Chapter 14

Finally, the laboratory work was completed. It had taken six months of frantic work, from my first look at the strange purple nodules in Sue's ass, to get to the situation where we could begin to mass-produce a cure. Everybody said we'd achieved miracles, and most of the team agreed. And if I didn't join in the general rejoicing and back-slapping, I had my reasons. I was going to lose my 'special' status, along with my eighteen random fucks per week. Not to mention the money I'd made. It had been running at nearly twenty thousand pounds per week - the girls had been swamped by the demand, and responded by putting the price up to whatever the traffic would bear; we'd banked over a quarter of a million. And some of the 'celebrity' fucks had been surprisingly good fun.

The 'cure' we had come up with was interesting. The cells responded to the particular enzyme mix, but the enzymes still had to actually get inside them. So, our solution was to flood the cavity with the enzymes, then add live sperm. In other words, another fuck! The sperm would go about their work, puncturing their way through the cell walls, and taking enough of the enzyme mix through to effect a 'cure'. Not a real cure, of course. The cells were still there, and still producing their stew of quasi-hormones. But the painful ones would be gone for good. Other research groups were still trying to find a way to actually kill off the cells, but so far had found nothing which didn't damage the surrounding tissue.

Men all over the world were gloomily talking about their wives bringing home their 'final fuck' prescription. Still, many of them were secretly glad to be off the treadmill. They'd found that unlimited sex can be a chore as well as a pleasure. Plus, the jealous types could leave their wives at home without worrying that she was suddenly going to have to rape someone.

It looked as if everything was settling down, with people going back to somewhere near normal. Then my notebook computer was stolen.

I had thought I was safe. They were looking for my 'little black book' of course, containing names of all the famous women I'd 'cured'. They'd be disappointed in that. As I had promised the ladies, I'd never kept a record, except in my head. All they would find on my hard drive would be the official story, all the science behind the discoveries.

I didn't expect them to find the second hard drive, cunningly concealed under the motherboard, needing both hardware and software switches to activate it, and pretty hefty encryption on top of that. They've got some good hackers working for newspapers these days.

They found the other experiments. The ones showing how I had designed and created the little purple cells, during many long, late nights in my laboratory, then started their spread.

Suddenly, I wasn't saviour of the world any more. I found myself charged with an incredible 15 million cases of rape, and over a million paternity suits. The lawyers were claiming that even though I hadn't fucked all the women myself, I was responsible in each and every case. Leaving the country wasn't possible, either. There were a thousand million or so eager litigants-in-waiting, spread across every nation on earth.

Oops!

So, I found myself in jail, awaiting trial. However, the legal system hit a snag at this point. There seemed to be no way to find an unbiased jury, or an unbiased judge, for that matter. The plague had touched every family in the land. Many men saw me as a saint. Most women, even those who had admitted enjoying the experience, saw me as a devil.

The arguments went back and forth for a month. My solicitor, Mr Sanders (who appeared not to have a first name) didn't quite know what to do with it all.

At one of our 'cell conferences', I asked him to insist on a trial.

"Or, if that isn't possible," I said, "a pre-trial review of the evidence. That'll do."

"Why?", he asked.

"Because I need to make a speech."

"Saying what, precisely?"

"I'm not sure," I said. "I haven't written it yet. But I will. So, please try to get me that hearing, will you?"

Sue visited. "I've had my final smear test, love. Still clear! Looks as if you did it!"

"And Jill?", I asked.

"And Jill. She's over the moon - I don't think she really believed the first one. So, when are you getting out of here?"

"As soon as I can, love. I promise you."

"Well, you've kept a couple of pretty big promises to me this year. You've killed off my cancer, and sorted out the fuck plague. Just like you said."

I smiled, ruefully. "I'm not getting many thanks for the second, I'm afraid. It was pretty easy to find the cure - the hard part was creating it in the first place!"

"I should be furious with you, love. But I know you, and I know you had your reasons. Even if you won't tell me what they were. You're not the mad scientist everyone thinks, are you?"

"I'm not. And thanks for the vote of confidence. I need it right now."

"It comes from Jill and Frank, too. We're right behind you, and looking forward to you getting out. We've got a marriage to work on, remember? You were too busy for us before, and we're all looking forward to a lot of good years ahead of us."

Sanders telephoned.

"Do you know a Miss Bobbie Crichton?"

"I'm afraid I don't," I replied.

"Puzzling. I've received a letter from her. She's a barrister, and is asking to be considered for your defence, as she's a friend of the family."

"Perhaps she's a friend of one of my wives?"

Sanders spluttered a little at this. He was of the old school, and believed that even one wife was usually one too many.

"Well," he said. "I've asked around, and she's very well thought of. I would think that a woman acting as defender might create a good impression."

"I agree. Perhaps we should meet."

The following day, Sanders arrived in my cell with a smart-looking brunette, and quite definitely a cap-turner. I sighed, thinking of all the women in the world that I'd now never have a chance with. She turned out to be a close friend of Jill's.

"How close?", I asked.

"Very close. Not as close as Sue, of course, but we can talk about most things."

"That could be useful to us. Did she tell you about her little problem?"

"Yes, she did. Poor girl. Why does it always happen to the nice ones?"

Bobbie clearly wasn't quite up to date with the news. We explained about the cancer diagnosis to Sanders, and her family history.

"Well, maybe it won't happen to this particular nice one," I said. "I'd like you both to read this, and you'll see how it's relevant."

I handed over a sheaf of papers.

"This is the statement I propose to make at the pre-trial hearing. I'd be grateful if you would both keep it confidential. Any early publicity will dilute the impact."

They read it through carefully, making comments as they did.

Sanders was first. "But if you say this, it's a guilty plea!"

"I know. If you read on, you might find an extenuating circumstance or two."

Bobbie pointed out a phrase. "Is this true?"

"I believe so. You can check up if you like."

"I certainly need to. But what about the confidentiality you've just asked for?"

"Just ring up and ask. You don't have to say anything about the rest, do you?"

"No, that's true. But I have to check it. The thing is, Jack, I won't let one of my clients go into the box and tell lies that I know are lies. "

I smiled. "You must lose quite a lot of business that way."

"I do. But it means that I can take all the lawyer jokes on the chin and know that they don't mean me!"

Sanders wasn't happy. "Look, I'm not sure I can go along with this. You're admitting damaging a lot of people, which lays you wide open to all sorts of private actions as well as the criminal charges."

"I don't know about that," said Bobbie. "If this is right, it won't come to criminal trial at all. And if Jack's not found guilty by a criminal court, it makes the civil actions much less likely to succeed."

"Following a guilty plea? Of course it will go to criminal trial!"

"You don't quite understand, Mr Sanders," I said. "This case is pretty unusual. It's been brought purely because of public outrage. If I can change their minds, give them a reason they can understand, pressure for a trial will disappear - and so will most of the private lawsuits. I'm not sure if there's any precedent for this, but the phrase 'at the bar of public opinion' comes to mind."

"Mob justice? We know where that leads."

"Nevertheless, it's the public I'm going to try to appeal to. If it works, I'm in the clear. If it doesn't... well, I did it, and I'll stand by my decision. It was the right thing to do, and if I have to spend the rest of my life in jail, at least that'll be a comfort."

"I agree," Bobbie added. "It's your best chance. But I think I can help you improve the odds a little. Will you let me take this away and rewrite it?"

"Sure. I'm a scientist, not a writer. It's that bad, is it?"

"It gives the facts, which is fine as far as it goes, but there's no emotion there. No punch. Believe me, this isn't the sort of speech that would work in a courtroom. Let me see what I can do with it."

Bobbie was as good as her word. A couple of days later, she was back with her revise, and made me read it through out loud. One word had been firmly red-pencilled. The learned judges were about to hear a trial which was basically all about copulation, but wouldn't allow the word 'fuck' in court. She'd decided to call it the 'Irritant Plague'. We changed a few things that looked ok on paper but didn't sound right aloud, and tried again. And then again. Finally, I was word-perfect. Then she started on the delivery. When and how to gesture. How to pause, looking around the room and making eye contact. Where to speak softly. Where to raise my voice. As a lesson in public speaking, it was awesome. Finally, she pronounced me fit to meet my public.

My public, initially, consisted of Mr Sanders, who was ready to throw in the towel and demand I find a new solicitor to act for me. Bobbie asked him to listen to me first. I gave it to him, full force. I could see him wavering.

"Well, Mr Harper," he finally said. "You know, I think this just might work."

The day of the pre-trial hearing finally arrived. I'm told there was quite a lot of infighting within the legal profession before the panel of judges was announced. Two males - well, I was in with a good chance there. One female. Mrs Justice Booth, aka Cherie Blair. Oh, fuck!

I had the choice of making my statement from the dock, or from the witness box. Standing in the dock, you don't have to swear the oath. In the witness box, you do.

I went for the witness box, and solemnly swore to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Well, why not? I'd been wanting to do exactly that for six months now. I hadn't been able to then, but now I could.

"To begin with, my lords, I have to admit the main charge. I designed, created and released the Irritant Plague."

One of the judges stopped me at that point, and queried Bobbie.

"Does your client realise that he is admitting liability? If so, this could be a very short hearing. Very short indeed."

"He does, my lord," responded Bobbie. "but he asks that you hear him out. He believes, and I believe with him, that his motives at the time were good."

"Good motives do not eliminate criminal responsibility," put in the other male.

Bobbie sprang to her feet again. "Indeed not, my lord, but they do mitigate in some circumstances."

Cherie hadn't spoken yet. But if looks could kill, I'd be dead already. The judges conferred, and decided that I should continue.

"My lords," I said. "In creating and spreading the plague, I have been responsible for a lot of pain, much immoral behaviour, and more than a few children. I would argue over the figure of a million, but let's not quibble over numbers at this stage. That's the down-side of the plague."

"And you are going to tell us that there's an up-side, I suppose?", put in one of the judges.

"Indeed I am. Some of it is well known - my wife has been documenting it almost from the start." I smiled at her, up in the gallery. She blew me a kiss in reply.

"You all know the figures. Rape, almost non-existent. Crimes of violence are down by more than three-quarters. Robbery, more than halved. Drunkenness, drug abuse, down by over a third. Vandalism down by half. Even traffic accidents are well below the normal figures. Part of that is down to less heavy drinking, but quite a lot is because people have been generally better-natured. A lot of road accidents are caused by pure anger. If people are happy, they drive better. And all these indicators are showing a continuing fall. If it carries on, we'll be living in a much more pleasant society.

"The same general air of goodwill shows up elsewhere. Suicides, down to a tenth of normal. Sleeping tablet prescriptions more than halved. Visits to doctors, well down. I could go on, but will leave it there for the time being. The point I am making, and have proved, is that for the last six months, by any measure you care to apply, the population of this country has been happier than ever before.