Mock Turtle Soup

Content Notice

This story contains implied cannibalism.

Callum and I had been arguing for 20 minutes, and, as far as I was concerned, this was 20 minutes too many without a coffee.

“What have we even got to worry about? We’ve had no issues with the scientific method,” I groaned, massaging the circles under my eyes hard enough to bruise. “The sensory apparatus has a 100% success rate, and the technicians have been testing that experimental drug for months. Making blind trials, teasing out every minute side effect. It’s near foolproof!”

“You seem all too eager to cut corners in the research to get the product out ahead of time,” he replied. “It looks unprofessional.”

“Do you doubt my credentials? My understanding?” I challenged him, exasperated.

Such a nervous, gangly, beanpole of a man, barely out of his undergraduate year. He was the only one in that fresh-faced group down at the lab who didn’t seem to get on with me. Never a casual “How was your weekend?” or a chuckle at our friendly office banter and HORRIBLE science puns. To him, I was always Miss Robinson. He didn’t care that there were only five years between us. It could have been fifty for all the difference it made.

He smiled sarcastically. “You’ve been with the project from Day One. You should have a good idea by now.”

I blew an angry breath through my teeth. His insubordination was a novelty, but I could tell he was baiting me.

“The subject holds the book in their hands and reads through the visor of the sensory helmet. The drug is administered via a nasal spray and stimulates the olfactory bulb and the gustatory cortex. Chemicals are released in the brain to mimic the sensation of taste and smell, yada, yada, yada. The subject sees the object in their mind’s eye and tastes as they read.”

I flung my pen down with a loud clatter. “Do you need more? Or should I start talking about synaptic relays? Anyway, you can go and put in a request to try it yourself if you’re so concerned.”

His face flushed an embarrassed red, the exact colour of saffron stamens. I stared at him, suddenly comprehending. “You haven’t tried the process yet, have you?” That was news to me. He must have been the only person in the building who hadn’t yet taken part.

“No,” he said, looking down and shuffling his feet. “The idea kind of freaks me out. Anyway—” he cut himself off, but I knew he was itching to say more.

“Yes?” I probed, trying to catch his eye.

He finally looked up at me. “I don’t trust it.”

“You don’t trust the technology?”

“I don’t trust the people.”

His statement seemed too perplexing to even deserve a comment.

“That’s a rather facetious opinion, Callum. You might as well say ‘I don’t trust the books.’” I tried to laugh it off, but his face was resolute.

“Anyway, we’ve had such incredible results so far,” I mollified. “Don’t you remember that grandma who wanted to try the fruit buns from The Railway Children? She was almost in tears by the end of the session. She said it tasted better than anything she could have imagined.”

“Yes,” Callum was rubbing the spot between his eyes, obviously as tired as I was, but still trying to argue. “But she could have just gone to any bakery and bought some buns. Or tried to make them herself.”

“But it’s not the same! She said she’d eaten fruit buns her whole life, but nothing ever tasted the same as the ones from the book! She said they tasted exactly like what she ate as a kid. Like she was stepping back to when she was eight and reading The Railway Children for the first time.” I remembered the way her eyes had lit up, the way her apple cheeks crinkled into a massive, dimpled grin, her wrinkled face suddenly burnished with joy, years younger! “She said it tasted of pure happy memory.”

He stared at me like I was completely missing the point. “But that’s just one good example. We can’t rule out some of those other results.”

“We’ve been over this, Callum, the results were harmless.”

“But it can’t have been appropriate!” His tone grated on my eardrums, whining and childishly nasal.

“Did those people who tried spice melange have prophetic visions of the future or see time folding before their eyes? No! They just said it tasted like cinnamon candy.”

“What about the guy who tried soma? Can we really peddle this product if it lets you go on a fictional drug trip?”

“So what? The reaction was purely placebic. We were monitoring his vitals the whole time, there were no… physical changes.” I sniggered inwardly at the memory. “All it did was activate the pleasure centres of the brain and he spent five minutes riding his wave of fake bliss.” We’d all considered dumping a bucket of water over him to finish the test early, but there really was no need. Everything had stayed where it was. And anyway, his expression had been too funny.

“But don’t you think it’s dangerous? That this technology even allows for these kinds of possibilities?”

“We can’t account for absolutely every outcome, Callum.” Why, oh why, I thought, couldn’t he accept the futility of trying to iron out every single loophole?

“Shouldn’t we try?” Callum demanded, his face growing redder, flushed saffron becoming dark beetroot.

“Think of every single book that’s ever been written, ever! We can’t factor in all of them. Snags are bound to show up, but we can deal with them when we come to it!”

“Well, what if someone gets really hurt? Don’t you think it’s your responsibility to avoid a potential lawsuit?”

“Then we’ll put extensive safety warnings on the box!” I shouted. “Then it’ll be their business what the sickos try to do with it!”

Callum looked at me like I’d lost my mind. He obviously couldn’t tell I was joking.

I sighed. “Look at it logically. You don’t immediately assume that every person who sits behind the wheel of a car is going to crash into a pedestrian the second they put their foot on the accelerator, do you? Sometimes the reward outweighs the potential risk.”

My business jargon hadn’t swayed him. I tried another option.

“Anyway, the literature business is only one avenue. Once people realise what this technology can do, there are a million different ways we can use it for proper good. New steps forward in bionic eyes and cochlear implants. This rehabilitative technology could be the next step in the future of neuroscience!”

Callum’s gaze sharpened.

“Is this really about ‘the future of neuroscience’ for you?” he asked pensively. “Or is it the fact that it all started here. In your department. With your name plastered all over the research?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” His tone had been completely neutral. Still, his words had found their mark, even if I wasn’t going to show it.

I decided to play the defensive.

“Surely there’s something, some novel, where you’ve endlessly wondered what the food would taste like?”

“Of course,” he replied without hesitation. “The Butterbeer from the Harry Potter series. I’ve tried the stuff at the theme parks and all those commercial brands, but they’re always too cloyingly sweet. I want to try the real—” he cut himself off before he could say ‘the real thing’.

I grinned triumphantly.

“Are you sure you don’t want to try it?” I wheedled. “All you’d need to do is put in a request, go home and grab your favourite Harry Potter book.”

“Quite positively sure, Miss Robinson.”

I had to end this meeting on a positive note. I didn’t want to spend our afternoon focus session with his sour gaze on me.

“One thing we can be certain of, though. The snozzberries taste like snozzberries.”

I saw him fighting back a smile. “So what do snozzberries taste like?”

“Citrus. They have a sour, sharp, acidic taste, like raw grapefruit or lime juice.” I grinned at him. “But another tester said they tasted heavy, sort of musky, like the skin of a dried plum. Another person said they were peppery.” I spread my hands. “It’s not an exact science. It’s what you choose to make of it.”

“I rest my case,” he countered.

“You rest nothing. Now, back to work. We have a new focus group coming in at two.”

I yelled after him as the door swung closed. “On your way out, can you ask Bree to bring me an espresso?”

---

The department was charged with anticipation. The last official trial was being held in the lab downstairs and you could almost hear the carpets being slowly worn away as each scientist or board member paced around their office, too jittery to even consider sitting still. I was having a hard enough time keeping my fingers from tapping obsessively.

I’d grudgingly taken Callum’s doubts to heart and installed some parameters for the final experiment. The test subjects could only bring books recommended for children under the age of 10. I kept thinking this decision was overdoing it a bit, but really, what was the worst that could happen? Maybe someone would get a stomach ache from eating too much Turkish Delight.

I doodled some acknowledgements on my notepad. It wasn’t too early to start planning my speech for when we announced our findings.

There was the sound of running feet, and a second later, Callum wrenched my door open and stood on the threshold, panting hard.

“What on earth is going on?” I rose from my chair, startled. He’d never entered without knocking before.

“It’s being shut down. The whole operation, it—it’s over.” He was severely out of breath and his voice came as a gravelly shout.

“What!” His words floored me, and I had to grab the desk as the world spun on its axis. Surely, he had to understand by now that we were on the verge of something revolutionary.

“Callum, you’re not making any sense.” I decided reasoning with him was best. “I want you to speak slowly and tell me what is going on.”

“They made the unanimous decision to cancel all upcoming research.”

“Who did?”

“Dr. Ward and the other scientists presiding over the final tests. And one of the directors was in the lab too, when she saw what happened, she… decided the testing couldn’t go forward.”

“Have you contacted the board? They’re expecting a finished product within the next few months! Surely if you just pushed back the testing, told them that we need more time—”

“NO, ANNIE!” I jumped at the sound of his raised voice. He had been pacing back and forth, but now he stood still, gazing at me with eyes that seemed to have retreated back into their sockets. I had never seen such an expression of naked terror on a human being.

He’d used my name.

“Callum?” I asked, softly, tentatively. He desperately tried to arrange his features.

“Something went wrong. Something we didn’t even think about.” His voice was tiny. He hunched over, his spine bowing under the weight of his fear. “We didn’t even consider…”

“Oh Christ, is anyone hurt?” I started, horrified. “Is anyone dead?”

“No,” he rasped. “No one’s dead.” His mouth twisted around the word in a raw, ugly grimace.

“Well, can you stop bloody quivering and actually tell me what’s happened!” I was getting angry now. Whatever he had seen, it couldn’t be as bad as he was making out. We’d given the test subjects children’s books for God’s sake.

“I—you remember Subject Thirty? The investment banker?”

“Yes.” I did remember him, but in that vague way when you meet several people all at once and only a few details stick out. A tall, thin, balding man with a bright green tie. A large briefcase. A twitchy way of rubbing his hands together.

“He brought Alice in Wonderland with him. As his chosen book.” Callum’s voice seemed on the verge of tears. His face twisted again, but I couldn’t fathom his expression. Revulsion? Misery? “He said his youngest kid had recommended it to him.” His voice broke.

“And? Did he try the Drink Me potion and get upset when he didn’t shrink?” I was truly fishing now. What possibly could have gone wrong with Alice in Wonderland of all things? Dry biscuits? Mustard in the tea?

Callum looked up at me.

“Annie… He ate her. He ate Alice.”

---

The banker was still sitting in the testing chair when I entered the lab, the helmet apparatus raised and pushed off to the side. The technicians were hovering by the door, trembling as if they were caged with a rabid animal. Clearly no one wanted to be there, so I ordered them out of the room. As I sat down across from him, my foot knocked against something on the floor.

I looked down, then wished I hadn’t.

It was a well-worn copy of Alice in Wonderland, with the familiar Tenniel illustration on the cover. I picked it up and looked at Alice holding the flamingo. My throat clenched tight. I tried not to imagine her with a huge cartoon bite taken out of her head. Or a leg sticking up from the ground with only a hunk of bone remaining, the ivory femur picked clean.

The banker didn’t even notice me. He was far away, distant and relaxed, his face a mask of satiated pleasure. He looked like a very hungry person who had just enjoyed a large, satisfying meal.

I shivered, then cleared my throat, trying to get his attention. It was difficult. It felt like I had a bulge of hot, moist flesh clogging my throat, like a bullfrog’s dewlap. The sensation was revolting.

“We won’t be involving the police. As far as we’re concerned, there’s not enough evidence to convict you of any crime. But we are withholding your compensatory payment for participation, and you’ll be made to sign an NDA. You will never mention your involvement with this company. The whole experiment will be shutting down anyway, it… can’t go on after this, but still, you were never here. You will never contact us again. Otherwise, we’ll be pressing charges.”

I didn’t want to look at his face anymore. Maybe I should give him another five minutes.

“I’ll—I’ll send someone in with the paperwork,” I said, almost tripping over my own feet as I rose from the chair.

He gave a soft, wistful sigh.

I stopped at the door, my hand resting on the frame.

There was something in the air between us. I could feel it, like a white hot light piercing into my body, but I didn’t want to turn around, didn’t want to acknowledge it. I knew if I faced it, I could never come back. Not really. Not as myself. I was holding on to the edge of my morality for dear life.

The air shifted. The silence in the room was getting louder.

Am I a good person?

I looked at the banker. He stared right back at me, with eyes that had lost their glazed, sated look. His face was a map of quiet, pensive intelligence.

His face was kind!

Maybe he was just curious?

I bared my soul to whatever Devil would care to judge me, and turned back to ask the final, unaskable question.

“What did she taste like?”