder about life, the Universe and so on, they had no information to help them so made it up, inventing a god or gods to explain it all. Over time, the best thinkers of each age began to assemble bits of the jigsaw, so little patterns of knowledge emerged. Unfortunately, the jigsaw is a tricky one so they sometimes assembled bits in the wrong way, but in fits and starts they made progress. As they did so, the scope for a divine creator gradually diminished. Now, we have assembled enough of the jigsaw to have a good idea of its overall shape, and many parts of it have been completed. Thousands of scientists are beavering away, fitting piece after piece. Despite this, the puzzle is so huge that it will be a very long time before it's entirely finished – maybe the human race won't survive that long. But it's already clear that in principle it can be finished, right back to the Big Bang around fourteen billion years ago which started it all off. Potentially, we can understand everything in the physical Universe which has happened since then. Of course, you can argue that it was some supremely powerful being from another dimension – God, if you wish – who initiated the Big Bang, ensuring that the initial conditions were suitable for the development of the Universe as we know it. Since we have absolutely no idea what happened before the Big Bang – and may never know – that's as likely or unlikely as any other possibility. But where does that get you? It only raises a whole set of unanswerable questions about where God came from, and so on. And all of the evidence of the human condition – the randomness, pain and unfairness – suggest strongly that if there is such a God, He cares no more about what happens to any individual person than a forester does about what happens to a leaf from one of the trees in his forest.' I spotted a glass of water in front of me and swallowed gratefully, glad of the break. No-one jumped in with more questions, so the chairman took the opportunity to close the meeting, which had already overrun its scheduled time by a considerable margin.

  Over the next few days I studied the specialist press with interest. Most of the accounts of the conference were straightforwardly factual, but the additional information also sparked another series of speculative pieces. Some of them were fascinatingly ingenious, but none gave me any feeling of insight into what had happened to me. Disappointed, I turned to the broadsheets to see what kind of coverage they provided. One item caught my eye; a reference to a strong religious reaction from the USA.

  I switched on the one luxury in my room – a high-end computer with a broadband internet connection – and searched for sites containing the words 'Cade' and 'religion'. A torrent of hits flowed down the screen. I clicked on an American one at random. The headline hit me between the eyes:

  THE MONSTER REVEALED!!!

  At last! The scaly monster pretending to be a human has finally revealed his true colours!! I have warned ever since he first appeared that we should not be taken in by his soft words and deceitful attempts to fool us by so-called miracles – and now he is condemned from his own mouth!!!

  'Do you believe in God?' He was asked. 'No!' came the reply!!! Now we know the truth! He is an unbeliever, the spawn of Satan, here on Earth to try to destroy our belief in t
he Almighty God with his clever words!

  Has it not always been obvious? His scaly skin shows him to be the Devil's get! He is evil beyond imagining, and his existence cannot be tolerated!!!

  I scanned several more such sites, and discovered that the first was one of the milder ones. Many of them were calling for my total annihilation, some enthusiastically demanding a nuclear missile strike against the small town close to my hospital.

  I tried some more sensible American news sites, and found mixed reviews. Most just reported the outburst of religious fervour, but many added their own critical commentary. A protest march on the British Embassy in Washington was being organised to persuade them to do something about this monster in their midst.

  A knock on the door disturbed my bleak thoughts. Zara popped her cheerful face around the corner. 'Someone to see you!'

  She opened the door to show a shyly smiling Sally, standing for the first time with the aid of crutches. Several weeks of treatment had completed the new links in her spinal cord, and she would soon be back to normal. Her parents hovered rather nervously behind her. 'We're leaving soon', the father said, 'but we couldn't go without thanking you for all that you've done. You've given our Sally her life back, and ours too.'

  The mother stepped forward and impulsively hugged me. 'I don't care what they say about you, you'll always be an angel to us!'

  Zara gave me a puzzled look as the door closed behind them. 'What did she mean by that?'

  I showed her the American websites and she gasped. 'But that's horrible!'

  'Maybe, but that's what they're thinking. I've always found it bizarre that the most scientifically advanced nation on Earth should have so many religious fundamentalists; you'd think they'd suffer from some sort of collective national schizophrenia.'

  She turned away from the screen shaking her head in disgust, then looked at me worriedly. 'Doesn't this bother you?'

  I grimaced. 'Sometimes I lie awake at night, wondering what kind of monster I have become. There are times when I wish it were all a nightmare that I could wake up from. But then my days are filled with helping people like Sally, and that makes it all feel worthwhile. But no, these sites don't particularly bother me; I just find them rather sad.'

  Zara turned and headed for the door. 'Janet was saying that there's an article in a paper about different countries' attitudes to you. I'll go and find it.'

  She returned in a few minutes brandishing a page from the review section of one of the more serious broadsheets. We sat together on the sofa and read through it. The writer had been tapping into polls carried out world-wide, with interesting results.

  Most North Europeans were unconcerned about the religious issue. I expected this, as they are in my experience a pleasantly heathen lot whatever faith they technically profess. They regarded me with interest and generally speaking without hostility, despite the more-in-sorrow-than-in-anger criticism from the established churches.

  Further east, views changed. The fundamentalist mullahs and imams of Islam were predictably opposed – I pondered briefly whether they had ever welcomed anything new since medieval times, but soon gave up – with the more extreme ones pronouncing fatwas against me. The Hindis, however, were surprisingly positive, at least in part because of my involuntary vegetarianism. Some even wanted to add me to the pantheon of their colourful gods.

  More remarkable to me was the Far Eastern reaction, especially from the Chinese – or at least, those living outside the People's Republic. I should have remembered that dragons retained a special place in their mythology, and the advent of "Dragon Man", as they called me, had stimulated all sorts of new cults, with "Dragon Preachers" gathering disciples by purporting to be in some kind of rapport with me. Some of them encouraged decidedly peculiar practices in my name (the common factor being, of course, that the fact that I had no material goods meant that their followers should hand over all of their belongings – to them) and I decided that I would have to do something about that.

  Saddest of all was the response from central Africa, in much of which I was regarded with fear and used as an icon of terror, especially to frighten children. I resolved to do something about that, too.

  In light relief, those groups in the USA which weren't condemning me as the devil incarnate apparently regarded me as an alien visitor from another planet. Some of the more paranoid warned that I was on a reconnaissance mission to plan an invasion, but most pleaded for me to be welcomed with honour, and were extremely concerned that I would be insulted by the reaction of their more belligerent countrymen.

  Zara produced one of her giggles, together with another article from a rather less intellectual publication. 'This one might amuse you!'

  It was from a women's magazine, and devoted to the possibilities for pleasure which my control of nervous systems promised. They had found a doctor able to pontificate in a mildly salacious way on the advantages of direct sensory stimulation in comparison with conventional lovemaking or various drugs. Somewhat surprisingly, the hackette who had been the sole recipient of such treatment had proved reticent about her experience, but despite this I was voted 'best buy'. It was even suggested, half seriously, that the NHS should authorise sessions with me for women suffering from frigidity.

  ''I've been summoning up the nerve to ask – why haven't you been interested in any of these women who have been trying to attract your attention? Haven't you seen the intense looks you get whenever you walk around the hospital?'

  'Well, yes, but I always suspect they're thinking my skin would make a wicked pair of shoes with a matching handbag.'

  Zara laughed. 'Oh no, it's much more basic than that.'

  'More basic than shoes and handbags? Is there any such thing?' I thought about it for a moment. Despite my joke, it had been something that I had wondered about myself; I would not in my previous life have turned down such opportunities. 'This may sound odd coming from a man, but I don't like the idea of being regarded as some kind of trophy, or a diverting novelty for jaded women who have tried everything else. Also, I have to admit that the nervous energy I burn up in healing people doesn't leave me with much for any other purpose!'

  'They will be disappointed!' Zara was still laughing as she left.

  The winter passed, filled with the steady routine of hospital work. This was interrupted one spring morning when a formally-dressed man of indeterminate middle age, calm demeanour and instantly forgettable appearance was ushered into my lodgings by a rather harassed-looking HM, who promptly departed.

  The stranger, who had been introduced as "Mr Richards from the Home Office" accepted my invitation to sit down and spent a few seconds studying me. I did likewise. He looked smooth, well-fed and well-groomed, but his eyes were hard. I was impressed by the calm certainty in his mind; he was clearly used to being in complete control. He smiled suddenly. 'I'm not quite sure of protocol here – do I call you Mr Johnson, Mr Cade or just Cade?'

  'Cade will do nicely.'

  'I'm here, as the saying goes, on a mission of some delicacy. I understand that you are able to sense the state of mind of people in close proximity.' He had a precise, rather pedantic way of speaking.

  'That's right.'

  'Does that extend to knowing whether they are lying or telling the truth?'

  'I will know if they are deliberately lying, but not necessarily if they are telling the truth – after all, they could be genuinely mistaken.'

  'Indeed. I think that will suffice.' He pursed his lips, then continued slowly and deliberately; I wondered if he was ever rushed.

  'What I am about to tell you is, of course, strictly confidential. It is a matter of national security.'

  I nodded cautiously, feeling a mixture of intrigue and alarm.

  'There is someone high up in our intelligence community who is being considered for a major promotion. On the face of it, he is the ideal man for the job. Unfortunately, some of our sources located elsewhere are hinting that his loyalty may not be entirely undivided.'
>
  I wondered what shenanigans lay behind the euphemistic words, the spies like rats in the wainscoting rooting out secrets and lies. 'And so you want me to listen in on an interview with him to see if I can catch him out?'

  Richards winced slightly. 'Quite so, although it would be preferable if you could confirm that he is genuine.'

  I shrugged. 'Very well, I see no reason why not. Where is this interview to take place?'

  'In London, next week. We'll send a car for you.'

  In such a casual way was the course of my next few months determined.

  The car wasn't a Bentley, an Aston Martin or even a Jaguar, rather to my disappointment, but an anonymous-looking Ford Galaxy MPV, only unusual for its dark-tinted windows which conveniently concealed my identity. At least, there was plenty of space inside to sprawl. It was a relief to see a change of scenery as the vehicle sped south and I had to admit to myself some pleasure at the prospect of a change in routine.